Hometown Boy Makes Good

I love it when my friends hit big time, as they often do. A childhood friend of mine, Michael Stuhlbarg, has the lead in the new Coen Brothers film, "A Serious Man." (See the trailer here.)

Though a year younger than I, it was pretty evident to all of us in proximity that Michael's life trajectory was already determined: He was going to be an accomplished actor and that's all there was to it.

Along with a bunch of other ratty kids, I co-starred with him in a production of "Annie Get Your Gun" and he already seemed professional, even in high school. Atop of his endless talent, Michael was also unfailingly kind and polite. And with tongue firmly in cheek, I can finally use that age-old Hollywood cliche, "He was a dream to work with."

From graduation, Michael went straight to Juilliard and has never wanted for work since. The man has had one acting gig after the next - mostly on Broadway. He's played Hamlet in Central Park - always a golden gig for any actor - and been nominated for a Tony award. In a true testament of his talent, consider this: Michael has never been a waiter. Ever.

Sometime during the mid-90s, my pals, Michelle, Lisa and I visited New York and Michael kindly handed over the keys to his apartment while he stayed with his girlfriend. There was very little furniture in it but we were incredibly grateful.

At the time, Michael was starring in some play where he played the ghost of a tortured Jewish man. He had to look emaciated for the role and so our efforts to wine and dine our gratitude to Michael were for naught. There was one dinner where he ordered in that soft voice of his, "Just some water and some lettuce, please." Good grief! Talk about dedication.

So it with great joy that I congratulate Michael on scoring this fabulous role on film. I'm also glad that the world will soon become familiar with his immense talent and most of all, I'm relieved to see him in a role where he is allowed to eat.

Sorry, Kids - No Melting Trees For You

While strolling the neighborhood of my childhood, I came upon my old school - all of them, actually.

That's right. My preschool, kindergarten, elementary, junior and high school are all lined up snug on one street, Centralia Avenue. Furthermore, both my colleges (Long Beach City College & CSULB) can also be found just a few miles down the road. My academic career was tightly packed into a five-mile radius.

While surveying the very spot at Mark Twain Elementary School where I had my first kiss with Sean Bergeron in 6th Grade, I came upon a handy list of substances and behaviors that are verboten to the students. Of course, there was no such list when I was a kid and if there was, it probably only listed tobacco.

Still, I was shocked at the wide variety of recreational habits that a kid might consider, for what is this really but a helpful list of suggestions?

These all make good sense, of course, especially the firearms, tobacco and alcohol. But I did a double-take when I read the ban of "Marijuana ... and Peyote."

Okay, PEYOTE???? Do you know how difficult it is to get your hands on peyote? Sadly, I have no experience with it myself but peyote is actually a cactus that grows in Texas and Mexico and when consumed, the mescaline hits and you see God, plus a few other things. It is used in some Native American ceremonies and 'twas a favorite of the late Hunter S. Thompson and Beavis.

Not only is peyote extremely slow-growing (taking up to three years to mature) but it has been so over-harvested that it is listed as an endangered species.

Now, I ask you, where in the world is a 6th grader going to get his hands on peyote? Perhaps I have become such an old lady that I cannot imagine the sophistication of today's youth. You can probably order it through an iPhone app for all I know ...

PEYOTE?? Really?

Return to the Southland

After a fantabulous weekend with my beautiful stepsister, Julie (who is cancer-free!), I find myself heading once again down to LA. Mama Iva had a successful heart valve surgery and the family is taking shifts as part of her Recovery Team.

I'm quite anxious to see her but also nervous about being house-bound for two weeks. I'm bringing along a few projects, plus my guitar. Perhaps my serenading will make her wish she was back in ICU.

Surely, I'll miss my garden, my friends, my cubby-hole apartment and the arrival of another gorgeous new season in Colorado. Every time I leave this state, it gets harder and harder to board that plane.

Memories in the Sand, 1945

Once again, a reality talent show has unearthed an undiscovered gem proving that TV does retain some value. Meet the recent winner of "Ukraine’s Got Talent", Kseniya Simonova, who tells elaborate stories through sand animation with the help of a giant light box and her pinpoint artistic skill.

The above clip is 8.5 minutes but it gets more amazing as time goes on. Using a dramatic score and few defiant hair flips, this gifted young woman tells the story of the German invasion of the Soviet Union during World War II. You can't help but be moved and it's always refreshing to see the tools of storytelling redefined once again.

Ignited

Cheered on by my friend, Kath (pictured with me, below), I managed to present at last night's Ignite Boulder 6 without completely blowing it. In fact, I had a blast. The presenters were all uniquely impressive - I was honored to be in such company.

I gotta say that the musical entertainment, Mountain Standard Time, was phenomenally good. These boys are fine musicians and really, when is the last time you had a saxophone in a mountain band?

I just read Andrew Hyde's take on the evening and he hit on a key point. I probably did too much 'reading' from my notes during my presentation. However, I'm happy to report that I did NOT read from the slides. The audience - despite their many beers - seemed mostly literate and able to do that on their own. Either way, my presentation, "Screw Logic: A Unbelievable Look at Bizarre Beliefs", went off fine. I took a look at how standard beliefs often get turned upside down over the course of time (see: Flat Earth Society) and that nobody knows anything, especially the 'experts.'

