And the countdown begins

One more semester, folks, and I'm a free woman. That involves roughly 8 papers, 5 presentations, a gazillion on-line journal entries, 135 hours of clinical, and (last but not least) my graduate thesis.

That's T-minus 105 days.

Flaming and hot

Friday night, Sean and I had the wonderful experience of seeing Rufus Wainwright in concert at the Nob Hill Masonic Center. This man is crazy-ridiculous good.

I didn't really know much about ol' Rufus prior to the concert. I've heard a good handful of his songs, and loved loved loved him in the soundtrack to Moulin Rouge. I didn't even know what he looked like. Turns out this guy is as flaming as Elton John and Liberace combined. This may be obvious news to most but I guess I didn't expect that with how captivating and sultry his voice is. I was expecting some super suave, Italian stallion crooner. Instead what I saw was this Ewan McGregor looking guy decked out in this bedazzled white/gray suit with matching bedazzled pointy and heeled shoes. Then he proceeded to dance like a Vegas show-person (think toe taps and hip sways) complete with the twirling of the microphone cord. It was cheezy and over-the-top but didn't matter the moment he started singing. His voice just soars with so much warmth, even when he did a rendition of an Irish Folk song sans microphone.

(And for all you fellow band geeks out there, he had this totally hot horn section - a new addition to his ensemble - complete with a sax, a trumpet, and...get this...and FRENCH HORN! How awesome is that? It was the perfect compliment to his already rich sound.)

I'll be the first to say it - I was totally turned on by the gay guy.

It's Pat

A couple weekends ago, I went to one of the Stern Grove Sunday concerts with Jen, Sun and Melinda. We had a grand ol' time. We didn't really listen to the music, but instead enjoyed the each other's company and, of course, eating the large assemblage of food we brought for our picnic. (Mmmm...cheese).

While we were chatting away a child, probably around 6 years old, approached us to ask if we'd spotted a lost toy.

We kindly said no and off the child went in search and questioning other picnic-ers. One of us said, "Cute girl." which was followed by someone saying, "That's not a girl, that's a boy!" And the discussion continued.

Honestly, we couldn't even tell. Hair of a girl, cargo pants of a boy, voice indiscernible, facial features also ambiguous. What are the parents thinking? Definitely some subtle form of child abuse or neglect. Poor thing is an ideal candidate for therapy.

Just in case you're curious...