Another day, another earthquake ..

The news is barely catching up with it but so far it's come in at 5.8 on the Richter scale. Centered in Chino Hills, and here felt just a rolling motion for about 15 seconds at work. Got out for lunch and was passed by an Edison truck trailed by a cable van heading up my street....oh yes, interesting utilities interruption times ahead.

A'ight, "see" you when I can see you, at a hotspot near me or after Time Warner and friends are done digging up dirt.

ETA: radio saying now that it was from over 7 miles deep, so that's why it felt so light for a 5-plus-pointer.

FYI

In Monday's jarring light, I see my Saturday post is not quite the intended nuanced essay on how some science fiction and fantasy films and television series are really fables for adults, not children, and their marketers should not shy away from their intention and proudly sell them as such. And I didn't quite do justice to Mr. Eros's smart post about DP and its connection to adult "fairy tales" and much-needed escapism, for lack of a better word right now.

Anyway, dropping in to say that the cable company finally fessed up about the on-and-off service interruptions since monsoon Sunday; they'll be digging up a pole and the fiberopticwhatever around it up the street come Wednesday. So getting this post in before that deal goes down. I'll try to polish a couple of tag-filler posts that have been languishing in this blog's draft ghetto, but not sure if they'll ever be ready for prime time. The cable mess should take till next Sunday or Monday to clean up, per the Road Runner drone, but I'm not holding my breath. So I'll post before that only if a cable service miracle happens and service is back up before that, or if I can make quality time with the laptop at Starbucks -- and if the homeless regulars panhandling for latte change will let me.

In the meantime, feast your eyes on -- or turn away from -- a beautiful trainwreck called Till in an epic moment of turning on many a straight man fan in spite of themselves:



Just look at some of the facial expressions of the men in the audience. When I watched this played at a party, I'll never forget the hardcore kitty-loving jock who drunkenly blurted out: "FUCK, if I go to prison I'm HIS BITCH!" And then the look of terror as he looked around to see if anyone heard him above the blasting sound system.

Back from dinner and movie with DH, and still buzzing on cabernet. And yes, it was That movie. The line was still out the doors of the IMAX, and wow, it's all that the most enthusiastic reviewer has said, and then some.

This week, Slyde's post about The Dark Knight got me thinking about Star Trek, and Mr. Bananas brought up Trek on his most recent post. ... hmmm, should I be posting while sort-of intoxicated?... Anyhey, this and Batman got me thinking about how good a Star Trek movie would be if it focused on Cardassians!




NO! Not the Kardashians!



The Cardassians:







In other news, Mr. Eros offers up the most succinct and solid argument to straight men about a certain activity which many appear to fantasize about but are afraid to admit to because, well, as the man says:

"I have heard guys scoff — in theory, as these opportunities arise rarely outside of porn and your better class of orgies — at this sort of woman-sharing. Usually they proclaim, loudly, that they’d never do such a thing because your dick would be, like, almost touching another guy’s dick. Too close for comfort, anyway; if you’d do that, you’d have to be gay.

Yes, they say this like it’s a bad thing.

Word of advice to those guys: Like Ron White says, we’re all a little bit gay anyways. Grow up, nut up, and get over it. You’re still stuck in your high school locker room, while the grownups — the Men with a capital M — are out seizing the day and eating the oysters and, yup, laughing at you."

OH YES -- his link is so not safe for work -- and SO effing happy I uploaded pics and pasted links this morning. Typing and posting is a hellified buzzkiller.

... so yeah, double penetration and lizard men...that has to connect somehow, no? mkay, crawling into bed now, sleeping on it, so to speak..

TMI

I have this nagging obsession that's been growing and growing, so to speak ... I mean, this is what Die Hard man's chin usually looks like after a weekend of no-shaving:



But lately I've noticed a darkening between his bottom lip and chin, though he's been shaving regularly between weekends as usual. My obsession with this is that there's this one front desk clerk at the lobby of my place of litigious employment who sports what should never be called a "beard" -- cannot honestly be called a beard, or even a goatee <-- haaate those, too.

