Happy 4:20, blog-log-eroonies. I’m in the mood for takin’ it easy this morning, instead of posting 10 billion more photos from Maui that I’ve had to exhaustively edit (well, only the photos taken with the Canon A610–the new camera does all the work for me) (almost). ANYway what’s going on with us currently?

The Boy mowing down a “Peanut Buster Parfait” from Dairy Queen while Maggie pays close attention.

Sugar is delicious.

The Blizzard Fan Club that I belong to e-mailed me to say that “mini” Blizzards are only 1.99 for the month of April. Like I need even more of a reason to eat a Blizzard? Trouble with the mini is it’s gone in about 2 bites. You understand, I’m sure.

Bear Cub looks at the camera!

We’re getting her professionally trimmed this spring, no question. No more dread natty dread now. Not that it isn’t “fun” to chase her around the yard with a pair of scissors.

Hey Bear Cub, ‘member when you were a puppy and you used to eat random piles of animal poop off the ground around the apartment complex? No? Well, MOMMY REMEMBERS.

I’m thoroughly enjoying the first season of “Maude“, starring Bea Arthur in a dazzling array of hideous polyester two-piece outfits, often with bad scarves. Ma-aaa-an, 1972 was a terrible year for fashion.

I’ve been reading “Holy Terror: Andy Warhol Close Up”, written by “Interview” magazine’s former editor Bob Colacello. It’s been far more enjoyable to read than I imagined it would (intelligently written and not nearly as bitter as I figured–so far).

I cackled with delight when Bob and Andy went to Grey Gardens and met Big Edie and Little Edie–this was before the big clean-up was complete, and before the Maysles shot the infamous documentary. I enjoyed the description of the Beales by Colacello so much I thought I’d share it. Enjoy!

“Little Edie Beale, about sixty years old, greeted us shyly. Her shaved head was wrapped in a brown silk scarf, which matched her brown turtleneck and brown skirt, brown stockings, and brown boots. She looked like an Islamic nun with an Irish drunk’s face–white skin, red nose, very red, off-register lipstick.

She led us upstairs to meet her mother, Big Edie Beale, about eighty years old and not shy at all. Big Edie was propped up in her bed in her bedroom, which had not yet gotten that Radziwill touch. A tree branch extended into the room through an open window to the middle of Big Edie’s bed, and squirrels and raccoons climbed in to eat potato chips and pretzels. The bedcover was a trash heap of cracker boxes and candy wrappers, half-eaten tins of tuna fish and cat food, spilled milk, assorted other droppings, and piles of old “Confidentials” and new “Enquirers“, all with Jackie covers.

Big Edie looked like an old Indian chief, with a mane of untamed white hair shooting out from her once beautiful features, and her still bright blue eyes.

“You’re wearing my scarf!” she screamed at Little Edie as we walked in. “Jackie gave that scarf to me! Take it off this minute!”

“No, she didn’t!” Little Edie screamed back. “She gave me all the brown Valentinos, and she gave you all the black Valentinos. This scarf is mine!”

“It’s black!’

“It’s brown!”

“It looks like black to me!”

“It’s BROWN BROWN BROWN!!!”

To us, Big Edie was the picture of hospitality and charm, offering us snacks from her bed, which we politely declined.”

– “Holy Terror: Andy Warhol Close Up“