Trade The Brown Bag For Green

Maybe it’s a little bit of OCD, but I am in love with these bento style lunch boxes. Not just because using them drastically reduces waste, but also because every day when you open the lid you are met with this amazing little mosaic of food. Everything all carefully laid out in a road map of lunchtime bliss, each item assigned its own neat compartment. The possibilities seem endless. The tidy configuration with its unassailable boundaries between food items defies you to stick with the usual boring sandwich, apple, chips routine. Stretch out. Pack cous-cous salad. Caprese. Sushi. It’s what Lunchables would be if they were made with real food and didn’t come in a disposable piece of landfill.

Clearly, I’m not alone in my obsession. There are whole Flickr pools dedicated to art of the Laptop Lunch. Do I occasionally find myself scrolling through them just to see all the imaginative ways to put the UN in lunch? Admittedly, yes. I’m weird that way.

But the best part about the bento-ware is the fact that it produces no waste. Think about this as the school year gets underway: the average lunch-toting child generates 67 pounds of garbage per school year (ref. www.greenopia.com). That translates to 18,760 pounds of waste for the average elementary school. Imagine the difference if all those kids traded their brown bags and Zip-locs for a dishwasher safe, reusable Laptop Lunch system.

Designed by a Santa Cruz-based company, the lunch boxes are available at www.laptoplunches.com and also at some retail outlets like Whole Foods. Check the site for retailers in your area.

The Audacity of Cupcakes

The recent proliferation of cupcakeries in the U.S. gives me hope for this country. A people that, in the face of a the worst economy since the great depression, a war on terror, environmental chaos, pop-star drama, and the horrors of a reality show programming, can embrace the innocent, frosted promise of the cupcake must be optimists at the core. And that bodes well for our future. Even the most hardened cynic must be silenced by the plucky verve of ginger lemon.

Once the staple of bargain bakery shelves, their Crisco frosting in all manner of unnatural colors smashed against their sad little plastic shell cases, the sweet little cupcake has muscled its way to the top of the confectionary heap with gourmet and organic ingredients, artisan production, and exotic flavors like Chai Latte, Raspberry Dazzle and Red Velvet. Specialty cupcake stores like Sprinkles (which will soon have 22 locations around the country), Kara’s Cupcakes in the bay area, Chicago’s Cupcakes, and Seattle’s Cupcake Royale are battling it out for the lucrative cupcake coin.

There are glossy full-color books about cupcakes, cupcake crafts, and websites devoted to the topic (cupcakestakethecake, 52cupcakes). I haven’t seen such passion about a food item since the meteoric rise of Krispy Kreme. (I’m still mourning the “Hot Now” beacon that has ceased to flash in my neighborhood). I believe the cupcake craze will have a longer shelf life than its deep-fried and glazed cousin. The donut was like the Vin Diesel of bakery treats, while the cupcake is more like the Holly Golightly. A cute little thing with a slightly questionable past that has grown into a fascinating confectionary creature. Full of charm and wit, with the ability to be reinvented a thousand different ways, the cupcake never gets old.

Invisibility Cloak: F*** Yeah!

Geeks, freaks and the criminally insane, get ready to pop open some Fanta and JD, or maybe a vial of kitten blood and some pure oxygen. The invisibility cloak is one step closer to reality. Thanks to the brilliant minds at University of California Berkeley, you may soon be able to confirm the belief of those around you that you don’t actually exist.

While other scientists are busy looking for a way to keep our vital organs from aging, California’s best and brightest are looking for ways to finally give us all the superpowers we’ve been fantasizing about. This is why I thank God every day that I live in California. That, and the fact that I can eat outdoors in November, never get a mosquito bite, participate in a massive community pillow fight, and so many more reasons that I won’t go into because California is already crowded enough. Stay where you are. (Yes, I know there are plenty of other great places. I’ve tried a few. They have much to offer…if you’ve never been to California.)

So what of this amazing development in the superpower arena? It’s all due to the creation of a new material that bends light around 3D objects, thus making them disappear. That's the crux of it, but there's more scientific lingo to explain it in greater detail here.

