Why are You Tube Videos refusing to show up on my site?

They should! They really should! Especially this one.

I am a writer

Not because I want to be published with fans and money and all that good stuff. I would like that as well though, I mean, who wouldn't?

The real reason I am a writer, that I know I am a writer, is that I am compelled to write. Some of the self-sabotage I do, the bad habits I have, are because I am not writing. I am not using the outlet I inherently am compelled to use. I also have this all compassing knowledge that I can make people feel things. Only later in life do I realize that it's not to take care of the world, but to relate to it.

I know some writers. Writers like me. Jesse is a writer, his mother (and mine!) Reade is a writer. They both weave their words with emotion, intelligence and wit together on a page that makes you laugh, cry or ponder, "who the hell are these freaks?"

I am so proud of Reade. She is published on line, doing volunteer reporting that utilizes her intelligence, research and just plain ingenuity. Jesse is a master of not only the written word, but many languages of programming. Sometimes they kick his ass, but he fights back, with samurai-precision, bending the code with his very will.

At times, reading his blog brings back the fear I had at reading a poem my sister wrote about my grandpa's hands. It was so eloquent, so fucking spot on, that I instantly realized I could never top it. Of course, I was only twelve, and an older sister always makes you feel insignificant. The point is that I gave up my dream of writing at twelve and have had a hard time taking it seriously after that. Childhood, my friends, can fuck you up.

So I should start writing. For me. Shitty first drafts, as Anne Lamott would say. I should follow the example of my amazing mother and just start writing already! Even if it's about migrant swans, just start already!!!

I left my T-shirt in SanFrancisco. . .

I won't spill all the beans about our trip to "The City" but I can share a couple things.

First off: Noah flew the plane to SanFrancisco.


Stan got stoned for the first time in Haight Ashbury.

While Noah turned into a tiger (or were we tripping?)

Stan almost got killed at Fisherman's Wharf by a creepier-than-hell-mask-wearing, knife wielding maniac.


In 98% of all the pictures, Noah is channeling one of the bimbos from "The Price is Right."


And I turned 35.