Nobody Knows Anything

Welcome to Diane Patterson's eclectic blog about what strikes her fancy

Who I am

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I am being very, um, non-hurried about creating/updating my bio page, so for right now I will do an entry that should bring new readers up to date.

  • I am married to a guy named Darin.
  • We have the two cutest children ever. I know you think you know cuter children; you may even be the parent of children you think are cuter. Sadly, you are wrong: we got ’em.
  • I went to high school at the Convent of the Sacred Heart in San Francisco. Drop a line if you’re a fellow alumna.
  • I went to college at Stanford University. I majored in Linguistics. I have never used my degree, which is not to say it was a waste of time. I don’t think it was.
  • I worked at Apple Computer as a technical writer. This is where I met Darin, though we didn’t start dating until after he had already left the company. Not that propriety ever stopped anyone else, trust me.
  • I got an MFA in Film from USC.
  • Darin works on Safari. You can read more about it on his co-worker Dave Hyatt’s blog.
  • I have a sister. She’s married and has two kids who are almost the exact same ages as mine. What are the chances?
  • Darin is also the eldest of three brothers, and all three of them work for Apple Computer. This sets some sort of record, or at least sets the stage for several of the weirder prophecies in Isaiah. No, really.

Mildly exhausted

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Went out to brunch this morning with Tamar, Dan, and Damian. Damian and Sophia are like gasoline and a match together. It was pretty much non-stop insanity from 10 this morning to 6 this evening, but at least most of that time they were entertaining each other.

We finished the day at a Mexican restaurant around the corner from Tamar’s. Food: pretty good. Service: not so good. Ambience: dark. Funniest/more exhausting moment: in the middle of other hilarity going on, Simon managed to pull a glass of beer on top of himself.

“Another typical Saturday night for him,” said Darin.

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A few days ago we drove past a pet supply store that had a giant sign painted on the window: All Meat Diet, Human-grade.

“Those damn Atkins people,” Darin said. “Now it’s the pets.”

I cracked up. “That is so not where my mind went,” I said. “I was thinking, Soylent Green is people!”

(Sorry if this ruins the movie for anyone.)

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Man I least want to meet in a dark alley: Tom Fontana.

(We’ve been watching the final season of “Oz.” And every week I’m like, Why am I watching this again? It’s a soap opera filled with rape, drugs, and gory violence.)

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True story:

I went to the library to pick up some books I had on hold. As I approached the reserve room…

“…it’s a famous novel, by a famous writer.”

Speaking was the library volunteer who always works the reserve room, with two teenaged volunteers.

“I’ve never heard of it,” said one of the teenagers. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about a very friendly French lady.”

I would have raised an eyebrow, had I the muscular control. “And this book would be?”

The library volunteer gave me a world-weary glance. “Madame Bovary.”

“That’s quite possibly the most interesting summary of that book I’ve ever heard,” I said.

He shrugged.

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Anyone know a good place to buy personalized stationery? I want to buy some personalized notecards for Sophia and Simon and I don’t know where to go.

Jesus, it’s working

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Darin and I went out to dinner tonight at the Four Oaks over in Bel Air—too slow, too expensive, for food that wasn’t quite to the level it needed to be, but we got two hours to talk to one another, something we haven’t had enough of lately, so that was good. For the first half hour we were just about the only people in our room of the restaurant. Then two other parties were seated. Then 20, 30 minutes before we left a party sat at the table behind us.

And the meal was almost completely ruined for me, because I couldn’t help overhearing what these people were talking about.

…About how wonderful the President’s budget proposal is.

…About how convincing Powell’s speech at the UN was.

…About how wonderful this war in Iraq is going to be. (Let me help you out on this—no one who was eating at this restaurant knows anyone in, let alone has children in, the armed forces. It’s an economic strata thing, in case you’re wondering.)

…About the “spoils of war.” Said gleefully. Really, really gleefully.

It’s hard for me to believe that people who have enough brainpower to have autonomic body functions working can fall for the bullshit streaming out of Washington.

Maybe they were part of the extremely tiny percentage of people out there who are making out like bandits from the Bush Kleptocracy.

Darin kept squeezing my hand and saying, “Talk to me. Don’t listen to them. Talk to me.”

I can’t decide whether it’s a victory or not that I didn’t stop by their table and give them a piece of my mind.