Aside from being a great way to sneak around castles, evade Snape, and steal North Korean nuclear secrets, what real good is an invisibility cloak? How will this advance society? Sure it can get you backstage at a Coldplay concert. Been there. And trust me, you don’t need the cloak to be invisible. If you’ve been dreaming about following your buff neighbor around the house to answer the age-old question of boxers or briefs, maybe there’s some value here. Or you could eavesdrop on you boss, but do you really want to know how much the new guy is getting paid. Can your ulcer take it?

I’m waiting for the pill that can make me fly. I guess for some, that already exists. But I want the one that comes without rehab and a ruptured spleen.

New Film Explores Pearl Fryar's Not-So-Secret Garden

Pearl Fryar has spent the last twenty-four years transforming his yard from a typical palette consisting of a swath of grass and a couple of box row hedges into a sort of Lewis Carroll fantasy of flora where shrubs take on mythic proportions swirling toward the sky in joyful spirals, or hugging the green earth in playful stacked mounds of varying shapes and sizes.

He shares something in common with the likes of Simon Rodia or Jeff McKissak, but aside from the obvious fact that Fryar does not work in the usual mediums associated with Dementia Concretia—concrete, glass, tile, steel—his particular creative compulsion grew out of something bigger and louder than the little voice that urges the ordinary (if such a person can be called ordinary) obsessive to toil away in his ethereal realm.

Pearl Fryar’s drive to build something beautiful, lasting and bigger than life came from a desire to overcome obstacles. The obstacle of racial intolerance. The obstacle of fear. The obstacle of ignorance. The obstacle of “no, you can’t.”

He could. And he did.

The prize for Yard of the Month in Bishopville, South Carolina had never gone to an African American. After hearing that white neighbors feared he wouldn’t keep up his yard, Pearl Fryar was determined to win that coveted prize. He knew nothing about plants and he lived just outside the prize boundaries. But those things were not about to stop him. He bought a $2.00 shrub and began sculpting. He kept at it for more than two decades, often working until midnight even after having put in a full day at his factory job. Today, he has topiaries topping twenty feet. He has not only been honored with the Iris Garden Club’s Yard of the Month Award, he’s been featured on PBS, HGTV, in Newsweek Magazine and countless other publications, and is currently the subject of a documentary film A Man Named Pearl, which can be found in limited release around the country now through October. A list of dates and venues is available at the film’s website.

Pearl’s three-acre garden of elan draws visitors from all over the world and has required a turn-around for tour buses to be built at the end of his street. He has brought his community together. He has inspired thousands with his message of love, peace and goodwill (the giant mantra is carved into his lawn). And he has created a living, breathing, constantly evolving reminder that beauty is in the believing and the doing.

Dementia Concretia: Beautiful Freaks

I ran across the term Dementia Concretia today. As diseases go, it sounds like a good one. It’s a disorder that causes people to create compulsively. Not in the typical fashion like writing books or painting pictures. Something on a grander scale. Like building a cathedral out of broken bottles and hubcaps and spare bike parts. And then adding a bonus room. There are plenty of great examples. Watt's Towers in Los Angeles, a series of concrete, glass and tile structures up to 100 feet tall built over a thirty-year span by Simon Rodia.


Bishop Castle, a family cabin gone wildly out of control. The structure has been under construction in Pueblo, Colorado since 1969 and has employed more than a 1000 tons of rock. It represents an escape from reality, a celebration of freedom, and a protest against government restrictions for builder Jim Bishop.


The Orange Show in Houston, Texas, a 3,000 square foot architectural circus of steel, brick, concrete, tile and random found objects—wagon wheels, tractor parts, finials, mannequins—all cobbled together with hope, sweat and obsession by postman Jeff McKissack in tribute to his favorite fruit, the orange. Sprinkled throughout are odes to the king of citrus and advice to visitors for better living through oranges. (Here's a link to a nice first-hand account.)


