Because You Never Know What's Going to Happen when You Google the Phrase All My Friends Are Dead

The 20 Creepiest Album Covers. I think they did a good job here.

Poofygoo is not Poofygone!

"No one on their death bed ever said, 'I wish I had spent more time using Internet Explorer to watch puppies on a webcam.' " -- Bill Shein

Such an epitaph remains unuttered because I'm not dead. Yet. (Also, I use Firefox.) My untimely demise is a fairly common misperception these days. You might have thought so by my quiet on the internets over the past few months. You're not the only one. Chief Ike's Mambo Room will no longer honor my lifetime free entrance pass, despite the statement on the card that it expires when I expire. Even after presenting them with what I thought was a fairly convincing explanation (complete with a little jig) that I am not, in fact, dead, they still won't let me in. Now where am I supposed to show off the reflective stripes on my pleatherette backgammon case?

Alas, I remain very much alive, unlike Sigurd the Mighty of Orkney, who strapped the head of a defeated foe to his leg, the tooth of which grazed against him as he rode his horse, causing the infection which killed him. That seems like a much better way to go than Humphrey de Bohun, 4th Earl of Hereford, who was was fatally speared through the anus by a pikeman hiding under the bridge during the Battle of Boroughbridge. Still, sometimes, I do fear that the Object is trying to kill me by the same methods that did in Martin I of Aragon: a lethal combination of indigestion and uncontrollable laughing.

I Refuse to Wear Flowers in My Hair

I went on a magic carpet ride around San Francisco. If by magic carpet, you mean walked about 15 miles per day for ten days. I can see where the confusion comes in.

I started out each day with the Breakfast of Champions: burritos and a Tecate in the Mission.

Then I played Follow That Mariachi, because they're not usually the sort of thing I see at 9 in the morning. Maybe they had a secret mariachi hideout serving more burritos and Tecate? Sadly, I lost track of the mariachis when I stopped to ponder if the pigs in the Lucky Pork Market realized their good fate.

I stimulated the economy for a while by strolling up Valencia and buying Festivus presents I didn't even realize I needed. In Aquarius Records, you can find your very own copy of Steen an' Skin, the best disco reggae to come out of the Afro-Cuban scene. Or possibly the only disco reggae I've come across.

House of Caffeine, my ass. This place was a coffee shop:

The houses are endlessly fascinating. The Painted Ladies are smaller than they seem than on Full House. I'm sure I would feel that way about the Olsen twins, too.

Look closely at the house below; the entire facade is trompe l'oeil. The window frames are real, but that's it. The flags, gables, stonework --

--it's all a trick. Foiled by hippies again.

One of Those Colors is Golden. Just Like Silence

I've been trying to juggle what the hell to do with my life while trying to live it at the same time. Happily, there are places I can find solace. Namely, the colors of the wind.