Several of my favorite presentations included "Food Porn: Behind the Lens" (Jen Yu); "Classic Literature Through the Eyes of the Modern Chick Flick" (Cristina Sagray); "Everything I Needed to Know About Journalism I learned From 'Ghostbusters'" (Dave Burdick); "Rainbow Suspenders and Fuzzy Pink Hats" (Kaley Sutton) - about my beloved Burning Man - and "The Alternative, Alternative Energy: My million dollar idea" (Sari Levy.) This last one was about turning America's fat into energy and it was sheer brilliance. To quote: "Farms are about growing, right? At Fat Farms we should be growing more fat people!"

(Here's me with fellow presenters, Cristina Sagray and Jen Newell. We celebrated with sushi after the show.)

And I am so grateful to Andrew & Co. for putting Michael Brown as the final presenter for he would have been impossible to follow. The subject of his presentation was "Risk and Reward" and I figured we would be getting a lesson in investment and finance.

Turns out, Michael is an adventure filmmaker and had documented blind climber Erik Weihenmayer’s historic ascent as well as four other remarkable ‘firsts’ on Mount Everest. Along the way, two team members perished in an avalanche. Michael told of making this amazing 75-minute film, "Farther Than the Eye Can See", and politely asked if he could show us bits of the film. Um, yes. Please.

Michael generously shared three 2-minute clips of the most breathtaking, emotional footage - the audience was genuinely awestruck. After the joking around all evening, we were simply blown away by the depth and breadth of Erik's story and the team's endless determination. The physical challenges the crew faced are hard to imagine, their task unbelievably daunting, and they yet persevered. Watching the crew coach Erik over a ladder across a deep ice crevasse ... I was holding my breath the whole time. I can't even imagine.

I just kept thinking, "I'm so glad Erik made it!" and "I'm so glad Michael went last!"

If you get a chance to catch Ignite 7, do it. You won't be sorry.

Ignite Boulder Tonight!

Because I like to force myself into scary situations (it makes for better storytelling later), I'm one of the presenters at Ignite Boulder 6 tonight at the Boulder Theater. Ignite is a series of presentations on a variety of random topics. Each presentation consists of 20 slides which automatically advance after 15 seconds. Quick and dirty.

Though it is a worldwide movement, I can assure you that local tech celeb and firestarter, Andrew Hyde, is the main Dude behind this event. Honestly, I'm not sure the man ever really sleeps - he's got his hands in so many cool projects.

Anyway, I took on the challenge of putting together a presentation of some social redeeming value. It was awfully fun doing all the research but I hope I remember to have fun when I'm up there in front of 750 hecklers. (Heckling is an Ignite tradition - so funny.)

If any of you are in the area, please stop by! Would love to have the support.

My Patrick Swayze Story

It's has just been reported that actor Patrick Swayze has passed away from pancreatic cancer at the age of 57. We knew it was coming but it's still terribly sad. I certainly didn't know the man but enjoyed his movies like "Ghost" and "Dirty Dancing" like everyone else. However, it was always his Chippendale's skit with the late Chris Farley on Saturday Night Live that endeared me to him. That, and the time I almost crashed his car.

It's around 1996 and I'm a proud member of an all-female car parking team called The Valettes. (We had pink bow ties and cummerbunds and handed out roses.) We mostly worked parties in and around LA and Hollywood. We were a novelty act and people dug it.

We were working some party up in the Hollywood Hills, when Patrick and his lovely wife, Lisa, pulled up in a powder blue antique Mercedes. This isn't long after his film, "Too Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar" - a film I have yet to see. (That's Patrick at left, in drag, wearing the hat. With him is Wesley Snipes and John Leguizamo.)

A few of us ladies scramble for position but I win the keys and the privilege of parking his car. I get in and quickly realize two things:

1) There is cigarette ash everywhere and the ashtray is overflowing. 'Hmmmm, I didn't know he smoked,' I thought. (In fact, Patrick was a heavy smoker for years but never did so in public.)

2) I recognize almost none of the regular controls of the average car. With the exception of the speedometer and the gas gage, everything is different. I couldn't tell you the age of the car - 50s? 60s? - but it was old and he may have had it imported direct from Germany. Dunno, but the damn thing was exotic.

Anyway, I manage to figure out how to get it moving and find a safe spot for it. The night goes on and we gals park more cars. Running up and down those hills used to be such good exercise and it was always fun to witness "The Scene." (The highly-tanned George Hamilton also showed up later and he struck me as someone so very happy with his lot in life, I can't help but like him to this day. Plus, he was nice to everyone.)

Hours passed and eventually, I had to use the restroom. Evidently, they didn't have a porta potty for the "help" and I was directed into the swanky mansion to use the loo. I ended up standing in line with a few C- and D-grade actresses and scanned the room. I recognized a few faces but ended up observing Swayze and tried to picture him smoking.

He was deeply involved in a discussion with some guy about antique watches - both the man and Patrick were wearing one. Meanwhile, several women passing by attempted to throw themselves at Patrick without success. He was polite, sure, but his face said it all: 'Move on, lady. I am happily taken.'

