This Post Is Being Typed From My Bed in San Francisco, California

I’ve got something like 14 in-the-sky airplane rides scheduled in the next few months and thought it might be worthwhile to try and come out on the other side with a functioning liver, so during the flight back to San Francisco today I did a practice round and had zero alcohols. Congratulate me, I’m a hero.

We picked Our Ellie Girl up from Shamrock Ranch this afternoon where she’d been gettin’ home training for two and a half weeks and I haven’t been more than a few feet away from her since we got in the car and would like to not ever be again thank you.

I’ve long had a soft spot for personal blogs and one of my favorite personal bloggers is contemplating retirement. I wrote the comment below on her announcement post and believe it would be lovely if you too, whoever you are, would do the same. The Internet needs her. Let her know Corey Lambert sent you.

I wandered here after this site gained mention on some while ago and have since spent a fair amount of hours milling about the archives. This blog is wonderful, Kari. Your words are honest and the things you post are interesting. You’ve served up the best of Charles Bukowski and Nora Ephron, you’ve doled out “Summer Kitchen”, “The Dangers of Wisdom” and “Otherwise”, you’ve taught me words like detritus and amuse-bouche and, even though I don’t share your fervor, your selling and reselling of Bruce Springsteen has, at the very least, made me curious. You’ve given grades to your puppy and made a video of snowfall. You’ve sussed out the best parts of podcasts, scrapbooked skillfully-snapped photos of summer days whiled away on a lake I’ll never visit with people I’ll never know and waxed on and on (and on) about New York City, the good, the bad and the Upper West Side. And it’s wonderful, Kari. All of it.

Whatever is good for you is what you should do, but I hope you stick around. It’s nice to have a warm place to steal away when there’s a nip in the air. And to echo the comments above, the Internet will never have enough dog photos. Regardless of what you decide, however, I promise I’ll keep trying with Bruce.

My Niece Is a Damn Dirty Cheat, or a Two-Year-Old’s Guide to Beating an Adult at a Popular Children’s Game

We were playing hide-and-go-seek before school yesterday morning, my two-year-old niece Ella Rose and I, when, following my discovery of her giggling, pajama-ed frame tucked oh-so-sloppily into a comically well-lit corner of her parents’ bedroom, the following verbal exchange occurred.

Me: I found you!

Two-Year-Old Niece Ella: No.

Me: Yes I did.

Two-Year-Old Niece Ella: No.

Me: My eyes are literally looking directly at you in this very moment.

Two-Year-Old Niece Ella: No.

Me: Yeah they are.

Two-Year-Old Niece Ella: No.

Me: You’re cheating right now.

Two-Year-Old Niece Ella: No.

Me: Yes you are! You’re cheating and lying!

Two-Year-Old Niece Ella: No.

Me: Fine! Forget it! I don’t even care! You win! Are you happy?

Two-Year-Old Niece Ella (smiling): Wanna play again?


After seventeen straight nights spent in beds that aren’t mine I’m finally on a commercial aircraft that’s making its way back to the Bay and as glorious and special and electric as New York City and London are I cannot wait to be reunited with Bevan and our dogs in our cozy little casa in the Castro.

Doesn’t that sound like perfection?

I know. I can’t wait.

Despite my excitement for it to be over with, I am grateful for the trip I just took. Not only did I get to spend lots of time with lots of people that I adore, it was a nice change of pace to be focused on something other than what’s in my head for a spell. So thanks, work job, for shoving me out into the world.

A Sunday Night Journal Entry

This evening Bevan and I made stuffed peppers for dinner and my Grandma Beckman’s special-occasion Cool Whip and sliced fruit dish for dessert while carrying on with one another about big things and small things and nothings as Buddy and Ellie snoozed on the furniture in the living room and the soundtrack from A Star is Born played just above a whisper around us.