If I wanted to compliment a lot of women, I would find another place to do it. For instance, a place where women are more easily complimented.

...

Ok, I am coming up blank on where women are easily complimented.

Natter?

I'm thinking Harry's Bar, in Venice. That would be Italy, not Southern California. Where they have a guy on staff to do nothing all day except pulp white peaches for bellinis.

Good place for complimenting women easily.

PCH One

I had never expected to see it, yet, there it had been. So briefly existent that I took my eye off the road for longer than comfortable on the narrow winding road. Chasing the shadow of my car as it wavered against the towering rocks to my right, balanced on the knife edge of mountain and sea, I felt if I drove just a little bit faster I could catch it again—a forlorn hope. More than just an atmospheric effect, it was the elusive green flash, sought after by many, but given only by grace, never by human effort.

Where they have a guy on staff to do nothing all day except pulp white peaches for bellinis.

Or girl band?

Euphemism?

Or girl band?

MuHAAA! Seriously - the bellini (white peach pulp in prosecco) was invented at Harry's Bar.

mmmmmmmmm, Venice. Cipriani's. Must get back to Italy, damn it; Nic's never been to Venice and he needs to spend a couple of days there.

For the driving drabble.

Everything is finally loaded into the car. The cats are in back, with a towel over one cage for our sanity. All of the goodbyes have been said, or at least all of the ones that still matter. It’s time to drive. Take the 101 to the 5, heading north. Stop once for a bathroom break and stretch, but grab lunch from a drive-through so you can keep driving. Hours later, finally head west towards Paso Robles. From there, keep driving north, and try to remember there is no more “the”. It’s just 101 that takes you the rest of the way home.

Oh, Perkins, DAYUM, that rocks.

All about the California highways. And we've done so many road trips south and then home to San Fran that it's now automatic: we get south of Santa Nella and suddenly we're on "the Five".

Heh. One of my favorite bumper stickers when I lived in California said, "There is no life east of I-5." I kinda miss seeing that around.

Sail! You actually saw the Green Flash? I thought it was just a myth. Nice drabble, btw, with chasing the wavery shadow.

Elegant and economic, as always, dcp.

I love Cindy's bio of Allyson. Mention the nephew and it'll be perfect.

Way belated Yays! to Allyson. And very approving applause of Cindy's bio of same.

After crying twice (and I blame hormones, *shaky fist*), I have something.

When Allyson Beatrice isn't watching television, she's writing about it on the internet.

Raised on a steady programming diet of the Sunday Creature Double Feature, Good Times reruns, and ABC Afterschool specials, Ms. Beatrice's schoolgirl crush on scripted programming developed into an unhealthy love affair with the cult show Buffy the Vampire Slayer in her mid-twenties.

She sought out conversation with other television junkies on message boards, and found a sense of family amongst the strangers logging into sites to pray allegience to the little blonde girl with the big stake.

Her five year adventure in fandom included inviting a Jamaican diplomat's daughter to sleep on her floor for three months, being a bridesmaid at a lesbian wedding, finding friendship with an acclaimed television producer, and organizing a failed campaign to save a television show about cowboys in space from being canceled.

Allyson Beatrice lives in Los Angeles with her paranoid cat, Ruby.