Because all the references to Dementia Concretia that I can find come from blogs, I suspect that it’s just a made up term that has taken hold. Still, I like the concept. I would submit however, that this is not a disorder at all, but rather a primitive response to the inherent need in all of us to create, a need that is sublimated to the imperative of making a living. After a lifetime spent working in within corporate confines or at menial tasks, the sheer force of all that pent up creative energy explodes in a dramatic fashion resulting in these fantastic monuments to the ingenuity and undaunted creative spirit of humankind. These are the ultimate edifices from which to proudly let fly a massive freak flag.

Bravo, freaks. And I mean that in the most endearing sense possible.

Ten Things I learned From Watching "10 Questions For The Dalai Lama"

1. The Dalai Lama has a way better sense of humor than the Pope.

2. The Dalai Lama sounds a lot like Yoda.

3. Monks could kick some serious ass if not constrained by the excessive cloth of their robes and their strict adherence to non-violence.

4. The Chinese have turned Tibet into a dim sum platter of prostitution and consumerism.

5. I need to work harder to accept the lazy, unfriendly checker at the market who forgets to give me my cash back and tries to use plastic bags instead of the canvas ones I’ve brought.

6. “Shut the hell up” is not a good mantra.

7. While opposed to violence, the Dalai Lama believes one should defend oneself.

8. On the subject of birth control, the Dalai Lama believes in quality over quantity.

9. The Dalai Lama can fix your Tag Heuer while you wait.

10. Yak butter sucks.

Smells Like Nirvana

If you want to soothe away just about any aggravation, stress or injustice, gin will work, but breathing in the scent of lavender is a lot easier on your liver. You can get your fix in a hundred different ways, lotions, aromatherapy, candles, lavender pillows, lavender slippers, you name it, but I discovered the very best way last weekend in Sonoma. It’s a beautiful, hidden gem of a place called Matanzas Creek Winery in Bennett Valley where, for the small price of free (wine tasting is extra), you can spend the afternoon in blissful serenity listening to the happy hum of a hundred thousand or so bees, feeling the pleasant touch of valley heat on your skin, and inhaling the sweet smell of over 4500 lavender shrubs.

If not for a helpful concierge, we would certainly have missed this place. It’s about ten miles out on a winding two-lane farm road well off Sonoma’s beaten wine path Highway 12. If you're coming from the North, it’s about five miles south of Santa Rosa on a smoother stretch of highway. Either way, it’s worth the drive. We spent most of our time in the lavender garden, but it’s best to start in the tasting room and gift shop then linger in the garden until the last moment possible. Pause for a moment to watch the blue dragonflies buzz the koi pond as you walk up hill to the tasting room, which is housed in an understated aged wood building that feels a bit like a tree house.

It smells like a spa inside with all the lavender gift and goody items. The deck overlooks the valley and there’s a nice spot there to sip some wine. You can also take a picnic and some wine to a shady oak grove where they provide tables and a view of a small lake, which is actually their wastewater pond, but you don’t need to know that. BYOP (bring your own picnic) as they offer only the occasional cheese and fruit plate, which they were out of on our visit. Finally, walk the gravel path lined with native grasses and wildflowers out into the fields, quiet your head, watch the bees, smell the lavender, and forget all the stuff that winds you up. This is bliss at its purest.

Crazy, Sexy, Cool Limoncello

This time last year, I was enjoying the warm Umbrian sun, marveling at sweeping views of vineyards and sunflower fields, and discovering the joys of Limoncello. An Italian liqueur best enjoyed at the end of a great meal on a hot summer night in a setting like the one above, Limoncello is like neon sunshine in a glass, only ice cold. Served straight out of the freezer, it’s a refreshing little shot of contrast, sweet and tart, a little syrupy, slightly reminiscent of Lemonhead candy.
It’s quickly replacing Absinthe as the hip drink among the young, beautiful and willing to try anything. And for good reason. Limoncello is much tastier and won’t turn you into Edgar Allen Poe. It’s just a simple concoction of alcohol, lemon and sugar. And apparently very easy to make at home. I found this recipe that looks easy, but since it takes a week of steeping, I’ll have to post the results later.

