Golden Apples

YAY OBAMA. Took you long enough, sir. I understand that this is a "brave step," in terms of the presidency. His stance on gay marriage may ultimately cost him the election, but I respect him ever so much more for coming out with this than sitting on it in service of playing it safe. The fact that love and sexuality could ever be political in the first place makes my brain hurt, but anyway, it's something.

Saturday we'll be celebrating HR's second birthday, um, just a little late. It's going to be low-key as it was last year, and probably all the rest of the years as long as we're hosting. Because that's how we do, low-key. Lots of food, family and friends, cake, boom, we're done. At this point in the boy's life we could have gotten away with doing no party at all, but I actually want to have one. When asked what kind of cake he wanted, the child who is clearly Mike's son replied, "hot dogs." So there will be mini hot dog appetizers, and pizza (homemade by mom and gram, the best at pizza), and various other yumminess, including sangria for the grown ups. There will also be a cake made of cake, half yellow half chocolate, with Winnie the Pooh decorations, because they didn't have Thomas at the bakery. We're going to stick some godforsaken Thomas trains on the cake anyway for good measure. It's supposed to be gorgeous, weather-wise, and I look forward to the party spilling over the to the out-of-doors. Pity I don't have a grill at this time, a barbecue would have been perfect. Next year, perhaps. This year, I expect it to be perfect in its own imperfect way.

And that's that, about the party. Now for the music. Like her mentor Jay-Z, I'm mighty disappointed in Miss Robyn Rihanna Fenty for getting tight with Chris "The Literal Worst After Stalin" Brown again. But this song is a good one, no doubt, and has been getting lots of play in my house lately (downloaded by pop-eschewing Mike, no less) even though it's eons old. It also seems appropriate for the much needed--OK I think we have enough now--onslaught of the wet stuff. And the sun broke through as I finished that sentence. WORD.