Wordjanitor Strikes Again

Drivers report seeing belly dancer shimmying across I-880 01/30/2008 11:39:11 AM PST Nothing beats a shimmy and shake to stop traffic. When commuters spotted a woman in a belly dancing getup getting her groove on with a road sign, they called 911. It's more than you might expect to see along the side of Interstate 880 in San Leandro on a Monday afternoon. The first call described a woman belly dancing along the right side of the road at 3:07 p.m. A minute later, drivers reported that she was using a light pole as a dancing prop and then a highway sign for a pole dance. It wasn't until she ran across the interstate that things got nasty, CHP officer Oscar Johnson said. The woman in a black halter top and black pants began screaming obscenities at drivers who nearly hit her as she dangerously shimmied across the highway, he said. By the time officers arrived at the scene, the woman had ducked into the brush near a homeless encampment and run away, Johnson said. For the record...

Now, in the standard lexicon of things we've made up that don't really make sense, "donut holes" is a good one. They're not holes, they're the anti-holes, really. But @, well, he knows his stuff. X bought @ some of those dangerously, delightfully evil mini Hostess donuts the other day. (Getting @ to eat is an ongoing challenge, so if he professes interest in something, it's all good.) @ wanted donuts for breakfast, so I put two in a bowl for him. (Wrong bowl. Apparently, you can't eat donuts out of a Scooby Doo bowl. A Thomas the Tank Engine bowl, yes. Scooby? It's just wrong. Who knew?!) When he was finished he brought the bowl to me. "Mama, I don't like donut holes." I looked. He had carefully eaten around the circumference of the donut, leaving the center section around the actual hole intact. He did the same thing three days in a row. Systematically. Obviously, this kid does not like donut holes. Ah, but I do! Yum. I picked up @ ...

Because he's four and one curious little guy... the most-asked question in my son's universe is "why?" He and I often twirl into circular logic when the questions get silly or I bring out the heavy poultry artillery -- chickens. Why did you change the lightbulbs? Because these are fluorescent and last longer but use less power. Why do they use less power? Because it's a different technology. Why is it different? Because the chicken crossed the road. Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side. Why are you laughing?

So... I go to the cafeteria today and wait in line to get a nice healthy stir fry of tofu and vegetables. Then, I hike all the way: through the maze of the parking lot across the street (over the light-rail tracks) back to my building up the stairs to my desk There, I open my lunch, take a bite, and then... ARE THOSE LEGS? Dammit, those ARE legs. Freakin' cricket in my lunch. I know crickets are supposed to be lucky, but are they still lucky if they're in a stir fry? How lucky can the cricket be if it ended up in a wok? And is lucky to eat a cricket? Or unlucky to eat an unlucky cricket? Or neither, because once it's been fried, it's just a fried bug? How did my lunch turn into a philosophical dilemma? I didn't eat the cricket. Sparky gave me some carrots. Janet gave me some soup. I considered putting the cricket in interoffice mail to the cafeteria manager, but left him voice mail instead to ask if they charged extra for crickets. He called back to assure me it was...

Mother Nature and PG&E have conspired to remind me to slow down. OK, well, not just me. Everyone in the general vicinity. I'm not that amazingly arrogant that I think this whole storm is for my personal benefit. All of a sudden, someone remembered that "hey, we haven't yet really kicked any meteorological butt this season." And so the butt-kicking is underway, my neighborhood is in brown-out mode, and the puddles are nearing rhino-drowning depth. Still, silly me, I'm contemplating the ultimate Clash question: Should I stay or should I go? Out into the wild world of weather and errands, that is. Cabin fever has hit. It doesn't take long with me. I've been known to rake leaves in the rain. Or hike. Or just stand on the porch to listen to and smell the rain. I'm not such a grand fan of wind. The wind is playing with trees and such at full power, a local reminder that there's only so much peeps can do to control things. It's cleaning out the de...