Thursday, August 31, 2006

Confessions of a Feminist

As the time nears for Annie to be returned to prison (I mean school), I am looking for fun ways to spend our last summer days together. So far Annie has gone to horse camp in New Hampshire and taken a road trip to West Virginia. There have been beautiful days spent days at the barn and speedboat rides along the Hudson River. She took in a play the other night, a version of Romeo & Juliet performed "South Bronx Style," and she even got to see Woody Allen's new film, Scoop. So yesterday, when we were faced again with what to do, I suggested we spend some time at Saks Fifth Avenue.

"No Mommy!" Annie cried, that's so BORING!!!

"But sweetie," I said, "Do you realize we live in the only city where Saks Fifth Avenue is actually on Fifth Avenue?"

She looked at me perplexed. "I don't care about that!" she said.

(I tried).

Needless to say, we did go to Saks, because I am the Lioness and she is a cub, and the first stop was the Chanel makeup counter. (All my women friends are now saying Chanel? Jeez, Katie, you must be doing well...) The truth is, money is tight at the moment, but as I’ve always said, sometimes that's the best time to spend some.

As Annie sat across from me at the counter trying on different shades of shimmery pink lipstick and spraying herself with too much perfume, the makeup artist, “Lissette,”performed her magic on my face. And I must admit, as we later made our way through the store, I couldn't keep my eyes away from the mirrors on the elevator and the escalator.

"MOM!" Annie would say, "Why do you keep LOOKING at yourself like that?"

What was I going to tell her?

Because when I've got makeup on, especially Chanel, and when my hair is freshly washed and when there are lights all around the store that are designed to make me look slightly better... okay intensely better than I normally do, well, I'd like to enjoy it.

But I didn’t say that. I didn't say anything.

After an overpriced lunch at the store's restaurant it was time to head home, so Annie and I made our way down the escalator with our bags. But wait. Wait. What's that there? Is that a pair of Stuart Weitzman chocolate brown, suede, knee-high boots I see? Oh, just let me touch them... hang on a second. Excuse me, do you have these in a size 9? You do? How much are they? They ARE? No, that's way more than I can spend... God, they're so soft.... Yes, I know the designer... Yes, they are beautiful.... But they are just too expen....

So that's how we spent one of the last days of summer, and now we are just a few weeks away from the arrival of fall, my favorite time of year. The leaves will turn, the nights will come quicker, there will be a slight chill in the air, and I will walk down these city streets in a pair of chocolate brown knee-high boots, because although I am a feminist with a capital "F," I am also a girl with a capital “G.”

Oh yeah.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006


“Good communication is as stimulating as black coffee, and just as hard to sleep after.”

~Anne Morrow

A Man Should...

...have close relationships with his dental floss, toothbrush, and bar soap. ~Katie

Dylan Days

I've always liked the music of Bob Dylan, and some of it I love. At certain times it comforts me and makes me feel how long I've been here, and though it can threaten my peace of mind, the past always stands beside me and tugs at my heart. Listening to Dylan, I am reminded of my first love, Russell. We did a lot of driving in his old Chevy pick-up; he took good care of me, I was his girl, and Bob was always on the 8 track. California mountains, Arizona skies, cheap motels and sleeping bags, life wasn't easy, but it was so gloriously simple.

Like your smile
And your fingertips
Like the way that you move your lips.
I like the cool way you look at me,
Everything about you is bringing me

Another Fine Establishment

The Annie Lama

Annie sees a picture of a woman meditating. She asks, "Is she demonstrating the art of the Dalai Lama?"


"Music with dinner is an insult both to the cook and the violinist."

~G. K. Chesterton


“... joy and sorrow are inseparable. . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . . remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.”

~Kahlil Gibran

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Gotta Leave

Please check back tomorrow. xoxoxo Katie

Monday, August 28, 2006


“Nature makes human beings merely natural creatures; society makes them law-abiding actors; but they can only make THEMSELVES into FREE beings. “

~Rudolf Steiner

Happy Birthday Ms. Frame

Funny, just last week I was asked what my favorite movie was, and although there are so many on my list, the first one that came to mind was "An Angel at My Table." (1990) It's from New Zealand and is about the writer, Janet Frame. I was so moved by her story, and to this day I am not quite sure why it was I identified with her so intensely. Yes, she was "Certifiably crazy," but there was something about the way she felt, something about how she saw the world that reminded me of myself more than any character I've ever seen depicted on screen or in literature. Soon after seeing the film, I read her autobiography, and since then Ms. Frame has held a place in my heart.

