Canned Goods

Snow Days = blow days

2012-01-22T20:37:00.000-08:00

Remember when you were a kid and snow days were the most awesome days in the world? I'd wake up to a world of white and just as soon as my mom got "the call" that school was canceled, I'd be out there with my neighborhood friends building snow forts and going sledding down Suicide Hill.* Good times.

Now that I'm an adult, I loathe snow days. As a mom who works from home, snow days are days when NOTHING gets done. It isn't just because the kids are around all day, either. It's because I know I have to get out and shovel said snow from my sidewalk. And since my house sits on a corner lot, I have to shovel two sidewalks.

I hate it, too, because I can't just turn my kids out into the snow and say, "Come in when it starts to get dark." Living in the city means we have to trudge to the park which, thankfully, is only a few blocks away; but that means I have to go with them and stand there, in the freezing snow, and watch them play. So, after spending an hour freezing my tukus off while watching my two kids slide down their lame hill (nothing will ever compare to Suicide Hill. NOTHING!) I get to bring them back inside, strip them down, take care of their wet clothes, and then I get to go back outside and shovel.

Of course, what sucks more is when I shovel my sidewalks and then it snows overnight again...which means the kids get another day off and I get to shovel my sidewalks...again.

I'm thankful that we live in a pretty mild climate. Snowstorms like the one we experienced last week aren't yearly occurrences, but this last week set me over the edge. The kids had off from school on Monday for the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday. Then, it snowed overnight, so on Tuesday, they had a two-hour late start. Then, the school called to say that the kids are being released two hours early, which means they were only in school for two hours. What does anyone do in two hours? I had enough time to shower and answer emails, and that was it. Then, school was canceled on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday because it didn't stop snowing until Friday night.

You might be wondering why I'm so anal with the snow shoveling. Well, 1/3 of me is being considerate, and 2/3 of me is forcing me to do it because I would be the only person on my block who DIDN'T shovel snow off the sidewalk. And I don't want to be one of "those" people. Believe me, all of the neighborhood blogs had at least one rant in each of them, discussing the absolute assholeness of people who didn't shovel their sidewalks. So yeah, I'm trying to avoid shame. On the plus side, a few people passed me on the sidewalk during my shovel-a-thons and thanked me for clearing a path.

One week later and all the snow has disappeared, save for a few patches here and there; but it's like the snowstorm of the century never happened. I hope that's the last of it!

*Suicide Hill was located in the woods adjacent to our backyard. We named it thusly because it was steeper than all get-out and when you got to the bottom, you had to bail out quickly because either a) you might veer to the right and smack into a tree; or b) you might go straight into the frozen Hackensack River. I'm proud to say no one has ever lost their life to Suicide Hill.

Sage Advice from Moms in 30Seconds

2012-01-11T13:33:00.001-08:00

The old adage that moms know best has been around for as long as moms have been doing the mom thing. But where do you suppose moms get their tips from? Fellow moms, of course! And now with technology so readily at our fingertips, there's a stream-based mobile website and app for reading valuable tips from moms all in one place: 30Second Mom.

For instance, did you know that using a lemon can soothe dry skin? Want to know how to make homemade de-tangler? Did you know that dyed foods may cause behavior issues in kids? Those tips and hundreds more, written by over 50 contributors (momtributors), from topics like cooking in the kitchen to spicing things up in your relationship, can be found on 30Second Mom. As a featured contributor, I'm proud to be working with a group of talented and savvy moms!

30Second Mom was created by entrepreneur, Elisa All, a mom of three who is no stranger to new media as her previous venture, iParenting Media, had been sold to the Walt Disney Corp. All founded 30Second Mobile and launched 30Second Mom as the company's first brand when she realized that she used her smartphone constantly to access the Web and multi-task while on the go. She's not alone; in fact, US smartphone adoption is currently at 40%, and likely to be growing to 80% by 2016; and smartphone penetration for parents is possibly even higher as BabyCenter has found that moms are more likely to have smartphones and spend 6.1 hrs/day on the mobile web. The beauty of the 30Second Mom mobile app is that you can access it while you're waiting in line at the grocery store, on the playground, or at school -- anywhere you are. And the tips you like can be shared by you with all of your friends on Facebook and Twitter with a simple tap on the screen.

30Second Mom is a free app that only requires a one-time registration. Click here to get started and pretty soon you too will be a mom that's "in the know while on the go!"

Lookit me, all busy and stuff

2012-01-10T20:53:00.001-08:00

Time flies when you're running around like crazy, and now I understand why my parents always commented on how the years passed so quickly for them. It's happening to me now, too.

I can't say I've bitten off more than I can chew, but I can say that I'm getting pretty darn close to being able to say it. I've been busy. I've been writin...for everything...for this and this, just not this blog. Such a shame, too, since I started in in 2004. It really deserves to be dusted off and placed back into my regular writing routine.

Both kids are in school now (yay, me!) so you'd think that six hours a day would be a delicious break. No such luck, my virtual friends. I've just managed to cram more crap into my day only to get frustrated by the end of it and wonder what it was that I accomplished.

Alrighty, well, I hate making "resolutions" in January because it seems so trite; but since it's January, and I've been wanting to start the ol' blog back up again, I might as well say that I'm gonna try to be more diligent.

God, I hope the roof doesn't collapse

2011-05-05T18:04:00.000-07:00

It's not as though our roof has been leaking--with exception of the one tiny patch job we had to do on it a few years back. But since we've lived in our house for 14 years, and we truly have no idea exactly how old the roof is, and the edges of the roof are beginning to bend downward like soggy cardboard, I'm guessing it won't be long before we'll need to replace it.

I'll tell you, though, I dunno how I'm going to make-do without all of those patches of moss that have spread all over the pitches and valleys like hairy moles on an old lady. Every morning, my daughter peeks her head out of the little six-pane window we have in the upstairs hallway so she can say "hi" to the turtle-shaped moss. I think she's even named it.

Normally, we'd be all over getting quotes and ramping up to have the roof done during the summer, when it'll be drier, but this year is a little different than most because we've decided to start our own company. So--both the Mr. and I are barely bringing in any income right now, which is--understandably--terrifying, yet somehow I feel like things will resolve themselves soon enough. Like, I should be more freaked out--but I'm not. I dunno. Maybe I'm delusional. We'll see, I guess.

I'll, uh, talk more about the new biz sometime soon. Right now, though, we're keeping as much as we can under wraps. Meantime, let's hope the roof stays over our heads.

Pacing

2010-11-17T11:25:00.000-08:00

I got roped into pacing for the Seattle Marathon again this year. (Don't you dare roll your eyes at this post and ask, "How does one get 'roped' into anything?" YOU weren't there.)

What's worse is that in the past, we've gotten some schwag for our efforts...so, at least running 13 miles on the Sunday after Thanksgiving in shitty weather while holding a fucking sign for 2 hours and 22 minutes was worth a pair of Asics. This year...THIS YEAR...we get nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Nada. (Don't you dare roll your eyes at this post and ask, "How does one get 'roped' into pacing without getting anything out of it?" YOU weren't there.)

I resisted responding to the call for pacers this year--especially just having run Portland; but when I was at track a few weeks ago, I overheard that someone who had committed to pacing a leg of the 4:45 needed surgery, and so the group was short a pacer. I agreed to do it because I only need to run 6-8 miles of it, instead of the usual 13.

I guess I can look at the bright side: Maybe this will bring good karma!?

4:30

2010-11-10T21:24:00.000-08:00

Someone from our running group has a dad who just ran the NYC Marathon and qualified for Boston. He's 69. I can't tell you how inspiring that is. I mean--G-ack!--the last thing I want to think about is getting older; but let me just say that I'd rather be a 69 year-old Boston qualifier than to never have tried.

Blogger, Interrupted

2010-11-08T19:34:00.000-08:00

This has been an incredibly wacky fall, beginning with my big brother's need to surf on our basement couch for 9 weeks. Yes, 9 weeks--the beginning of which I had just accepted a part time job, thinking this would be the perfect time to do it, with La La going to preschool four days a week for four hours a day. Sadly, much of that time was soaked up by the aforementioned couch-surfing sibling; but somewhere in the middle of it all, I ran in the Portland Marathon--my first full marathon in three years. How'd I do? I sucked, thanks. I had planned to finish in 4:30 and I finished 20 minutes later. I blame the rain that wouldn't stop; I blame the shoelace that mysteriously worked itself out of a double-knot after mile 21; I blame the cramp in my knee; and I blame the MAX light rail track I somehow managed to stumble over and roll my ankle at mile 24. So what's next? Eugene on May 1. My splits in Portland were too frickin' good for 21.5 miles for me to be happy with my finish time.

The bright side to all of this is that I HAVE been writing! Every single day, just--not here. It's been a good little writing gig, so far, though it's hard for me to muster up enthusiasm for senior center announcements. I still manage to have some fun with it.

My brother left on Friday and I think the whole household breathed a sigh of relief. So, for me, it means I can focus on the dozen or so things I'm supposed to focus on, and not the one that takes up most of my time and emotions. Maybe, too, this means I'll be making more regular appearances here on Canned Goods. It would seem such a shame to discontinue the same blog I've had for the last six years.

77 Days of Summer

2010-09-07T09:22:00.000-07:00

When you live in Seattle, normally the June gloom makes way for the sunny skies and warm temperature trend that begins promptly on July 5 and ends in mid-September.

This year, July 5 came and went with temps so cold and skies so gray, it might as well have been March. Sure, we had some bright, warm days during July, but I could count them on one hand.

When August rolled around, people joked that it was Aug-tober, and the gray days overtook sunny days 2 to 1.

Now it's September and I'm staring at the skies, wondering what the hell happened to our summer. We've been cheated!

I'm a big outdoors person and since I write from home, I make plans to do fun things with the kids during the summer. The three of us love to swim, more than anything, and we could spend hours at an outdoor pool, soaking up the rays and splashing around in the water. This year, we only did that once, and now I'm really glad I didn't pay for a summer membership fee.

In years' past, we've been so miserable in our house during week-long scorchers. So when it came time to de-commission the heating oil tank, we were stoked about getting central air as part of a heat pump package. So this is our first summer having it--and we've barely had to use it. In fact, on days when we did use it, we were freezing!

My husband just came downstairs wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath a cashmere sweater, and promptly announced, "It's fall!" From a calendar point of view, he's wrong; but weather-wise, he's absolutely right.

Heatless in Seattle

2010-01-11T18:57:00.000-08:00

Q: Who the hell disembowels their entire heating unit to make way for a new one during the month of January?

A: We do.

Yep, we're the smart ones here! Thought it would be a fine time to install a new heat pump and de-commission the old oil burning furnace. Why not? Oil costs three times as much as a forced air unit AND we will have central air conditioning come summer!

But doing it in January? O.k., maybe not the smartest thing, given that today is only Monday and they've managed to only rip out the existing air ducts. But the good news is that the temperature outside isn't too bad (it's 50 degrees here at 7:00 p.m.) and the house is holding at 66 degrees.

Ask me how it's going by Friday, though. I mean, I'm not glued to the Weather Channel to get my 5-day extended forecast, but I suspect we won't be experiencing a cold front anytime too soon.

Let's hope I'm right.

Happy New Year

2010-01-06T21:40:00.000-08:00

I kind of fell off the blogging bandwagon--well, actually, I didn't--just with my own blog. See, I got this gig a few months ago, to write for my neighborhood blog, and that's been keeping me plenty busy. I like it. It makes me feel like I'm tuned-in to my community, and even though it's a non-paying gig, it forces me to write every few days. I needed something like that to keep me writing, because I suck at self-discipline.

So yeah, that, and I've been a running fool. In 2009, I ran five half marathons, and I'm about to do another one in two weeks, but the top of my foot is super sore. It's right where the top part of my foot connects with my ankle. I have no idea where how this little nag came about, but it started bothering me yesterday. I did some speed work this morning, and had forgotten all about it--until I started walking around the house. So, with Pa gone for the rest of the week, at least I can take a little rest and hope that by Saturday, I'll be o.k. to do a long run. I don't know what I would do if I had to stop running. It's really helped me through my grief over my mom's death. And also now that it's dark--and will continue to be dark until July--the running keeps me from going bat-shit.

We spent the holidays here at home, and it was actually pretty nice. Pa took time off from work for the two weeks and the four of us just kinda cocooned. No complaints--even from the kids--no boredom, no fighting, no bickering. All was pretty mellow, and during that time, I swear, Little Miss La increased her language by 20%. Now, she's saying lots of cool phrases. Like today, after Pa took down the tree, she said, "What happened? Christmas is all done!" Really, really cute.

I owe a lot of her language development to Mr. Na. He's been playing with her a lot and she just digs hanging out with him and likes to imitate him. But, what's cute about that is that she gets it--she doesn't just mimic, she says things she learned from Mr. Na at appropriate times.

Well, I'm off to bed. We're in the process of getting a heat pump installed (yay central ac!) But we have a haz-mat team coming in tomorrow to get rid of some asbestos tape in the basement. Ick!

Privyet! Signing off for now...

2009-12-22T22:49:00.000-08:00

Hey folks! If you've received a non-authorized code on Privyet, our apologies. We've restricted access to the blog, going forward, as it seems the sensible thing to do. If you'd still like to follow the blog, drop us an e-mail to lfemmemonkita@gmail.com and we'll sign you up. We've appreciated the many readers who have followed the blog before, during, and after our adoption and we thank you for your kindness and support.

