Came home to an open umbrella on the floor. There was no open umbrella on the floor when I left to pick up my kid. She did not have an umbrella, open it, and leave it on the floor when she came home.
Apparently our dogs and cats are smarter than I thought. Or have opposable thumbs.
Next Monday marks a year since my sister’s passing after months of declining health and difficult circumstances. It was unexpected but not surprising. Yet it remains a gut punch a year later. I miss Eleanor all the time.
It’ll be her birthday 5 days later. She would have been 68 this year.
Watching my first episode of the “FLCL” anime series (from the Alternative season), and I’m not sure what to make of it.
Something something space travel, then somebody just pulled an electric guitar out of a teenager’s forehead.
I’ll keep going with it. 😬
Dr. Oz? Now it just feels like Trump is trying too hard.
My daughter shared this map with me. Posting here for fellow “Avatar: The Last Airbender” fans, taking absolutely no credit for it. Feel free to reply if you know who created this.
Testing Micro.blog syndication of posts to Threads and BlueSky. It’d be nice to populate both platforms and the blog in one fell swoop.
Test.
Watching “The Nightmare Before Christmas” for the first time. Feels like Oingo Boingo on Broadway for kids. (Not that that’s a bad thing.)
Recliner. Muumuu. Padres game on the TV. I needed all this today.
I don’t know who this Canadian broadcaster is, but I want her glasses and her earrings.
Showed F a package of mini naan from Whole Foods and she went “Awwww” like I showed her a litter of orange kittens.
This is Monday around 6:30 a.m. Central time at Chicago O’Hare. This may explain why our Delta flight from San Diego was canceled the day before and why we drove to Phoenix to catch a flight home (because there were none to be had from anywhere in Southern California).
Six months after setting this up, I am playing significant catch-up with my Hobonichi Weeks, complete with new Raygun stickers.
Another weekend, another Pokemon Go Community Day with the teenager. Here’s my friend code if you’re a fellow traveler.
F and I made Filipino-style leche flan for the first time. It’s moments like this when I miss not having Mom and my sister around to try it and tell us how to improve it.
The flan turned out great. Hoping Mom and Eleanor are proud on this Mother’s Day.
Just watched an episode of “Everybody’s in L.A.” There’s a great segment with Fred Armisen assembling a “focus group” of old L.A. punks, including Exene Cervenka of X, Mike Watt of the Minutemen, and Lee Ving of Fear. Between that and Steve Albini dying of a heart attack, I am feeling my age. 😐
Welp, we finally got out to do our “research” of Filipino dessert tastes: turon (fried banana in lumpia wrapper) and halo-halo, plus flan and ube ensaymada to go.
My kid being a particularly picky eater who isn’t terribly adventurous, she barely ate her halo-halo, and I resisted the urge to eat hers after I finished mine. At least she drank a good portion of her calamansi juice.
My kid persuaded her group in baking class to have a Philippines theme for their entry in the upcoming class Cupcake Wars project. We’ll be doing some “research” at a couple of Filipino bakery/restaurants this week.
Somewhere, I hope my mom and sister are smiling down on her.
Spoiled a perfectly fine Sunday afternoon by watching my team blow a lead/game/series. Going to try redeeming the day by playing with art supplies.
Thank you, Threads algorithm, for this juxtaposition on my timeline.
My kid is a teenager and we still hide eggs in the yard for her to hunt. This year, she brought our leashed cat to help. Happy Easter to all who celebrate.
Not a fan of the Giants. #Caturday #MLB
Good to see this fediverse thing catching on over at Threads. Find me there if you feel like it at @garciabuxton@threads.net … I tend to be chattier there these days.
It’s the North American pretzel cat. Impressed she could ball herself up like that.
Heard Nirvana’s cover of “The Man Who Sold the World” while driving this afternoon. Hearing it again on the coffeehouse’s stereo just now. Somewhere, Kurt Cobain (or David Bowie) is trying to tell me something.