Spent the morning playing mini-golf...

At Golf-n-Stuff; a place made famous by being in 'The Karate Kid.' A movie I confess I've never seen.

Lobero Theatre, Santa Barbara, CA

We are sharing the stage with the giant scaffoldy set for 'How to Succeed in Business'. I keep feeling like I should be in painter's coveralls. No famous people spotted in the crowd this trip...

I will have to tell you of my computer woes (again) later. Love you guys!

There is a lovely, picturesque fountain outside room 111...

...of the quaint little Franciscan Inn here in Santa Barbara. It runs 24/7. Which means I run to the lovely, picturesque bathroom here in room 111 of the quaint little Franciscan Inn here in Santa Barbara about every seven minutes.

Dulles. Again.

Off to Santa B!

Kate says 'Bring on the gourmet, open-face, smothered-in-sliced-green-olives, drowned-in-mushroom-gravy burgers!'

And so we brought 'em on... (burp)

Be Very Glad for Dim Lighting

Tragically, there are cast combinations where I have to step out of my usual roles and take on characters horribly unsuitable for me.  Here, in blissfully low light, you can see the vague outlines of my portrayal of the Gay Soldier. Normally, I am the forceful, no-nonsense drill sergeant.  However, here I was forced to portray the prancing, effeminate, blonde, Private Picklekisser.  I do not think I would have much success in the blonde gay world. The blind gay world, maybe.....

Sushi Cat!

The lovely Kate has introduced me to Sushi Cat: a cat of palpable lusts and longings.  Plus an incredible penchant for encountering situations best handled by eating enormous quantities of sushi whilst falling through a giant pachinko machine. Naturally. Here we find Sushi Cat arriving at the carnival, to discover he has to win his girlfriend back by somehow....somehow....getting heavy enough to ring the bell at the top of the ring-the-bell game. If only there was a gigantic pachinko machine filled with contraptions and sushi.  Wait...!

Point A: this cannot be all that sanitary

--and--

Point B: I suspect Sushi Cat of being a plushie.  Thanks, Kate.

Kate attempts to increase her bustline using the microwave.

Looks like she's had some success.

This would be Screech

Screech is rubbery-legged. Screech has tons of energy.  Screech whistles softly and disapprovingly if you say rude things to him....

Stupid rotator cuff

This is Leslie Fazio, who torments me with electricity, coldness, and some ghastly modern version of the rack, albeit in as sweet and gentle a way as possible.

Wasabi's at Tyson's Corner

Ok, cool sushi-on-a-conveyor-belt, plates-color-coded-by-one-of-

three-simple-prices cafeteria right out in the middle of the mall where the Easter Bunny used to sit until someone figured out that children are terrified of giant rodents, no matter how candy-laden they may be.

I hope this works, since I've tried posting this twice yesterday.

Wei to Go!

OK...this is one of my recent discoveries, a result of insomniacal prowlings of the more obscure channels at the more obscure hours.

This...is Wei Lana. She is the inimitable host of a seemingly lo-fi, home-brewed fitness program, 'Wei Lana Yoga.'  You can catch her at odd hours, practicing her extraordinarily low-impact (also low-movement, low-coordination, low-effort, and low-rhythm) form of yoga. Although seemingly reasonably fit, she tends to baggy, voluminous jogging suits and the like --an ever present lei around her neck, and a trademark crown of tropical blooms in her hair.  This is an interesting counterpart to the usual collection of lithe, barely clad, posturing sexpots that make up the usual yoga show (and for which I am eternally grateful.)

What I find remarkable about Wei Lana is not her yoga. Certainly not. She tends to morose, unattractive postures that she holds forever despite her obvious lack of balance and the posture's obvious lack of therapeutic value.  I confess to having gotten addicted to the show for its ending --the last 7 minutes are inevitably a montage of Wei Lana singing badly while dancing arrhythmically, interspersed with crashing waves and gulls and brawny, out-of-focus surfers.  Yes, that is charming, particularly when Wei Lana gets so far off beat that they go in and out of slow motion in an attempt to get her to conform to any regular pattern of claps, or coy, birdlike kicks, or whatever the hell she is getting off-beat with this time.

No, what kills me is that as horrible and amateurish as the whole thing is, she has established some sort of huge dynasty, with an entire top-to-bottom line of foodstuffs, dvds, equipment, etc.  Good lord.  Doing more always trumps doing well.  Wei to go!

Downtown DC.

The imposing facade of the Reagan building behind the less-than-imposing facade of me. Two shows downtown in two different hotels today with ihternational diplomatic motorcades, street closures, and nuclear protesters. Fun!

And so we bid a blurry adieu to Princeton University.

Famed mathematician, Noble Laureate, and possible fruitcake John Nash was in attendance this evening. He seemed to enjoy the show and didn't appear to be hallucinating in the slightest.

Princeton, NJ

A curious secret booth in the little theatre on campus. The Secret Viewing Box for Unwed Mothers, or something.

Star Market!

I like the latin grocery because it has stuff like pinatas and this, the Wall of Unidentifiable Foodstuffs.

Opening Day

Went to the Nationals opening loss.  More horrific even than the score, a lopsided 11-3 or something, was the fact that the stadium was full of the very worst sorts of Philadelphia fans. These are people who have achieved considerable --and well-deserved-- renown throughout the sports world for being the most vile, objectionable, execrable, loathsome fans ANYWHERE.  Whatever you think of as the worst excesses of drunken sports-fan buffoonery, nastiness, or hooliganism, they are worse than that.  In Philadelphia some years ago, a fan of the opposing team had a heart attack in the stands from dealing with them. When the EMTs arrived on the scene to administer CPR, the Philadelphia fans URINATED on the medics for daring to help the enemy. They are the nadir of sports existence.  And they howled with lowbrow glee all blistering afternoon long as their team beat the crap out of the poor, overmatched Nationals.

But we did get to see Barack throw out the first pitch.  A horrible blooper that at least made it to the plate, if not that speedily. If you blow this picture up you can see him walking to the mound. A million Phillies fans --booing the President, naturally-- stood up at the moment of the pitch and blocked my view.

More shots....

including Kate and I cooking, C and Kate eagerly grasping Easter candy, and the Angry Mob protests the holiday and searches for an Easter Bunny to string up and make an example of....

Why we call Kat the Evil Baster...

Suburban dawn...

...the air is peaceful and still as the sun rises over the blooming dogwoods and the Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Kate helps me wit the shopping

Check the nifty cart I found at some thrifty place or the other.  Now I don't feel nearly as bad about making her do all the work.

It's spring in Wheaton, MD!

Time to enjoy the unfamiliar --yet titillating-- sensation of giant balls in my pants.

Happy Anniversary, Michelle and Jim!

Fortunately they were able to get to it today....

APRIL FOOL!  Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, that was terrible of me!  :D

And on top of that, I missed my appointment...

Ugh.  First nice day and.....You should see the other guy.  On my way to physical therapy, ironically.  No one hurt.  Also, not my fault.  Though that's not gonna help me deal with having no car for a week.

And on a more mundane note: had to wait almost a month for this appointment, wonder how long it will take me to get the next one.  Did you know that if you try to take a picture of a policeman they get mad, even if it's not cause they're beating you and you're being polite?  You'd think they'd want some pictures of them being nice for a change.