Respectfully,
PaNaMaLa

Race Report: Nike Women's Marathon

2009-10-21T11:25:00.000-07:00

I left Seattle during a torrential rainstorm on Saturday morning only to emerge from the Powell Street BART Station to gloriously blue skies and temperatures in the high 60s. It wasn't a bad way to start off the weekend, and I was glad I listened to my instincts and packed summer running gear for the race.

The entire city buzzed with marathon fever, with Union Square serving as ground zero. Huge tents covered the center of the Square for race participants to pick up their packets; and beyond the Square, Niketown was lined with people searching for their name on the outer west wall of the store. I found mine and proudly snapped a picture. I don't what it is that makes people proud to see their names displayed, but I do admit it was exciting. I felt as though I was an important part of a whole, albeit a 1/20,000th part!

Niketown was too hot and too crowded to enjoy shopping for official marathon apparel, so I decided it walk to my hotel to unload my backpack and check-in for the night. Afterward, I had hours to shop--ALONE! I can't tell you how excited I was just to roam around from store to store without fulfilling the needs of someone else.

Everything pretty much went off without a hitch for me on Sunday morning. My alarm went off at 5:30 and I had a really great night's sleep. I caffeinated and walked back down to Union Square and found my pace "street", which was Powell (each pace group literally had their own street on which to start!). I fell in line in-between the St. Francis Hotel and the west side of Union Square and waited for the countdown.

I crossed the starting line 7 minutes after gun time--not bad for having to coordinate starting times for 20,000 people. At least I didn't have to wait around for 30 minutes like I did during the Rock 'n Roll Marathon!

I started off slowly--perhaps too slow. I guess I was concerned about the hills between miles 6-9, which were inside the Presidio. I didn't want to run out of steam mid-race like I did during the Mercer Island Marathon, where, by mile 9, I was toast after all of the hills. I think in hindsight, though, I could have pushed a little harder because really, I only lost ten seconds total during the race from where I was at the start, pace-wise, and I did have some extra energy toward the tail-end of it. Unfortunately, it was too late to try and make up some of that extra time.

But speaking of hills, they were everything people warned me about...and then some. The first hill, at Mile 6, was heading up into the Presidio, and the only thing that took my mind off of it's daunting pitch was seeing one woman go behind the park sign to drop trou' and do her business. Sad thing was, she wasn't anywhere near the sign when she pulled her pants down, so a thousand of us got to see a full moon rise in the east. I guess...when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Unfortunately, too, after enduring a three-mile stretch of long hills with steep pitches, the Golden Gate Bridge was shrouded in too much fog for viewing. So the only redemption was the longish downhill, which didn't last long enough, in my opinion. As we headed into one of my favorite SF neighborhoods adjacent to the park, the slopes offered little reprieve. It wasn't until we approached the Great Highway, as we viewed the Sutro Bathouses and Seal Rock were we able to get any real traction...and that was at Mile 10.

If I had any complaints about the race it was in dealing with the walkers on the course. Now, don't get me wrong--I'm all for doing a walk/run if that's your thing. And, seriously, I'm not that fast of a runner, so I'm not saying this to be an elitist snob. But I had several near-misses with other racers who, without any warning, and right in the middle of the road, would STOP first, then walk. If you're gonna do a walk/run, you should at least have the common courtesy to stay off to the side. My near collisions resulted in giving a few people flat tires (stepping on the backs of their shoes) and I'm sure those people were equally annoyed with me. But, STAY TO THE SIDE! DON'T STOP RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE ON THE COURSE!

My other complaint is similar but much, much worse. As I ran down the Great Highway, after passing Seal Rock and before heading into the park for the final stretch, there were throngs of spectators lining the sides of the road. It felt great hearing the cheers, knowing that the finish line wasn't far away. But as we rounded a bend to enter the park, five spectators stepped off the sidewalk and proceeded to WALK OVER AND STOP right in the middle of the course! I'm not kidding--they STOPPED and looked like frickin' deer caught in the headlights. What the fuck were these people thinking? I mean, I wasn't the only one who had to stop short to keep from completely plowing into these people. There were dozens of runners AROUND me! I shouted, "ARE YOU SERIOUS? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?" And yeah, I had THAT much time to stop and say those words. That's how bad it was.

You know, when I paced for the Seattle Rock 'n Roll Marathon, and we approached the downtown surface streets, there were also hundreds of spectators lining the street. The main differences between the ones in Seattle and the ones in San Francisco were the police officers and the barricades that kept idiots off the course. I don't remember seeing any police OR barricades in that area, which happened to be have the most spectators (which makes sense since the finish line was so close). When you have so many people running in a race, the most important thing to think about, in my opinion, is everyone's safety. It just ISN'T safe for asshole spectators to walk across the race course.

Some more highlights of the race? Oh yes, I've failed to mention the finisher's medal: a sterling silver necklace from Tiffany featuring an engraved runner and the race's slogan, "Run Like a Girl". These were presented to each finisher by some fine-looking firefighters in tuxedos. The necklace--my necklace--made running this crazy, hilly, stupid-spectator race totally worthwhile.

Some honorable mentions of the race include the Ghiradelli Chocolate given to runners at Mile 11 (not so much for my benefit since I eat Snicker's mini bars while I race, but, you know...awesome chocolate!) And I loved the Finisher's Village for several reasons: first, I was handed bagels, chocolate milk, bananas, Kashi with yogurt AND a Safeway shopping tote specially made with the "Run Like a Girl" theme as we were herded through. And, the most awesomest thing I'd ever seen at a marathon: a changing room! Yes, folks, I'm easy to please, but I can't tell you how awful it is to change out of sopping wet, stinky running apparel while standing in a Porta Potty. Having a changing room made things so much easier that I wish I had brought a towel or a box of baby wipes just so I could wipe off before putting on my clean, dry Finisher's shirt.

I left San Francisco later that day, happy for the excellent weather and proudly wearing my Tiffany necklace. Though it wasn't my best race performance-wise, it was definitely one of my best racing experiences.

Slowly getting back to the swing of things

2009-10-16T10:37:00.000-07:00

It's been three weeks today since mom died. I will admit, it does get a little easier each day--especially with the enormous amount of daily noise that comes from two kids. I think having to be "on" all the time has created a natural diversion to feeling sad all the time. When I'm alone, I think more about her death though even then, I'm deeply sad but not in some sort of deep state of paralysis.

After she passed away, I debated on whether or not I should run in the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco (which takes place this Sunday). I felt like it was too frivolous of a thing to do given the circumstances. But, over time I recognized the importance of living my life and all the great things about it and every one and every thing that makes me happy. Running is definitely high on the list of "things" that make me happy, and so I decided to go to the race. Besides, since this was a lottery draw, the chances of my being able to get in again next year are kinda slim. I've been planning on going to this race since March and I'm really looking forward to it. The views will be stunning and if that isn't enough to entice anyone to want to run the race, the sterling silver Tiffany necklace presented to each participant at the finish line should.

Running is such an instrumental part of my life. When I run alone, it helps me to hear my own thoughts, to think clearly, and sort through stuff in my head. Two days after mom died, I went on a 10-mile run by myself just so I could cry.

Running has also introduced me to a lot of people. I belong to a running group of about 100 people, and of those, 4-6 people (depending on who is training for what race) run together every Saturday. I love listening to everyone's stories and to share a few of my own. We've become quite the training team in every sense of the word in that we cheer each other on, push each other a little harder, and comfort one another in a time of need. When mom died, they all chipped in and bought my family a complete, enormous dinner from Whole Foods. That was, by far, the best thing anyone could ever do for me since the last thing I wanted to do was cook.

So rather than feel guilty for doing something indulgent for myself, I plan to enjoy my time in San Francisco. It'll be nice to get away for a couple of days and fun to run in a race where, at Mile 11, they hand out Ghiradelli chocolate.

Besides, that's what mom would have encouraged me to do.

Thinking Out Loud

2009-10-07T10:40:00.000-07:00

Part of my long, drawn-out silence here is due to my mother's sudden passing. She died on September 25, unexpectedly, of a hemorrhage in her lower GI tract. It was an awful way for her to die and, judging by the way she left the world, she wasn't expecting it either. She had been reading in bed around midnight, munching on some butter cookies, when, I imagine, she felt the urge to use the bathroom, and she got up to use it and never left.

I know that much at least because when I went into her apartment a day later, her bedside reading lamp was still burning, her covers were carefully folded back--just enough for her to calmly swing her legs out of bed, and not disrupt the tin of butter cookies lying next to the book, which was placed face-down in order to save her place (she was reading Breaking Dawn, the final installment of the Twilight series).

My mother agreed to babysit for me on Friday afternoon since Pa and I had an appointment later in the day to see a photographer and review pictures he had taken of the family. When I called her an hour before I was scheduled to pick her up, the line was busy. I thought nothing of it until I tried 30 minutes later. I picked Audri up from preschool and we drove over to my mom's apartment. The first wave of panic hit me when I used the buzzer and she didn't respond. After waiting for a few minutes, the mail man let us inide the building. My second wave of panic--which was more like a tsunami--was when I knocked at her door and she didn't answer. I knew she was in there. I knew she was dead. I was too afraid to go inside. Besides, I had Audri in tow.

I called Pa at his office and he told me to pick him up. We drove to our house where he dropped us off. About 20 minutes later, he called to tell me what I had already known. What was worse, though, was the scene he described. She bled everwhere.

For the first few days, I was in too much shock to actually realize my mother was dead. Even after I left my mother's apartment the next day--having grabbed anything that was valuable to our family--and seeing the wake of her trauma, I was more upset by the way in which she died then the fact she was gone. The permanence of it all hadn't yet registered.

By Wednesday of last week, we were able to say our final goodbyes to her in a funeral home before she was cremated. I didn't want her embalmed because it seemed like such a wasteful thing to do; and so the funeral director placed her on a gurney and put a very pretty quilt over her body so that we only saw her head. At first, I was prepared to see something very gruesome and so I didn't want the children to see her until I did first. But everything was fine. In fact, she seemed more at peace than I had ever seen. Every single worry line and crevice on her face was gone.

Seeing her was the turning point between mourning over the horrible way in which she died and coming to grips with the fact that she was gone. The pit in my stomach grew wider, though I was still in tactical mode. By Friday, we had cleared out her apartment completely and donated everything to Goodwill.

Now that I've shifted out of tactical mode, I'm left with my emotions. I've found that if I try and shut out my thoughts during the day, they haunt me at night in my sleep. They wake me until I'm fully conscious.

And so, this is part of my grieving process -- writing about it helps me as I try and make sense of it all. It may take awhile.

My mother was a good person with a heart of gold, but she wasn't always the best mother. Too often, she had let her own thoughts eat away at her as she struggled to cope with the losses in her life. She also made some poor choices in life, which profoundly affected me and my siblings. She never sought help or spoke to anyone about her demons, and she thought she could take care of things herself, even up to the very end, as evidenced by the towel she used to try and clean up the blood she was losing.

But I loved her all the same because...well...because she was Mom and because I don't blame her for her shortcomings. She did the best she could and that was all anyone could ask for.

Race Report: Seattle's Inaugural Rock 'n Roll Marathon

2009-06-28T09:18:00.000-07:00

I wasn't sure what to expect for this race. I mean, it seemed like the folks who put on these Rock 'n Roll marathons nationwide would be a lot more organized and well-prepared than the previous Seafair marathons. But I couldn't imagine how tough it'd be to close down several major thoroughfares--not only downtown, but the Viaduct that runs north and south, along the waterfront--on a Saturday, no less. Not to mention, this marathon had sold out in April and there were roughly 25,000 registrants.

So, I guess, in reality, my expectations were pretty low. But I was pleasantly surprised by how well, on the whole, the race was organized. I saw that even at the Health and Fitness Expo the day prior, as I was working our Pace Team booth. On race day, it was clear that the organizers delivered a unique, entertaining race that seemed to run like a well-oiled machine.

Since the race started in an office park in Tukwila, a mini "village" was set up where the racers congregated in the early morning hours. No one was allowed to park in the immediate area, and complementary shuttle buses (school buses, actually!) took people 15 miles from the finish area to the start. I got on one of those buses at 5:00 a.m. when the crowds were just starting to thicken. By 6:00 a.m., the marathon village was packed with people--nibbling on free fruit or bagels, sipping water or Cytomax, or waiting in line for that one last chance to use a Porta Potty.

I thought the bag drop idea was the best yet: the organizers hired 20 UPS trucks and organized them alphabetically for folks to drop their gear. I've never been one to schlep a lot of stuff to a race, but this time I actually packed another shirt and my UGG boots, along with a bottle of Gatorade, and a Balance Bar.

Since it was so early, it was still pretty cold outside. My team uniform was a tank top and shorts. I wore a pullover to the village but since the pacers had to meet at the starting line at 6:15, I had to check it with the rest of my gear early...so I was pretty chilled.

By 6:40, everyone had to be inside their assigned corrals--another new concept for me. Upon registration, each participant was required to jot down a projected finish time, which is then used to group people together according to that time. There were 35 or so corrals, starting with the elite and ending with those finishing over five hours. Since I was a pacer for the two hour, twenty-two minute (2:22) half marathon finishers, my corral was #21. Since I came into the corral with my 2:22 sign, many folks around me introduced themselves and asked me how I'd take us to the finish on time without burning everyone out. I told them I'd start off conservatively since I had run the course before, and knew what to expect elevation-wise. So for me, running negative splits was the way to go. Many people asked me if I had to carry the wooden sign throughout the race to which I replied "yes". Honestly, it wasn't that big of a deal. I'd carried far worse. The Seattle Marathon, for instance, had signs made out of PVC tubing which was a lot thicker around than the little wooden sign I held yesterday. Besides, I had trained holding a water bottle so I was used to holding something for long periods of time.