Wherever she is, I wish her a very Happy Birthday.


"Katie, your father is the only person I ever knew who would bring a book to read to a party."

~Paul Willson, actor, lifelong friend of the Bowen family, a.k.a. "Uncle Paul."

Only in New York? I Guess Not.

Around the time the war in Iraq began, David was in Midtown Manhattan and he saw a man walking a dog. On top of the dog sat a cat. A few weeks later he saw the same man walking his dog, on top of the dog was the cat, and sitting on top of the cat was a mouse. A sign hung on the dog's collar that said, "Proof We Can All Get Along." I'd like to say "Only in New York," but the picture I found while looking for an image to accompany this story...was taken in Key West Florida.

Joke by Me

Q: What do you call a sandwich shop that just opened in India?

A: New Deli.

I Just Can't Win

Me: "Annie, you have become so beautiful."

Annie: "You mean I wasn't beautiful when I was a baby?"

Me: You were ADORABLE when you were a baby."

Annie: "You mean I'm not adorable NOW?"
From the Fire Escape~ Audio Only~

Every morning in my new place, just outside my bedroom window, birds gather in the trees that stand beside the building's fire escape. The sounds could be coming from the mountains or from the Amazon, and they remind me that even in New York City, nature exists, and regardless of obstacles and imperfect settings, it finds its way to each and every one of us.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Every Little Bit

Here's variation of a story told to me by a friend: (I just like it.)

A well known author and poet was working and vacationing on the southern coast of Spain. One early morning, he was walking along the beach - the sun was rising, the rain had ended, the rainbows were magnificent, the sea was calm. While enjoying the beauty around him, he glanced down the beach and saw a lone figure dancing about. Fascinated by this person celebrating the new day, he moved closer. As he drew nearer, he realized that the person was not dancing, but in one graceful motion was picking up objects from the beach and tossing them into the sea. He approached the young man and saw the objects were starfish. "Why in the world are you throwing starfish into the water?" "If the starfish stay on the beach, when the tide goes out and the sun rises higher, they will die," replied the young man as he continued tossing them out to sea. "That's ridiculous! There are thousands of miles of beach and millions of starfish. You can't really believe that what you are doing can possibly make a difference!" The young man picked up another starfish, and tossing it into the waves, said, "It makes a difference to this one."

Now, back to editing...

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Listening to at the Moment ...

A beautiful rainy Saturday morning, Annie is with her Grandma, David is off on his own adventure, and I am in my apartment, coffe cup in hand, listening to Bill Evans.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

I woke this morning feeling pressure, nothing serious, just all the little things to do and take care of, but most of all, what to do with Annie. She has entered what I call, “The Wanting Zone.” But what she wants is to be in front of a computer or a television set all day, and when I nixed both of those ideas, she came up with the idea that we take a trip to the toy store. “I’m bored,” she said, “and that makes me depressed.” I replied, “What kind of mother would I be if when you were “depressed” as you say, my solution was to take you shopping?” “You would be a GOOD mother,” she said.

David recently showed me an article from the New York Times about the current generation of American girls and their insatiable desire for media and their need for stimulation. The problem is, says the article, that because females are natural “Multi-taskers,” the girl child will find herself regularly watching TV while she surfs the net on her computer, and talks on the phone to one friend while text-messaging another. This is obviously a negative thing for so many reasons, one being that she rarely focuses on one thing, she is split and divided, she never sits with herself and she becomes easily bored. In fact, the boredom thing has become so powerful with Annie lately that today, when it began pouring rain and was obvious it would be the second day in a row that our boating plans would be cancelled, she sat on the bed and cried. When I approached her, began to stroke her hair and ask what was wrong, she wouldn’t answer me. These days I am always on the lookout for her to start feeling the affects of me sleeping at my apartment every night, so I immediately thought she was pained by that. But when I hinted a bit about it, she burst into tears. “It’s not that!” she cried, “I just want to be ENTERTAINED!”

But the good news says the article, is that girls today are smart and they are clever. They are sophisticated and aware, they can even recognize sexism when faced with it and they are clear enough in their thinking to spot and reject bullshit.

