That’s RIGHT!!! A Dr. Horrible renactment sing along!! Oh dear god, life is mocking me with it’s sweetness of irony. Who wants to come? Don’t all jump at once, but whoooooooooo’s coming!??

I found this HERE.

I think Neil Patrick Harries is HILARIOUS. I love his quirky mannerisms and his put-yourself-out-there willing-to-be-silly mentality. He manages to be really funny, but never dirty, and really sweet, but never cloying. He’s the kind of person I wish would move to Seattle, and live next to me on a boat, and we would sit on the back of our barges and watch Singing in the Rain, and sing along. And I would introduce him to people as “my best friend, Neil Patrick Harris,” never with a nickname, because he is just too awesome for that. And someday, in the rain, in Pike Place, in red rubber boots that match, we would hold hands. And skip.

If you haven’t seen him in Dr Horrible’s Sing Along Blog, please! Do find it here, and expand your world.

In my stupor I rolled over, grabbed the phone, hit accept, and barked, “All aboard!”

“There’s prayer and meditation –
no one will think less
with your breath and salvation.”

“Take yourself out dancing
to a club where no one knows you.
Stand on the outside of the floor,
til the lights convince you more and more
and the music shows you.
Dance like no one’s watching, because
they’re probably not.”

“Society is afraid of alone, though,
like lonely hearts are
wasting away in basements…
But lonely is a freedom that breathes
easy and weightless,
and lonely is healing
if you make it.”

B) I want one of these amazing bikes, custom colored and built by Republic Bikes. Here.

Last night I worked until 10:45 and indulged in a pre-bedtime swim at 11:00pm with Sparrow, both of us reveling in the warmth of the evening, the coolness of the water, the kelp scented breeze on our hair. Clambering back up the swim ladder, we sat together in silence and ate ice cream on the deck, he licking the container clean while I scratched his ears,  both of us satisfied in the most divine moment of complete contentment.

I remembered seeing that same look in these old photos. This is a snippet of my ancestry, my dad’s family. It seems we have a history of long August days and swimming in happiness, a history of sublime backstrokes.

This one is my favorite. On the back it says "Look at us! I cant believe we let them take a picture of us looking like that!"

Thanks for the camera, Daddy. I love it.

Anyway, here are a couple of shots I found recently that I especially love, and you get to be the hapless recipients of me not wasting the pretty.

Catherine McNeil In Australian Vogue's 50's shoot

Jennifer Aniston’s Barbra Streisand shoot in Harper’s Bazaar.

Tuolumne Meadows

The last 2 days of my Yosemite sojourn were spent in the Tuolumne Meadows area of the park, a sub alpine meadows and woods area that includes a number of treks that start at approximately 8,000 feet. And go up from there. We were lucky enough to get a trailhead pass for the Glen Aulin camp, a simple 9.2 mile skip and a jump from the truck in to the high Sierra camp and back out. However, that changed when we had to park a mile away, oops, 1.5 miles away. And then the markers kept changing, pulling the destination further from us with each step we took. Our guidebook and map both agreed on the 4.6 miles there, but the trailhead sign (after we had already hiked a mile and a half) declared 5.4. After 2 miles, it trumpeted 3.9 miles. On any other day, this would have been fine. The hike was leisurely and gorgeous, meandering through idyllic pastures and magical woodlands, the company was fun, and the conversation lively. After hiking 10 lakes a few days before (a grueling 10 steep miles) and Half Dome 2 days before (an arduous 20 mile roundtrip of the hardest hiking I have yet to do), it wasn’t me that was complaining, but my hips and calves, which were soon followed by my skin.

We rounded a bend and stepped into the aura of white noise that heralded, we thought, Tuolumne Falls. It might well have been the falls. Then again, it may have been the mosquitos that were big enough to eat a chicken. I was swarmed, lost to a tornado of vampiric insects, in moments, and made a wild dash down the granite stair steps ahead of me to get away. My compatriot, apparently a less tasty creature to the vermin, regarded me with the horrorstruck eyes of one who find himself miles back in the wilderness outback of nowhere with a crazy woman. Luckily for my credibility, it was only moments until he, too, felt the ravenous pleasure of the beasts and joined me in my skipping dance of insanity. Thank the gods for boy scout backpacker buddies and their easily accessible Off!