A lot of my corral mates were newbies, and it was a lot of fun to see their enthusiasm and excitement. It also reinforced the fact that I had to start out slow to conserve energy and that, no matter what, these folks needed to finish by 2:22.

The elite athletes began at gun time and then each corral was released two minutes apart. This meant my corral started 34 minutes AFTER gun time. I was pretty cold, even though the sun was up and the skies were cloudless. I think a lot of my teeth chattering, too, was pre-race jitters (which, no matter how many of these I've done, I still get) and the awesome responsibility of finishing ON TIME. Since we were all being clocked by chip time, our own "clock" didn't begin until after we crossed the starting mat--and that's where I started my Garmin.

The cool thing about the Rock 'n Roll Marathon was that there were local bands playing along the route. There were bands at every mile for the first few miles and then it thinned out as we made our approach to the Express Lanes of I90. But for the most part, the bands and the neighbors along the way provided a party-like atmosphere.

I started out 30 seconds per mile slower than my targeted pace time (a 2:22 finish means 10:50 minutes per mile). I knew I'd be able to close the gap once we finished climbing the hills around the Mt. Baker neighborhood and headed down to Seward Park and Lake Washington. At each passing mile, I'd close the gap by one second. This worked out perfectly because there were a few hills that proved pretty challenging for everyone and I didn't want too many people getting burned out so early on--a common mistake everyone makes, myself included. Besides, this was a super comfortable pace and it felt good and it gave me enough energy to look at our surroundings.

There were a lot of people who stayed with me throughout the race and when I saw someone speeding up, I'd yell: "Pacer back! 2:22 Finishers, be conservative. There are more hills ahead. Just because you feel good now doesn't mean it's gonna last!" A lot of people laughed--many slowed down and thanked me for giving them the advice. These were the people who, once they got all the hills out of the way, made their goal time (some even finished slightly earlier!)

Once we made it down to Seward Park, I let everyone know that we'd have about 4 miles of flat terrain. I cautioned that we can speed up, but only slightly since we had hills climbing up to the I90 Express Lanes ahead. This was where I closed my gap by 20 seconds--keeping my average pace around 11:01. It was there, along Lake Washington, that we spotted a majestic Eagle perched atop a tree branch next to the water. He was only about 50 feet up from us, so we could see how big he was. He looked as if he was enjoying the view of the race from up there. Just beyond the perched Eagle, several others soared around us. It was truly a beautiful sight.

We couldn't have asked for more perfect weather, either. The sky remained cloudless and the temperatures climbed slowly so I never once felt too hot or too cold. It was great, too, because I only slowed for water a few times.

Once we began our ascent to the I90 Express Lanes, at around mile 9, I stopped dropping to my hill climb pace. It's not to say I took off like a bandit up the hills, but I kept a close eye out to maintain my speed. If I dropped down too far, I'd have to make up for it between miles 9-13 and I didn't want to take that risk for fear that fatigue would set in. The group kept up with me--indicating how beneficial it was to start off slow. These hill climbs were short but pretty steep, and the last one wound around to the entrance of the freeway's tunnel.

As we made our way to the tunnel, people cheered loudly--their echoes bouncing off the walls. Everyone knew this was the last leg of the race and that understanding gave everyone extra energy to keep going strong. I felt great too until I glanced at my watch and realized that since I was in the tunnel, I'd lost my GPS reception. I panicked. How far was the tunnel? How long would it be without knowing my pace? Would this completely screw up my average pace? Would my watch adjust itself once I got outside of the tunnel? I think I sped up a little too much in panic. All I wanted to do was get out of the tunnel.

Four minutes later, we emerged. My watch began working again and much to my great joy, it adjusted itself--adding the four minutes and half mile I'd lost while inside. I was pretty stoked.

It was fun to see the runners around me open up their energy reserves and head downtown, even with the last steep hill climb before making out descent toward Qwest Field. I started getting pretty tired. I think I burned too much energy with my panic attack inside of the tunnel! By Mile 11, I just wanted it to end. I was still a little scared I'd bring us in either too early or too late.

The last part of the course was frustrating. Even though we rounded 4th Avenue south, which, if we had made a left turn onto Jackson, we would have run right into Qwest Field, we forged ahead. At the 12 Mile marker, we made a left and then...rather than making another left and doubling back toward Qwest Field, we were led to the Viaduct on ramp. I let out an "ARGH!" I loathe running on the Viaduct--and even though I only had 1.1 miles to go, I knew it'd be a long 1.1 mile. We wound around the viaduct and exited at 1st Avenue. Running PAST Qwest Field again and FINALLY making a left onto Royal Brougham. We made another left again, passing the WaMu Theater and the Expo center when we hit the 13 Mile marker saw the finish line ahead. I opened it up once I saw my watch was at 2:21. I was going to nail 2:22 if it killed me.

I crossed the mat and shut off my watch at 2:22 (official time was 2:22:04!) A woman came up to me and thanked me for keeping her motivated. She said her goal was 2:25 so she was delighted with the extra three minutes.

After I cooled down, I grabbed my stuff from the UPS truck and changed out of my sweaty, drenched top. I felt so much better. I sipped some Cytomax and ate an orange and some Fritos. I ran into a friend of mine--a fellow pacer who did half of the whole marathon and missed her handoff somehow (someone waiting for her to come and step in as a pacer for the second half). She was pretty bummed. This happened to me last year, too, so I knew the feeling.

All things considered, I had a great time. It's always nice to hear positive feedback from people and I'm glad my conservative strategy worked! It was nice to be in a comfortable pace, so I'm not too sore today. I look forward to pacing again in November for the Seattle Marathon!

Keeping the Pace

2009-06-26T07:44:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is the Inaugural Seattle Rock 'n Roll Marathon -- a race in which 25,000 participants will fill the streets of Tukwila and Seattle, running either 13.1 or 26.2 miles.

I'll be a pacer for the half marathon, which essentially means that I'll be carrying a sign and running at a steady pace and finishing at a set time. For those who have a goal to finish at that same time, they'll see me and follow me to the finish.

There are two dozen pacers for the race--one for each projected finish time for the half and the full marathon. We're there to keep people motivated and to stay on pace so that they can achieve their goal.

It's great fun to pace--I've been doing it for a year now, and I get a lot of satisfaction out of helping people achieve their goals. It's also lots of fun because it takes the pressure off of me to compete. I'm not a hugely competitive person, but I love being around people and the thrill of the crowd during races.

Don't get me wrong--I still love running in races and still do that a few times a year. The last half marathon I did was the Mercer Island Half and this year, I was chosen in the lottery to run the Nike Women's Marathon in October. I'll be running the half there, too. The big payoff for that race is the sterling silver necklace from Tiffany that each finisher receives! But after running 10 or so half marathons, I've found that pacing keeps me motivated as a runner. It helps me to remember what it was like starting out and it recaptures the joy and thrill. Many of the people who'll be running with me will likely be newbies to running, and most of those--about 70 percent--will be women.

It's also quite a challenge to stay on pace at all times, since my inclination is to always start out too fast! The key as a pacer is to expend equal amounts of energy throughout the race.

I'll be manning our "pacer booth" later today at the Health and Fitness Expo at Qwest Field. Later on, I'll be on hand at our pacer clinic, to answer questions and meet up with people who might run with me tomorrow. And then, tomorrow morning, I'll be getting out of bed at 4:00 a.m. to make it to the 5:00 a.m. shuttle that'll bring me to the Starter Village in Tukwila for our 7:00 a.m. gun time.

For those of you running tomorrow, good luck and have a great time! For those of you NOT running tomorrow, do yourselves a favor and don't try and drive anywhere. This tiny race is sure to snarl traffic everywhere.

Random ramblings: making sense of the viral spread of Neda's video

2009-06-25T12:25:00.000-07:00

When NPR posted a link to the infamous "Neda" video on You Tube, my stomach twisted. I saw the still of Neda's fixed gaze and a halo of blood pooling around her, and I couldn't believe they would actually provide a post of the video. Initially, I was outraged by the audacity of such a wonderful, CREDIBLE news organization to stoop so low as to link to one of the most horrifying videos imaginable. Yet, as I read the piece, and found no direct link to one of the thousands of videos in cyberspace, I was relieved. In my opinion, death--even violent death--is so personal that I almost feel like I'm violating a code of ethics by watching it. It's as if this world has gotten so out of touch with preserving the last shred of human dignity in favor of our voyeuristic tendencies.

Yet, I understand why the person taking the footage did so. The people on the streets of Tehran are fighting for their rights and because this was such a violent murder, and journalists can barely capture the essence of what is really happening, the person using his video feature on his cell phone felt compelled to show the rest of the world the reality in his country--the reality of what he and all of the citizens in Iran endure. But once that video becomes popular domain in cyberspace, the original intention becomes clouded, the footage has gone from public outcry to public morbidity. I guarantee CNN didn't run the footage to educate the world. They ran it, and continue to run it, because it's a ratings boost.

Don't get me wrong: Neda's story needed to be told--there's no question in my mind about that. But I think showing a still image of her last moments would have been powerful enough for the media outlets to use, rather than using the video footage as B-roll on a daily basis. Think about past photographic images that captured horrifying events. Today, those images of the Kent State shooting, the liberation of the concentration camps, and the execution of a Vietcong prisoner still provide intense, valuable lessons.

I don't fault the witnesses who captured the moment, either. I fault the people here, half a world away, looking on as if the video was something out of Candid Camera. Americans love car crashes, and our "reality shows" give the rest of the world some sort of indication as to how banal and insignificant life can be. Just look at the things we watch here: flipping over tables on Desperate Housewives of New Jersey; divorce on Jon & Kate Plus 8. I feel like we're too reckless and irresponsible to watch what is really going on in the rest of the world.

Unfortunately, I don't see any solution to this problem. I don't believe in censorship, but I just wish there were some sort of way people could contribute or turn morbid curiosities into something more useful. Can anything good come from watching Neda's dying moments? Can we reach out to help in exchange for watching the video? That, I guess, would imply capitalizing on her death.

I'm not a praying person, but the people in Iran are in my thoughts. I'm saddened by Neda's tragic, untimely death and I hope that my wish for something good coming out of this situation is not in vain.

Search Me

2009-04-27T14:47:00.001-07:00

I always find it fascinating to see how readers come to find my blog. And thanks to my handy, dandy site meter, not only can I see not where people come from, but what they searched for before clicking on to my site.

There are days when a number of people search for Sporticus and come here. Then, there are those who search for LOL Cats and come here. And lately, many have searched for a picture of Violet Beauregard and so they've landed here, which is kinda funny because there's an extra step to actually see her picture. I can't determine whether or not the searchers stay and read or just bail after finding whatever it was they were looking for, but I'm amazed by the amount of people searching for the same, random thing. I'd be less impressed if I had blogged about, say, lyrics, which, according to Google Insights, seems to be one of the most popular searches within the last 30 days.

And while I'm on the subject of popular searches, here's a little bit of trivia, in case you're interested in seeing who's looking for what:

In the "books" category, Dan Brown's name has been a popular search term, particularly in Ohio, followed by Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Massachusetts, and New York. Dan Brown? Ugh!

The most popular search term in the "Beauty and Personal Care" category is hair. Even more interesting are the rising subcategories: hairstyles for prom; prom hairstyles 2009; and Taya Parker (oh, my, I just Googled her, since I'd never heard of her before. Shows you how behind I am!)

Interestingly enough, the number one search term within the "Computer and Electronics" category ISN'T i-Phone or i-whatever...it's Windows. However, among the rising searches within this category are about the "cornficker virus".

So there you go, fellow netizens. If you've come here searching for Dan Brown, Prom Hairsyles for 2009, Windows and the Cornficker Virus, or Taya Parker, you've come to the wrong place.

Thanks for surfin' by!

The Ears Are Always the First to Go

2009-04-23T09:49:00.000-07:00

Though Easter was a few weeks ago, our dining room table is still cluttered with Easter baskets, boxes of stale Peeps, and plastic eggs.

We're not big on religion. In fact, we celebrate more for the candy than anything else. It also gives us an excuse to dress up in our best pastels.

I never really questioned the correlation between Easter and rabbits. I just took for granted they always lived hand in hand, until I came across some information about the ritual's origins. Turns out, we have the Germans to thank for importing the Easter Bunny into American folklore. He first appeared on the scene during the 16th century, when it was written than if little boys and girls made nests out of their caps and bonnets, the Easter Bunny would fill them with colored eggs.

The word, Easter, comes from the term Ostara, which is the name of the Spring equinox, and it's been documented, too, by the Venerable Bede that Easter comes from Eostre--the Germanic goddess of Spring.

This little lesson reminds me of one of the funniest essays I'd ever read by David Sedaris in his book Me Talk Pretty One Day. The essay is written about taking a French language class in Paris with students from various parts of the world. When it's time to explain Easter, each student, save for the Moroccan, who'd never heard of the holiday, jumps in to provide details. What makes this essay so pee-in-your-pants funny is the way in which Sedaris translates their awful attempt at French into English:

The Italian nanny was attempting to answer the teacher's latest question when the Moroccan student interrupted, shouting, "Excuse me, but what's an Easter?"

It would seem that despite having grown up in a Muslim country, she would have heard it mentioned once or twice, but no. "I mean it," she said. "I have no idea what you people are talking about."

The teacher called on the rest of us to explain.

The Poles led the charge to the best of their ability. "It is," said one, "a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus...oh shit." She faltered and her fellow country-man came to her aid.

"He call his self Jesus and then he be die one day on two...morsels of...lumber."

The rest of the class jumped in, offering bits of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.