And so, I searched for his wife, Lisa, and spotted her standing nearby. She was talking and laughing with a fellow blonde. She struck me as naturally beautiful, secure and wise - which made her a standout at the party and the entire city. Obviously, Patrick agreed. They met when they were both 19 and married when he was 23. Even standing apart, I could see they were permanently smitten.

Back outside, I resumed my duties (btw, Miatas are like having wheels on your ass, incredibly fun) and the party began winding down. Patrick and Lisa emerged, arm-in-arm, and approached me directly. "Hi! I think we're going to call it a night," he said, smiling. That was my cue.

I grabbed his keys and jogged up the hill toward his car. Once in, I remembered the cigarettes and figured he was probably anxious to light up. Heading back down the hill, I quickly realized that something wasn't right - I didn't seem to be slowing down despite my liberal use of the brake. I began to panic and the realization set in: I was going to destroy Patrick Swayze's car and would likely never park in this town again.

Cresting the hill and heading down (not yet fast but definitely gaining some speed), I could see Patrick look up, meet my terrified gaze and leap into action.

Here's the part when I can personally attest to his dancer's athleticism. That boy SPRINTED up the hill like goddamn lightning-fueled gazelle. In one swift movement, he met me halfway, swung open the driver's door and stuck his highly-toned leg in across my lap, leaving his perfectly-shaped ass inches from my face, which - looking back now - was a real highlight.

Then there was a crunch-grinding sound and the car came to a halt, within inches of another expensive celebrity car. I didn't know what to say but was getting ready to apologize profusely when Patrick said to me,

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I forgot to tell you that this car has two brakes! Oh my gosh, I can't believe I forgot to tell you! One isn't working and I was going to get it fixed today but .... ARE YOU ALRIGHT??? I'M SO SORRY!"

He then helped me out of the car, where I stood on wobbly legs. "I ... thought ... I was ... going .... to crash ... your car..."

"I KNOW! I could see your face and then I remembered! I'm so glad nothing happened. I'm so sorry. Here ya go," and then he handed me $20. Though we were not supposed to take tips - it was part of The Valettes schtick - I took it, figuring it would buy me a stiff drink later.

Lisa walked past me heading toward the car, smiling big. She didn't speak but it looked like she'd been laughing. She was even happy in a crisis, darn her. Meanwhile, I'd practically pissed myself while nearly mowing down a crowd of fancy people with a movie star's car. Good Lord.

***

Godspeed, Patrick. From all I can tell, you were an amazing artist, a devoted husband and one sweetheart of a guy. I wish you could have stayed longer.

Thank you!

Great news! Mama Iva's surgery went super smooth. It was supposed to last up to 3.5 hours but took only two. The doc said when he put everything back together (I'm paraphrasing here), her heart just took off with full horsepower.

She's in ICU and sleeping a lot but they are going to try and get her up today. What a champ! It is amazing what can be done these days and my hats are off to Dr. Shuman and the amazing team at Long Beach Memorial Hospital - the very same place where I had oh-so-many surgeries as a child.

As for my sister, we have some waiting to do before we know more. She is coming to visit me soon and we both need the time together so badly.

Thanks to all for your kind thoughts and prayers. Sometimes I forget how much love is at-the-ready until I tap into it so thanks for the reminder. You guys are awesomesauce.

(Image found at BalanceForce.)

A Call For Healing Thoughts

Tomorrow morning at 7:30 a.m. Pacific Time, Mama Iva will head into surgery at Long Beach Memorial where a highly capable surgeon named Dr. Shuman will replace her aortic valve with some tissue from a pig. (Thanks, pig!)

This is fantastic news since she has put off the surgery for a year or more, fearful of the knife and the long recovery. Mama Iva is not an old lady who sits around and knits. She is a full-time working woman who also throws legendary parties and long recoveries do not fit into her busy plans.

In the photo above, Mama Iva and I are sharing giant margaritas in Ensenada and she is watching a mariachi band nearby. We had such a grand time that when we returned to the cruise ship tour bus a tad late, we were given a stern Hispanic talking to. We just giggled into our cocktails (they'd poured the remnants into plastic to-go cups for us) and promised we would not do it again.

I feel very conflicted about not being there but Cousin Linda (a retired surgical nurse) and my brother, Rob, will be there. As her recovery will take 6-8 weeks, we are tag-teaming. That my brother is leaving his home and family in Mississippi at the peak of hurricane season, is no small sacrifice. I will return to LA later this month and so on. The whole episode offers some strong arguments for having offspring.

And, as if I needed another reason to stress out on September 11th, my beloved step-sister, Julie, will have a biopsy taken from her breast to check for cancer. Julie has had the 'breast cancer' Sword of Damocles hanging over her head as long as she can recall.

Her sister, Kathy (an awesome gal), died of breast cancer at age 37. Her mother, Shirley (my stepmama), also had a double mastectomy. To top it off, cancer runs in both sides of her family. Often times, Julie has felt like it was only a matter of time before the genes caught up with her.

The great news is, they have caught a tiny speck in her breast very early. Also, her wonderful husband, Chris, is a rock of support. Julie is like my mother - fun-loving, tough and wildly popular. She is an expert fisherwoman and lives in the Pacific Northwest. Much like Mama Iva, she has an interest in cocktails - I love this about them.