Danny Devito is a big fan of the lemony potion as he proved in his infamous appearance on "The View" last year. He’s even launched his own brand of Limoncello. If this becomes a trend for celebrities to capitalize on their indiscretions by launching products based on their personal vices, can we expect to see a line of crack pipes from Amy Winehouse just in time for Christmas?

Dream Big

A Hong Kong jewelry store known internationally for its lavish lavatory built from six tons of gold has begun cashing in on its coveted crapper. With gold prices topping $900 an ounce, the monument to movement is being melted down and sold off piece by piece. But owner Lam Sai-wing insists the enclave of excrement’s crowning glory, the toilet, will remain intact. He’s not giving up on his dream to one day s*** a gold brick.

You Won't See This On Staycation

Thanks to historic gas prices and a tanking economy, this summer’s buzzword is “staycation.” Taking a vacation right in your own backyard. Everyone from the "Today Show" to CNN to Home Depot are pushing it as the hottest travel trend. A Google search yields more than 216,000 references. In true American fashion, we’ve taken a negative, “you can’t afford a vacation,” and turned it into a positive. Turn that frown upside down, America. You’re going on a fabulous “staycation.” That’s right, a whole week camped out in your living room with a bucket of KFC (extra crispy), a liter of diet Dr. Pepper and a stack of DVDs.

It's not the economic meltdown that's making it tough to get away this year. It's just that there are plenty of ways to spend that stimulus check right in your own neighborhood, right? If they really want to sell the American public on a stay-at-home vacation, give it some appeal. Where’s the sizzle? The word “staycation” sounds more like a kennel for obedience-challenged dogs. Why do I want a “staycation”? A moratorium on chores, or “choreatorium” as it's been dubbed, hardly stacks up against maid service, breakfast in bed and poolside umbrella drinks arriving at my bidding. Choreatorium is just a really weird way of saying I’m staying at home in a dirty house with dishes piling up. Sweet. Bring me another “Cheaparita.” Oh yeah, I have to get it myself.

Since we stayed at home over the Fourth of July holiday weekend, I guess one could say we indulged in a staycation. As staycations go, it was pretty freaking awesome. We attended an outdoor San Francisco symphony concert and fireworks extravaganza, lounged by the pool, ate at some nice restaurants, went kayaking, took a bayside stroll, saw “Get Smart” and “Wall-E,” breakfasted on the patio. I cheated and did a little laundry, but still a pretty good non-get-away. Next weekend, I’m thinking about dragging a mattress out onto the deck and sleeping under the stars for a staycation camp-out. We can make hibachi s’mores.

Will all this staycationing be good for the economy? You bet. With all the money you're saving on airfare and hotels, you can go ahead and get movie candy for the whole family, buy that tricked out backyard grill, and pick up a whole slew of travel DVDs so you can plan your next paycation.

You might not see great works of art, or broaden your awareness of other cultures while on staycation, but you will discover the intricacies of your own neighborhood and, if you're lucky, find out who's been letting their dog crap on your lawn.

Summer Bliss Squelchers

If only my cat could manage to park her breakfast without getting it all over the fur on her hind end, which ultimately ends up in nasty little kitty skid marks all over the living room rug, I wouldn’t have needed to go to Target for another can of carpet cleaner where, upon seeing the summer clearance already in progress, I fell into a deep depression over the fact that I have only just found my swim suit for the season, which according to the people at Target, is already over.

All the summer items were on clearance, relegated to a few overcrowded, disorganized shelves. The watering cans, the colorful outdoor pillows, the decorative Indonesian carvings, the bird baths and reflection globes. Even the lawn gnomes. Meanwhile a couple of burly red-shirted guys were busy clearing out all the patio furniture to make way for, forgive me for saying it, Back To School stuff. Target has truly harshed my summer buzz.

It’s not even Fourth of July, Target managers. I haven’t even been to the beach yet. Haven't had my first taste of summer watermelon or nectarine. My first grilled burger. I've barely begun to enjoy the long amber-tinged evenings, the wearing of sandals, the scent of jasmine drifting in through the open window as I fall asleep. My first pedicure of the season is hardly showing any wear. I've almost no tan. I haven't even begun a trashy novel. What sort of insidious plot is this?