"He die one day and then he go above of my head to live with your father."

"He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here for to say hello to the peoples."

"He nice, the Jesus."

"He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today."

Part of the problem had to do with vocabulary. Simple nouns such as cross and resurrection were beyond our grasp, let alone such a complicated refexive phrases as "to give of yourself your only begotten son." Faced with the challenge of explaining the cornerstone of Christianity, we did what any self-respecting group of people might do. We talked about food instead.

"Easter is a party for to eat of the lamb," the Italian nanny explained. "One too may eat of the chocolate."

The essay goes on further about explaining who brings said chocolate. But when a dispute between the American version of a rabbit delivering the candy versus the French version of a bell flying in from Rome, it raises the question of why would the French have a bell? And further, why would it fly in from Rome when it would be so much easier to use a bell from Paris?

Curiosity got the better of me and so I looked up the origin of the Bell Theory. Turns out, the bell has a little more Christianity tied to it than our American counterpart. According to legend, all bells cease to ring on the Thursday before Good Friday, to mark the death of Christ. On Easter Sunday, the bells ring again to mark his resurrection. Apparently one of the bells goes to visit the Pope in Rome, who gives him (him?) a bunch of colored eggs to take back with him. So the bell returns to France and scatters the eggs everywhere for people to find.

Personally, I'm siding with Sedaris who argues that the Easter Bunny is, at least, a character, where a bell "has all the personality of a cast-iron skillet."

Without the Easter Bunny, there'd be no chocolate rabbits; and without chocolate rabbits, there'd be no rabbit ears; and everyone knows, that's the best part.

Breaking up is hard to do

2009-04-20T14:24:00.000-07:00

I've been going to the same hairdresser now for 12 years and while I only see her (I shall call her "Dee") every eight weeks for 2.5 hours at a time, I consider Dee to be one of my dearest friends. Those 2.5 hours are spent kvetching about dogs, kids, people, men...you name it.

We've been through a lot of changes together, too. From marriages to divorces to trying to get pregnant to adopting children, I'd say our relationship has run the gamut of every life event imaginable, except for maybe death. Unless you count the death of pets--then, yeah, it's pretty much everything.

Aside from our friendship, Dee does a wonderful job with my hair. I've gone through the short and sassy phase to the long and straight--and everything in between, and no matter how many different ways she does my hair, I've never had a problem with how it looked and have always gotten out of her chair feeling like a million bucks.

Since I live in Seattle, my natural blond has become a thing of the past--but only Dee knows my true color. Ten years ago, I attempted to bleach it on my own, royally screwing up my hair. Dee was there to give me shit and then she fixed it. She still gives me shit to this day--and I don't mind because she's masterful with color and I am not. With Renoir-esque strokes, she brightens my clouded-over locks, and blends the ever-present, encroaching gray hair I've seemed to sprout.

Dee has had her share of personal ups and downs, particularly in the relationship department. But a little less than a year ago, all of that changed and she found her true life partner. The good news is that he makes her happy. The bad news is that he lives in Utah, and so Dee has announced that she will soon be leaving Seattle, and me.

I try not to take it personally, but this is clearly one of the worst break-ups I've ever experienced. I know there are many hairdressers here in Seattle, but I'll never find another Dee.

Sniff, sniff...excuse me while I go cry in my Bumble and Bumble.

It Ain't Easy Being Green

2009-04-09T14:01:00.000-07:00

On March 30, the City of Seattle added a mandatory food waste program to their weekly trash collection service. This means that all food scraps cannot be placed into a garbage can. Instead, food items must be thrown into a yard waste can, where it commingles with grass clippings and leaves. Before, our trash collectors picked up yard waste every other week, but with the new program, yard/food waste is collected weekly.

I think Seattle has always had one of the best recycling programs in the nation, and as far as I know, it's one of the most aggressive. Coupled with the new food waste program, our recycling no longer needs to be separated out between glass and paper and plastic. So long as everything is rinsed out, all recyclables can be placed into the same bin.

The launch of the new food waste program, however, has been a little difficult to adopt in our household. It's not that we're complaining about placing our food scraps into a compost bin, it's just one of those things that requires a little more thought beyond remembering not to throw egg shells and tea bags in our kitchen trashcan.

Last weekend, Pa bought a small compost bin that fits on top of our kitchen counter. To keep down the smell, the stainless steel bin has a charcoal filter on the lid, and there are small holes to help dry out the food scraps and keep them from generating a lot of icky-smelling bacteria. The only thing I have to remember is empty out the refrigerator once a week of those leftovers that never made it to repeat meals. I figure since they stay in airtight containers, it's better to dump them straight in the yard waste bin the night before our trash pick up.

So far, we've been really good at tossing our scraps into the compost bin; and surprisingly, the bin only needs to be taken outside and dumped into our yard waste can about once or twice a week. But yesterday, as I brought Lady La home from her first day of Pre-preschool, I noticed this underlying smell in our kitchen. It smelled like something was not full-blown rotting, just sorta, kinda rotting. I checked the handy-dandy compost bin, but as far as I could tell, it didn't seem to be the source. Then I checked around the pantry to see if I had any mushy onions or bananas--but again, nothing.

Then I stepped outside onto the back porch and noticed that the smell was coming from the yard waste can 10-15 feet away. Now, keep in mind, it's only springtime. With exception of a few 70 degree days, the average temperature here is still under 60. If the yard waste can is generating that much of a smell now, I can only imagine what our block will smell like come August! I'm thinking something close to Elizabeth, New Jersey on the smell register.
Thankfully, I bought some violets and impatiens from the store that I wanted to plant into a pot on the porch that was filled with lots of dead stuff, so I was able to dump a lot of that out into the yard waste can which seemed to absorb some of the odor.

So, you see, our new citywide trash collection service is now forcing me to grow a green thumb, and do more gardening, weeding, and mowing so the green stuff can hang with the food stuff and neutralize the smell. Personally, I think the new program is really an evil plot to keep our postage-stamp sized properties looking neat and trim, and free from dandelions.

I wonder when we'll have to separate out the dog poop and disposable diapers?

BREAKING NEWS: TV Sucks

2009-04-02T16:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not much of a fan of TV these days. I mean, there are some shows I absolutely must watch, like Lost, Mad Men, Greys Anatomy (don't laugh), Dexter, The Tudors, 30 Rock, and Weeds; but everything else, I can live without, except, maybe Jon Stewart. I love watching The Daily Show but if I let it accumulate on my DVR, I just delete it because it's old news. But I digress. I'm quite happy with my Netflix subscription, and trusty DVR. Besides, if I make it through one show in the evening, after a day of parenting, I'm lucky. So my choices are limited by what little free time I have without being unconscious.

We curb our kids' TV time, too. It's easy for Lady La because she barely watches TV at all, except for a couple of Baby Einstein videos. Mr. Na, though, has become a TV junkie, and in order for him to watch any TV at all, he has to earn credits by doing his chores, homework, piano, and reading. We've banned him from watching Sponge Bob because his last two consecutive report cards said that he talked too much in class, and he won't be getting Sponge Bob back until that's rectified.

We have Direct TV, which is kind of silly, given our minimal viewing habits, but Pa watches soccer and I like having Noggin and Sprout for the kids, so we've been happy with it. We've also had a DVR over the last ten years or so, which I think has helped us cut down our viewing time tremendously. We rarely surf channels to find something entertaining.

Yesterday, I was at the gym (yes, I caved), and there was a bank of three television screens in front of me as I ran on the treadmill. I was listening to music on my phone, but I couldn't help but look up to scan the screens every so often. One TV was tuned to CNN, the other to our local ABC affiliate, and the third was on "E!"

Since CNN was on right in front of me, I gazed up at that TV more than the others, and I was immediately struck by how much CNN, nowadays, is tooled for those with severe attention deficit disorders. There was nothing earth-shattering happening in the world, and yet every piece was "BREAKING NEWS". I'm talking about tidbits like what Michelle Obama wore during the spouses' dinner next door to the G20 Summit dinner in London; or the protesters in the streets of London, smashing windows and carrying signs that read "EAT THE BANKERS!" The next news piece I saw was about a man's "DREAMS REALIZED, THEN SHATTERED!" Evidentally, UC San Diego erroneously sent a batch of acceptance letters. And while I think that's a huge bummer, I didn't realize that, too, was BREAKING NEWS. It hardly seemed on par with previous "BREAKING NEWS" pieces like, say, the day Reagan was shot or three airplanes were high-jacked, two of which slammed into the World Trade Center towers. Yet there it was, splashed across the bottom of the screen.

The middle TV was the one airing our local ABC affiliate. Prior to our Seattle newscast (BREAKING NEWS: SNOW ON APRIL 1! NO BIG SURPRISE GIVEN THAT IT SNOWED ON APRIL 18 AND 19 LAST YEAR AND IT WAS 79 DEGREES THE WEEK BEFORE), there was some sort of show which looked like it featured a panel of doctors discussing various ailments and treatments. Other than the BREAKING NEWScast, it rarely caught my attention.

Over on the far right TV, "E!" was on. Now, I'm not gonna lie to you and tell you I don't follow celebrity gossip. I subscribe to Defamer, Pajiba, E! Online on Bloglines and I get my daily dose of media celebri-snacking. But the one trend I've noticed in television, is the use of multiple personalities (i.e. "experts") who comment on shows like "TOP 100 CELEBRITY OOPS!" or "100 BEST EVER ANYTHING ENTERTAINING OR WHATEVER" One such show was on "E!" and after seeing photos of Gwyneth Paltrow and one of her kids, followed by a picture of a green apple, followed by some...person nodding her head, gesticulating with her hands and smirking, I surmised this particular segment was about "100 OF THE WORST BABY NAMES CHOSEN BY CELEBRITIES". I couldn't help but wonder who in the world was on there, as an "expert," weighing in her...expertise. I'd never seen her before, and I was certain the snark came from the fact that Gweyneth has the natural beauty this heavily made-up person lacks. Since when did nobodies become "experts"? Moreover, who the hell watches this stuff?

In any event, it reminded me of how much I loathe TV--or, at least 99.999% percent of it. Oddly enough, though, when our trusty TiVo died last month, and we had to wait several weeks before Direct TV provided us with a new DVR, we had this crazy notion that maybe we should do away with TV altogether. But, who are we kidding? Pa and I were both raised on television and, despite the crap, it's just something we can't live without. Kinda like our land line--there's just something eerie about not having one. I can't stand it, rarely ever answer it, but won't get rid of it because it's been a staple in my household since before I was born.

Tall Tales From A Wanna-Be Mousekateer

2009-03-29T10:07:00.000-07:00

When I was seven, I tried convincing my neighborhood friends that I had been invited onto the Mickey Mouse Club to dance and play piano. I borrowed an ugly pair of white, patent-leather shoes from my sister and I gave them a show in our foyer. Then, I led them to our piano where I played Fur Elise.

My friends, much to their credit, were not convinced. Even as I tried to "prove" my lie by showing them the Mickey Mouse ears I got from Walt Disney World, they refused to believe I was ever on television, let alone on the Mickey Mouse Club.

This lie was wrong on so many levels. First off, this was a few years before the "new" Mickey Mouse Club, starring Lisa Whechel (otherwise known as "Blair" from The Facts of Life), so the only Mickey Mouse Club shows that were on the air were the black and white re-runs from the 50s, with Annette and Cubby. Second, I did nothing more than scuff my mother's foyer floor as I bumbled my way through a self-choreographed dance routine. But I could play Fur Elise as well as any seven year-old with no formal training could.

I have some theories as to why I concocted such a lie. I actually DID learn how to play Fur Elise, by ear, from watching one of those talented Mousekateers play it on the Mickey Mouse Club. But I think the main reason for my lie was that there were a lot of kids in my class who got to be on a local show called Wonderama, and I was green with envy.

Wonderama was a three hour-long variety show that aired on Sundays. Part game show, part exercise show, part American Bandstand-esque, it was a show made especially for kids, hosted by a guy named Bob McAllister who assured us with his closing song that kids were people too. Every Monday at school, it was obvious which kid got to be on Wonderama the day before, from their personalized, shellacked Lenders Bagelette necklaces. And even if they didn't bring in their goodie bags, we knew they had been rewarded with Fruit Stripe gum, RC Cola, Twinkies, an Oral B toothbrush and an issue of Dynamite Magazine. I figured, in my little seven year-old brain, that if I had told my friends I was on Wonderama, I'd have to pony up my Lenders Bagelette necklace. But since I had Mickey Mouse ears and saw that guest Mousekateers didn't receive any lovely parting gifts, I was safe in telling my fib.

I think seven year-olds are the world's worst liars!

I leave you now with a clip from Wonderama. C'mon, take a look, and tell me you're not convinced YOU'D have wanted to be on that show!

Falling Down, Getting Back Up

2009-03-26T11:42:00.000-07:00

I was pretty eager to get out of bed this morning and go for a run. I hadn't run since the Mercer Island half marathon on Sunday, and I was ready to jump back into the saddle. I'm hoping to be able to pace the inaugural Seattle Rock 'n Roll Marathon, but that's entirely up to this guy. Since it's a new race and he's dealing with a new organizer and their pacing structure is vastly different from the other local marathons we pace, there are fewer slots available. In any event, I'd like to train for it, even if I'm not chosen to pace. I may just run the damn thing if I don't pace.

I am pretty stoked since I found out this week I got into the Nike Womens' Half Marathon in San Francisco this October. I haven't received official notice yet but they charged my credit card the $110, so, um, I'm assuming that means I'm in. If not, they certainly have a lot of explaining to do.

