Massively inappropriate, or just all-American?

You decide. Today, I went to The Grove, local "outdoor experience" aka shopping mall and mommy haven, to exchange some Crocs I bought for the H. (They were too big, and weren't the holey kind. Apparently he could have foriven the size issue, if it weren't for their unhole-yness. But I digress.)

When I emerged from the parking garage, I was surprised to see lots--LOTS--of firemen gathered in the "street" which bisects the two sides of the "simulated Main Street, U.S.A." Nothing wrong with lots of FDLA, or FDNY or FD Anywhere. You gotta love the firemen. My friend Toby used to get drunk (we all got drunk a lot, then) in NY and run up the streets of the Upper West Side, extolling the heroism of the FDNY at the top of his voice. What woman, or child, doesn't have firefighter fantasy somewhere? But today, they were all on the Simulated Main Street, along with a lot of cops, and beautifully preserved vintage LAPD cars (who knew the LAPD had a car preservation position?) awaiting the begininning of The Grove's 9/11 memorial.

Right. The mall was hosting a memorial to 9/11 which was fully attended by L.A. 's finest.

Is it just me? Or are the deaths of nearly 3000 Americans not best commemorated at a shopping mall outside Forever 21 and Wet Seal?


Tea for two

The H and I are a little obsessive about our hot morning...beverages. A few years ago, we started getting compulsive about tea, specifically, Chinese, more specifically oolong and white. We like to go to Chinatown to sample and buy tea, but we've also had some success with tea purchased online. A new (to me, anyway) company, Kasora has asked us to give their teas a try. I'll keep you posted on the results, and in the meantime, check it out and let me know what you think.


Old man rocker, and mommy blogs, too

Have you seen the new(ish--I never see anything when it's actually new, like, in the theaters, just released, people are all abuzz) docu by Jonathan Demme, "Heart of Gold"? It's a concert film, which really Demme does as well as anyone (if, like my husband, you've never seen "Stop Making Sense", you either are too young, or, like him, spent high school refusing to wear blue jeans and listening only to classical music. You should rent that, too, and catch up.) But in HoG (hmm, doesn't abbreviate all that well) Neil Young is just irresistable. He plays nearly every instrument. (He can be forgiven for not pitching in on the dobro.) He sings. His (beautiful, but not so that you hate her ) wife sings back up, along with, get this, Emmylou Harris, before whom I bow down and who has no business singing back up for anyone--except maybe Neil Young.) He seems really nice. He has mostly guys playing with him who've played with him for thirty years, and who, like Young, look like they've been musicians for thirty years--i.e., a little ragged around the edges with some seriously questionable fashion choices. The concert was at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, legendary home of the Grand Ole Opry, and even if you don't give a hoot about country music, you can see that there's some magic in the setting. And the music. Oh. Do yourself a favor and settle in with this. You might be tempted to think, like we did, "Oh, I'll keep some magazines handy while I lie here in bed half-watching this concert film, I won't reallly watch that much, I'll listen to the tunes, and flip through Oprah." But Demme, bless him, knows exactly how to capture the unspoken dialogue between the musicians, the glorious moments as the accompanying Fisk University singers, young and African American, get swept up in music created by a white Canadian guy as old as their grandfathers, the subtle orchestrations that make this music truly great. With a tiny bit of introduction to the musicians and the music, he lets us understand how personal the album "Prairie Wind" was to Young, and why. It's a moving, intimate portrait, wrapped up in a transcendent musical experience. Enjoy.

And what, you may be asking by now, does that have to do with f'ing mommy bloggers? They rock, too. Tonight I read two of the best posts ever by two of the best bloggers (mommy or no) ever, Birdie and Fussy. Read 'em and weep.

[BTW, that's Fiammo, above, hanging with me on day 4 of life with the O's. So far, he likes us.]


When in doubt, adopt a kitten

Meet Fimo, aka Runner Fiammo O, aka Toby...aka MEOW MEOW MEOW (what the Babe calls him, haute volume.) Need I say--he's cute.