Anyway, this thing looks like a woolly patch of FUNGUS. And I've googled this random guy as an example of this chinfungusamungus:



See what I mean? SEE.IT?!!! :O

And front desk dude's is bigger! And FUZZIER, as in hairs crawling above his bottom lip -- I have to keep conversations thisshort with him or I'm afraid he'll notice I'm grossed out.

That ain't right, it just isn't. And I'm afraid DH's, um, growth is headed in that direction.

So I've spend the better part of my free-thought time between a flurry of interrogatory preps and calls and yammering attorneys plotting how I'm going to approach DH with his own razor and shaving cream and pull a Delilah on his chin hair ... because I can't just be HONEST, now can I? I mean what am I going to say to him: "Gee, baby, um ... if that fuzz on your face grows to shag carpet-sample size, I'd rather lick a dirty pot scrubber than nibble your tasty lips again" ... :(

Yes, I know. I can hear the world coming to a screeching halt -- Obama postponing further troop visits, activists' fingers freezing over keyboards as they were typing furious e-mails and posts about the perma-petro-war -- to work on this little crisis. So in my best paralegalese, I bid you a sincere Thank you for your anticipated courtesy.

Desert Monsoon

Who sent us India's weather?

Desert Sun photos of high waters flowing down Racquet Club Drive in the Chino Cone area of Palm Springs:





Rain that sounded like hail just nailed us around sixish a.m. and off and on all day. But it wasn't bracing, cool invigorating rain like last time. Oh no. It was the kind of rain that beats you down and sticks to your body like warm glue because it's 105 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity is, oh, about 110 percent.

If a caravan of Asian elephants had crossed at the intersection of Date Palm and Ramon, where the traffic lights were out of order as in most other intersections this afternoon, it wouldn't have raised a weary eyebrow.

Because the tumbleweeds & dust bunnies are out of control on this here blog ...

... I'm posting what my procrastinating, heat-addled butt should've posted on Sunday.

As per usual, the products of my camera-snapping aren't exactly stellar, especially after two or three margaritas under this bar palapa:



So this is how I spent the better part of Sunday: At the casino, again. And I don't even gamble -- usually. But got an invite to the "Wet Spot" pool party at Fantasy Springs, and roped into playing volleyball for a short spell:


(and no, that's not me in the pink bikini, but she's family, and yes, she gets a lot of ribbing about the "tramp stamp")

The DJ was outstanding -- clear, slamming sound working a great mix of rarely heard outside of LA tracks and club and pop favorites. But we were out barely past an hour when the heat was just too much and we were starving so we headed for the air-conditioned -- hell, refrigerated -- buffet dining room.

And while we were cramming our gullets with all the Ahi tuna and oysters we could load on a plate without looking like total pigs, we were privileged to overhear various conversations among the wanna-be game show contestants who'd been loitering at the casino since the crack of dawn. Deal Or No Deal was auditioning contestants at the casino and it seemed like the entire frekking valley was trying to get a shot at game show infamy.

Two of the people in tables next to us ended up squealing with joy after taking cell calls: One of them I'm acquainted with from my substitute teacher days in the east valley. She's pretty cool, but I don't understand her desire to be on a game show -- besides a reality show, it's my worst nightmare. Anyway, she has huuuuuge cushiony breasts, all natural, and she was wearing a cute summer dress that pushed them up to full effect. The other guy who was picked to go to LA for the show was a guy who I swear was the spitting image of Homer Simpson come to life.

We bantered on and off with some audition rejects who were pissed off about it, noting that the producers of the show seemed to be going for "character" type contestants: The big-boobed teacher with the cute little locket between her hot boobs, the Homer Simpson look-alike, and a sympathy-grabber -- a lady with an autistic son at home and another in Iraq. So interesting times at the casino.