Anyway, so getting back to my run this morning: the sun was out (miracle!) and I put on my new Asics Gel Nimbus 10 (they were free and THAT is why I pace!), leashed up the pooch, and set out toward Green Lake.

When I made it to the paved part of the lake, I kicked it up a notch and began my tempo run. Scout dutifully followed suit, and we were going a good click when I passed a man walking his dog. The dog was on the man's left, but as soon as he spotted Scout, he lunged out past the man and right in front of Scout's path. This caused Scout to jump right in front of me and I tripped. For a split second I thought, "I can recover. I won't fall." But alas, my reflexes failed me and I went down, HARD on my knee. I think god I was wearing tights because I would have ripped the shit out of my leg. I sat on the ground for a moment, gathering my wits and listen to the man bumble an apology ("He lunged forward, I didn't even see it!") I figured I was ok since I didn't rip my tights (damn those are good tights!), and I walked it out for a little bit, eventually breaking into a stride. I could tell I hit the same spot I injured two years ago, but I wasn't about to inspect the damage. Besides, I couldn't unless I pulled down my tights and...well, I'm not into public exposure, ya know?

It wasn't too bad, actually. I mean, I have a skinned knee, but luckily, it's not too deep. I'll live to run another day. And my kids will be grateful.

Little Boxes Made of Ticky-Tacky

2009-03-11T13:49:00.000-07:00

Growing up, I lived on a cul-de-sac located in what my parents referred to as "the development". It was about as vanilla as it sounds, with 50 colonial-style, split-level homes built in 1970, each sitting on a half acre of land. Despite its mundane, tract housing features, growing up in the "development" did have some advantages. The biggest one was that there was only one way in and out of the grid, keeping traffic down to a minimum; and each house had at least two kids who were all roughly the same age, give or take 5 years. This made for having a lot of built-in friends and places to ride bicycles safely, or hold an impromptu game of kickball. It was a quiet place to live, save for the obese Sicilian lady who lived across the street and would throw open her bedroom window to fight with her husband down below or call her son Anthony in for dinner.

Of course, living alongside 49 other neighbors occasionally had its disadvantages, too. Aside from the fat lady, neighborhood gossip was abound. We knew when so and so's husband committed suicide or when such and such's wife had an affair. Given that it was the swinging 70s, my parents heard of miscellaneous "key" parties, where the men were invited to drop their keys in a fish bowl so at the end of the party, the women would randomly grab a set of keys and take the owner home.

As a family, we weren't without our share of gossipy activity, too, since my older sister had a penchant for inviting boys over for beer and pot parties by day; and by night, someone would almost always catch her climbing out of her window. But I had a solid group of friends so long as, upon their parents' insistence, they stayed outside of my house or I went over to theirs. Staying outside was easy to do, too, since we had lots of room to roam even beyond the grid. Behind my house was an extra five acres of woods that butted up to a reservoir. The woods were a magical place where pine trees created canopies for clubhouses and forts, and hills made for perfect sledding in the winter.

My neighborhood friends and I didn't always get along, and sometimes, someone would inevitably stomp off in a fit, swearing, "I'll never be your friend again!" It was especially hard at times because I lived in-between a large, Italian family whose children were cousins. Oftentimes, I would get insanely jealous when the two girls would go off and play without inviting me along, or I'd hear them in the swimming pool next door when I was outside playing in the sweltering heat. But we had many great memories, too, and played endlessly from the time we got up in the mornings to the time my friend's mom turned on the lawn light signaling her time to come inside.

Today I live over 3,000 miles away from the "development" in a funky Seattle neighborhood. The houses here are 100 years old, and while they have similar bungalow qualities, each one is unique and built to last. I love my neighborhood as it's easy to walk up to rows of shops and coffee houses, but it's far from kid-friendly. My street is noisy with traffic and the occasional crazy person walking up or down, muttering profanity. While we don't have a large lot with an ample place to play outside, we do live close to a playground where the kids can swing and slide and the dog can chase his ball. But the one thing I miss the most is that my children have no "neighborhood" friends. Even though Mr. Na's school is close by, there aren't many children living within a few houses in any direction. Oddly enough, we tend to "live" at the playground nearly every day during the summer months, but I rarely ever see Mr. Na play with the same kid twice. In my opinion, scheduling playdates, takes away the spontaneity I had as a kid, living in kid-grid-ville. If Mr. Na is bored, I don't have the luxury of sending him outside to see who's around to play with. And even if I pack everyone up and walk to the park, there's no guarantee that anyone else his age will be there.

Given the option, though, there's no place I'd rather live. Mr. Na and Lady La live in an area rich in cultural diversity, unlike any other place I've lived. And though they can't step outside and take a stroll through the woods, our city provides panoramic views of mountains, lakes, and the Sound--all within reach by car.

It'll be interesting, someday, to hear their take on growing up in this house, in Seattle. Will they gripe about their "old house" with it's postage-sized lot and surrounding hills that make it almost painful to ride a bike? Or will they recognize that their childhood home has one aspect any newly-built tract home lacks: a soul.

When 12:15 in the a.m., during a massive snowstorm, is the only time I get to write about ME

2008-12-23T00:14:00.000-08:00

I'm not complaining, really. I love my children dearly. Given that I've traveled halfway around the world to find them, I'd say I pretty much wanted kids.

It's just that, at the end of the day, I'm usually so friggin' exhausted, I hardly remember what it feels like for my head to hit the pillow. I'm not exaggerating, either. I went from having difficulty with getting more than 6 hours a night of sleep to being damn near narcoleptic.

So, what happens is that my free time is compressed and I have to make concessions, and unfortunately, writing has been the one getting axed every day, unless you count the stupid, mindless shit I'm putting together for the PTSA at Mr. Na's school. Rah!

Tonight is one of those rare moments where I'm actually awake while the rest of the house is asleep. Maybe it was the afternoon coffee, or the fact that there's not a damn thing I can do since we're snowed in here, so sleeping in is actually an option and I don't have to worry about rising at the crack of dawn.

I don't remember being "this" scatterbrained when Mr. Na first came home, maybe it's just so long ago it had been conveniently forgotten. But now it's like I can't even organize my thoughts or finish a sentence. I can see how easy it is for people to lose themselves when they raise a family.

Thankfully, running is my anchor--though lately, it's been tough to get outside when there's a foot of snow on the ground. I've resisted joining a gym because I really prefer running outside rather than inside, stuck on a treadmill. And since our winters here are relatively mild, except, say, once every 12 years when we get a major dumping, there's really no need. But I've definitely noticed that I get into these terrible funks if I don't exercise. It doesn't give me time to decompress and take a break from all the noise around me.

Oddly enough, for the longest time, I absolutely HAD to run with music in my ears. I felt like it was the only motivation and the only way to tune out. But ever since we brought Audri home, I prefer running without any music. Even if I do my long runs alone, I don't want anything (else) inside my head.

It's nice, too, because I can actually hear myself when I run, which reminds me of what this talented young lady wrote in her latest blog entry. (Which, by the way, I look forward to reading Murakami's book, curse you, Geoff Dyer!) It doesn't matter if my thoughts are cohesive while I'm running, at least I can hear them. At home it's like, "Wait, did I say this?" or "Did I finish that?" I'm seriously thinking of turning on the voice recorder from the moment I get out of bed to the moment I pass out at night, just to be sure.

So, I traded my early-morning run tomorrow for a late-night session of writing tonight. I don't mind the occasional trade off, though I have to say that writing has become less therapeutic than running. I wish I didn't have to choose, but as long as my little girl is awake, clinging to my leg, going "meh? meh? meh?" (she's not talking quite yet), or having a tantrum because mommy's at the computer trying to type a 6-word e-mail, the choice is clear.

Happy 40th, All You Zombies

2008-10-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

I'm proud to say I share the same birth year with George A. Romero's Night of the Living Dead. It's a classic that I love watching year after year--mostly because it's one of two movies that still scare the bejeezus out of me (the second being The Exorcist). What could be more frightening than going to a graveyard and getting grabbed by the undead--only to find out the whole world's been turned upside down and there's thousands of them out there that want to eat those still alive? Being stuck in a house surrounded by zombies, that's what...and Romero's film delivers the suspense and crazy-by-the-thousands-zombie-walkers masterfully.

If you love the film as much as I do, I suggest you check out these articles pulled together by PopMatters from various writers who take its theme, its living and its dead characters and compare them to humanity. We are all relatively rational people living with many irrational fears--and Night of the Living Dead preys upon those fears, which makes it a perfect horror film.

Squirrels Ain't Got Nothin' on Me!

2008-09-06T21:55:00.001-07:00

This is my 12th year in Seattle, and as such, I've become all-too-familiar with the gloomy weather that casts its net over the Puget Sound sometime around mid-October and doesn't leave until the following Fourth of July. It messes with my psyche, which is why I think I enjoy running so much. A good hit of endorphins three days a week keeps the blues from the blah weather away.

It's funny, too, but I used to take sunshine for granted--which is easy to do living in Southern California. Nowadays, my mood can change drastically from one day to the next, depending on how gray it is outside, and I understand why caffeine is such a big hit here. On those seemingly endless dreary days, I feel more sluggish and less motivated to do anything, and oftentimes, caffeine is my only saving grace.

With only a few more days of gorgeous weather, I find myself longing to be outdoors more, either with the kids or alone with my thoughts. I even spent two hours on the garden last weekend during a sun shower just because the air quality was so much better than the stuff I sucked in every day for a month in Ukraine. But also, it's almost as if I'm soaking up the last of the remaining sunshine of the year before the weather turns to crap.

Today was one of those monumental "this is why I live in Seattle" days. The sun burned away all the morning clouds and by noon it was a pleasant 70 degrees with a slight breeze. I took La La (this is what Audri calls herself) for a leisurely ride in the bike trailer until she started getting fussy because she ran out of Cheerios. But the best part about today was at dusk, when Scout and I ran a 6-mile loop around the lake, and watched the bats zig zag overhead and the squirrels fight over acorns.

Yup, it's days like today that I try to summon from my memory when I get sick and tired of the same ol', same ol' monochromatic 9-month season.

Scaredy Squirrel by Melanie Watt

Settling in...

2008-09-03T21:40:00.000-07:00

I'm amazed that it's 9:40 p.m. and I'm still awake. Ever since I got home from Ukraine, I've been asleep by 10. I'm no longer the night owl. Now I get up at 6 just so I have enough time to make and drink coffee before the little buggers get up.

Life's been grand since we've been back. I'm finally fully recovered from the Ukrainian Super Flu or whatever it was that knocked me flat on my ass. Now if only I could muster up running more than 3 miles at a stretch, I'd be a happy camper.

Speaking of happy campers, I have to tell you about these adorable little plates I bought at Fireworks the other day, under the guise of "they're for my kids!" Check 'em out online.

I got myself the Funky Monkey, of course!

Owie!

2008-07-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

I don't know what the hell's the matter with me, but I've become a total klutz. I can only chalk it up to being utterly distracted by everything else going on...either that or I'm getting fuzzy in my old age. Hmmm...

Anyway, I got this bad boy on my arm the other night and I can't explain exactly HOW it happened. Isn't it pretty? One minute, I was in the den, holding the central vac hose with one hand, trying to turn my slant board with the other, and then I just...fell...over. But not just over, over either...it was more like, I knocked into the side table and then landed on some free weights and then kinda wound up in a fetal position on the dog bed on the opposite side of the room. I skinned my knee, too, and it was in the same spot where I tore my knee open last year, when I fell on the sidewalk. (Yeah, this is becoming chronic, huh?) That time, I was running along, and BAM! Tripped over a crack and split my knees wide open. I felt like I was five again.

So anyway, back to this nasty bruise on my arm...I'm a little bummed because it looks kind of ugly and...see, I've got this big appointment coming up next week in Ukraine where I have to appear adoption friendly, and since it's like 100 degrees in Kiev, I was planning on wearing a sleeveless dress...and this thing looks like Pa punched the shit out of me, not just once, but a kajillion times.

Makeup anyone?

Muddy Runs -- The Cure for What Ails Ya

2008-07-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

Man oh man, I had a shitty morning. 99.999% of it is because of our trip. You can read all about that on Privyet.

I did, however, push myself out the door for a run and I've got to say, it helped tremendously. The run, itself, wasn't all that great (it was hot, too late in the morning, I missed my running group, and I was a sluggish) but mentally, it did wonders.

As I rounded the Montlake Cut and headed to Foster Island via the trail that runs behind MOHAI, it became pretty mushy. I couldn't figure out why, at first, because it was a warm day and it hadn't rained in a few weeks. And yet, the mud got deeper and deeper. Here's a picture of my shoe as I'm navigating the trail by way of stepping on branches:

Teetering my way through actually forced me to stop, which is why I took out my phone and started taking some pictures. Despite the mud, the scenery was gorgeous:

These are water lillies. Sorry, the camera on my phone sucks. Frickin' Blackjack. If you click on them though, they're a lot clearer.

Then I realized...DUH...I'm in the middle of marsh here...
of COURSE it's muddy. Silly me:
Yup, that's water underneath that green stuff!

A boat on Lake Washington

This is where the trail turns into a floating bridge:

Anyway, I ran through the Arboretum to Lake Washington Boulevard; hung a right and ran up Interlaken. It was a good day to stay in the shade.

I feel much better now. I mean, my stomach is still in knots over this trip, but I feel calmer now. Yay!

Hot Dog! Mr. Na's a Bicyclist!