If you are the praying type or inclined to send along some healing thoughts, please do so. Aim for Long Beach, California and Seattle, Washington. And I know it is cliche but here goes: Hug your loved ones close tonight and always.

Back in the Water

So, I came home from LA yesterday after sobbing my way through the security line. Even though I know my mom will be fine and the next family shift has arrived (my cousin and brother), it was hard saying goodbye. I received no comfort in the air, watching the eight fires below me, smolder and chew their way through the mountains of my youth.

While I spent the week being there for my mom - helping her prepare her life and home for surgery and six-week recovery - I managed to squeeze in a few light moments. Now that I live in a landlocked state, I appreciate the Pacific Ocean more than ever. I brought along my ancient bikini just in case the opportunity should arise. It did.

Much like I did so many years ago, I called up Diane (I think we met in first grade ... or was it second?) and had her "meet me at the beach." I drove the 20 minutes to Sunset Beach - snuggled tightly between Seal Beach and Bolsa Chica - and plopped my stuff on the sand. I ran right into the ocean and it felt like pure heaven, like coming home. I made friends with two teenage girls, Debbie and Sophie, and dived through the waves like a wanna-be mermaid.

Later, Diane arrived and I convinced her to come back into the water with me. We were chatting up a storm, treading water when we suddenly realized we were too far from shore and could not touch bottom. We began to swim back (forgetting that we should swim diagonally) and began to assess our dire situation. Diane yelled out:

"I'm tired!"

"Me too!" I yelled back.

"Are you okay?" she yelled.

Pause.

"No!"

And so, I flagged down a nearby surfer named Robert who promptly rescued my ass. "Here just rest on my board and then I'll tow you in," he said with absolutely calm. He'd obviously done this before. "There's a strong rip tide going on today so be careful."

"Yeah, I'll do that," I sputtered.

We got back to our towels with hearts beating and our lives still flashing before our eyes. I tried to resume the conversation and be breezy about the whole episode but Diane was having none of it.

"So ... (pant, pant) .. Diane .. (pant) ... How's the new job?"

"ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!? WE ALMOST DIED, HEATHER! DO YOU MIND??? I NEED TO CATCH MY BREATH!!!"

"Okay, yeah. You're right. That was scary."

And then we both started laughing and couldn't stop.

My re-acquaintance with the ocean had been adequately satisfied.

My Mother's Heart

Status Update: So, I went into the Long Beach Memorial Hospital a few days ago and found a handsome young doctor telling my mother to pack up and go home. Seems the Plavix - a blood thinner - that she's been on has to work its way out of her system before she can have any kind of heart surgery.

So, we are hanging around the old homestead waiting it out. I'm running errands, trying to wean mom off salty salad dressings and generally being there when needed. She is scheduled for valve replacement surgery on September 11th. (When folks comment on the auspicious date, she likes to point out that she'd had back surgery on Friday the 13th and things went fine.)

Cousin Linda and my brother, Robert, will be here for the surgery. I will head back home, as planned, on the 7th, then return again later this month to help with her recovery. I tease my brother that my shift will begin just as Mama Iva is getting her strength back so she'll keep me running around a lot more.

Thanks for all the prayers and warm wishes. We are all so lucky to have one another, no?

LA Burns

This photo from LA Times' Don Bartletti illustrates what greeted me as I landed in Los Angeles a few hours ago. I've already heard one newscaster say that the smoke from the EIGHT fires currently burning in Southern California "may even stretch all the way to Denver."

So the troubles of my homeland will find me no matter where I go.


(Wally Skalij/LA Times)

The "angry" fires have now burned more than 105,000 acres with no end in sight. Already two firefighters have died, 53 homes are gone and over 7,000 people have been evacuated. The fires threaten Mt. Wilson, which contains the great majority of cell phone towers, radio and television towers for the LA area. If these fires aren't contained soon, communications in the area could be wiped out ... which means I'll be following the action on Twitter, just in case.

My childhood friends and I don't recall raging fires being an annual summer event like they are now. It's getting to be where the destruction is more reliable than hurricane season in the South. What is going on?

(Genaro Molino/LA Times)

I could even see the mountain sides burning from my mother's 7th floor hospital window in Long Beach. Thankfully, she passed her angiogram with flying colors - no blockage anywhere. She also gobbled her dinner down like a hungry baby bird - poor gal hadn't eaten anything in 25 hours thanks to all the testing going on.

Tomorrow, we'll hear from the doctor about next steps. I'm hoping the view from her window gets less exciting as the days go on.

Home

Lately, as in the last 25 years or so, I've pondered this word 'home.' It is kinda like 'love' or 'God' - meaning many things to many people.

On Friday night, riding the H Line home from a drinks/dinner/drinks-fueled meeting downtown, I was thinking that I'm finally starting to feel like I truly live in Colorado - like I have friends, a life and possibly a future here. Of course, getting a local number helped this mind shift tremendously; it was like cutting an invisible cord that stretched all the way back to San Francisco. Painful but freeing at the same time.

I've been anticipating a trip next week to North Dakota, my #1 favorite underdog state. (Mississippi is #2.) We'd be seeing family, our farmland and stopping by my mother's childhood home, which is in the process of being slowly reclaimed by nature, somewhat of a North Dakota tradition. Animals occasionally set up camp in the living room where we once played board games and tree limbs are gradually crushing the structure in a suffocating embrace. It is ghostly, sad and yet somehow justified.