And now I'll try to catch up on some more exciting bloggers than yours truly before I hit the sack, 'night ~_~

EDITED TO ADD this Mad TV gem I just found, which succinctly illustrates what Deal Or No Deal is all about:

Dancing fire, coyotes howling, smell the rain ...

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Nature's fireworks burst over the canyons behind my abode and grazed us on their way to wake up my mom in Desert Hot Springs.

... I blame Whiskey Marie

;D

Yeah, I know what I said about gossip before, but I've met the esquire escorting Ms. Brinkley. Don't meet him all by your lonesome in a dark alley.

Christie is so getting the kids, and then some.

UPDATE:

Settlement rumors swirling already, of course Mr. Cohen not only could be Donald Rumsfeld's bastard brother, but Rumsfeld is cuddly in comparison. He's very suave and a great conversationalist though, but I'm not exaggerating about not meeting him alone in a dark alley if he has a score to settle with you. He will shank you, call the police to report a grievous attempt on his life, and then sue your estate for pain, suffering, and lost future productivity due to post traumatic stress.

UPDATE 2:



"Cook gets $2.1 million - much of which will go to legal fees - while she gets custody of the kids and all the real estate."

The big guy at work laughed and read this out loud to us today. He recalled his conversation with Mr. Cohen about his divorce from his first wife, and Mr. Cohen casually itemizing how his ex's lawyer could have skewered him financially but blew it. Big guy's relieved that the former Mrs. Big Guy didn't pick a lawyer that into his profession and that experienced.

And so true is this comment from this gossip site:

"LOLOL!! 2 mil and nothing else??? Ohhhh she had some good $h1t on his ass for him to settle out of court for that measly amount and NO property?? Damn!! I wanted to see this on court tv every fukkin day! Life's not fair"

True, even with all the dirt that had been aired about Cook, I also thought he'd be offered more if only to make Chrisite look a little more generous. So Cohen must have had even more surprises in store for Cook if he insisted on continuing his public bawling and insinuations on the stand.

...ugh, and now I need to back awaaay from the gossip news.

Fourth of July Fly-by Pics

At the Valley Station at the base of the San Jacintos; the original blue tram bucket is to the left in the first pic:





"Hey there, hot chivo!" Inside the tram boarding lobby:



The tram conductor, jaw clenched and determined to get us to Mountain Station 10,801 feet above without giving in to smacking one of the tourist rugrats squealing at ear-bleeding pitch and running round and round:



Up, up, and AWAY! Chino Canyon down below:



Zipping on American wires in a fancy Swizz bucket between ancient rocks:



A marvelous view of my bony back and Dish Network ears:



"Hey babe, let's hang out at the balcony and take in the view, chill a while and maybe I'll catch up on this book I packed -- oh HEY, there's two empty seats at the bar!"



Three raspberry lemon drop martinis later:



The two guys to the left were on their honeymoon; they took pics of us and we exchanged e-mail addies -- they're planning a reception/nuptials celebration in San Diego. Eric, the one closest left, is a service union lobbyist and his husband is selling his house to mafiosos. And the het couple to our right worked on the set of the Sex and the City movie. They claim Chris "Mr. Big" Noth is an egomaniac who wouldn't talk to the crew even when directly asked work-related questions, surprise surprise. The blurriness is reflective of my buzzedness at the time. All in all, great conversation and a terrific bartender :)

So a couple of last-call beers after that, our lens-aiming and flash-using were a complete failure when the fireworks ten thousand-plus feet below began:



Contrary to the disclaimer posted at Valley Station that fireworks visibility wasn't a given, the fireworks from Sunrise Park in Palm Springs, Civic Center Park in Palm Desert, and a bit from Indio were in fact very visible, but you could barely hear them from that high above. There was a wonderful hush up there, watching below with the tourists from pretty much everywhere. And the climate so, so wonderfully cool aaaaah! Got to run now, may edit for coherence later.

Edited to add these random images of the view from Mountain Station by much more competent photographers:





(Winter views)




(View from the restaurant balcony)