Home, sweet...

On a variant of my morning walk the other day, I came across this notification that the owners of a mid-century rancher are fixing to raze and replace it:

According to Zillow, the current structure—yes, as unprepossessing as they come—was built in 1950 and is 1160 square feet. It sold last November for nearly $1.4 million, or $1181/square foot.

Obviously, however, that’s insufficient for the purchasers’ needs, because the two-story structure they plan to install will comprise 4761 square feet, plus another 560 square-foot garage. I don’t want to think what that sucker would sell for.

This neighborhood appears to look very much like it must have done when it was first developed 65 years ago. The preponderance of the houses are one-story ranchers like this one, although some have been remodeled down the years. Many of the streets don’t have sidewalks, and the landscaping has definitely aged in place.

However, it’s increasingly dotted with these stuccoed pretentious mansionettes. And, as it’s within walking distance of the new Apple headquarters, I expect we’ll see more of this sort of thing.

I guess that’s progress.

Star Slugs

I was coming back from walking a labyrinth yesterday when I noticed the license plate on the BMW convertible in front of me:

The car and its driver looked to have been down a few roads, so it’s not related to the imminent release of Chapter VII of the saga. And I thought it passing clever.

(You'll also note the frame from UC Santa Cruz. Yes, their mascot is Sammy the Slug. Santa Cruz is on the coast.)

So, well done, old yuppie; well done.

Scariest ever

As we creep towards Halloween, you might be ready for something scary. And I have just the thing.

Frankly, at the best of times, The Bradford Exchange gives me the willies. You know—ghastly memorabilia executed with the most horrifying lack of artistry. Honestly, is there anything more terrifying than the phrase “commemorative plate”?

Yes, as it happens, there is. And TBE is on top of it. Because back in August I came across this ad in the coupons section of the Sunday paper. An ad for something more dreadful than I had thought possible. Thomas Kinkade’s “The Joy of Christmas”. Masterpiece Edition.

Frankly, if this is the Masterpiece Edition, I just don’t want to think what the ordinary edition would be.

It’s got every conceivable horror right there—an illuminated gallery frame showcasing Kinkade’s kitsch. It plays a medley of “12 traditional Christmas carols”. The train really moves. The tree lights up. And it has an “impressive size of about 12 inches high.”

Oh, and the Train Really Moves!

All for only $135.00 plus $14.99 shipping and handling.

Evidently this is such A Thing that you have to reserve it, you can’t just order it. (Although the little reservation form does say “Limit: one per order”, so I’m a bit confused.)

I do wonder what’s up with the “365-day unconditional guarantee”—I mean, I’m not sure what, exactly, is being guaranteed. Perhaps you have to return the “Reservation Application” (today!) before you can find that out.

Anyway, having put this monstrosity out there into the Interwebs, I must now drink something bracing, and try to bleach my brain.

Bwoooahahaha!

Friends forever

Sorry, folks. No post today because my heart is broken. My best friend since high school died at a hospital in Joshua Tree last Saturday, as I discovered yesterday when I called to report on a job prospect. She was exhausted after living with ovarian cancer for the last five years, and I think death, at this point, was welcome.

I’ve written about her before, and perhaps I’ll do so again. But for now, my eyes are swimming, my chest is constricted and my fingers don’t seem to be able to operate anything.

Gratitude Monday: Even without the rain

Here in the Valley They Call Silicon (well, all over California, really), we’re waiting impatiently for El Niño. You know, the climate event that moves a whole lotta rain from the Eastern Pacific to the Western Pacific. We’re four years into a drought that’s fixing to turn the Golden State into the Brown State, and we really need the water.

Now, I know that the instant we get a few sprinkles, the streets of Santa Clara County are going to flood, because they aren’t banked properly to sluice the run-off into the sewers. But still—we need the water.

Meanwhile, I’m really grateful that we occasionally get enough clouds (even without any rain) at either sunrise or sunset to paint spectacular pictures across the skies once or twice a day.

Here’s one that was just getting started:

And here it is a few minutes later:

See what I mean?