Years ago, the time had finally arrived when the house had to be emptied of valued furniture and mementos - an emotional task that my mother long dreaded. I booked a flight to meet up with my mother and Cousin Linda and hopped in the Super Shuttle. There, I met a young woman and as travelers often do, we exchanged facts about where we were headed and why.

When I told her my strange mission, she exclaimed: "Wow. Your mother is so lucky. We moved so often when I was growing up, I don't even have a childhood home, let alone one that I could still visit." This gal put an entirely different light on the situation; she could only dream about a run-down farmhouse frozen in time and yet, to my mother, it was one big emotional wringer sitting on the prairie, haunting her.

Anyway, I got a phone call on Saturday that has canceled this trip and inspired a new one. My mom called 911 on herself around 3 a.m. that day, fearful that she was having a heart attack. She's now in a hospital and tomorrow, I head back to my hometown, Long Beach, to be with her. I HATE the idea of her being alone in a hospital bed when she was there every second of so many of my hospital visits. I am anxious to be at her side, squeeze her hand and make her laugh about anything at all.

Am I going home? Am I leaving home? I dunno but my best friend, Lisa, is picking me up at the airport and taking me to the very same house I grew up in. Like my mother, I am fortunate to have a standing museum to my childhood and though it is in tip-top shape, it also carries both joy and some echoes of sadness.

Maybe in the end, it doesn't matter where you pick up your mail or what address it says on your lease or mortgage agreement. Maybe home is just wherever you find love.

BlogHer Cross-Post: Interview with Matthew Gasteier, creator of "F U, Penguin" blog

I often forget to share my BlogHer stuff here but today's a good 'un.

Last October, 27-year-old Matthew Gasteier got fed up with all the cuteness of animal blogs such as ICanHasCheezburger and CuteOverload. The result was the creation of the devastatingly funny "Fuck You, Penguin" - "A blog where I tell cute animals what's what." Flash forward to present day, where the blog gets 10-20,000 hits daily and Matthew's blog-based book, "FU, Penguin" hit store shelves yesterday.

BlogHer's Animal Concerns Editor caught up with the busy boy to find out what his deal is.

So, Matthew, what's your problem with cute animals?

I don't have a problem with cute animals on their face. I just think that there's a certain way that cute animals should carry themselves that shows a certain level of respect to the person that is looking at the cute animal. If an animal is interacting with me on a normal level where, say we can discuss intellectual viewpoints on the geopolitical climate, then that's fine. But if they are going to just roll around on the ground and show me their belly, then I have I problem.

Are you not cute? I heard you were handsome, which is not even remotely the same thing.

I've gotten my share of compliments ... from made-up interviewers. The blog isn't about me, it's about what I've done for the world, which is the blog.

The blog is what you've done for the world?

Did I need to do anything else?

Does your entire human family have a heart of stone or just you?

I guess I should probably take offense to the idea that I have a heart of stone. I love animals and I love people. Just as there are good people and bad people there are good animals and bad animals. For example, I love krill. Krill are hardworking and trying to make their way in the world and penguins come along and eat them. Also, penguins love pyramid schemes.

Did you always have a potty mouth? Did you eat a lot of soap as a kid?

I try to keep the blog as clean as possible but the animals make me upset and I lose control. At a certain point, it becomes so ridiculous that I can't help myself. When you are dealing with something that is so dark and depraved, you really have to fight with fire.

Have you received any threatening letters - perhaps with hearts over 'i's' and smiley faces in the margins - from pro-cute sites like 'ICanHasCheezburger' and CuteOverload?'

I did have a brief battle with Cute Overload but that played out mostly in the comments section. I did, at one point, compare them to Nazi Germany but it's all in good fun.

What animals pisses you off the most? Who is the most manipulative? Is it indeed the penguin?

I named the site obviously after the penguin but after I've receiving lots of emails and looking through my own collection, I've concluded that it may be the panda, ultimately, because they are so entitled. They just sit around all day, eating bamboo while they wait for us to set them up with attractive women to have sex with. I don't appreciate it.

Yeah, it does sound like a pretty sweet deal. And what about the Red Panda?

Red panda is a complete farce - it's not even an actual panda. Its other name is the Firefox and it is not actually a fox so I don't understand what the panda is going for there. If there is one thing I'm not looking for in my pandas, it's a smaller version of them.

Are some animals more uppity than others?

The #1 uppity animal is the dolphin. It thinks that it's better than everybody else. It will never hesitate to point out that you are not shooting that basketball the correct way or bouncing that beach ball in the correct way. I just don't appreciate their attitude.

Also, they do seem to have a permanent smirk ...

Absolutely. Overall, think that they are better than us. Even though it is probably is true, they should keep it to themselves and be more discreet. After all, I don't go around to a sloth telling him all the things I did today.

Thoughts on cross-species canoodling?

I am opposed to it. That's all I have to say on the matter. A lawsuit is still pending.

Do you think there is an evolutionary reason for cuteness? Do you even believe in evolution?

Yeah, I believe in evolution although I never really thought about it. Reason? I guess so in the same way that there an evolutionary reason for lying. It's not that I don't respect the effort that these animals are putting up. I understand.