2008-07-09T20:41:00.001-07:00

Last year, we bought Mr. Na a sporty little Trek bike with the hope that it'd last him a few years. It will, too, because it's just a hair too big for him right now. When we bought it, we opted to put training wheels on it because of the size; but during the few rides we'd taken so far this summer, Na's been balancing all on his own. I think riding a Razor scooter to school every day had a little something to do with it.

So on Monday, as we rode to Husky Stadium and back, I told him that I thought he was ready for the training wheels to come off. He wasn't too thrilled, initially, and secretly, neither was I. I wasn't sure if I was up to the task of scraping him off the ground six or seven times before he "got it". But as I watched him ride home in front of me, I noticed that most of the time, the training wheels never hit the pavement. I figured...he was ready. And worse case, I could always put them back on.

This morning, as Na was brushing his teeth and getting ready for his day, I went to the garage and did the deed. The wheels came off quite easily and so I still had time to run down to the basement and get all of the padding I could find for him: I grabbed knee pads and elbow pads, along with his helmet because, by gosh, if Na was gonna fall, he was gonna be ok with it...and so was I. I think if Pa had his old football gear, I'd have used that too.

I spent some time with him on the driveway at first, showing him how to put his foot down whenever he felt he was leaning too far one way or the other. Then I made him sit on the seat and, without touching the pedals, I grabbed the back of his seat and rolled him. Then I made him put his feet on the pedals and I wheeled him to a nearby school parking lot. Along the way, I lessened my vice-like grip on the back of his seat and grabbed it again when I thought he'd do a header.

When we got to the smooth, level parking lot, something told me to just let go...and that is exactly what I did...and I shit you not, Na took off! He rode faster and faster around the parking lot...and I had to run behind him just to keep up. When he stopped, I gave him a huge hug and cried, "You did it!" That was by far, the fastest time I've ever seen someone learn how to ride a bike.

Unfortunately, our parking lot time was up when someone came out of the school and told us a lot of trucks were going to be coming in and out. So we went to our playground and Na rode around the gravel outer path of the field. He'd fall every now and then--mostly because he stopped too fast or he made too sharp of a turn, but he'd be all sprawled out and raise his arm in the air to give me the thumbs up!

Later this evening, as we drove to his swimming lesson, Na said,
"That was a lot of fun today, Momma, but do you know what I want now?"
"What's that, sweetie?"
"A motorcycle!"

Adoption News - Take Two

2008-07-09T09:04:00.000-07:00

Ok, so the wonderful folks at Today.com aren't willing to comply with my request to filter ads for my family blog...so I've taken the liberty of changing the adoption blog to here:

Privyet!

It's unfortunate that I have to pull the blog from Today, but it's highly embarrassing to have inappropriate advertising featured across the top banner of a blog that covers our family's adoption journey. I should have gone with Blogger to begin with, but I was lured with the idea of being a paid blogger. So much for that!

The Dog Days of Summer

2008-07-08T23:04:00.000-07:00

Well, despite my freaking out over our trip being less than two weeks away, I'm enjoying the Seattle summer sunshine with Mr. Na (and I've got quite the sunburn to prove it!)

We took the dogs to an awesome off-leash area today (Magnuson) which also has a "dog" beach off of Lake Washington. Mr. Na, being 6 and all, went right in with the dogs, and all I could do was stand there and cringe, wondering what sort of organic floaties were touching his skin. Of course, afterwards, under the guise of "wanna play in the sprinkler?" I hosed all three down in the yard--and then stuck the child in the tub.

It's good to have him home again; but my staycation was kind of an awesome way to regroup and appreciate him all the more.

Don't Mess with My Liberty!

2008-07-05T10:13:00.000-07:00

Source: Seattle P-I
During our morning run yesterday, Scout and I were heading toward Gas Works Park when I saw this gigantic Statue of Liberty head situated on the edge of Lake Union. Underneath the ridiculousness of it, there was something about it that creeped me out. Call me warped, I dunno, but rather than feeling all patriotic and gung-ho for the Fourth, it instantly reminded me of the scene from the last Planet of the Apes movie, when Charlton Heston finds a third of the Statue sticking up out of the sand and curses the apes for blowing it up, crying, "You maniacs! You blew it up! Damn you all to hell!"

My second thought was that it reminded me of that Cloverfield movie, where the monster rips off the head of the Statue of Liberty and throws it down Broadway like a bowling ball.

How could the Family Fourth of July event organizers be so irresponsible! Damn you all to hell, you maniacs!

Memories of Maroon and Gray Color Wars

2008-07-02T15:39:00.000-07:00

I had the most random conversation with a guy from my running group last Saturday and as it turns out, he and I went to the same camp at the same time over 30 years ago in New Jersey.

We were talking about the heat, which led us to talking about the humidity on the East coast, which led him to ask me where I grew up, which led me to tell him I spent part of my childhood in Bergen County, New Jersey, which led him to say, "No way, me too!" which led me to ask him the name of his town, which led him to tell me he lived in Ramsey, which led me to tell him I lived in River Vale which led me to add that I went to camp at Knights Day Camp in Upper Saddle River, which led him to say,

"HOLY SHIT! I DID TOO!"

Bizarre, but true. We spent the next hour or so reminiscing about the camp and lamenting over its demise and the death of Uncle Maurice--a man who not only founded the camp, but created such a fun, memorable atmosphere that 35,000 happy campers, over a 25 year period sang "We Love You Knights Day Camp" every morning on the bus ride in.

Turns out, my friend and I were both there in 1977, and we were both nine at the time, though we don't remember one another. I told him that was the year when, during a game of Hares and Hounds, I managed to step on a fallen yellow jackets nest and was stung by 13 bees. I was surprised he didn't remember someone with long blonde hair running up to the infirmary with a cloud of bees following closely behind like something out of a cartoon. I had a pretty bad reaction from the stings, too, and I swelled as bad as Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I had to be taken from the infirmary to a nearby doctor who removed the bee stings one-by-one. Uncle Maurice came to the doctor's office and drew a Purple K on my (good) hand for being so brave and later that night, he called my mom to see how I was doing. Still high on Chlor-Trimeton, I went to camp the very next day, since I didn't want to miss out on any of the fun.

That was the summer, too, when I wore the highly fashionable Wonder Woman bathing suit, and got mad when another girl in my group had one as well. I also got mad because when I got my Junior Lifesaving pin, I wore it and it left a rusty mark on the suit. My friend told me he'd talk to his parents to see if they could dig up the pictures of camp that year. He distinctly remembers seeing pictures of him in his group, The Exterminators, during the "Buddy System" in front of the Plake (the camp's pool/lake combo). He said he'd be on the look out for Wonder Woman (or her imposter).

Each camper received two or three gray Knights Day Camp t-shirts, with an illustrated Maroon-colored knight in the upper right hand corner and we took pride in the shirts--wearing them everyday with our Adidas shorts and tube socks. I think I asked my mother to find tube socks with maroon and gray bands so I could be color coordinated.

My friend has a lot keener memory than I do. He remembers "Sloppy Slurching" where we trudged in the muddy water behind the cemented Plake and his parents even have his old banner with the merit badges he earned. I wish I had saved something...anything. Sigh!

Every year, we had one overnight at the camp, which was the highlight of the summer. This is where we learned of the legend of the Purple Knight who would come to the camp once everyone was asleep and leave his trademark Purple K on an unsuspecting, but lucky, camper. None of us got to see the Purple Knight in person (it wasn't Uncle Maurice), until the very last day of camp, when he made his appearance on horseback as the buses pulled away.

We also discussed the annual "Color Wars", and as it turns out, he was on the Maroon side (I was on the Gray team). Color Wars was a week-long competition at the end of the summer. The competing teams earned points with various activities including archery, swimming, and the ever-popular volleyball-esque game called "Nuke 'em" where players had to catch the ball or lose a teammate. I can remember we also had a sing-off and cheer-off competition to see which team had the most spirit. That year, the announcer played a trick by calling the Maroon Team winners...only to psyche everyone out and give the win to the Gray Team. My friend insists on doing a re-match.

I'm up for the challenge...so long as it doesn't involve running! My friend ran Boston this year and I've yet to earn a respectable qualifying time to do so.

It'll have to be Sloppy Slurching!

Looking for Adoption News?

2008-07-01T12:17:00.000-07:00

Some of you visiting this site have been brought here, inadvertently. And while I appreciate the readership on Canned Goods, you can find more information about our Ukraine adoption here:

privyetukraine.blogspot.com

Happy Reading!

Pacing: It's Like Racing...Without the "R"...sorta

2008-06-29T17:11:00.000-07:00

Today, I had the opportunity to be an official pacer at the Seafair Marathon. I was one of four people assigned to a snail's pace and so, instead of doing one leg of it--the assigned 6.something, something miles--I decided to run with my friend for half of the race (13.1 miles). We looked at it as a "fun run"...a typical long run we enjoy with our group on most Saturdays. We figured it was going to be easy! It was going to be fun! We were going to enjoy the scenery! And what's more, since we volunteered our time and services, we got a free pair of Brooks running shoes out of the deal. What could possibly go wrong? we mused yesterday, as we picked up our schwag at the Expo and watched the temperature climb steadily to record highs.

Apparently, a lot.

The race was slated to start at Husky Stadium this morning at 7:00 a.m., but they wanted racers to come across the water and park at Bellevue Square, across the street from the finish. They hired school buses for shuttles and began taking people across the water as early as 5:00 or so. Given that I wasn't one of the starters, I made my way across the 520 bridge four minutes before it was scheduled to close, so by the time I got to Bellevue Square, it was about 6:55--or five minutes from guntime. Yet there were still hundreds of people standing in line at the FINISH, waiting for a shuttle to take them across the bridge to the START.

I can't accurately report what happened next first hand, because I was across the street in the mall's parking structure with my driver, but by 7:05, an announcement had been made to those who were still on the Eastside that they wouldn't be able to run the full marathon but that they'd be shuttled to the halfway point since there weren't anymore buses to take people to the start. Imagine signing up to run a full marathon; paying the higher fee, and training your ass off for four months, only to be told you can only run half of it. Hmmm...

Anyway, getting back to my little group: Our driver was awesome--a 15+ year-veteran of Seafair. But since the course had changed from the year before, he had a tough time trying to figure out on the map where our rendezvous point would we would relieve people running the first two legs. So after some driving around, we went to the water station in between miles 13-14 because he thought that was where we needed to be. So we figured when it was near our time, we would walk around the corner and down the hill further back in the course to find our teammate. We even called our running group director to ask what the official guntime turned out to be (it was 7:15) so we could re-calculate our handoff time.

So, we waited at the water station with other pace groups, and during that time, one of the runners noticed that the water table looked kind of sparse for such a hot day, and the fact that this was the halfway mark and that there were almost 5,000 people running. So she spoke with one of the volunteers at the water table who said, kind of nonchalantly, that they had run out of cups and that they probably weren't getting any more. Given that it was 73 degrees by 8:30, this did not bode well--especially since runners would be taking more than one water cup to drink and douse themselves. What's more, the table had both Gleukos and water, but there was no delineation between the two. Both were clear liquid and both were poured into the same Gleukos cups, which would have made for a huge, sticky mess of runners who needed to cool themselves off by dousing. But thankfully, the runner from my group took charge, kicked some ass, took names, and whipped the water table into shape before the Kenyans came.

Once the 8:35 min/mile pacer left, follwed by the 9:10 pacers, my friend and I got out of the sleek, airconditioned Seafair Suburban and stood with a bunch of other relay people to wait for our teammate. By 9:33, she still hadn't shown and we were getting a little worried. We waited a little longer (our first mistake) but then made the judgment call to just go. Even factoring out the guntime delay and the heat, we figured we would need to cross the finish line at 12:00 noon to make our pace, but because we waited for our teammate we were 11 minutes behind schedule, which meant we had to up our pace to a full minute per mile faster to try and make up for lost time.

And while the faster pace was one I could hold for a 10 or 12k, it's a little too fast for me for a half marathon distance, particularly when the course is super hilly and it's 78 degrees. We started out strong, but our segment was the hilliest of the course--and between miles 14-20, we encountered some MAJOR climbs. I told my friend that if he could hold steady at our faster pace for the rest of the race, he should just go on ahead because I knew I wouldn't be able to do that for 13 miles in the heat.

So I'm running pretty much by myself and there are random people running up to me because I have a "PACER" shirt on and they're saying, "HEY! So-and-So (the teammate I'd been waiting for) was looking for you! You weren't at the handoff!" And I'm going, "I most certainly was! Where was she? I didn't see her!" and I see this one guy whom I had seen run past me on the course while I was waiting for So-and-So (he happened to be one of the guys calling out to me) and I said, "Well, I saw you but I didn't see you with So-and-So." So apparently, she stopped at a sign that read "Relay Exchange Point" (makes sense, doesn't it?) and my running partner and I never saw that sign because we were about a half a mile UP from that point, where our driver thought our exchange would take place!

Anyway at this point, we're at mile 18 and I've pretty much caught up to the time I wasted at the water stop, waiting for So-and-So but I am dead tired and ready to collapse from the heat (I heard later that someone had collapsed in the Costco parking lot right around that point of the race) and as we round the corner, this GINORMOUS hill looms ahead...and I see my running partner's green shirt at the top of this hill, sooooooo very far away. I was about to call it quits when a woman calls out, "Heyyyyy! It's a pacer! Boy, I'm so glad to see you!!!" and I think, "There's no way I can quit now. This woman has been running the full 18+ miles and she's ecstatic to have found a pacer." So, I started running with her and it turns out she had been running with So-and-So earlier in the race, but lost track of her, so she was glad to have finally found another pacer.