When the campground finally came into site, snugged into a valley at the base of the roaring Tuolumne Falls, I could taste my relief, like warm apple pie. And in that moment the annoyance at the bugs and the screaming in my muscles melted away. I was here, in this Elysian place, ready to relax with some food and a cup of joe, warming my tired tootsies by a wilderness campfire. What more could I possibly want? After setting up camp, eating dinner, and making coffee, we wandered down to the community fire ring, where a fire was already blazing merrily, and joined our fellow wayfarers in the glow.

Somehow, between introducing ourselves and finishing our coffee, we started talking about bears. Maybe it was the signs everywhere that say, “Speeding kills bears.” It might have been the idea of Megatron, the bear known to scavenge at the campground we were in, or it may have been my lingering paranoia of camping in a bear area, due to the fact that I grew up in Grizzly country and you just don’t screw around with that or else the only bits that will be found of you will be the parts that stuck to the regurgitated flannel.

The talk turned from the cute and fuzzy black bears to a one-upmanship of Ursidaeic horror. This is an area where, having spent my youth being regaled with tales of the Griz ranging from cautionary to cruel, I excel. Everyone contributed a story and each tale was met with chuckles or “Oh, I can relate” responses, but my Night of the Grizzlies re-telling was met with shocked silence. I had told them the stories just as I was told them as a kid by my uncle, adding in the grim details of lovers chomped, teen girls dead on womanhood’s doorstep, and elated hikers new to the wilderness left as only a foot.

A long silence was broken by the woman on my left clearing her throat. “Ahem. Don’t you know any happy bear stories?” she asked. I thought hard as I stood up with my coffee mug. “Hm. Nope.” I responded. “Ok then, goodnight!” I cheerfully stepped off to my tent, my companion saying his goodbyes and bringing up the rear.

Having offloaded my worst fears, I slept like a bear.

In a US district court, a FEDERAL (important) judge, Vaughn Walker (a Bush Sr. appointee), said “the ban violated the federal constitutional guarantees of equal protection and of due process,” according to the LA Times.

The Times goes on:

“Previous court decisions have established that the ability to marry is a fundamental right that cannot be denied to people without a compelling rationale,” Walker said. “Proposition 8 violated that right and discriminated on the basis of both sex and sexual orientation in violation of the equal protection clause,” he ruled.

…

In his decision, Walker said the evidence showed that “domestic partnerships exist solely to differentiate same-sex unions from marriage” and that marriage is “culturally superior.”
He called the exclusion of same-couples from marriage “an artifact of a time when the genders were seen as having distinct roles in society and marriage.”
“That time has passed,” he wrote.”

If you know me well, you know that I have internal conflicts abou the institution of marriage itself and the state approval of any sort of personal relationship. However, since marriage is the recognized cultural expression of love and commitment in our socitey, I believe wholeheartedly that ALL citizens, regardless of color, creed, or sexual preference, should and do have a constitutional right to participate in this custom.

Hooray for justice, hooray for civil rights, hooray for equality and progess!

Ultimately, and perhaps unfortunately, this will make it to the Supreme Court. I think that will be a good thing, in that it will establish a precedent for the nation that has long been lacking. My fear is that Prop 8 will not be overturned on the highest bench due to the 5-4 conservative stacking. However, I hope, I hope, I hope…

Half Dome

After a quick tour of the Yosemite Valley to orient ourselves, my companion and I bee lined for the southwest entrance to the park, through the Arch Rock and onto a side road, searching for a place to park for the night. An elderly campground supervisor flagged us down, apologized for having no space available, and recommended a place just down the road. Indian Lakes RV park was neither on a lake nor strictly an RV park, hosting a number of tent campers on it’s grounds, but it suited the needs of weary travelers just fine, so we pulled in, paid, set up our camp supplies, and decided to go for a walk to take in our surroundings.