I vow not to set foot in a Target until at least the third week of August when Back To School will begin to seem like a light at the end of a long, hot, PS3 filled tunnel. Until then, there’s only one phrase more hated in our household than “back to school” and that’s “where’s the carpet cleaner?”

Out Now: Smug 2.0

According to a recent study, if you really, really like gadgets you are probably an arrogant prick. And if you’re an early adopter, even worse.

An online study of 25,000 American adults revealed a strong correlation between a love of technology and personality traits like leadership, dynamism and assertiveness coupled with serious lack of modesty. Is this really all that surprising? Did they really need to do a study to know that the guy texting away on his Blackberry in the middle of “Atonement” doesn’t really give a shit that he is distracting me from a spectacular film experience. Sure, he’s not talking, but I cannot concentrate on James McAvoy’s intensity with that little screen glowing to my right like a hole in the universe sucking every ounce of sexually charged air right out of the theater.

Did they really need a study to tell them that the people toting their Powerbooks around like newborns, Bluetooth earpieces making them look like half cyber-Spock, half human, while they appear to converse with the trees outside Starbucks, are probably not the most humble among us?

The study found that those who rated highly in assertiveness were 62 percent more likely to buy the latest model of a cell phone when it hits the market. Uh huh. And from this sort of data, they extrapolated that “those who are really assertive are the types to grab life by the horn” and that “when they see something they want or like, they go straight for it.” How much money was spent on this study?

Does all this embracing of the wonders of technology really equate with arrogance as the study concluded? (“Avid tech consumers were also likely to be low on modesty and may be perceived as conceited or arrogant.”) Or are they just basing their findings on having seen one too many Mac vs. PC ad? (I am beginning to feel a little sorry for PC at this point. Come on, Mac guy. Lay off already. It’s clear that PC is not as cool or clever as you are. You’re kind of becoming a bully.)

Could it simply be that those of us who have maxed out the icons in our dock or have stopped into the Apple store at least ten times to ask if the new iPhone is in yet are just eager adventurers on the technology highway of life? Wouldn’t Lewis and Clark have been the first guys to own a Garmin had it been available in 1804?

Our household has purchased three Mac laptops in the last six months. And we’re waiting anxiously for July 11 when the new 3G iPhone hits stores. What a bunch of insufferable ***holes we are.

Take A Number

Would someone please tell the people in my area that it’s a buyer’s market? While housing prices are down in most parts of the country, our little corner of the market continues to remain relatively strong. Pulling up to an open house is like showing up for a party. There are cars up and down the block and a continuous stream of people parading through the house. You will find yourself squeezing past a family of four to catch a glimpse of a master bath. Waiting in line to get a peek at the inside of a linen closet. And it’s not because these are fantastic deals. They’re not. This is the bottom of the barrel for this market, and they’re still north of a million. When something comes on at this rung of the ladder, it sets off a feeding frenzy of hungry house-hunters and prices get bid up above asking. It’s highly discouraging. Even more so when the listings tout new cabinets, appliances and countertops! (Their exclamation point, not mine.) And you show up to find the cheapest, off-the-shelf, oak cabinetry and white, featureless, appliances, including an electric cooktop. What an insult. Especially when, as in one recent viewing, the house is a mid-century Eichler that has been completely defiled with traditional oak cabinetry, mirrored wardrobe doors and a brass-trimmed fireplace. Nearly every original design element destroyed so that the place resembles a sad, fading starlet wandering, confused in a housecoat and slippers begging for a tube of lipstick, a shot of Bourbon, and some heavy curtains to save her the embarrassment of anyone looking in. The worst insult? It sold before I even had time to post this piece.

