Archive for July, 2006

Neighborhood of the Damned?

A quick follow-up from the other night

So far in my new ‘hood, for those keeping track, I’ve had: ‘shrooms under my window, flies in my vent/apartment, and wasps building a nest under the eaves on my porch.

And on Saturday night – a tree branch cracked under its own weight, crashed the street below, and apparently, according to the comments of the tree-cutter who came to clear the mess, displaced some neighborhood bees.

Today, driving home from work, windows down, music up, enjoying the comparatively cool and fresh afternoon air, I turned on to my street, and into . . . a . . . .SWARM!

Okay, it wasn’t quite thick clouds of bees, but it was hundreds of yellow, darting bees nonetheless. Whether that rises to the level of swarm, I don’t know. Experts feel free to comment below. But I kept my cool long enough to realize that I needed to a) not drive into anything and b) roll up my windows really f-ing fast. I did both and pulled into the garage, peeping out just far enough to marvel at the flying cloud of death just outside.

I noticed some kind of large equipment truck in the alley across the street – not telling if the bees were from something knocked out of the fallen tree parts or from the hedge in the alley. They certainly weren’t buzzing around this morning. But I’ll be damn careful tomorrow . . . .

And here we go.

The whereabouts of convicted child molester, Timothy Boggs – recently “cured” and released from Atascadero State Hospital – was found out today; Boggs got the boot from the Berry Hotel in downtown Sac, and is currently under the wing of a bounty hunter until another location can be found.

My first entry on this blog raised the question about who the bigger monster is: someone convicted twice (approx 20 years ago) of molesting young boys, or someone who would purposely run a(n allegedly?) rehabilitated individual, who is legally permitted and encouraged to move back into society and start a new life, out of town like he was Frankenstein.

That unanswered question is more significant than ever, now that the public and the media are on his tail.

I don’t pretend to know the answer – but I keep coming back to this: It’s the law. Boggs has the RIGHT to live somewhere. If we have a problem with that, we should contact our legislators.

BTW: The AG’s office has a list of things people can do to help protect themselves and their children from sexually violent predators. Check it out.

Arena is starting to look a little less important.

Sure. It would bring revenue. It would add jobs. But while there’s loads of time, energy and money being spent on deciding if/where/when we’re going to stick the new arena, there’s something really sad happening to Sacramento’s elderly HIV-population: they’re running out of places to live.

Not that it has to be a case of one or the other . . . but I find it sad that the arena issue has been getting a lot of press time lately, and like all things related to the sick or the elderly — or in this case, both — the issue of our elderly HIV-population having a hard time securing assisted living housing in this community has gone, for the most part, unnoticed by the general public.

Kudos to the Sac Bee for reporting it, to groups like the AIDS Housing Alliance in Sacramento who are doing something about it, and to the County, who is apparently aware of the issue and is doing a “review” of the matter.

I, for one, would be interested in a follow-up story.

Poorly Reported Post, Very Good Reason


The Scene: a usually quiet midtown street which, on this evening, is blocked by several large city vehicles, and made loud with the buzzing of chain saws. A blogger peaks curiously out of her garage, awed at the tangle of branches stretching across the road.

WORKMAN IN TREE: Whoa, man, there’s like a bee hive up here.


WORKMAN IN TREE: Shit. And the are m-a-a-d.

[blogger shuts garage door, retreats quickly]

Enjoy a 7&7 Tonight


Last night, I caught a performance of Runaway Stage Production’s Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Community theater may not be Broadway-level snazzy, but Runaway’s production was a great way to pass an evening in a cool theater watching a hot, high-stepping, dance-fest of a performance. It’s not quite as high energy as the film, of course, but the Sacramento-based theater group puts on a lively show nonetheless.

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers happens to by my all time favorite musical (and yes, I am a musical fan, you got me). Made during the Hollywood musical’s heyday, the 1954 film with Jane Powell and the incomparable Howard Keel – who made singing-Mountain-Man sexier than you’d ever think possible – was only later turned into a stage production (and not until the late 70s at that). And here-in lies the productions only problem: the inclusion of several “original” songs not featured in the film just don’t fit, stylistically or otherwise, with the rest of the original score. (The messag here: eventually, you should rent and watch the original film).

Last night’s show featured Scott Reese as Adam Pontipee, the rugged Oregon frontiersman who heads to town to stock up on supplies for the tough Northwestern winter and decides, while he’s at it, to pick up a wife because with seven brothers back home, the house is getting a tad messy. Don’t fret – it gets more pro-woman as the show goes on – becoming a great snapshot of the American home at several points in its development. Reese’s performance was strong – but perhaps overly-restrained. Despite being the first of the Seven Brothers, the role of Adam can come off quite small with less than Keel-level effort behind it. But when Reese let it out, full and robust, he easily carried his scenes.

Except of course when he was joined by Andrea St. Clair’s Milly.


While some were having weird Sacramento expreiences (see post below), I am on a little vacation in the OC. I use that word loosely, since I am home for my sister’s birthday and have spent most of my time running errands, watching kids movies, and fighting with family members (isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?). I was picking up my cousin up at camp at UCI and there were some signs posted that said NO PICK UP OR DROP OFF. I saw them on my way over there, but there was absolutely no other pick up area in sight. I saw my cousin and she ran to the car and was hopping in (yea, I stopped to pick her up) and we were about to leave when a parking guy came over to the car and looked at me and shouted, “DON’T YOU KNOW HOW TO READ?” First, there were no signs in that area; second, we were already leaving; and third, there was no need to be rude and approach the situation like that. A simple, “You’re not allowed to stop here” would have sufficed.

I think a little power goes to some people’s heads…has anyone out there had a similiar experience?

You can’t be serious . . . . whoops, guess you can


This evening, we took a friend to Ink for birthday and end-of-the-bar drinks. Having recruited a designated driver, we enjoyed a comfortable, air-conditioned ride to this mid-town eatery, with its great drinks and perfectly grilled cheese. Street parking was scarce (I miss that parking lot, Paragary’s empire! And from where come your herbs now, you garden destroying bastards! I keed I keed. And I digress).

Upon arrival however, we endured perhaps the most absurd parking experience ever.

Clean needles or AIDS?

Duh. Are we really having this debate in Sacramento? Is it really “promoting” drug use to begin selling hypodermic needles without a prescription? You tell me. If you knew that you could just walk into your local Rite Aid and, say, buy a needle–well, that would make you run out and just start experimenting with whatever you could inject. Wouldn’t it?

Oh yeah, Mom, I bought this really cool needle so now I need to fill it with some crystal meth.

We’re under water!

It’s official (though certainly not news): our levees suck.

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has formally withrdawn a determination that many of the levees protecting the Natomas area meet the minimal 100-year flood standards.

If you’ve got cool jeans, live body painting at The Park


Normally, I stay away from Mason’s and The Park on weekends. The crowd is snobby, and the bouncers are snobbier. One time, a friend who was trying to get in was stopped by bouncers who said, “Wait … what kind of jeans are you wearing?” Yup, it’s like that.

But, if you’ve got the requisite ridiculously expensive jeans, and you can handle the surgically enhanced clientele, there will be live body painting by Filippo Ioco this Friday, July 28 at The Park on 15th and L.

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