Well, I made it back--thanks for all your cards and well-wishes and that one telegram--that was really above and beyond.

The finches hovered around my boat all weekend, hovering and swooping with their little wings, peering in through the ports, and making put-upon noises in an attempt to get me to put their nest back. Not bloody likely, is what I said, yelling up at them through the hatch, swigging directly from the bottle of aquavit I got last summer as a house-sitting thank-you present. (It gets a little lonely with the Keelhauler out to sea--I have to entertain myself as I can.)

I was supposed to be getting the boat ready for an upcoming trip to Catalina (that is an island in the Pacific Ocean, yo). Getting the boat ready means removing a crateload of hardcover books that have inexplicably accumulated, along with four Tupperware containers of cosmetics and expensive soap, and a dozen or more pairs of boots with very high heels. And since I was doing all that anyway, I went for the full redecoration--something I can do only in the Keelhauler's absence, as were he present, he would have second-guessed and badgered me into a quivering, aquavit-scented mess, and everything would stay exactly as it had been.

I'm rather pleased with my progress, although at the moment, a crate of books and a bag of laundry take up a good portion of the main salon (that's a room on the boat). It'll be cleaned up by this weekend, however, and ready to go.

My whirlwind of activity this weekend precluded a visit to fake-named friends Kent and Lydia in Alameda--something I'd much rather have done. They've just recently bought a house up there, so a weekend with them would mean painting and scraping and working, but it would have been 350% more fun than staying home and working on my own project. For one, they are terribly enteraining, and always have red wine, and are very free with the pouring. For another, when Kent gets bored, he tends to fire up the grill and/or pull out a guitar, so there's either great food or music, which represents 100% more of each of those things than I experienced at home by myself this weekend. (And now, everyone ready? Feel bad for me! Thanks.)

Anyway, around 5:00 yesterday, feeling (falsely) like I'd accomplished enough, I put on a fresh white linen shirt, some cherry red lipstick and fetching sunglasses, mixed a vodka tonic, and went to sit in the cockpit with a book ("House of Leaves"--get it today!). My casual attire and pose were part of a larger plan, one I call Celebrity Watch. It's like stalking, but with no agenda or specific effort. Essentially, it requires me to sit in my boat and look around for celebrities, in case any sail by. The location of my boat is perfect for this, and although I have not technically seen any celebrities, I have a great vantage point, should any arrive.

Yesterday represented a 100% jump in celebrity sightings, as at around 6:00, I witnessed the small boat of a minor celebrity round the corner and head down the channel. I didn't actually recognize said celebrity, whom I will call... Earl, but I know it's Earl's boat, so I assumed Earl was the guy on board. As he slowly rounded the corner, I looked up from my book with fake nonchalance, and smiled. He wasn't looking at me, so the smile was both premature and ineffective.

I resorted to Plan B, which is: Unsolicited Yelling. Raising my voice yet retaining a mellifluous tone for which I am known, I called, "Nice day out there?" Oh, don't scoff. While it may seem generic, my greeting was appropriate in that it acknowledges Earl's return from the sea, and through inquiry about the conditions, establishes me as a fellow sailor.

Earl, unrecognizable in a floppy hat and sunglasses, smiled back at me with an impressive row of even, celebrity-worthy teeth, and said that it was a nice day out there--pretty windy, in fact. I nodded casually and said something about our boats being made for it. Maybe I said "these boats," I don't recall, but at any rate, it further cemented our bond by presenting me as a fellow boat owner.

I was congratulating myself on my casual first introduction to my first boat celebrity, when a slew of voices emanated from the row of power boats down the dock. "Hey, Earl!" all the guys yelled. "Earl!" They were all yelling. Yelling and drunk, and listening to Jimmy Buffett. It appears that everyone--even the yelling, drunken power boat guys down the dock--already know Earl and enjoy to yell out his name.

I wasn't interested in competing with their offers to catch his dock lines--what could I say? I guess I could have run down there yelling "I love your last CD!" although I don't technically own it. It just didn't seem right. And I still had half a vodka tonic left.

And anyway, if I'd run down to talk to him, I might have missed other celebrities sailing by, and no one wants that.

And here: an article to read.

Star of the day. . .Teri Garr