So I gave Annie the same speech I always give, how we are in one of the greatest cities in the world, how some people only dream of coming to New York and how fortunate we are to live here. I explained that we are surrounded by every culture in the world, famous museums, beautiful architecture and a rich history. But she just hung her head and her round cheeks got rounder and softer, and her red lips got fuller and I am just so damn in love with her… and a few minutes later, while I made the beds and wondered where did the little girl go who used to love Wayne Shorter but now prefers Hillary Duff, I heard her laughing in the next room. I went in and there she was reading a book, and she looked up at me and said, “There’s a Cary Grant movie playing downtown, can we go to see that?” And I breathed…a sigh…of relief.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

One Love

I hesitate to declare that I have been an unhappy person for many years. One reason is that I have experienced much happiness in the past so it wouldn’t be completely true, and the other is that when we are aware of, and open to the suffering of others, it’s difficult to claim unhappiness or discontent for oneself. Today I stood on the street grappling for the car keys to my 2000 Subaru Outback, overwhelmed by the stress of the day: the lack of parking, the blistering heat, the constant negotiating, maneuvering and manipulating one must do to get through an hour in this town (but how glorious a town it is!), and then I’m approached by someone needing a buck and a smoke. So I give him a buck, even if I give him 5, big deal, I get into my air-conditioned car and slug back my iced coffee, light with 1 sugar. I suppose what I’m gearing up to say is that it’s been a struggle for me to reveal my personal suffering, not to those I am most intimate with, but to those of you I have never met and who read this blog. I am hesitant, but I do it anyway, and what I am compelled to say is that I am so humbled, so unbelievably moved by the compassion I have received, it sometimes brings me to tears. Of course then my mind quickly moves to reject this outpouring of support, and thoughts of civilian Iraqi families come into my head; surely my situation doesn’t compare to theirs! Certainly I don’t deserve such attention and sympathy. And then I remember something I encountered when I was 17. My first experience being an “Activist” was when I was on a one-woman, or should I say one-girl crusade to save the baby Harp Seal. I lived in Los Angeles and would walk for miles around the city posting flyers and petitions so that something might be done to stop the slaughter of these beautiful animals. One day I went down to the boat dock at Marina Del Rey to retrieve a petition I had left there with a pen attached, and what I found was most disturbing. On the petition was a list of names; people who had signed in support, but the whole paper was then marked up in black ink. The words, “WHY DON'T YOU STOP TRYING TO SAVE BABY ANIMALS AND START TRYING TO SAVE UNBORN, ABORTED BABY HUMANS?” were scrawled over the signatures. I was just a kid and my heart was so into this cause, and as I stood looking at the defaced petition, I didn’t have a clue as to how to handle it. But luckily the defacer had the courtesy to leave his name and phone number so that I could call and we could talk. I went home, dialed the number, and it turned out to be a Christian bookstore. (No offense to my dear friends who are TRUE Christians, as one of them pointed out “Followers of Christ,”) I only mention the bookstore because even at 17, the irony was not lost on me. All these years later I do remember what I said to the defacer. I said, “How do you know I don’t spend time fighting for the rights of unborn babies as well as slaughtered seals? How do you know that I’m not the head of the anti-abortion movement in Los Angeles?” I went on to explain what would happen to the world if everyone dropped all of the causes that inspired them to take action, and focused all of their energy and efforts only on the plight of the unborn, unwanted child. In other words, what about everyone and everything else? So, okay, I’ve gotten a bit off track and now I’m not even certain these things will connect in the end, but the thing is, here I am, a 43 year old woman sitting in her one-bedroom New York City apartment, with a desk, lots of computer and editing equipment, a few dishes in the kitchen, a 6-pack of Mexican beer in the fridge, a truck load of books and a bed. Here I am, in a place I never would have dreamed I’d be, and although I know it’s just where I am supposed to be, it’s also a confusing and frightening and lonely time.

Ten years ago on a Friday night in February it was my turn to hear the news that my beloved father was dead. Tonight it will be someone else’s turn. In another probability it was me on the street corner looking for a buck and a smoke, and it might be you who one day finds yourself at a turning point in your life, and suddenly, with no warning, your map looks unfamiliar, your direction has changed and your life has been altered forever.