For example, I like cookies, I'm a big fan. I will do pretty much anything to get a cookie. When I see a puppy roll around on its back to get a cookie, I'm thinking, "Touche" but that doesn't mean I'm going to accept that from the puppy. I would hope that if I were in that situation I wouldn't resort to that. Then again, if the situation were reversed, I would hope that that were someone as equally as wonderful as me to set them straight. I'm here to keep the animals honest.

I notice in the book (pp. 96-97) that you were basically won over by the incredibly plump prairie dog, admitting that his fat folds were "as cute as shit" and you go on to say, "Damn you and your scheming ways." Is this a crack in your steely snarky armor?

I think occasionally an animal will get to me for a moment but I've shown time and time again and that I will return to where I am firmly in control of the situation. I think that's why people come back to reading the site because they know they can trust me because they know that it is 100% literally how I feel.

Do you know any cute animals personally? Do you live with any?

I don't live with any cute animals. I have known a few on occasion. Recently, I had a puppy stay with me but it left to go back to its owners and it's okay. I've moved on ... kind of. Things have been hard in life but I'm putting the pieces back together.

I'm looking for a dog right now and I've met a few applicants but I haven't really found one that has clicked with me on an inter-personal basis. I mean, you want a dog that you can walk up to, shake hands with and say 'How do you?' and I think people have stopped demanding that from dogs. People have really lowered their puppy standards.

It's almost a dumbing down of puppy-dom.

Yes, and I really think that the TV and the Internet are to blame. Most of the kids these days can't even spell cheeseburger, which is really strange.

Especially considering it is a major food group for them.

Very odd.

Do you ever visit zoos or circuses just to yell at animals in person? It seems kind of cowardice to only insult them online.

I haven't left my house in awhile so .... but sometimes I take virtual zoo tours online which is basically the same thing.

Isn't your book just a republish of your blog? Is there anything new here?

There actually is. 1/3 of the posts are new and I've spent years in the field doing research coming up with nano-facts for each animal. There's cold hard truths about penguins. There's also a whole suggestion section for domestic animals - a 'Try this at home' section. It's a how-to on the proper way to raise an animal. There's pitfalls that the conventional books don't teach you and I want to make sure you don't fall into those traps.

To make sure you don't have an asshole for a pet?

Absolutely.

****

(The rest of the interview Matthew kindly conducted out of out-of-character.)

How much time per week do you spend on your FU blog?

When I first started, it was every day. Some posts will take 5 minutes and others will take an hour and half, including moderating comments, answering emails and such. I probably spend two to three hours per week on the blog, maybe four.

Do you have a day job?

Yes, I do film market research. I even called myself a 'soul sucking vampire' today.

Where do you get the photos for the blog?

I pull them off web for the blog but for the book, everything was cleared. I've been using a stock photo house that's been pretty good to me. All the domestic animals are from people - readers send them in, pet owners - and you'll notice I call those animals by their real names. These days, about one-third are specific photos sent in from owners.

How many readers?

It ranges - somewhere around 10-20,000 hits a day.

Can you quit your job?

No! I don't see myself quitting my job. It's a nice thing to do but ...

Here's one piece of advice to anyone thinking of starting something like this: Use user-submitted material! Cheezburger posts 200 times a day - all from readers. It's a lot harder to keep it fresh when it is all you. Fortunately, I still producing funny work and people seem to like it but who knows when it will no longer be funny? I want to make a good site but I don't want to make a career out of it.

Where do you see you and the blog a year from now? Do you expect to run out of annoying beasts to vilify?

I have no idea. I didn't think it would last this long, to be honest. When I was approached about a book, I didn't think the blog would last through all the way to publication. I don't know where any of this comes from so I don't know how long it will last.

When did you know it was big?

It all happened really, really fast. The blog started last October and the book came together in late January, when I was approached by publishers. It got popular in early December. The first big thing was being linked by VeryShortList. It was building before then but that day I got 80,000 hits or something ridiculous. That's when I realized. Agents and publishers started contacting me - which was weird and silly. Being on Jezebel ...and in WIRED! You're thinking nothing else big is going to happen and then something else happen.

Why do you think it is so popular?

People like cute animals and cursing - two of the most popular things on the Internet. It does seem like this weird combination of things. I didn't know that there were so many people out there who share that sense of humor and to see it on a website was exciting.

Is it the same people who love Cheezburger and Cute Overload?

It's a sliver of those people who like that kind of stuff but also have this other side to them that is snarky. There's also people who read my blog who hate that kind of stuff and they see it as a response to that. As long as people are laughing, it doesn't really matter.

Have you heard from PETA?

It was funny - I got followed by PETA on Twitter, that was surreal, but I haven't heard from them. I have received submissions from people who work in other animal rights groups. I think they are in on the joke.

Matthew Gasteier, 27, lives in Massachusetts with his wife. He also wrote another book, this one about music: "Nas' Illmatic" Evidently, Matthew was a hip-hop music critic for awhile and the book is part of a series on classic hip-hop albums.

'FU, Penguin' can be purchased at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Borders and Indie Bound.

