“If you want to know all about Andy Warhol, just look at the surface of my paintings and films and me, there I am. There’s nothing behind it.” — Andy Warhol

Same goes for me. Just read my blog. Questions? Comments? Want to send me a present but don’t know how? E-mail me at sjpeakall AT gmail Dot com for a swift and witty reply.

In case you’re wondering who the other cast members are in the dramedy of my life, they are:

Megan: My sister and best friend. Former EMT who now works at the local hospital’s ER. Not afraid of anything but snakes. Married for 21 years and counting to:

Rob, our brother’s best friend and partner in crime since they were nine years old. He can make anything out of nothing, and probably rues the day his incompetent sister-in-law moved in next door.

Jonathan: My brother. Volunteer fire fighter, teacher, and all-around genius. Lives off the grid about a quarter of a mile away from my sister and me.

Our parents are both dead, as are our grandparents and only aunt. We never had any uncles or cousins, so we’re a small, but close, unit.

Audrey: My beautiful, adventurous tabby cat. A bewitching bundle of cuteness and naughtiness in one furry package. Sister to:

June, aka The Beautiful June Bug, who vanished on the night of June 4, 2010, to my ever-lasting grief and regret. I keep Audrey in at night now.

Henry, aka Henry Etta James: The stray cat I fed for nearly three years in Oakland. When I moved to Hooterville, I brought him with me. He turned out to be a very old lady, and died in his/her sleep on April 2, 2010. She is buried under a tree at my brother’s place, and I say hello to her every time I’m there.

Clyde and Roscoe: Cat brothers born on June 8, 2010. I adopted them late in August, when it was obvious that the beloved June was gone forever. I thought they’d be company for Audrey, but they drive her crazy instead. Maybe they’ll calm down as they get older. Or not.

Hooterville: A small town of 398 people on the Northern California coast. I live about 5 miles from downtown Hooterville, which consists of a grocery store, post office, and hardware store.

If you dig back in my archives, you may come across John, aka Rufus, my sort of ex-husband. We separated after fifteen years of marriage, but haven’t done the paperwork yet. We’re still friends.

Things I want to do before it’s too late:

Ring the opening bell on Wall Street.

Attend Fashion Week.

Be presented to the Queen.

Be a blind item on Page Six.

Say “Follow that car!”

Go to a game in every major league ballpark in the country.

Be a socialite.

Live in a hotel.

Go to the Vanity Fair Oscars party.

Be completely honest for one day.

Take the Orient Express all the way to Istanbul.

Be a philanthropist.

Go without computer, TV and cellphone use for a month. Or even a week.

Run barefoot through the grass.

Be published. (Can I cross this off after having two articles published in a magazine?)

Have a library. With one of those rolling ladders.

Go to cooking school, like in “Sabrina”.

Walk across the Golden Gate Bridge – and back.

Pick strawberries in the sunshine near Santa Cruz.

Move back to San Francisco.

Be a role model (instead of an Awful Warning).

Learn to type.

Touch each continent, even the icky ones.

Retire.