Among those on my side are American writers, Canadian reverends, Indian students and Hawaiian housewives. It’s easy for them to relate to and support me because we share the understanding that we are all here together. We are all the same, in essence, doing the same thing, and right now, at one of the most difficult times in my life, I have never felt so blessed for the gifts I’ve received, and for the ones that keep coming. Thank you, thank you, thank you.



"What is a face, really? Its own photo? Its make-up? Or is it a face as painted by such or such painter? That which is in front? Inside? Behind? And the rest? Doesn't everyone look at himself in his own particular way? Deformations simply do not exist."

~Pablo Picasso

Songs in the Key of My Life

When I was 15, I knew every song, every word, every breath off of every album recorded by Stevie Wonder up to that point, and in school I was known as "Wonder Woman."

Long Distance

Tai called one night when I was out and Annie picked up the phone. Here's Tai's account of the conversation:

T. Whatcha doing?
A: Watching a movie with my cousin.
T: A movie, that's a good idea. Man, I should watch a movie. can you recommend something?
A: [PAUSE.] you mean for YOU?
T: Yeah.
A. [LONG PAUSE.] I don't know very many adult movies.
T. That's okay. I like kids' movies, too.
T. No. Should I?
A. Yes.
T. Is that about a horse?
A. A dog!
T. Oh, right. It's good, huh? Ok, I'll see it.
T. Well all right, then. I love you. Bye.
A. Bye.

August 24, 1847

Charlotte Bronte finishes the manuscript for one of my favorite novels of all time, "Jane Eyre."

Thanks Lottie!

From "Overheard in New York..."

Idealist: "I just want to meet an old-fashioned girl who will make omelets and won't sleep with my friends."

--7th & Ave A

Wednesday, August 23, 2006


"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You."

~Dr. Seuss

Support System

Katie: "Do you think I could ever become one of those women who sits alone drinking on a Saturday night?"

Kristian: "No Katie, that's not you at all, that could never be you. But then again, you ARE pretty extreme."

Traffic Talk

David: "I know how we could flush out terrorists."

Katie: "How?"

David: "Everyone could have bumperstickers on their cars that say, "Honk if You're Al-Queda."

Happy Birthday Keith!

Postcards From Home

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Tuesday Night

No graphics at the moment, not sure if it's blogspot or Verizon. Verizon has been creating all sorts of havoc in the hood lately, putting up cell phone towers, (Brain cancer, here we come!) and just being their usual obtrusive and incompetent selves. (Hey wait, does Verizon have a self? And if they do, is it a self or are they selves? Sounds like a good question to ponder while on mushrooms. (Not that I ever have…pondered that question.)

All is well here, trying to finish my short film by Sundance's September 1st deadline, hanging with Annie, seeing friends and taking regular trips on the “A” train to West 4th for the best $10 massages in the world.

Thanks for all the beautiful emails, when strangers become friends you can't deny it’s a damn good world.

And I'm off...

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Sunday Night

Twenty years ago, I’d spend hours in my parents’ apartment listening to music and looking through the windows of the buildings across 86th Street. I’d see a young couple sharing breakfast, an old man brushing his teeth, a maid mopping a kitchen floor, and I’d think every person in every window, in every apartment on every block, had a story. As a lonely looking lady stood at the mirror and pinned up her hair, or a man in a suit walked through his door and dropped his keys, I knew every one of them was so much more than what I could see – that inside each of them were countless stories of joy and sorrow.

Forty-three years ago, I began my walk through this life. It included being loved by my parents, two of the wisest people I will ever know. It included being stuck between two brothers I couldn’t wait to escape, brothers who became outstanding men who would do anything for me. My upbringing was not perfect, but it was energetic and alive and honest, and the only thing expected of me was that I live my life fully. I was raised in an environment where no secret was kept, no feeling hidden, everything buried was released and revealed, and always handled with care.

Seventeen years ago, I met a man I adored, and one year ago, I questioned my future with him. Two months ago, I could no longer deny my dissatisfaction, and three weeks ago, I rented an apartment one block from the home I shared with my family. My exterior life is much as it always has been, taking care of my daughter, spending time with her father--and then I make the short walk across 110th Street to a place I call my own. I clean, I cook, I work, I sleep. I burn candles, bathe and listen to music. I read, I weep and I wait.

