I’d demanded sushi for my birthday dinner, so we went to a little Japanese place near the Irving Public Library, arriving before they reopened for dinner. No matter, there was a Half Price Books down the block, so we went there, flirted with having Indian food instead, then went back to Hanasho for dinner. I like it there, because it’s comfortable, low key, casual, and the music is generally cafe jazz and light standards, as opposed to club jazz.

While I often get Unagi Don (a bbq eel over rice) I chose a salmon, sashimi, and tempura bento box last night. Fuzzy had a bento box also, with beef and California Roll. I love bento boxes because instead of getting a huge amount of one thing, you get to taste many different things. Also, I like the compartmentalized trays. I’ve often wanted to bring a large bag to dinner, and steal a couple for use is jewelry trays (I don’t have a jewelry box, and really desperately need one), but that would be messy.

The rest of my birthday weekend was similarly satisfying: Stardust at the movie grill on Friday evening, a mani/pedi and eyebrow wax yesterday afternoon, and pink sneakers and a micro-SD card for my phone (the card, not the sneakers) from Fuzzy, not to mention breakfast with Ms. Eclectic this morning while we watched buff young men with colorful bandanas roasting Hatch chili peppers.

All in all, a great weekend.
And now?
A nap, followed by grocery shopping, dog food buying, jamba juice, and a quiet evening at home.

Take My Hand and I Will Follow You

If you’ve been surfing other people’s blogs lately, you’ve probably noticed banners like this one:

U Comment I Follow

But you may not realize what it means. Actually, until last night, I didn’t either.

See, there’s this tag used in blogs a lot (no_follow) that turns links in comments into dead ends so search engines don’t crawl them. Originally, it was intended to stop comment spam, but we all know that doesn’t work.

Why, then, should we deny our blog visitors the link love they so richly deserve? We shouldn’t. So I’ve implemented a WordPress plugin called DoFollow, that makes my comment links “live.” I figure, if you’re leaving a comment here, you should get something out of it.

Mind you, comments are still moderated (the first time you post here, and if you have a comment with two or more links), anonymous comments are generally deleted (so please make sure there’s a way I can visit YOUR site, or send you an email, and use a valid address for ONE of those fields), and spam is NOT tolerated, but I’m all about sharing the link love.

For more information, go see DawudMiracle, and for a cute little icon, visit Randa.

Holding Hands with Rosie

My manicurist is a Costa Rican native named Rosie, who reminds me a little bit of my great-aunt Molly, though I think it’s just the way she purses her lips when she’s concentrating, and the way she wears a classic hair-do, and never changes the length or style (though she’s gone sort of blondish of late.)

She speaks in this thick accent, and tries to convince me that even women with small hands should paint their fingernails. I generally do just my toes, and leave my hands buffed and shiny, but not tinted. Today, she won, and I’m now sporting OPI’s “Don’t Know, Beets Me” pink on my fingers and toes.

As she worked on my fingers today, holding my hand gently but firmly, thunder rumbled overhead, and she mentioned that her last client before me was a man about to go on a cruise. “He’s leaving from Galveston,” she said, “And going to the Caymans, where the hurricane is.”

I suggested that he might not be leaving til after Hurricane Dean had blown itself out.

She told me he’s leaving tomorrow.

She helped me practice Spanish for a while, as she continued to use brushes and emery boards and clippers to make my hands look pretty, and our conversation involved my fantasy about living on a house boat, and theories about what happens when cruises are affected by hurricanes.

I quipped, “Well they give you a discount if you’re blown overboard.”

It was funnier in the soft light of the salon, with thunder rumbling ominously overhead, and punctuating my words.

Tall Houses and Chestnut Pastries

I’ve been reading this amazing book, A Writer’s Paris: a guided journey for the creative soul. It suggests taking a trip to Paris, and spending a month or three or six just writing. Actually, it says, you should write in three different sessions each day and spend the rest of the time exploring the literary culture and history of the city.

I am, of course, fantasizing, nay, pre-planning, a trip to Paris next May. Why May? Why not. I like Spring weather, I guess. I’ve gone so far as to browse vacation home rental sites on the ‘net, something I’ve done before.

In 2002, my parents, Fuzzy, and I rented The Tall House – a vacation home in St. Thibery, France (near Bezier) – and spent Christmas there. In the morning we strolled to the outdoor market and bought chestnut pastries, and in the evening we would brew tea and carry it up the steep steps to the second-floor lounge (the house was very tall, but only two rooms wide) and eat pastries while we watched the lights in the sleepy village click on and off, or read aloud to each other, or watched video tapes of Brit-coms.

We all had the flu, we broke the funky thread-spool toilet-flushing mechanism, and it was raining a lot.

And I’d never felt more like I belonged somewhere in my entire life.