~ClizBiz

(Image Credits: Top - Villard Publshing; Middle - doggie - FU Penguin; Middle - RedPanda - Rolf Hicker; Beaver - FU Penguin; Bottom - zebra-ass - FU Penguin)

Clizzy is Bizzy

When I recently purchased an iPhone, the chirpy AT&T salesman asked me a bunch of pertinent questions, including:

"Who is your employer?"

(Pause.)

"Um, me. I guess."

"Lucky you!"

Looks like I got a promotion.

Yes, well after giving myself the summer off (I'm the greatest boss, ever!), it's time to get on the short bus and head back to work. Thanks to some amazing new friendships, it looks like I might have some work helping out the Colorado film community.

(Please enjoy the photo above - a 1917 film camera complete with lantern box - sitting in the lobby of Post Modern, a very cool post-production facility here in Denver.)

I adore working with film folks for they are my people. Coming from LA, it's like I found a remote branch of the family tree far from the original source. Like the time I ran into my neighbor on a beach in Greece, only with less Ouzo.

Back to the set!

Late Summer

This gorgeous fellow hung out under my patio lamp for exactly two days and two nights with a distinct message: "Summer is slipping away, my friend. Do not waste it." I'm certainly doing my best and have a few projects on the stove ...

I'm working on a new project with my pal, Sam - photographing and investigating the history of all the cool neon signs in Denver. Okay, so Sam is the pro photographer here and I'm the writer but it's fun scoping out different neighborhoods and talking to random folks. It's a great way to get to know the nooks and crannies of this city.

I finally gave in a bought a new iPhone 3G-S today (16GB). I even acquired a new Colorado phone number! A big step. That means I'll be getting rid of my San Francisco 415 number which I've had since Sun Microsystems forced me to get a cell phone in preparation for CES back in January 2001.

More than anything, it is the final declaration that I live here now - that I gulp thin air and wear fleece to parties that start at 6 p.m. - and not in the Bay Area. And yes, it is bittersweet.

The garden is starting to really produce gems of yumminess and I'm trying to keep up. The zucchinis, of course, keep me busy and I've already made pesto to freeze for winter but the tomatoes are slow. The cilantro has expired, the dill is staying strong but the eggplant and acorn squash are certainly taking their sweet ass time.

I'm getting lots of the little yellow pear tomatoes and a few peppers but I fear that everyone will show up and once and much will go to waste. It's like throwing a party when all your guests arrive and leave at the same time and you never really get to talk to anyone for longer than five minutes. Blech.

I've got some fun stuff cooking with the film community here in town. I'm so jazzed to finally put all my evil skills to use, specifically, to increase the success and fortunes of creative types with little or no PR know-how. I think it's the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

And yes, we've still got five more weeks of summer so plenty of time to acquire more bad tan lines, drink frozen concoctions, go for bike rides and read trashy novels. Hangin' on ....

My Evening With Les Paul

Les Paul, the guitar legend and inventor who changed the course of music with the electric guitar and multi-track recording and had a string of hits, left us today. He was 94.

Of course, we music lovers are sad but let's face it, 94 years on Earth - much of them jamming on a guitar - can absolutely be considered success. I will surely spend the evening strumming my own humble guitar in his honor and remembering my brief encounter with Les.

In October 2006, I found myself in New York for work. I'd come back to my NYC homebase, the Roger Smith Hotel on Lexington, after some corporate-themed wine-tasting event but was still mighty restless. New York has that effect on me. So I headed out for a stroll and in a move I will never forgive myself for, opted NOT to take my camera.

As I headed toward Times Square, I recalled a tip from a random CEO I'd met earlier in the evening. "Drop by the Iridium club if you get a chance," he'd said, in between fancy cheeses and the exotic olives, "I hear Les Paul still plays there once in awhile."

And so, I had a goal, to find the Iridium. I had fun asking folks all over the place, mostly street food vendors, about the club. At last, I found myself happily forking $25 for the honor of seeing the Master perform.

Being only one person (always the big upside), I easily found a spot in front in the tiny underground club. When Les finally took the stage, he was greeted warmly by a crowd who knew a legend was in their midst.

Of course, he worked his guitar (a Gibson Les Paul, natch) like a virtuoso with soul. Les told stories upon stories about the days when he "and my Mary" (his musical partner and wife, Mary Ford) would perform together. There really should have been a campfire going with Grandpa telling tales by the moonlight - this is what it felt like. I felt so smart for being there.

It was similar to when I'd interviewed the fellow who'd invented the birth control pill, I was overwhelmed with the man's global effect. This is the dude who basically invented the electric guitar! Unbelievable. Bob Dylan should be washing his feet.

At one point, the room broke into singing "Happy Birthday" for Les, even though he'd turned 91 four months before. Clearly, he loved it and commented, "When you get past 90, everyone wants to celebrate your birthday all the time, which is fine by me."

After the lengthy show (I remember thinking, 'Um, I thought old people get tired. No?'), a handful of us stood in line to buy a CD from Les' brother. He had them in a big cardboard box behind an amp. A few of us stayed a bit longer, as the club staff cleaned up around us, in hopes of meeting The Man.

Sure enough, he came out and an autograph line quickly formed. Now, I am not much of an autograph hound and have only asked for one other in my life. (I'd asked Phyllis Diller to sign her 1955 comedy album.) This was the exception - Les Paul is musical royalty.

