Casita Klatsch

He gave me an agave

 Last night, Erik spent three hours demonstrating his fine skills as a tattoo artist by assigning one to my back. 


I LOVE IT!

The design, shamelessly modeled on an old favicon from the University of Arizona library's website, is a tribute to my many years of study and work in the field of information science and medical informatics, as well as my life in the desert. 

I am thrilled with the way it turned out.  Yes, it hurt like a son of a bitch, but it was worth it.  Soon, Erik will transform the ugly, 30 year-old tattoo on my left hip into a beautiful, fossilized ginkgo leaf.  While I am not looking forward to the discomfort, I cannot wait to let him work his wonderful magic and make it something I can be proud of. 

Stay tuned!

Spooky Pumpkin 2009

Ah yes, it's that time again...

We've just finished cleaning up after the Pumpkin Mutilation Party we just hosted.  (In case you're already scowling wondering, the seeds of the slain pumpkins were saved and roasted, and the innards were placed in a paper bag for deposition in a compost heap.)

This year we were also celebrating Patrick's birthday.  Happy Birthday, you handsome devil.

Patrick, disgruntled, displays his gift from Homer

It was also the celebration of Martha's birthday.  She's a year old now.

Homer deigns to give Martha a birthday hug (even though she's making his life an allergy hell at the moment)

Fueled with copious amounts of Sandy-made lasagna, Homer-made cake and various French-made wine, we all dug in and soon found ourselves elbow deep in pumpkin goo. 

Zane gets slimy wit' it

F.O. contemplates his next pumpkin strategy..

Getting the little pieces to pop out is half the battle.

Some started out with pre-drawn designs, but in the end, all pumpkins were done free-hand.  I think they're fantastic, each of them.

Happy Birthday, Homer

We hosted a birthday gathering for Homer on Saturday.  I think Homer had a good time, despite some wicked allergy problems. 

The temps aren't climbing as high these days, which means we were able to enjoy the backyard without roasting. 

I volunteered to bake the cake.  I love a good challenge, and considering Homer is the Cake King, the challenge was certainly on. 

F.O. puts together his famous homemade ice cream

Homer requested a yellow cake with chocolate frosting.  After some searching, I decided on a basic yellow cake recipe from The Well-Decorated Cake and creamy chocolate icing from Bon Appetit. 

 

A trip to the second-hand store solved the problem of not having an electric mixer.

Fresh from the oven, the cakes don't look too glamorous. 

But they clean up well.  

Like any self-respecting birthday cake, it stayed hidden from the birthday boy's sight in the cake cover I got at the second-hand shoppe.  Just like Grandma's!

And the moment arrived.

Homer blows

Richard

Homer and some of his fellow revelers

Pussies, Plants and Pale-Green Eggs

I looked after Homer's cats while he was in San Diego over the past few days.  Forrest, who moved in Ye Olde Casita after my February return to Sydney, has also been out of town.  His cat, Shirley, needed some TLC, so I looked in on her, too.  Five cats.  That's a lot of petting, not to mention poo to scoop.  I don't mind, however.  They're sweet cats.  

Homer and his cats (minus Snowball), circa 2007

I did have a scare yesterday.  Snowball the Kitten decided to wander outside after Puff had craftily pried open the door, after I only thought I had closed it tightly behind me upon going to visit Shirley in the Casita.  So I returned to Homer's backyard and found Puff standing at the door and Snowball under a tree.  Snowball, just this side of feral, was nervously sniffing around, eating grass and crying.  The big sook.  I tried to coax him back inside, but he wouldn't have anything to do with me and wouldn't let me get near him, despite the pleading, scolding and food handouts.  The clincher was when he squeezed into the crawlspace under the house.  At that point, I gave up.  I've had many cats before, and when one has got out before, they always come back that evening.  They know where home is.  And food.

So I got to tell Homer when I picked him up from the airport that the newest addition to his fold had temporarily flown the coop.  No, not Henny-Penny, but Snowball.  Of course, I felt terrible, and I tried to palliate his worry by telling him that cats come back.  Snowball didn't look like he was going anywhere.  He just wanted to relive some of his vanishing youth in the wild for a few hours. 

About an hour later, Homer called to tell me that Snowball was safely back in the house.  I hope I'm not off the Holiday Party list. 

Homer's hen, Henny-Penny, was a good girl while he was away.  She laid an egg nearly every morning.  They are beautiful, the color of fairy tales.  Unfortunately, Snowball the Kitten rolled one of them off the kitchen table.  Not so pretty anymore.

Proud Henny-Penny

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Yesterday, I planted the cactus we had bought over the weekend.  Zane has been wanting a big cactus bowl, so he, Mark and I headed to a very cool local nursery, where we all chose a few succulents we liked.  Last night, while he was taking a break from some Pre-Algebra homework that was kicking his butt, Zane designed the arrangement, and I transplanted them to the bowl.  I enjoy these projects with Zane.  It's nice to do something creative and non-Wii.  

 

 

By the way, Zane started his own blog a couple of weeks ago.  Why not stop by and encourage him to write more?

Counting Days, Again

Martha and I are feeling restless today.  And I'm vaguely despondent to boot. 

I'm probably just tired.  A lot has happened over the past year..in a number of arenas.  We have a terrific new President and First Family.  I have hopped continents a few times, edging forward in life and reconnecting with friends and family.  I made some decisions regarding my career (or lack thereof).  Our family has grown by one.  I worked hard at the gym to boost my health, fitness and image.  I sang.  I loved.