I ran with this woman from mile 18 to mile 22 when the blister on the ball of my right foot started screaming at me and I told her it was the end of the line for me. She was still going super strong and there was no way I could keep up--especially having spent so much of my energy nine miles earlier. She was great, though, and it seemed she was going to have a pretty commendable finish given that it was her first full marathon and that she had conquered the heat and hills respectably.

At this point, though, I was in Carillon Point and I still had over four miles to go. I slowed to a walk, hoping some wayard official-looking Seafair Suburban would pull up and take me to the finish. Instead, people at every water station kept cheering me on. "Lookin' good! You're almost there!" I had to laugh. This was one of the most unconventional racing situations I'd ever been in. Finally, I get to Mile 23 and straight ahead is the steepest hill of the entire race--over the 520 interchange. It was 11:45 and the sun was just beating down on us and there was no way I was going to run up that hill. I just had nothing left to give. Yet, I was so grateful I wasn't running the race for a goal...I would have been so damned depressed at that point. I just did the only thing I could do--kept going toward the finish line, taking it all in stride, so to speak.

I finally crossed the finish line at 12:33. My running partner waited for me (he finished on pace!) and we made a few phone calls until we reached someone who was with So-and-So, who had wondered what the hell had happened to us at the exchange. But once she heard our version of the story, she wasn't too surprised. "Next year," I said, "we grab each other's cell phone numbers!" This was a debacle that could have easily been avoided.

I will say one thing, though. I DEFINITELY earned those free running shoes today!

Staycation, all I ever wanted...

2008-06-28T14:56:00.000-07:00

It's pretty bad when I can't seem to recall the last time I was home alone for more than a few hours. All I can tell you is that it's definitely been years. Several years.

But this morning, Pa and Na headed out for an early flight to Michigan to visit the grandfolks until next Sunday, leaving me here at home with the doggies for a little R and R and W (reading, running and writing). I have to say, it's a win-win situation for all parties concerned: Pa gets to golf with old friends, Na spends quality time with the grandparents, and I enjoy the peace! and quiet! and solitude! Or, in the words of Elmer J. Fudd: West and Wewaxation at Wast!

Now, I don't want you to think I jumped for joy once the taxicab carrying Na and Pa left at 7 this morning, but it was awfully nice to be able to crawl back into bed and sleep for two more uninterrupted hours--at least until Scout decided to pounce on me.

I don't know if I was always like this or if it's been a recent development--but I really do favor quiet time over noise, which is not a good thing when you have a six year-old child or a 71 year-old mother who can't stop talking. I find that when I'm with those two (and it's at least once a week) I have a much harder time processing anything they say because THEY'RE SAYING IT AT THE SAME TIME! And it's not like, "Hey, how are ya? What's new?" it's "I need this" or "I want that" or "Can you do this for me?" It could damn near drive one to drink!

So you can imagine my annoyance when, upon hearing that Na and Pa would be gone for nine days, my mother asked, "What are we going to do while they're gone?" I said, "WE aren't going to do anything. I'M taking a staycation!" That didn't go over very well. But I'm sticking to my guns. There will be no family face to face time for NINE WHOLE DAYS! Momma's checkin' out.

If you ask me, I think my staycation is one of the greatest gifts from Pa. I mean, after all, in four weeks, Pa, Na and I will be in Ukraine sweating like crazy (literally and figuratively) and living in pretty tight quarters for four weeks (Na and I are leaving early, after court--if all goes "well") And then there's our joyful addition to the family once Pa and little-person-yet-to-be- determined come home, which means it'll be another several years or so until I can say "I honestly can't remember the last time I was home alone for more than a few hours." So yeah, I'm enjoying the break!

I know, though, that once the weekend passes and the quietness has settled in, I'll really begin to miss them. I've gotten used to the little footsteps going across the hall to use the bathroom in the morning; and the silly songs we three make up together everyday; and my little cooking assistant who was able to work a stand mixer since age three; and how Pa makes my latte in the morning and then puts it in a commuter mug and sends Scout up with it. I think the break, if anything, will help me appreciate that all the more.

Mr. Na at the airport this morning

George Carlin R.I.P.

2008-06-23T07:55:00.000-07:00

Growing up, George Carlin was a staple in our household. My brother--a good ten years older than me--listened to the Class Clown record album non-stop. Obviously, not getting the references at such a young age, I would laugh when others laughed. And it wasn't until a good ten years later when I listened to it when I fully realized his comedic genius.

It broke my heart to hear that George Carlin passed away yesterday, from heart failure. He was 71.

His raw humor, coupled with his nicotine-laced, gritty New York attitude can never be matched (although honestly, my Dad's Jamaica-Queens accent comes a close second). He taught me a lot about words and how, if we just stood still to ponder for just a moment, certain words in the English language seemed so ridiculous and filled with double-meanings. But moreover, he broke through major tenets regarding organized religion, claiming, at one point, that he worshiped the sun because it was the one thing he could actually see. But his sensibility about the world in which we lived gave proof that he was so much more than a rable rouser.

Just as he was a staple in my early childhood, he returned to be a part of my son's. His cheeky narration on many episodes of Thomas the Tank gave the stories a whole new dimension of humor, and his hippie-ish character in the Pixar movie Cars, Filmore the VW minibus, reminded me of his 70s stand-up material.

George will truly be missed.

Running in Ukraine?

2008-06-19T14:22:00.000-07:00

I had pretty much tossed all hopes aside that I would do some running in Ukraine during our trip in mid-July. Having been there before, the idea of running seemed kind of far-fetched, what with all of the crazy drivers on the road and the lack of sidewalks. The stray dogs, too, kind of puts a damper on any desire to run.

I am a creature of habit and like to run close to home, rather than feeling all adventurous to blaze a new trail--though I will admit I have been bold during certain trips to other cities, and I've run routes in Barcelona, Helsinki, New York, Las Vegas, Honoloulu. But there have been times when I've held back, feeling a little unsure of my safety--particularly in Paris, Madrid, London and Prague. It's mostly because of the high volume of traffic and the layout of the cities.

So, along with my decision not to run in Ukraine, I skipped plans to run in a marathon this fall since I figured I'd be gone most of the summer and would miss at least two or three 20-mile training runs, not to mention the fact that I'd have to consider running up mountains made out of coal slag for hill training since Ukraine is about as flat as Kansas. My decision left me kind of bummed, too, because I've been hankering to do the Portland Marathon so I can finally get a decent finish time.

But this morning, I got home from my run and Pa asked me if I had planned any running routes in Ukraine. I kinda looked at him sideways and said,
"I don't think it's safe, do you?"
He said for sure he'd feel safe in Kiev and that once we got to our child's city or village, I could determine whether or not I'd feel comfortable. And then, of course, a new seed was planted in my brain. I mean, sheesh, we'll have so much down-time during our travel, it would seem a shame not to spend some of that time running. So, I'm thinking about it more in earnest now...but of course thinking means planning, since I'd have to schlep more crap with me (i.e. running shoes, socks, shorts, shirts, sports bras, hats, sunglasses, My Forerunner (GPS), bluetooth headset, water belt and bottles, and packets of Gu. And if you're dying of laughter at the thought of all my "gear" then you should try running 10-20 miles without most of the above. You'd be bored to tears, dehydrated, lost, and low on blood sugar.

Seriously, though, all that crap means needing space in my already-maxed-out-luggage or worse--having to pack a second bag. And when you're in Ukraine, climbing four flights of stairs in a post-communist apartment building with a broken elevator that has a spray painted "Anarchy" symbol on it and you're sweating your ass off because it's 98 degrees with 100% humidity, having a second bag just for running clothes really seems asinine.

Aw well, I'll figure it out. For me, running takes the edge off...makes me feel awesome...helps me to sleep like a baby at night...and I'll admit, if I don't plan to run, I will miss it while we're gone. Seems pretty silly to leave behind a great form of therapy during a super-huge stressful time.

The (Kindergarten) Graduate

2008-06-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

Ma: I want to say one word to you. Just one word.
Na: Yes, mom.
Ma: Are you listening?
Na: Yes, I am.
Ma: Plastics.
Na: Huh?

Pa thought it was pretty silly to have a formal graduation ceremony for Kindergarten, but I'll admit I got a little teary-eyed at the cuteness of it all. On the downside, it also gave me the opportunity to have a flash-forward of Na's high school graduation, which I found to be somewhat disturbing. That's 12 years from now and I'll be (gasp! gasp! gasp!) 52!

The tears flowed a little more once the entire class broke into Annie's "Tomorrow" (which is ironic because it's about orphans awaiting a better life--hence my free flowing tears).

This year -- seriously -- went too fast. I just found it amazing that one day, not too long ago, as we discussed his homework, Mr. Na was reading sentences. SENTENCES! In September, he could barely read "the"! And math? Whoa...pretty soon he'll catch up to my math skills! Ha!

2008-06-07T10:55:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, I ran in the annual Fremont 5k. It was my third time running the race and I had hoped to improve my 2006 PR. It looked like I was in pretty decent shape to do just that until I heard this awful noise behind me that sounded like someone had collided with a rollerblader. I turned around, thinking, "what the hell would a rollerblader be doing on the Burke Gilman trail with 500 runners coming from the opposite direction?" but instead, I saw another runner laying on the ground, with a mixture of blood and bile coming out of his mouth and nose. People yelled out to call 9-1-1 and I fumbled for my phone to dial, but I stopped trying to make the call when I saw several people doing the same.

Even though the man's eyes were half open, his pupils were dilated and he was not conscious. I summoned up outdated CPR training--telling people that we needed to check his airway by opening his mouth. When I did, he made a very bone-chilling rattling noise and I feared the poor man wasn't going to make it. I located his carotid artery for a pulse but couldn't find one, so I began compressions on his chest until a firefighter--who had also been running the race--ran up to us and took over. Every so often, the man exhaled and then his chest would rise, so it seemed he was breathing, but then his entire face and neck turned purple, and the firefighter continued compressions while another man gave him breaths. It wasn't easy, though, because there was a lot of blood in the victim's mouth and the man assisting the firefighter wiped a whole wad of it on his shirt after giving a breath.

Within minutes, the paramedics arrived with a Lifepak AED and they took over resuscitation attempts. I figured there was nothing more for me to do, so rather than being in the way, I left and did a half-hearted walk/run to the finish line, where people were smiling, cheering, drinking beer, listening to music--completely unaware of what happened only 1/4 of a mile away. I couldn't help but worry, though, if the man was going to make it. He was relatively young (I'd guess late forties) and looked as though he had been fit; but having worked for a company that made portable defibrillators, I know that cardiac arrest can strike anyone without warning and without proper resuscitation, victims will die within minutes.

After I retrieved my bike, I went back to the scene, where they had just placed the man in the ambulance. I asked a policeman if he was ok--told him that I was one of a handful of people to first respond. He said he thought the man was going to make it, though he himself had just arrived at the scene and didn't know whether or not the man required defibrillation.

Incidentally, last week was National CPR/AED Awareness Week--a time when the Red Cross promotes training lay responders CPR and using an AED. Yet, despite the fact that there were at least five people (before the firefighter came) trying to help the man, no one, myself included, had any sort of updated CPR training and so we were all second-guessing one another while trying to provide First Aid. I wanted to start chest compressions immediately, but people were telling me not to because it looked as though he was breathing (I later looked up the AHA guidelines that state that you shouldn't wait to see signs for normal breathing and that you should start chest compressions immediately). I couldn't remember how many chest compressions needed to be administered before giving the victim a breath, but since my last training, the guidelines had changed from 15 to 30. Initially, the victim was on his side, and when I asked for help in turning him over so I could check his airway, someone told me not to because he had been bleeding from his nose and they were worried that he'd choke from the blood. All I kept thinking was that time was running out for this man and if we didn't try to do anything, he wouldn't make it and that it was neither the time nor the place to stand around and argue about what should be done. The man needed to be resuscitated and if I had been more confident in knowing I was doing the right thing, I would have told everyone barking orders at me to shut the fuck up.

Friday night's turn of events left me feeling very sad, but it also prompted me to look into taking another CPR/AED class so I could keep my skills current. I don't ever want to be in the same situation of wondering if I'm doing the right thing.

UPDATE: I was in touch with the folks who organized the race and was told the man was still in the hospital, but doing fine.

The Post in Which I Review the Book Skinny Bitch

2008-06-04T09:34:00.000-07:00

Having some time to kill at Barnes and Noble the other night, I flipped through some pages of Skinny Bitch and began reading the "Protein Myth" chapter. The authors' profanity-laced language, peppered with statistics lured me in and I bought the book thinking it was a fresh, no-b.s. perspective on nutrition.

It was and it wasn't. On the one hand, they are justifiably quick to bash weight loss fads like the Atkins Diet, and to incorporate more fruits, vegetables and water into the daily diet; but the authors are saying that the only way to become skinny and to stay skinny is to become vegan, which is absolute b.s.. Their "all or nothing" approach sets readers up for failure if they are looking for guidance in weight loss. Sure, it's great if one can completely alter their lifestyle and quit all things meat, dairy and fish, but it's not realistic to most of us who are conscious as to what we put in our mouths but enjoy an occasional steak, salmon or omelet. As a thin person, and someone who had to, at one point, lose some weight, I can tell you first-hand that there's no need to become vegan to shed pounds and stay at a healthy weight. It's practicing moderation, coupled with exercise, that works.

The scare tactics in the book are off-putting as well. It's one thing to inform readers about the ills of factory farming, yet quite another to go into great detail about animal slaughter (watch King Corn--a much better approach). I just skipped those pages because it went from informative to downright gratuitous. They got a hold of some excerpts of slaughterhouse employees talking about the worst things they've ever done to animals and that whole section of the book just became tabloid. So how does a book gain credibility if it turns so many people off? Rather than completely abstain from meat and poultry, I've switched to supermarkets that carry meat from local, range-grazed or free-ranged animals. I pay more for it, but to me, it's worth it.

