Reader, I married him

I've had a couple requests for pictures of the Mister's annual Christmas beard. So here you go, a pictorial history.

You remember where we started.

Well, we shaved.

And shaved a little more.

And in the end we decided to go with 1920s pugilist...

...which is way better than Bath House Pete, which is what we went with a few years ago.

This shirt says: "I have a healthy penis"

And there you go.

Random Observations on DC

I promised a little more about DC, so here it goes, random observations.

1. The Newseum makes most other museums feel pretty Podunk. It's pretty much six floors of awesomeness, especially if you are sort of a First Amendment junkie, uber-nerd (my favorite kind of people). The Pulitzer Prize photography room alone is worth the pricey admission. But bring your hankie because no one wins a Pulitzer for taking pictures of healthy, well-adjusted children feeling joyful.

Photo from here.

2. DC is a very black city (54.4%). San Francisco is not (6.5%). In DC, white people and black people are together a lot, doing business, hanging out, going to school, conversing. In San Francisco, they are not. In DC there are black people across the socioeconomic spectrum (hello, Mr. President). In San Francisco there are also middle class African Americans, but the majority of black San Franciscans live in poorer, marginalized neighborhoods. I guess what I am trying to say is that race relations felt much more relaxed in DC than in supposedly super-liberal, groovy SF. Here, it feels like a bunch of stiff white people trying to be PC about the black people they don't actually know. There, it just felt like a completely natural mix of people doing their thing. Which is what my dad always said about Southern cities: that despite a reputation for and history of racism, there was actually a lot more regular, day-to-day interaction between races. And that completes my portion of the national conversation on race. Now watch this mazing video.

3. In DC it seemed as if there was a larger percentage of young women who dressed as if they were on Gossip Girls. They were all so blond and shiny and barely clad and slutty looking. We saw lots of Daisy Dukes and stilettos. Where, I ask you, were the dowdy policy wonks in sweater sets? I know, I'm so totally old and prudish now.

What if I start wearing mom jeans?

Since I am no longer the home editor at Sunset and my mind has turned temporarily to travel, I've sort of fallen off my manic home makeover bandwagon. This also has to do with my newly refreshed urge to move out of our boxy, tiny house and into something a little more open, with a little better weather, and maybe some decent public schools nearby.

Yes, I am contemplating suburbia. Marin County, to be exact. Or sort of. I waffle. Part of me wants to raise cool city kids able to converse in Mandarin and navigate MUNI and enjoy a film in translation. And part of me remembers the childhood pleasures of hot summers, school yards with grass, and the feeling of having free reign over our little town.

A lot of my friends are crossing the Bay and settling into the land of parking lots and ice cream trucks. But I don't know. What if it makes us soft? What if my kids grow up thinking everyone is white? What if I start taking Pilates and walking around in my workout clothes with a giant nonfat iced latte in my hand at all times? It could happen.

A thing I like

I know he hasn't exactly fixed the economy (yet) and, well, the troops are still in Iraq. Healthcare looks like it's probably not going to get the radical full-body makeover it so desperately needs. But, I can't help it, I still love Obama with a purple passion. Which is why I like to waste my time scrolling through the White House Flickr page. My current favorite? This one of Michelle cradling a woman's face on Fourth of July. It's just so full of heart.

Travel through time—make Polaroids

Everything looks better with the greenish tinge of yesteryear.  I may be a little late to the Carter-era nostalgia party, but I'm loving polaroiding my photos. I learned about it here (can Swiss designers ever be wrong?).

Go here and download this little program.  Then begin reliving your youth.

But be careful.  It's addictive. . .

Oliver travels back to the '70s to pick out a pumpkin

Maggie and Oliver travel back to the '70s in their cool hats

I travel back to the '70s to get loaded at Mark and Chelsea's wedding