Now I need to get motivated again.  Brian has put together his new Mondo Beyondo list already.  I need to pull my finger out.

Maybe this mood calls for some facial hair reconfiguration.  Any suggestions?

PS -- Homer's a star.  He made it on Cute With Chris again, this time with Henny.  I'm nowhere near as tall or handsome as Homer, but maybe I'll snap some pics with Martha and send them in.  She is definitely cuter than Ms Hen.  And it is all about the animals, after all.

Home-away-from-home, sweet home-away-from-home

Returned to Casita Palomas to find:

• Martha in full-swing of her juvenile naughtiness*;
• A hen in the yard~;
• A handsome latino handyman doing some work next door#;
• The return of a warm winter to Tucson@;

* While Homer was taking care of her, she tormented his cats. This morning she peed on my bed. Typical puppy stuff.

~ Miss Hen appeared in Homer's yard one afternoon a few days ago, and she's here to stay.  She will have a name soon.  Homer has a ballot on  his blog.  Quick, go vote!

# Nothing much to say on this one, except that it's cool to have something to see besides the worn fence and leafless trees as I look out the work window.

@ Sorry, Mark and Zane.  Whatever controls the weather, feeling particularly cruel, must have known you were leaving.

Miss Hen

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What is it about puppies and slippers?  I hear Martha chewing on mine behind me.  I think she has grown a bit over the past week.  She seems bigger.  And she's nearly too big for the winter outerwear we bought for her in Palm Springs. 

Martha sulked a bit after I put the jacket on her.

After some convincing with a chew toy, she finally lightened up and we went outside.

Work it, chica!

 

Holiday Party at Homer's

Zane, Mark and I had fun at Homer's annual holiday party.  In the world of bloggers, Brian, Cobban and Jim were there.  Many other guys came, too.  Homer has a lot of friends.

Homer broke out his holiday crafting kits, and after everyone had left, we stayed around and visited with him for a couple more hours. 

So this is what happens when you split an entire bottle of Goldschläger between three people:

Our projects for the night: my one-eyed-one-horned flying purple people eater, Mark's amazing hat, our card for Zane, and my cheapblueguitar cookie (in honor of Brian) 

Zane made holiday cards for Mark and me earlier in the evening.  He's such a cool kid.

Zane took great pleasure in poking fun at us as our words became increasingly slurred.  Oh, and Mark lost the close-your-eyes-and-touch-your-nosetip contest.  He's such a lightweight.

Thankfully, we just had to walk a few steps from Homer's to the casita, where we promptly loaded up on ibuprofen and fell in bed.  I like responsible partying. 

Cookies and Pride

The vote is in. 

In Homer's election for which birthday cookie to bake for me, Snickerdoodles won the popular vote, but the weight of my vote as an electoral delegate secured the victory for Jam Thumbprints (JT).  A recount was suggested, but the Keebler Supreme Court subverted the process by declaring that JTs were the winner. 

Sorry, Snickerdoodles.  If it's any consolation, I just gobbled down an apricot JT while pondering my shame.

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Yesterday was Pride in the Desert in Tucson's Reid Park.  I hadn't been to this event for a number of years.  It used to be a small event with a couple dozen booths set up around a grassy area of the park.  Now, however, it is a fairly high-profile Tucson event that attracts around 5,000 people every year.  Pride in the Desert is now situated around the DeMeester performance shell...and the music's not bad.  Food and other vendors spill off the hillside into neighboring park areas. 

Homer and I shuffled off to the event in the late afternoon and met some friends there, including Stevie and Brian.  We wandered around, drinking a couple of beers, people watching and checking out some of the booths.  

Homer and Stevie

I was happy to see many young people there, as well as a number of opposite-sex families.  I remembered the event as primarily gays and lesbians gathering in a shadeless field to hear average live acts and watch drag queens sweating off their boxes (and faces) to poorly amplified Britney.  The "parade" at that time comprised a few GLBTQ-related organizations wielding handmade signs, walking the limited perimeter of the paddock.  Very few Tucson citizens ever saw the event.  Talk about preaching to the choir. 

Now, however, the parade takes place on a city street.  Granted, the parade route is simply a few blocks down the side of the park in which the event is held, but at least there's a bit more exposure than in the past.  Although many bitched when it was instituted, an admission fee ($12/$15) is now charged, which means more money to secure better performing artists, use of a larger area of the park, and better security presence. 

And who can fault an event that has mirrors in the porta-loos?
 

At the Hop

Homer drove over to Palm Springs for the weekend, arriving yesterday afternoon.  After hitting the gay coffeeshop, eating at the Blue Coyote Grill, and driving around to gawk at the myriad examples of mid-century home architecture, we spent the night pub-hopping.

Yes, we painted the town ____. (You choose the color.) 

Surprisingly, I feel pretty good today.

Toucan's

Sidewinders

The Barracks, outside

The Barracks, inside

Tool Shed

More Signs

I began my Sunday in a sluggish way, having slept in after a final big night out in Tucson for this stay.  Then my allergies hit.  Oh, the monsoons.  Love the rain, but hate the mold and pollen it stimulates.

Doug is in town to collect and discuss invertebrates.  We had an enjoyable lunch at Rosa's.  I like his interesting blog.  He's also very kind to comment on mine to verify or identify from scratch the subjects in any bug photos I post. 

Sandy and Doug

After lunch, I drove around a bit and took more pictures of Tucson signs.  Below are a few examples.  You can see many more in my Flickr set.

The site of some of last night's debauchery