Four days ago, my husband told me he had an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. Gratitude that I was courageous enough to shake things up, crack things open, to not accept a life of contentment and comfort, but to insist on something more. And although he has no desire for us to part, he knows a truthful life together isn’t possible when one of us is dreaming of something else. Under the shock and the grief and the fist through the wall, he knows this was needed, and we can both see how it serves all three of us.

Eventually we’ll divorce, but until then the word “Separation” doesn’t fit. We’re not separate at all. I wash his socks, he buys me juice; we put our baby to bed. What has changed is when we look ahead, we see a blank canvas, not a future. Sometimes, the thought of the unknown feels like a thrill ride, but more often it does not, and in my moments of despair, I remind myself we are a family and that will never change.

Tonight I’m at my husband’s apartment, the place we celebrated eight of our daughter’s nine birthdays, the place I now call “The Homestead,” the place I used to call home. And later, after she's bathed and in bed, I will return to my studio and listen to music, or read or stare at a wall, and weep while I wait. And maybe someone from the building across the way will see me and think I must be someone with a story, someone who has loved, someone who has experienced joy and loss. Perhaps they’ll imagine I am so much more than how I am seen on a Sunday night through a New York City window.

Friday, August 18, 2006

I Lied

I'm not back in the saddle yet...but I do have my feet in the stirrups.

Blog resumes Monday, or sooner. xox

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Back in the Saddle

Missing Her


“The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.”

~M. Scott Peck

Happy Birthday Bobby

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

A Shout Out

I'm here on David's computer but I'm just not free to blog in the way I'm accustomed to blogging when on a computer other than my own. (Is that proper English?) But I am certain that regardless of Verizon's complete and utter incompetence, they will have me up and running in no time. Well, I'm not certain, but I hope.

We've had several days of amazing weather here in New York, the kind that is just too beautiful to even attempt to describe. Today became hot and muggy again, but the word is that the glorious weather is about to return, restoring peace and harmony to the city and a sense of hope and joy to all its inhabitants. Okay, so maybe I'm being a bit over the top with the weather thing, but I'm telling you, it's been breathtakingly beautiful.

All is well here, Annie is having a great time down south and David is working on a new script and getting much attention for his last endeavor, a screenplay called Grand Cru. As for me, I'm okay, living my life, be it seriously uncomfortable at times, the way I'm supposed to be living it. I miss my little blog already and all its sweet readers, I suppose it's become part of me, part of my daily routine and something I look forward to.

Love to all from the big, big apple.


Sunday, August 13, 2006

Lost in Transition

My computer is taking a little trip tomorrow, but with some help from the universe, it, as well as The Half Note should return to a functioning state by Tuesday or Wednesday.

Faithfully yours, Katie

Friday, August 11, 2006

Sweet Tired Cat

Tai forwarded me this video, and all I can say is...well, I don't think I've ever seen anything sweeter. Ever.

I'm heading downtown for some food and some music, and the blog, it resumes Monday. xoxo

On the Road Again

Last night Annie received an impromptu invitation to go to West Virginia this morning with her friend and neighbor, Molly, and Molly's mother, (and my friend) Marcia. I just put Annie in the car, had a few heart-tugging goodbye moments and she is on her way. It's 400 miles of driving today and they'll be gone for one week. A few days in a beautiful cabin, and the rest in an old Southern mansion on 30 acres of untouched land, owned by Marcia's family since 1929. The way Marcia describes the place reminds me of summers from several great novels I've read: pond swimming, frog catching, sitting on a porch swing drinking lemonade and watching the long and slow-moving sun set.


My friend Tai and I used to go to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk before work and ride the "Tilt-A-Whirl" over and over again.

Celebrity Crush

Billy Crudup

6 Tbls. Melted Butter & 3/4 Cups Sugar

I still haven't become a "serious" blogger, but I have discovered another interesting blog on the "Blogs of Interest" list. It reminds me a bit of the farm blog I like so much, simple, clean, appealing photos and obvious care in its execution. (Jeez, makes The Half Note look like a neglected child.) Check it out via my "Links" section, and stay tuned for my review when I attempt to make that lemon chiffon pie with ginger crust. Mmmmmm.

Things That Make Me Go "Hmmm..."

That grown women email me chain letters.


I am terrifed of ferris wheels.