Prefabulous

This is the Kithaus K3, a 9’x13’ prefab serenity space, or whatever you’d like it to be. All steel and glass and wood and wonder. What would I do with one of these in my backyard? Fill it with art supplies and learn to paint? Leave it empty with the exception of perhaps a piece of art on the wall, and a yoga mat on the floor? Position a single arm chair and ottoman within reach of a large, full bookcase, a basketful of seaglass on the floor and a fountain outside the door? Set up a massage table? Fill it with fluffy daybed, an afternoon breeze, and Bach’s Cello Suites? A baby grand piano? A hundred orchids? My in-laws? On second thought, they can have our room. We’ll take the Kithaus.

The Unbearable Lightness of Middle School

There is nothing more sweetly awkward than a bunch of eighth grade boys in dress shirts and ties. Yesterday, at my son's middle school graduation, I watched a hundred or so parade across the stage to receive their diplomas, their heads at a constant 45-degree angle in order to see past the swath of hair that is their protection from the world. I had to swallow a Chihuahua-sized bundle of bittersweet at the sight of them, especially when my son came across the stage and flashed that slightly uncertain smile.

No more middle school angst. Now we can dive headlong into full-blown adolescent neuroses. The chunk of each day spent with my husband discussing whether we're dealing with issues that portend an ankle monitor in our future, or simply the typical teen struggle with good, evil, and self-esteem, is about to get larger. Or, if we’re lucky, the hard-won lessons of the past year have bought us some peace for the next four.

This was the year our son decided to stop doing homework and discovered the correlation between work and compensation (grades). This is the year he decided to exercise his right to protest by creating a petition to get his science teacher fired. (In his defense, it was well written, but he gets no points for that.) This is the year we freaked out because we found a suspicious plastic tab in his room that turned out to be an errant piece of a 3M tape dispenser. This is the year he decided he was going to be a rock star and didn’t need school. This is the year we bought the guitar amp that contributed to that decision, took it away, and gave it back again. This is the year we had to decide between becoming the parents who crush their child’s dream in order to assure a stable future, or the ones who find a way to help him balance hope, aspiration, and reality. This is the year we all had to grow up, just a little.

While he celebrated his graduation with his classmates in the gym, hair-posing and high-fiving, we went out to dinner with the parents of one of his friends, splurged on a bottle of great wine, and reflected on the challenges of the year. Our kids will get their report cards next week. But we won’t know what grades we’ve earned until years from now.

Taking The Um Out Of Summer

I now know what to do with all those long, hot hours when the SPF toxicity level in my skin is peaking and I need a break. Thank you, Stanford Theatre Foundation.

I just received the summer film festival schedule for Palo Alto's sumptuous art deco monument to the golden era of Hollywood film-making, and I’ve had to spend half an hour creating iCal reminders for all the upcoming celluloid greatness.

Bette Davis, who introduced strength and depth to glamor in the era of the starlet, figures prominently. Eleven films made during the peak of her illustrious career are featured in the line-up, including her most famous, “All About Eve.” A dozen Jimmy Stewart films pay tribute to his centennial. Plus, there are classics featuring Audrey Hepburn (“Breakfast At Tiffany’s,” “Charade,” “How To Steal A Million,” “Roman Holiday”) and Elizabeth Taylor ("Father Of The Bride"), a handful of Marx Brothers comedies and Charlie Chaplin silent films, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in “Road To Morocco,” a couple musicals for those so inclined, and a bunch of other great stuff that is the antidote to the summer blockbuster action flick. (Not that I'm against all that. But sometimes I like a little art with my sex and violence.)

I didn’t know I was such a fan of old movies until I saw “Citizen Kane” in this voluptuous setting, complete with a guy playing a Wurlitzer organ, which rises from beneath the stage, then slowly descends again as the red velvet curtains part the film begins in all its grainy, black and white glory. It’s truly a time machine. And the fact that you can get a large popcorn, three sodas, two boxes of Whoppers, and a box of Raisinettes all for under ten bucks means even if you don’t like old movies, it’s worth it just for the snacks.

You can see the complete summer schedule here.

Just Say Om

Some in the Hindu community have their saris in a twist over the upcoming Mike Myers comedy The Love Guru. There have been calls for a boycott of the film, which features Myers as Guru Pitka, a spiritual teacher with an arsenal of bad acronyms and a deep desire for enlightenment and Mariska Hargitay.