Returning to our campsite, the most as-the-crow-flies route was along the side of the road, cars and campers whizzing by us at speeds that I considered remarkably breakneck for such a little canyon, on a road with no shoulders. Upon which sat a little blond girl, sadly straddling her trike and howling her misery into the approaching dusk.

My companion jumped as though startled and quickened his pace toward the poor child, his father instincts lending electricity to his stride. I was already walking faster myself, my heart tightening as I watching her blond pigtails tremble with angst there on the side of the dangerous road.

“Hi, sweetie,” I crooned, on one knee beside her. “Where do you live?” I could smell, underneath the sweet smell of freshly bathed little girl and a thick layer of sunscreen, her palpable copper rage, the scent of all women scorned.

“I-I-I theeeeeeeeeeeeere!!!” She wailed, waving her hand to indicate the greater universe at large. “He-he-he-he leeeeeeeft aaaaannnnnd bwa shlurb my new maaahhh   bwaaaaaaaaah!!!!!”

Alarmed, I looked around for the demon that was sure to be controlling her voice and jumped away from her perceptibly. My friend smirked at me and leaned in. “It’s ok, honey.” He said. “We’ll take you home and you can tell your dad, ok?”

I cocked an eyebrow, thinking, “Yeah, buddy, very patronizing.” But the child nodded firmly, sniffled more quietly, clamped her mouth shut and turned her bike toward the big house near the registration desk.

He just grinned at my confusion and interpreted, “She was riding with her brother but he left her here and she lives in that house.” A clear pointing followed.

I felt rather like someone had just correctly interpreted the philosophical longings of a monkey to me, but in the end, it turned out my friend was utterly correct. We dropped the little girl off at her house, into the waiting hands of her father, and soon thereafter herd the dad’s angry shouts for “LIAM! NOW!”

With one more solid smirk my companion calmly popped the top off of his Corona and stuffed a lime down the neck. Just as I turned away I heard him say softly, “Told ya.”

“Southern accents seem to fall into two categories: “This is why the South lost” and “I can’t hear you over the sound of my pants unzipping.”"

Yosemite smells like dusty salt, just think of that while you look at these. I will post more in a few days and write about some of my great adventures.

Half Dome from Glacier Point

Half Dome from Glacier Point later

Half Dome from Tunnel

Yosemite Falls from the Valley

El Cap and Bridal Veil Falls with Half Dome in the background, from Inspiration

If the Space Needle and Pike Place Market don’t scream “SEATTLE WEDDING” then I don’t know what does!

My friend and lovely assistant, Riain Callahan, is responsible for a large portion of this magic, and I feel so lucky to have found her. She made the day so much easier in the way she anticipated my lens and battery needs, helped with reflectors and packing stuff around, saw the angles I missed and caught them so adroitly, and was generally a pleasure to work with. In all, June 5 was a wonderful, successful day.

Thank you, Natalie, Francesco and Xander for letting us be a part of your special day!

“Lady!” he called after me. “You’re not that crazy!”

And you know? It was funny, but it was actually kind of reassuring. These days, there are times when I feel a little crazy, and I’m certain everyone around me is crazy too. After all, everyone looks crazy once you put your mind to it.

And because every post is better with a picture (and because all children are insane, but not THAT crazy):

Mark looked at me and grinned. “Sure.” he said, and went back to his salad. “Seriously.” I offered. “I’ll figure it out and we’ll go tomorrow at 7pm.”  I don’t think he believed me, but grave hopping is one of my favorite activities (I’ve visited Morrison, Proust, Marie Curie, Chopin, Digahlev, Stravinsky, and – best of all – Oscar Wilde), and I was stone serious. So I did figure it out, and so we did go visit Mr. Purple Haze.

His memorial is lovely, really well done, and very emotional. There were a couple of people who looked like they’d probably made a cross country journey here on their Harley’s, a teenager, and us – just the few little birds saying hello to a legend…