I wake up this morning, and it is still true. The Red Sox won the World Series.

I have spent the morning reading the Boston Globe online, and sniffling at the heartwarming stories. My favorite is that little Red Sox flags are popping up all over Mt. Auburn cemetery in Cambridge for those who did not live to see this day.

For anybody not raised in New England, all this hoopla may seem a bit over-dramatic and silly, but it really cuts deep into the local psyche. The sweetest thing I read? The home opener in April, when they will raise the championship banner, is against the Yankees.

Lunar eclipse, same day as 1986's game 7, sweeping the Cardinals, whom they lost to in 3 previous World Series match ups, 100th anniversary of the World Series, coming back in a statistical triumph over the Yankees to slay the Curse of the Bambino.

Anything is possible.

I can't believe this day has finally come.

The Red Sox won the World Series, and did so mightily. I cried.

It was a very good day.

We found an apartment yesterday over in Silverlake/Echo Park. I'm not quite sure how everything is going to fit, as it doesn't quite fit here, but it's new and exciting. Besides the idea of W/D hook-ups and hardwood floors, I'm REALLY glad not to be in the flight path of an airport. I have lived in the flight path of one airport or another for the last 12 years.

Now phase seven can begin. Packing and Moving. Don't worry, this whole process has squeezed all of the joy out of the anticipation for the trip to France.

Ernest is watching Winged Migration with Steve. Nothing can take the Joy of Bird Porn away from Ernest.

Somebody involved with the Dubya 2004 took offense at my review of the show. Feel free to read the October 9th blog entry and comment section. Steve's much more scathing review and link to Comedy LA gets no comment. Why?

With everything that is going on in our lives right now, I'm barely hanging on by a thread. The thread's name is Xanax, and it's friend is the fear that we will be on the street because somehow I have made bad choices and that is why we are being so abruptly forced to move after living here for seven years. The universe doesn't feel I deserve to savor and enjoy going to France. I must be frantic, nervous and stressed right up to the last possible second.

But tonight, the universe saw fit to have the Red Sox beat the pants off the Yankees. I would very much like them to finally win the World Series, but to me, the victory of beating the hated Yankees in their own house, in game seven, to win the AL pennant, is the real win. And it helps just a little bit.

In Los Angeles, if you are behind a minivan, you can be sure it will go slow. Cautiously, but safely slow. They won't run a yellow, but they won't sleep through a green. I wish they would go about 5 miles an hour faster, but I always enjoy looking at the stick figure stickers of the 8 people in their family unit on the tinted back window, and I admire their commitment to saftey.

If you are behind a Buick or an Oldsmobile, it will go slow. So very slow. Dangerously slow. Slow enough that you realize that the driver is being extra cautious because their vision, hearing and/or reflexes are compromised. Someone who loves them has INSISTED that they drive a tank, for their own protection, and since they hail from Tom Brokaw's "Greatest Generation," they buy American. It is always those two brands. Not Cadillac, Lincoln, Chrysler. I know these brands all sort of overlap in the Ford, Chevy and GM families, but the slowpokes specifically choose Buick and Oldsmobile.

The Time of Sucking has not yet past it seems. We have been going through a Great Personal Tragedy(tm) the past six weeks or so, but there was light at the end of the tunnel in the form of a trip to Paris over Thanksgiving.

This morning, we were informed that they are selling the apartment we live in, and we will have to vacate sometime in the next 30 to 60 days. Hopefully closer to sixty, but we can't get a straight answer that doesn't include "that depends on escrow of the buyer who doesn't exist yet."

So to add to it all, we are highly motivated to move, and we would like to move to Echo Park.

Piddle packed her bags today and went up to Santa Barbara. Schmedly celebrated by sleeping in the center of our bed (Schmedlyville once again!) all morning. Ernest hasn't noticed.

I had a moment of clarity today. I saw my friend John over the weekend, and he was telling me that his son was at the tutor's that afternoon. He has trouble concentrating on his schoolwork and daydreams a lot in class.

I had procrastinated all weekend on working on the 3rd Disney head, and woke up early this morning with the determination that I would make up for lost time. At about 10am, I read an email and realized they hadn't even opened the box I sent Thursday for Friday, so I could just send this 3rd hat Tuesday. Besides, there is no mail today. (but I bet there was Fed Ex, which is how it would ship anyway) What should have happened at this point was Busy Little Bee work, but instead, I spent the day not quite working. I have done 6 hours of work over 17 hours.

What I realized is this Disney hat is NO DIFFERENT than any and all homework assignments throughout my school years. Inevitably, I would leave it to the last minute. I would get it done on Sunday nights, maybe getting up early Monday morning. I would spend hours and hours wasting time in my room, reading books, talking on the phone, rearranging the furniture, maybe taking a stab or two at whatever the project was, but the bulk of it was done last minute. I wouldn't leave the house, but I still wouldn't do the work.

Today I did do a mountain of laundry, bake brownies, worked on arrangements for France, and spoke to Sophie in London. (she called me!!! Of course I had to talk...) I should have just left the house for a few hours and gone to the mall. Would I be more efficient? On the other hand, why am I so hard on myself? Obviously, it's not working. I still get the stuff done, and it looks great.

