REI Womb

Well, our shoulder sling thing that I carry the baby in while I work isn't from REI, but it looks sporty/cargo-ish. If Geoff Probst had a baby and needed to take it to the Survivor set, he would carry it in one of these. "Survivors, please take care of my baby for 8-10 hours while I catch up on rest. You all have immunity and you win the Texas hamburger bar."

She is pretty happy to sleep in there, since out of all of the things in the world so far it's the one that most resembles the cramped quarters of a placenta bag (only it doesn't smell like a hot butcher shop).

Is there an "exploratorium" in your city? San Francisco has one. There are all these crazy scientific displays. It'd be cool if an exploratorium filled a bunch of inflatable river rafts with hot Beef-flavored Jell-O, then dumped them into a big pool of exactly the same density of hot loose Beef Jell-O, and then dumped your naked body into it. Also, instead of not having a strip of hot liver under your nose, you would have one. The exhibit could be called "I'm Baby!" and there could be photos. Please call me, Mayor Gavin Newsome or Exploratorium Staff, to discuss royalty structures.

Alright, here we go.

Well, I guess people would think it was pretty weird if we had a baby and my first entry back I chose to blog about, say, television programs. Yes, the baby is here, and she is a happy little thing. She chopped our day into eighths instead of thirds, though, and that's taking its toll on most aspects of this scene. Last night I was so exhausted I just went to the back bedroom door and peed on the deck instead of walking down the hall to the bathroom (fortunately, it was raining). This is what exhaustion can do to you.

Thanks to everyone who wrote or mailed cards of well-wishes. I can't write back to everyone but I have read everything you sent and it is appreciated.

I would write more but there is a little pile of warmly-colored textiles squirming around on the couch next to me, and it hasn't eaten in over two hours.

Limoncello

Our Limoncello recipe turned out pretty well, but it needed a lot of time. The way it works is you buy two handles of good vodka, a fifth of everclear, pour it over maybe eight ounces (dry weight) of big lemon zest peels (use a carrot peeler), and let it steep for a few months. Then mix in the same volume of simple syrup and let sit a few more months. When this batch finished in January it was pretty crude, but now that it's March the stuff is a lot smoother and you can drink it straight over ice.

The main interesting thing about making our own Limoncello is that when we were at BevMo buying all the liquor we ran into one of our local post office clerks, who was buying a case of non-alcoholic beer. He was wearing a denim baseball jacket with ecru leather sleeves.

There are apparently two paths in life down which one can go.

FedEx, why do you have to be that way with me.

The doorbell rang at some ungodly hour this morning and the dog went barking mad, as is her way. I was on the cusp of deep-REM sleep and decided pretty quickly not to answer, though the person rang twice. I thought it might have been my wife, having forgotten her house key on the way to an early morning medical checkup, in which case I calculated that she'd eventually give up and come around back through the rear bedroom door. Soon I heard footsteps on the rear deck and startled as something heavy set down not five feet from my toes, but then nothing more. No wife entered the room, and the dog stood noisy vigil at the front window. The worst pain is that of a tired man who is not sure whether to be scared.

I rose to discover a package from FedEx at my rear-facing bedroom door. You don't just walk up to my rear bedroom door — you have to go through a couple gates and get pretty intimate with my personal space. This FedEx driver, as far as I was concerned, had very nearly taken off her boots, gotten under the covers, and asked me to sign for the package across the expanse of her tough-nippled but silken-skinned breast. It's as near as I've ever come to being violated by a courier, and I have to tell you, I considered that thought from several angles as I grudgingly made the morning coffee and defrosted the hashbrown patty.