When I reached the front, I fawned like a Beatle fan circa 1965. He loved it.

"What's your name, doll?"

"HEATHER! MY NAME IS HEATHER!"

"That's a beautiful name. Thanks for coming down, Heather."

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LES! I CAN'T BELIEVE I FOUND YOU!"

(Laughing now) "I feel pretty lucky to be here. Hey, maybe I'll get a kiss for my birthday?"

"OF COURSE!!!"

I planted a big wet one on him so fast and he threw his head back and laughed some more. What a delightful man. I love it when legends don't let you down. I floated all the way back to my hotel and read the inscription on my CD, "The Best of Les Paul: The Millennium Collection" over and over again.

"To Heather. Hi, Doll! Les Paul."

RIP Les. So glad you are back with your Mary. Tell her we all said hello.

Angels on the River

My five days camping on the Green River will be difficult to accurately describe. It was more intensely spiritual than I ever expected and I know that everyone who was there will agree.

As one fellow camper, Michelle (a she-pirate living in Florida), said to me today on Facebook, "And I thought we were just going canoing."

Several factors here:

Scenery - We're talking jaw-dropping, oh-my-god, wow-wow-wow kind of stuff. Words like "eye candy", "majestic", "magnificent" and "amazing" were bandied about every day. Massive red canyons, blackened by desert varnish, rose high above our heads as we paddled down the very green Green River. The sky was powder blue and the green, fluffy (albeit evil) tamarisk lined the banks with the occasional cottonwood tree popping its head up.

Music - The husband and wife team of Rich and Jacquie make up the band, Small Potatoes, and they were the main entertainment. (Videos to come.) Of course, they were phenomenal musicians that performed every single night but as it turned out, they were not the only ones musically inclined. Nearly everyone had some talent to share. Exhibit A - these two adorable sisters, Heidi and Kristy, from Chicago:

Camaraderie - The first few days we faced some nasty winds, forcing us to tie up our boats to one another, and face the waves together. With nothing to do but paddle, take in the scenery and spill our life stories, we formed bonds. Technology is a wonderful thing but throw a bunch of unplugged strangers together in the wilds of Utah and magical things happen.

Group Dynamics - There's no doubt about it, we got lucky here. There were 20 of us, plus three expert guides, in our Centennial Canoe gang. (Best canoe company EVER! I take a trip with them every summer and I'm more impressed each year.)

We decided to hold a Sunday morning spiritual service to celebrate our time together before we all went our separate ways. We grouped the boats together and floated down through the canyon as we sang "Amazing Grace" and talked about what the trip meant to us. We took turns telling stories, quoting poets and philosophers and generally spilling our guts. Nobody talked over one anyone; every single person sat quietly and listened.

The service was led by a wonderful fellow in our group, Glenn, who happened to be a minister from Texas. Talk about exuding peace, humor and joy - Glenn and his lovely wife, Dottie, have cornered the market. Dottie is hilarious and Glenn rubs everyones' feet with twinkly, smiling eyes. They are genuinely happy people and you catch it like a cold.

By the end of the service, we were all quietly weeping with an unmistakably joy. I've never experienced anything like it. This was no mere vacation, it felt more like a healing retreat.

I spoke up only to say that the last time I'd been down the Green River, it was a geology trip where there were many discussions about what time does to the landscape. We should take this lesson and apply it to our own lives, which are constantly changing, and think about how we all want to spend the time we have left.

I went on to say that the trip reaffirmed my suspicion that there are no strangers in the world, only friends I have not yet met. I just added 20+ amazing individuals to my stash of buddies and I'm so honored to have paddled alongside them.

Gone Floatin'

Tomorrow morning, Gins and I are loading up my handsome truck, Jack, and heading to Moab, Utah, the Land of Pink and Red. There, we'll meet up with a bunch of friends we haven't met yet and make our way down - up? - the beautiful Green River.

I did this same trip last year with a geology theme. This year, the theme is music and we'll be traveling with a bluegrass band called Small Potatoes. It's going to be AFRICA HOT there - like triple digit stuff but hey man, it's summer. There are at least nine freezing cold San Francisco summers that I need to make up for. (Wearing wool in July is just wrong, trust me.)

Once again, my jaw will drop at the unbelievable canyons of deep reds blackened with the mysterious desert varnish. We will laugh a lot, eat too much and tell our life stories. At night, we'll look at the stars, sit around the campfire and sing songs. There will be no cell phones, no googling and no plumbing. Pure bliss.

A Friend Comes Full Circle

My pal, Tony, and his lovely wife, Dani, brought home their new baby boy, Oliver, today. Yesterday, Tony published an article in Newsweek entitled: "My Father the Dope Dealer."

For only the third time since he was 10, Tony tracks down his father, now living in squalor in Cambridge, and interviews him about his long life of crime. He also interviews his own mother, his family friends and his father's business partners in an effort to piece together the mysterious and bizarre segments of his bizarre childhood.

I couldn't possibly summarize it all here but it does involve long road trips with his mother across the country to find coolers of cash, hookers brought to family functions and a son finally facing the truth, just as he enters fatherhood.

The article is a gripping read but the accompanying video - with Tony interviewing his own father documentary-style - makes for some cringe-worthy footage.

Congrats to Tony - on all fronts. You've slain the beast.