Pat Metheny on Kenny G

Remember when this came out several years ago? I was recently reminded of it and was inspired to post an excerpt here on the blog. (This photo was taken in 1986, around the time I met Metheny at the Village Vanguard. An incredible talent and very nice guy.)

Pat Metheny: Not long ago, Kenny G put out a recording where he overdubbed himself on top of a 30+ year old Louis Armstrong record, the track "What a Wonderful World". With this single move, Kenny G became one of the few people on earth I can say that I really can't use at all - as a man, for his incredible arrogance to even consider such a thing, and as a musician, for presuming to share the stage with the single most important figure in our music.

This type of musical necrophilia - the technique of overdubbing on the preexisting tracks of already dead performers - was weird when Natalie Cole did it with her dad on "Unforgettable" a few years ago, but it was her dad. When Tony Bennett did it with Billie Holiday it was bizarre, but we are talking about two of the greatest singers of the 20th century who were on roughly the same level of artistic accomplishment. When Larry Coryell presumed to overdub himself on top of a Wes Montgomery track, I lost a lot of the respect that I ever had for him - and I have to seriously question the fact that I did have respect for someone who could turn out to have such unbelievably bad taste and be that disrespectful to one of my personal heroes.

But when Kenny G decided that it was appropriate for him to defile the music of the man who is probably the greatest jazz musician that has ever lived by spewing his lame-ass, jive, pseudo bluesy, out-of-tune, noodling, wimped out, fucked up playing all over one of the great Louis's tracks (even one of his lesser ones), he did something that I would not have imagined possible. He, in one move, through his unbelievably pretentious and calloused musical decision to embark on this most cynical of musical paths, shit all over the graves of all the musicians past and present who have risked their lives by going out there on the road for years and years developing their own music inspired by the standards of grace that Louis Armstrong brought to every single note he played over an amazing lifetime as a musician. By disrespecting Louis, his legacy and by default, everyone who has ever tried to do something positive with improvised music and what it can be, Kenny G has created a new low point in modern culture - something that we all should be totally embarrassed about - and afraid of. We ignore this, "let it slide", at our own peril.

His callous disregard for the larger issues of what this crass gesture implies is exacerbated by the fact that the only reason he possibly have for doing something this inherently wrong (on both human and musical terms) was for the record sales and the money it would bring.

Since that record came out - in protest, as insignificant as it may be, I encourage everyone to boycott Kenny G recordings, concerts and anything he is associated with. If asked about Kenny G, I will diss him and his music with the same passion that is in evidence in this little essay.

Normally, I feel that musicians all have a hard enough time, regardless of their level, just trying to play good and don't really benefit from public criticism, particularly from their fellow players. but, this is different.

There ARE some things that are sacred - and amongst any musician that has ever attempted to address jazz at even the most basic of levels, Louis Armstrong and his music is hallowed ground. To ignore this trespass is to agree that NOTHING any musician has attempted to do with their life in music has any intrinsic value - and I refuse to do that. (I am also amazed that there HASN'T already been an outcry against this among music critics - where ARE they on this?????!?!?!?!, magazines, etc.). Everything I said here is exactly the same as what I would say to Gorelick if I ever saw him in person. and if I ever DO see him anywhere, at any function - he WILL get a piece of my mind and (maybe a guitar wrapped around his head.)

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Annie & Tallulah

I was honored to give Miss Tallulah Strom, (right) her last New York manicure. She and her parents, our dear friends Elizabeth and Yale, are moving to California today. We'll miss them. (Click to see fabulous nails.)

Ch, Ch, Ch Changes

Yesterday, Annie and I are at a restaurant, David Bowie plays on the stereo and I'm singing along.

Annie: MOM, stop singing!"
Me: "You know I can't help myself."
Annie: "But you're EMBARRASING yourself."
Me: "But I'm not embarrassed, so what you mean is that I'm embarrassing YOU."
Annie: "I'm just being empathetic, I'm putting myself in your place."

Santa Cruz Boardwalk 1920's

Things That Make Me Go "Hmmm..."

David worked with a woman who said the following: "Credence Clearwater Revival were everything the Beatles were trying to be."

Seville Springs

Quenching my thirst in Seville Spain.

Annie would say that this picture was taken in “the olden days," before the advent of the personal water bottle.