Look at this photo. My 2-year-old granddaughter appears to be using cucumber slices to repair her tired skin and remove wrinkles from around her aging eyes.
Apparently, she and her father are having “a spa day.” It’s not the cucumber so much as the body language, the carefree way her arms splay out over her head.
Make this madness stop.
The other day, her Aunt Rapunzel, renowned for her ginger tresses, sent an early Christmas list to the family, insisting she didn’t really need anything after such a generous summer wedding.
But just in case…
–Chunky loafers or mules, size 6.5
–Lululemon Align leggings 7/8 length, size 2-4 in jade-colored prints.
–A private jet.
Can you imagine me in a Lululemon store asking, “Excuse me, excuse me, do you have this in a jade-colored print?”
I mean, who raised my kids? Obviously no one. They seem to have raised themselves…bunch of big-eyed orphans with crunchy cereal-bowl souls.
It’s like “Lord of the Flies,” except they’re all stranded at The Grove, trying to snag an Uber. Or at the Third Street Promenade – what’s left of it, anyway. Haven’t the ruffians sort of massacred that place? I prefer Main Street anyway, with the smelly bars and the high-end candle shop called “Blow Me.”
Jeeeesh, this town.
Obviously, all is not well with California. The Dodgers collapsed like a cellophane tent (again).
In the Bay Area, baby spiders are reportedly falling randomly from the sky, like fuzzy raindrops.
And in Hollywood, film lovers are grappling with Martin Scorsese’s latest indulgence, which lasts something like four weeks.
In any case, lots of bathroom breaks. Lots of flushes.
Into this swirly spiritual void — into this pop culture bouncy house — we give you Catty Cakes Finn, whose sole infraction so far is the cucumber slices on her aching eyes.
Also, she’s been spending long hours watching the owl out front of her home, through binoculars made with toilet paper spools.
Woot. Woot. Halloween is coming, Papa!
Woot. Woot. Woot.
Me, I’m still recovering from our recent swing through the Eastern Sierra after our book tour. So many handshakes. So many smiles.
The takeaway: Book tours exhaust me.
After one appearance, the Bear Whisperer and I ended up in the famed Fairfax dump, El Coyote. The waiters kept trying to close the place, and Steve wouldn’t let them. Money changed hands. Rules were broken. Hairline cracks emerged in L.A.’s social fabric.
But we had good time, we did.
Here’s a thought: Suppose a noted Bear Whisperer came to L.A. to promote a book and decided to stay forever, using his techniques on the troubled locals? Would they make him mayor? Would Netflix call? That’s the way this silly town works, you know. Stardom is so capricious.
In other bar-related news, I tricked a young ingenue (Suzanne) into darting into the Tiger Bar up in June Lake to use the restroom, then ended up staying to chat up the locals.
“The trout pretty hungry, are they?”
I give a little. Suzanne gives a lot. That’s how relationships survive.
It was Suzanne’s first time staying at the vaunted Double Eagle Lodge in June Lake, and we were so buzzed by the place, so seduced by the leafy Eastern Sierra – gleaming, like doubloons — that we discussed herding all our kids up here for a massive family retreat.
That will never happen. They have busy, busy lives.
They also have no confidence in what aging parents might tout as “fun,” though I think if we could get Cakes to come, and Suzanne’s dear mama, we might bait the rest into tagging along.
We could hike and fish and ski and slumber by the fireplace with a book and a half bottle of Bailey’s.
We could dig out board games and flavor the cabin with a big pot of chicken chili.
No, you’re right, who’d ever want to do all that?
But wait till they see the Tiger Bar. And the candlelight in these trees. Or hear “the music of the autumnal wind.” (Wordsworth)
Meanwhile, the bear book is a bit of a hit. Book stores keep running out. Hard enough to write a book, even harder to sell one. Currently, demand exceeds supply. Like copper pipe or Teslas.
As I told Dr. Steve, my physician/drinking pal, most writers are paid about the same as the organ player at the local church. I’d probably make more money selling my thin, Pinot-laced blood to local hospitals.
Such crazy times.
I’m sure they won’t last.
Coming soon: The coolest pumpkin patch in Los Angeles.
Meanwhile, we’re trying to clear out some merchandise. Below is a list of what’s left in the warehouse. Everything but the gin glasses has been discounted 25%. Makes for some rockin’ Christmas gifts, perhaps? And it’s a cool way to support this free site.
And please don’t forget about “What the Bears Know,” the memoir of Bear Whisperer Steve Searles.
To order the book, please click here.
For t-shirts and such, please click here.
Gin Glass Sets – 18
Caps – 45
Men’s “Boomer U” T-shirts
S – 1
2XL – 2
Women’s “Boomer U” T-shirts
S – 2
M – 4
L – 3
XL – 2
2XL – 1
“Boomer U” Long Sleeve T-shirts
S – 1
L – 2
Men’s Gray T-shirt
S – 4
M – 5
2XL – 6
Women’s Light Blue T-shirts
S – 2
M – 3
L – 2
XL – 2
2XL – 3
3XL – 2
Men’s Green T-shirts (Happy Hour Hiking)
S – 1
Women’s Berry T-shirts (Happy Hour Hiking)
S – 2
M – 2
2XL – 3