Real-life spiritual mentor Deepak Chopra, who makes an appearance in the film (and who is currently promoting a new book, Why Is God Laughing?), made a statement telling the reactionary Guru bashers, "it's a sign that your faith has become a cover up for all your insecurities because you can't even take a joke. Mike is bringing attention to some very profound truths (and my book) and these people haven't even seen the movie."

With that controversy laid to rest, we can concentrate on deeper questions like where did Deepak Chopra get those fabulous red glasses he’s been sporting in his lectures of late, and is he somehow spiritually in touch with Liberace?

Just Suck It Up And Carry The Popcorn And Diet Coke, Guys

“Sex And The City” opens in theaters this weekend striking fear into the hearts of men across America. NPR devoted a large chunk of time to the subject today with Chicago Tribune columnist John Kass talking about his article “Because No Man Should Feel The Agony of This Film.” Men called in to commiserate and offer their own personal avoidance schemes. Armed with a myriad of excuses, bargains, bribes and elaborate fake emergency summons plans, it appears men are prepared to go to extreme lengths to avoid the ultimate chick flick. But no matter how much he-man talk of power tools, meat grilling, and “just say no” resolve they bandied about, most ultimately admitted they’d be spending two hours and fifteen minutes of their weekend watching the women of SATC talk about Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choo. The mere fact that they know these names means their battle is already lost.

Vegans Beware

From Williams-Sonoma "A Personlized Gift For Dad"

If your dad is a closet sadist, or just wants to be sure everyone at the family reunion knows who paid for the damn steaks, here's the perfect gift. The Monogrammed Steak Brand is available online at Williams-Sonoma.com for $39.95. Order right away to ensure delivery for father’s day on June 15. If Dad is a real hell-raiser, consider having it monogrammed with 666 in place of Dad’s initials. Make sure to keep pets, small children and vegans away from the grilling area when Dad heats this baby up.

Tina Fey, Will You Be My New BFF?

When my best friends in high school decided to try out for cheerleading, I knew things were about to get ugly. But I wasn’t prepared for how ugly. It took about one day from the moment they saw their names on the squad list for them to decide they needed to rethink their social network. If we’d had cell phones then, I would have been purged from their Five. That’s when I started reading Ayn Rand and cutting my own hair. I might have been spared many embarrassing moments trying to prove I was a non-cheerleader by choice if I’d had a friend like Tina Fey.

Now that she’s responsible for one of television’s top-rated comedies with “30 Rock,” star of a No. 1 movie “Baby Mama,” not to mention former head writer of SNL, I guess we’re past the stage of getting together to watch “Love Boat” and eat Rocky Road straight from the carton. But, Tina, if you’re ever in San Francisco and just want to get together to play Scrabble and gloat over how much better our lives turned out than those of our former cheerleading friends (especially yours), I’m available. But not in a creepy, "I know your favorite color and your first pet’s name" kind of way. Just in an "I totally get sandwich day" kind of way. Call me.

Government Says Blind People Have Gotten Along Fine So Far

Blind people can’t tell whether they’re handing over a five or a twenty when they pay for a bottle of Frederic Fekkai shampoo. Actually, they can’t be sure that’s Frederic Fekkai and not Suave. But U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit only addressed the money issue in its ruling today that says the U.S. discriminates against blind people with paper currency that offers no way for them to distinguish the bill’s value. The ruling in favor of the American Council for the Blind ended a nearly six-year battle for the rights of the visually, but not shopping impaired.

The U.S. government had argued that blind people have adapted and should simply continue to rely on the honesty of the store clerk or a fellow patron to tell them which bill to fork over. What a great idea. Because we all know that the guy selling Cheetos and Big-Gulps for eight hours a day, who then goes home to play GTA4 for the remaining sixteen, would never take advantage of a person who might inadvertently pull out a Benjamin when a single would suffice.

