Total Lunar Eclipse In 40 Minutes!

The last one 'til 2010, yo, and it's sposed to turn red, and it's a full moon. So get yourself outside between 5:45 and 7PM, Angelenos. Or get thee up to Griffith Observatory and elbow aside all those pesky seven-year-olds lined up with their moms and dads to get a glimpse of la lune through one of the many telescopes that'll be set up.

I'll be howling on my balcony like a wolf. Fo' free.

The Strike Is Over!

Hollywood is finally back to work as of today, and the writers got a big piece of the pie. Yum, yum.

We didn't get everything we wanted, and neither did they; that's why it's called a compromise, the basis for any good negotiation. But the writers did get the main thing they were asking for: a fair percentage of gross profits when their shows are streamed over the internet, and that's the most important thing. As Forbes sez: The winner is New Media.

Collective bargaining + the power of the people when they band together = fo' free. Labor = not fo' free. Good job, people. The most important strike of the fledgling century.

Showgirls and Dwight Yoakum

Now, we all know I love a good costume and an old school country song, and on the night of Rosson Crow's opening at the Honor Fraser Gallery, I got both. The artist wore a showgirl outfit, and Dwight Yoakum, her favorite musician and a big inspiration for her work, showed up to surprise her. What more could I have wanted?

A 22-course Italian dinner in Beverly Hills afterwards that had all the qualities of a Verdi opera, you say? Done. I practically wept every time the waiter (AKA my new best friend) served me another amazing course, as I sat back and watched the arty mayhem unfold around me.

What a night...one great moment at the dinner: An artist silently freaking out over seeing one of her favorite British comic actors at the next table. An art collector comes up to her and says, "I never freak out when I see movie stars, but I'm totally freaking out at meeting you." There it was, a classic LA moment, a spiral of freak-out, a veritable post-modern vortex of gush.

I love this freakin' town.

Go see Rosson's show at Honor's. "Night at the Palomino" is fo' free.

The Santa Monica Alps

I really think that these pictures say more than I ever possibly could about Matilda Rose Brett Murphy's first birthday party. Alpine theme. Word. I'm still wearing braids.

Note the elf's resemblance to William H. Macy.

Where Were The Cheerleaders?

OK, I had to wait 'til the electoral kerfuffle was temporarily over to talk about Superbowl Sunday, A.K.A. the day I was supposed to be running a half marathon. But it was freezing and completely pouring and my running mates were sick as dogs, so I opted to drink beer and take in the big old game instead.

I watched it over at Andrew's house, and I have to say, he had a Superbowl set-up that some guys dream of. All his guys bailed (metros one and all), so it was him and five hot chicks, all friends of his lovely wife Rachel. We matched him cocktail for cocktail, let him instruct us in the finer points of football (which guys love to do), and screamed like banshees when it got tense in 4th quarter (at the right moments, no less). On his part, he totally took in stride our discussions about our hair, our invention of the CrotchCam, and our genuine amazement at the amount of blubber that one can shove into spandex. (Number #67, anyone?)

We ladies did have one question, though. Why so few shots of the cheerleaders? Those fine athletes have been working hard all year, too, and they also deserve their time in the sun.

Andrew totally agreed.

Thank You For Voting

Whether phone banking from the table next to me at Cafe Sabor y Cultura, out on the front lines like Miss T here, or kickin' it like my girl Laura, who spontaneously jumped out of her car at Franklin Ave to help kids do visibility, kudos on getting out the vote. More citizens shooting off their mouths than ever, yo.

I didn't even mind that Laura's spontaneous act of participatory democracy pushed back our dinner party. We ate in front of the TV, of course, watching the votes roll in. I think the Founding Fathers and Mothers would've been proud (if not a little confused).

Yes, We Can VOTE

Dudes, I don't care who you vote for, but go vote tomorrow if you're in a Super Tuesday state. Find your polling place here - and see how the Democratic party is suggesting you vote on the various propositions if you want.

As for myself, all I can say is: The same two families have been on the ballot ever since I've been able to vote. If we were a third world country, we'd call that an oligarchy. AND, I've never had a chance to vote for someone who truly inspired me and got me excited about what America might achieve if we were our best selves. I can't wait.

Prez Bush just passed the biggest budget ever. Exxon Mobil just posted the largest earnings of any company in the history of the world. So get your asses out there and do something about this crap-laden economy of ours. Cause voting is about the only thing left that is fo' free.

Carina's Sweet Sixteen Circa 1984

My lord. It was Carina's sweet sixteen last night, circa 1984, and all I know is that I have not held a curling iron to my head for that long since the eighth grade. (I swear, I spent more time working on my hair in one week during in junior high than I have this entire century.)

But I got my 'do sufficiently gigantic (I so could have rocked the Dynasty look back in the day); put on my gold striped bat-wing tunic and footless tights and neon blue eye shadow; and Cabbage Patch'ed my way on down, eighties-style.

Carina could easily pass for 16 - cute, braces, pregnant - and everyone else pulled together looks that made you both shudder and fondly reminisce. There were New Romantics, Madonna Wannabes, Miami Vice pastels, Gordon Gekko suits, rubber bracelets, piano ties, fingerless lace gloves, and white-boy fros. Plus, videos straight from the MTV archives, including a 20 minute Rick Springfield Deep Cuts Tribute that I still haven't fully recovered from.

The coolest thing of all was that the gear inspired everyone to dig out and recount these excellent stories of teenage mayhem, which usually revolved around Bartles & Jaymes or peppermint schnapps and sneaking out to see Prince/The J.Geils Band/A Flock of Seagulls. It also gave me a genuine appreciation that I did not come of age (i.e. have disposable income) until the ghastly fashion era was over. Pouf skirts for women? Fluffy bi-levels for men? No, thank you.

And the other coolest thing of all: Carina. Happy B-day!