We stopped by the outlet stores this afternoon to try and pick up a blazer for Steve. We have a wedding next weekend and he has lost so much weight his dress clothes no longer fit.

As we entered Brooks Brothers Steve observed, "this is where The Enemy shops!"

I have to agree.

(we went home empty handed, BTW)

We went and saw a really bad play last night at Sacred Fools. Dubya 2004 was a steaming pile of crap. We were there on official business- Steve was writing a review for ComedyLA, and I had high hopes for a political comedy in this political season. Sacred Fools is a great theater company, and they produce a lot of stuff through out the year. They all can't be winners.

I come from a background of lefty theater. I cut my teeth at Oddfellows Playhouse, where they would troop us off in the Volvo station wagons to Bread and Puppet to keep us informed of the Sandinistas and Ollie North. Max Burbank kept the Swolen Monkey Showcase subversive, and Professor Ron Jenkins opened up the world of New Vaudeville for me.

The show opened with promise. The stage design was impressive, especially knowing they have a budget of about $48. The entire stage, theater walls and floor were painted with a rippling American flag, and dead center upstage was a monolith of old tv's showing various news clips. A tight pit band was up in the rafters. The opening was a musical number of Dubya blathering on with a bevvy of showgirls dancing around with phones, begging you to call in, a la the 700 Club. It was all downhill from there.

This was someone putting a bunch of liberal flashcards in a pillowcase, jumbling them up and throwing them on the floor. The guy who wrote and directed this had not even a passing interest in following politics until less than a year ago when the opportunity to do this show came up. It was supposed to be a big sweeping comment on the Evils of the Bush Family and Republican Conspiracy, but what it really said were Liberals are stupid, misinformed, emotional dummies who need to have their arts grants taken away. This was the equivelant of the conservatives doing a scary All Abortion is Murder and You are Going To Hell, Which is a Real Place show. (hmmm...such as Hellhouse)

I have seen some fine political theater in LA this year. Mike Ross' Hawk and Dove show at Second City LA was amazing. I was part of a great Fourth of July show over at FAKE Gallery, where some guy did a send up of Mark Russell and his piano routine so dead on the laughter and applause went on for a full minute after it was over.

I'm also over seeing David McIntyre naked or close to it over at Sacred Fools, as this is the second or third show. His portrayal of Jeb Bush as a diaper-wearing, shit-eating monkey boy android is so burned into my retinas that I will no longer see a show over there without inquiring first if he "appears."

By mid-point in the show I was shopping for shoes in my head. So intently it seemed that when Steve leaned over to hiss in my ear about another atrocity, I had no idea what was going on.

Feh.

We got In-and-Out cheeseburgers on the way home.

We currently have more cats than people in the house. Piddle has joined us for a week or so- she is in transit between one foster home to another. She has won the kitty lottery, and is going to live with Steve's sister in bucolic Santa Barbara. As a predominately outdoor cat, she would not enjoy living inside a one bedroom for too long. I saw her carrying around a bandana on the end of a stick yesterday, so I know he time with us can not be much longer.

The balance of power has shifted. Piddle and Schmedly have formed an uneasy alliance against Ernest. Last night, there was a Mexican Cat Stand-off for hours in the livingroom. They were in triangle formation, no backs were turned, just staring at each other. If one moved position, they all adjusted. No blood was shed.

I wanted Bush to do better in the first debate because he CURRENTLY HAS THE JOB. And will, at least for the next six weeks or so, and potentially for the next 4 years.

I would like the administration to be more honest with the American people. The trading and consumption of oil, natural gas and coal is what the global economy is built upon. We are in Iraq to protect those interests. They could be a bunch of baby-fuckers, and as long as they came across with what we want, we would politely look the other way.

Our economy traditionally picks up during war time. That is why we engage in war. If it wasn't profitable, we wouldn't do it. Why then is our economy sputtering along? Please don't quote minute growth statistics-"unemployment is down 2 tenths of a point this month!" What I'm getting at is the question "are you better off now than you were 4 years ago?" Well no, actually. Maybe the same, personally, but not better. My bills have gone up, and all signs point to the hanky panky of big business. The country is at war, and scared. Our current president gets the "deer in the headlights" look more often than I care, and my mother's health insurance and drugs are going through the roof.

I find it hard to believe that Americans preferred Bush over all other choices, Republican and Democrat. I would have voted for McCain over Gore in 2000. I have a difficult time understanding his "folksy" appeal. I understood Clinton's and Reagan's brand of folksy. Charisma? BMOC? An understanding and respect of people that comes across with a grin and a twinkle in the eye? A level of intelligence that inspires confidence?

Even with the handlers, groomers, speechwriters and Brahmin education, Bush comes across to me as the grown up playground bully in a small town. He went to State, moved back, married the librarian, and taken over the successful local family business. He's president of the Rotary and is pushing his weight around the small town. He still gets respect, but it's more because everybody remembers his dad, and they all play golf together at the country club.

I have never seen in him the charisma and respect that inspires. Maybe in comparison to Gore, he looked great, but not against Kerry. BTW, I also see Kerry for the maunfactured politician he is. But I would rather have a smarty pants in charge than a bully with a grudge.

I don't think Bush has done a good job, and I would like to hire someone else.