The government also praised the resourcefulness of blind people, many of whom have created their own systems for distinguishing bills, like folding or tearing the corners. I guess blind people should see it as an opportunity to sharpen their magic skills. Following that logic, why should we bother with all those accessibility rules? Just let those ingenuitive paraplegics figure out how to get up the steps on their own. It will toughen them up.

Good, Bad, WTF: An Educational Guide To Grad Gifting

College graduation is upon us and you’re wondering what to get for that special young achiever in your life. You need something that says, “Congratulations. Get ready to work your ass off.”

Before you pull out your credit card, a few words to the wise regarding some popular gift ideas.

A weekend in Vegas: Do you really want to be responsible for what stays in Vegas?

A car: How will he get motivated to go to a soul-crushing job every day if he thinks cars just appear in the driveway?

A Pen Set: This gift hasn’t been good since 1959. A simple Rollerball with gel grip does the job just as well for a lot less money and she won’t feel guilty when she loses it.

Gym Membership: This gift says, “Way to go! You made it through college, now get ready to sit behind a desk and pack on the pounds.”

Cash: You can never really go wrong with cash, except at college graduation. This gift says, “You just achieved one of life’s major milestones, and I was too lazy to get so much as a gift certificate, a variety of which are readily available at the supermarket I pass through several times a week.”

The X-Rocker Home Theater Floor Chair from Brookstone:
He’s seen his last kegger. He’s ready for furniture that puts a couple feet between him and the floor.

A Tie: You cheap, uninspired bastard.

Jewelry:
It had better be from the fine jewelry department and fall into the category of keepsake. Think precious metals, pearls and gemstones. Tip: Anything in a Tiffany box.

Six-Pack: Unless you’re graduating with the recipient, um, no.Even if it’s the world’s largest six-pack, still no.

Golf Club Drink Dispenser:
Perfect for the business grad. A little schmoozing and boozing on the back nine and your graduate will be prepared to navigate even the messiest scandal.

It’s 5:00 Somewhere Neon Sculpture:
What a great way to say, “Welcome to the 9 to 5!"

IPod Touch: Excellent choice (and not just because I want my Apple shares to go up).


Google Stock: Boring, but he’ll thank the hell out of you in a few years if he doesn’t sell it to buy a flat screen TV first.

Flat Screen TV: What size?

Eurail Pass: Make sure he hasn’t already accepted a great job that, when he comes back three months later, unshaven, stinking of hash and Nutella, will have been given to his college roommate who’s moved to the city, leaving him with no place to stay but your couch.

A Chess Set: Classy. Intelligent. Lasting. As long as the pieces aren’t shot glasses.

Barenaked Ladies: Something For The Kids

Is it just me, or is there something a little wrong about a band named Barenaked Ladies putting out a children’s album called Snacktime!? How many ways might this warp a young child’s perception of both ladies and snacktime? Will they demand their teachers bring out juice boxes wearing nothing but a few strategically placed gold stars?

What happens when they realize these Barenaked Ladies are actually a bunch of hairy Canadian dudes?

Then there’s the content of the songs. “Raisins come from grapes. People come from apes. I come from Canada.” Do these guys think with a little clever wordplay and a jaunty melody they can slip under the radar of the folks at the Intelligent Design Network? Anyone can see a raisin is not a grape. I don’t care what all that science says.

And what about an alphabet song that teaches kids J is for jalapeño? We teach our kids English here in America, eh. J is for jet fighter pilot, jock, Jell-o and justice for all.

In “The Canadian Snacktime Trilogy” Barenaked Canadian dudes invite your child to “walk me down to Vegetable Town where we can ride the zucchini subway.” There’s a sure way to get an entire generation to trade vegetables for Cheezies and Molson.

But just when you think Snacktime! is all left-wing propaganda in the guise of silly songs, they go and slip in an anti-transexual tune. “I like my big sister, but I don’t want to wear her coat,” vocalist Ed Robertson sings in “My Big Sister.” “May be black. May fit perfect. But you and I both know it’s a girl’s coat.”

Just exactly what is their game?

Happy Mother's Day!

Practice all you want, you're still going to screw it up.

How Long Does A Science Writer Wait For A Headline Like This?