Cat!

I think broadway should invite Rufus Wainwright, in all his gay glory, to orchestrate showtunes. You can practically actors mincing and talk-singing their way through glittery sets when you listen to his tunes.

The kid kind of looks like a cross between Sean Austin and Davis Ngarupe to me.
Check this out

I don’t think I’ve said “CHECK THIS OUT” before. That might be because it just puts Run DMC’s “It’s Like That” on loop-play in my head.

• “I didn’t know her personally, but I knew her by sight. I asked her out for our first date on the Friday night, and by Sunday morning, we were engaged! Cool, Right?”
• “Don’t you think that a like, vocal conversation with yourself is the most private thing, like, ever?”
• “I feel like I need to force him to buy me tampons to prove his manliness. It’s like a rite of passage now that we’ve been married more than a week”
• “No, I’m totally serious! R-rated movies are soooo bad, I haven’t seen a single one! Oh ****, I can’t find my car keys”
• “So like, he was all angry because he totally didn’t know that I was still dating John and Russell when we went out a couple times. I totally don’t get boys, they are so irrational”
• “I think Jingle Bells is an irreverent song”
• “Oh no way, I hated The Dark Knight. I mean, it was really dark. I didn’t expect that”
• “The only proteins I can eat are: chicken, beef, lamb, pork, and tuna, because I’m allergic to fish”

Dad: Hi naomi we are cruising down the Loch ness searching for Nessie the Monster with a sonar

Dad, Part 2: Hi we found Nessie

We were really glad to see Moses when we got home.

Vegas was so much fun. For the first few hours. Hash House a Go Go for breakfast, a swim outside, checking into a decent high rise hotel, perusing magic-trick shops, H&M, and Cirque Du Soleil’s Mystere. When we left the circus we made the decision to see the Luxor, via a long hike up the strip. That’s code for ’spent the remainder of the trip trying to ignore greasy men, card flapping minimum wagers wearing t-shirts that read “A Girl To You In Less Than 20 Minutes!”, and the hard, immobile saline bags sewn into the chest of every female in sight’. In addition to the drunken, underage girls on the monorail burping (a nasty contradiction to their ’sexy’ evening dresses) and the people lining up for clubs under the impression they were celebrities, we saw a few innoccent looking tourists who probably came to Vegas to marvel at the depravity of man displayed on the strip. Thing is, considering how many expensive cars, high rolling poker lounges, high heels and gaudy jeweleries we saw, no one really looked that happy. Especially the people who were glued to one of the many digital slot machines tucked away in an obscure place, such as behind an elevator, or under a staircase. Digital I ask you, you don’t even get a pull a handle. Pfft.

The worst part about holidays is that they are sandwiched between arduous periods of air/ground transportation. Thankfully this time I wasn’t sandwiched between obese, noisy, drunken men as well- just Andy and an arm rest, sans strangers body fat rolls spilling over it.
My camera died, so we have to rely on Andy’s cousin’s pictures to depict our trip, so there are a few days unaccounted for (like the day we boogie boarded in the face of an impending storm, or when Andy found that fish under the fake-coral with a head as big as mine). We went to Gumbo Limbo again to admire the nurse sharks and turtles. I received several oversized bug bites and some mangrove beans in return. And a sticker stating my friendship status with Gumbo Limbo. Yessss. Here’s a picture of Andy with a Banana Spider on his face. On a web infront of his face that is.

We also went to a Safari Park. It’s a toss up between the Lions and the Gibbons in terms of favourite beasties. Andy and I decided that Moses should grow a mane so we could pretend we had a baby lion for a pet. Either that or we feed him caffeine and call him a baby jaguar. That’s probably more accurate.The giraffe’s were too high maintenence for me. You have to pay $2.50 to feed them two ‘caraway, rye and wheat’ crackers. What a rip off, you can feed me for less.

Aside from that we put some time into the pool, eating sandwiches and brownies, and generally living at the beach, we met Crazy Phil. Crazy Phil Riva was a result of being strung out 24/7 for the last 40 years of life I think. He’s not dead because he’s too busy thinking up crass jokes, I reckon. We were standing around on a pier at Del Ray, hoping to spot the sharks, when he attacked us with a verbal assault peppered with profanity and dirty ‘jokes’. It was kind of a cross between witnessing high-speed-low-quality stand-up and trying to hold a conversation with a toaster oven. The conversation ended with him giving us his business card and telling us to find his son (Gallo) in the basement of the MGM at La Pizzaria, or his apartment and then calling him, when we arrived in Vegas. Riiiiiiiiiiiiight. He kept raising his sunglasses to get a better look at us and telling us to look at him when he talked. On one occasion when he did this, I noticed that one pupil was larger than the other. Andy also noticed he had a knife on his belt. We wrapped up our ‘conversation’ fairly quickly after that i think.
Emilie has pictures from our beaching, but for now:

In celebration of those who spent college years agoraphobically huffing glue in a closet instead of going to class and are inevitably not graduating, I present to you the truth: the earth is actually flat.