Same with dairy--the authors are insisting that cow's milk isn't any good for you and that anything dairy is evil. Again, there is middle ground, and it just takes a little research to find stores that sell products from local, responsible dairies.

Oddly enough, I didn't catch any place in the book where they educated the reader on pesticides used on fruits and vegetables--only meat. If you aren't paying attention to your produce selection, there's a good chance you're ingesting high levels of pesticides as well.

There were many places in the book where I felt they were providing less unbiased information and more product endorsement. The funny thing is, their suggestions were extremely limiting. Sure, sodas containing high fructose corn syrup OR aspartame are bad for you, but that doesn't mean you have to give up soda altogether. Why not research alternatives (and there are plenty out there) or buy naturally flavored carbonated water?

Bottom line, there was no balance in this book; it was highly opinionated, unrealistic, product endorsing drivel and I walked away with only two pieces of useful information: eat fruit for breakfast by itself; and remember to drink 64 ounces of water every day.

Somebody get me a buttercream cupcake.

Happy PaNaMa!

2008-05-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day marked the beginning of the month-long festival known as "PaNaMa," which means absolutely nothing outside of our little triad. It's a time in which the three of us: Pa, Na and Ma celebrate Mother's Day, Father's Day and all three of our birthdays. I feel sorry for the next little addition to our family...or maybe he/she will feel lucky not having to share our birthday.

This year is quite important since Pa and I both turn (holy crap!) 40. I still find that so hard to believe. I don't feel 40--er, whatever 40 is supposed to feel like. I don't look 40 either. Really. Shut up!

Actually, I have a funny to share...on my birthday, Pa took me to dinner downtown. We pulled up in front of the restaurant to have the valet park the car. After a long, enjoyable dinner, Pa went to the valet stand to have the car brought around, but it was after hours and the car was already out front. Pa grabbed the keys from the maitre d' and they were still attached to the valet card. On the back of the car, the valet had written: Tall Man/Woman. Woman in stunning dress. Pa said, "See? That should make you feel good!" to which I replied, "What? So he thought the dress was stunning..." Pa just rolled his eyes. I'm not good with compliments, but I'll take it...and hope that people still find my dresses stunning when I am in my 50s!

Both Mother's Day and my birthday were low-key, which turned out to be pretty nice. I mean, initially, I was hoping for a big hoopla--you know, maybe going to Budapest or Bora Bora or something...but knowing that we're about to spend 40 luxurious days in Ukraine this summer is plenty enough for me. Yeeeeahhh, I'll trade the white sandy beaches of Bora Bora for hot and sticky Ukraine any day.

Kidding aside, this weekend, we're flying down to San Diego to celebrate PaNaMa in style. One day is a spa day for moi; one day is a golf day for Pa; and one day will be spent at Legoland for Na (actually, ok it's for all of us...what's not to love about Legoland?) It'll be nice to get away to warm(er) weather and actual sunshine, but I've gotta say, it's weird knowing that this may well be our last vacation together as a family of three! I'm excited and kinda nervous about that...and I think Pa and Na feel the same way.

So now that I've officially said good bye to my 30s, I have a full decade ahead of me to accomplish three things: raise another beautiful, sweet child; sell my book; and qualify for the Boston Marathon--not necessarily in that order, though I've got my fingers crossed that our trip to Ukraine will be a triumph and we'll have our beautiful, sweet child first.

All three things have this in common: they are each labor intensive, but worth every minute. My only wish is that for the next ten years (and beyond) I remain as happy and healthy as I am today.

Over the Moon for Molly

2008-05-16T11:59:00.000-07:00

For years, I've had this secret desire to open up a dessert place in my neighborhood. I've got the theme picked out, the business plan written up, and some location ideas. But opening a shop would prohibit me from writing, running and raising our kids...so while I continue to kick the idea around in my head, it'll be years before it comes to fruition. I'll get to it once I send the kids off to college, go on the book tour for the first novel, and qualify for the Boston Marathon.

We live in a great little walking neighborhood and I've seen places come and go, but nothing truly dessert-oriented. We had, at one point, an ice cream store called "Wally's Scoop", but it catered to kids, mostly and was seriously lacking in atmosphere. The Crayola color-scheme just wasn't doin' it for me.

Last year, Trophy Cupcakes moved in, and while I enjoy their treats, they close by 8 p.m, so they don't cater to the late night crowd like, say, The Dilettante on Broadway or B&O Espresso.

We also have the Chocolati Cafe, and that's nice...if you just want chocolate.

So, what's a carbo-loading, sugar-craving, dessert addict to do on a Saturday night, after a movie? Well, I think someone may finally have a solution to my dilemma. Last Sunday, Molly Moon's Ice Cream Boutique opened on 45th , and not only are they open until eleven p.m., they've also got some pretty tasty ice cream.

I was never really a huge "gourmet" ice cream flavor gal. I like my Rocky Road, thank you very much; but when I took Mr. Na to Molly Moon's on Wednesday, I tried the salted caramel and the Vivace Coffee and whoa, were they ever yummy. Mr. Na had the "Scout" mint, and while it took him a minute or two to get past the fact that it wasn't artificially colored in green, he loved it. I also sampled the Cardamom, which I thought was nice, and I plan to come back for a full scoop in the near future.

It's nice to finally have a dessert place in the neighborhood that stays open long after the kiddies have gone to bed. It's even nicer that it's just ice cream, and not the treats I'm hoping to peddle one of these days!

It's... a... difficult responsibility...

2008-05-08T13:10:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine, who hinted at wanting this for her birthday, turned me on to Curiobot, and now it's one of my new faves. In fact, I've subscribed to a daily feed so I can see new, off-the-wall, totally bizarre offerings. The site reminds me of the King Novelty catalogs of yore, where one could purchase X-Ray vision glasses, Sea Monkeys and rubber chickens. But Curiobot pulls from all over the Internets, so the offerings are vast. Is Fido in need of a set of pooch slippers? Does your little one have hopes of being a TSA employee one day? Here's the perfect gift for practicing. How about a Shockalot Vault for keeping your highly coveted cookies safe? There's no end to the wackiness.

It's fun to peruse online, but when I'm in need of replacing my Toast Wallet, I shop at the local Archie McPhee in Ballard. And when I want a heaping helping of curio, with a side of Bush bashing, I head to the Not a Number gift store. Not only do I enjoy playing with every single toy in these shops, I also prefer to support my local retailer whenever I can.

I have to admit, though, that I'm faced with a quandary: if this bill passes, these local stores will have problems staying afloat. I'm totally in favor of making kids' toys safe, but I'd really hate to see them go under because they couldn't pay the exorbitant toy testing fees over which toy giants Mattel and Hasbro are up in arms, while other, mid-sized toy manufacturers are threatening to stop shipments of toys in Washington State altogether.

I'm not sure what the solution should be, but I am in favor of having the government step-in to create a federal regulation. Once the little toy retailers go under from this bill, and the mid-sized toy makers stop sending toys to our state, we would have make our purchases in other states where the regulations aren't as stiff. And aside from that being a ridiculous notion, it would make us a pretty boring place to be!

I (Heart) Duran Duran

2008-05-04T20:52:00.001-07:00

So, rather than bore you with all the details of last Wednesday's show at the WaMu Theater, I'll tell you a little story about about the first time I ever saw Duran Duran in concert. Stick with me, it's a good one!

It was 1984, I was 15, it was in Los Angeles, and my mother dropped my cousin Guen and I off, telling us to be at that EXACT SAME SPOT right after the show. I think I was wearing a white jumpsuit with teal and black triangles across the front, but I know I was wearing my black suede boots because they looked EXACTLY like the ones worn by the band.

The concert, itself, was pretty uneventful. In fact, I couldn't even tell you who opened for them, though I will say that the "Seven and the Ragged Tiger" tour was legendary. Duran Duran were one of the first bands to use giant video screens so that the audience could see those yummy wild boys up close and personal--even if you were way up in the nosebleeds.

What was more interesting, however, was what happened afterward, as Guen and I walked back toward the "mom spot" in the parking lot: a gaggle of girls swarmed around this very ordinary-looking green Delta 88. I looked at Guen who shrugged her shoulders, and said, "Beats me, let's go look." I love that about Guen. We share the same sense of adventure.

We miraculously made our way through the crowd of girls, and when we poked our heads in the passenger side window, it took seconds to register that C. Thomas Howell was driving the car and Ricky Schroeder was in the passenger seat, just inches away from my nose. I said "hey", they said "hey" and then one of them told us to get in the back. So we did.

We couldn't have been in the backseat for more than five minutes, but it's one of those moments where you can slow it down in your head to savor every detail. Not that I am particularly fond of C. Thomas Howell or Ricky Schroeder, but it gets a little exciting when a random celebrity (or two) says "hi" and then tells you to get in the car. Given that this was 1984, C. Thomas was (sadly) at the height of his career, having just starred in The Outsiders. And Ricky? Well, if I remember correctly, Silver Spoons was a popular sitcom at the time, so it's not like they were unknown.

The boys turned around to face us, Ricky was wearing a red leather jacket - a la Thriller. They asked us our names, we asked them if they liked the show, they asked us where we lived, and then the invited us to a party.

"We can't," I said.
"Why not?" Ricky asked.
"Because my mom's on her way to pick us up."
"Can you call her?" he asked. (Remember, this was still the era of the payphone!)
"No, because she's probably already here," I said.

Talk about a missed opportunity! And who knows who else would have been at that party. Would we have met Johnny or Soda Pop? (Looking back now, I would have KILLED to meet Matt Dillon...) But, you know, my mom would have freaked, and I just wasn't willing to take that risk. I did have a little sense back then. Not much, maybe, but hey...my adventurous spirit was willing to go only so far.

Oddly enough, I had the opportunity to see Duran Duran in concert again, just a few weeks later, at Madison Square Garden in New York. We had floor seats, about halfway back, and there were temporary metal barricades between us and those who were closer to the front. Before the show started and they dimmed the houselights, I caught the red leather jacket out of the corner of my eye and shouted, "Ricky! Hey, Ricky!" He turned and looked at me, smiled and said "hey" and I figured, either he says "hey" to everyone or he recognized me. I guess I'll never know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What really amazes me is that all of the above happened 24 years ago and that Duran Duran have been around for the last 30 years. And I have to give them credit, you know, because they have managed to evolve over time, to appeal to a broader audience. Their latest album, Red Carpet Massacre, was co-produced and co-written by Timbaland, Danja, and Justin Timberlake--three artists that most people in their forties (except for, maybe, Madonna) don't know.

Overall, Duran Duran put on a good show last week, mixing their old stuff with the new. The only thing that was a bit odd was when they stood in a straight line, with microphones, keyboards, computer monitors, and electric drums. The formation looked more like something out of the Blue Man Group than anything, and they played a few songs off of Big Thing. And then the weirdest frickin' thing happened: While they played "All She Wants Is" Simon started singing, "See the breaking glass, in the underpass. Hear the crushing steel, feel the steering wheel. A tear of petrol is in your eye. The handbreak penetrates your thigh. Quick--let's make love, before you die." It took me a split second to realize he was singing The Normal's "Warm Leatherette"-- a very bizarre song I never would have expected them to cover and that very few people at the concert, I'd be willing to bet, knew. Grace Jones covering the Normal, yes; Simon Le Bon, no. It was...I dunno...kinda contrived.

I still love 'em, though. How could I not? I spent my entire teenage years infatuated with them. And if it weren't for them, I never would have met Ricky Schroeder or C. Thomas Howell. Now, at least, my life is complete!

Stiff and Stiffer: Mary Roach at Town Hall

2008-04-29T13:51:00.000-07:00

A few years back, someone recommended I read Stiff – The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, so I put it on my Amazon Wish List, where it sat for five long years. It wasn’t until Pa and I were at Bailey Coy, when I recognized its cover—a pair of feet adorned with a toe tag and attached to a sheet-draped body that I remembered the book. As I perused, most notably, through the pages where she interviews the forensics expert for the TWA Flight 800 crash, I had a feeling that Stiff would be the kind of book I wouldn’t want to put down until I finished.

Little did I know that Mary Roach has a knack for making one laugh out loud while reading about the dead. But she writes with a great deal of respect, as Stiff is more of a celebration of those who, in death, made vast contributions to science. Toward the end of the book, she discusses the relatively new and controversial, yet ecologically friendly method of human composting, and I thought, what a great way to ensure reincarnation. Die as a human, come back as a rose bush! It’s perfect.

Just a week after I finished Stiff, I learned that Mary Roach was going to be in town, promoting her new book, Bonk—The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex. So, last night, I made the trek to Town Hall to hear about her research for the book which, reading about in Stiff, was half the fun.

Mary had the audience laughing quite a bit, and she is as engaging in person as she is in her work. She admitted that Bonk was a difficult book to research because sex is difficult for scientists to research. It’s not like scores of people are willing to sign up and participate in studies, especially when the studies include having sex in front of one or more researchers. Mary figured this out, first hand, disclosing that she and her husband were participants in a study, which is discussed in a chapter of Bonk. You can also listen more about it during a recent interview on NPR.

If you have the chance to see Mary during her book tour, you should. I was bummed that there wasn't a book signing after her talk, but I intend to bypass my Amazon Wish List and pick up a copy of Bonk as soon as I can.

The Whole Kit and Kaboost

2008-04-27T17:22:00.000-07:00

If it was up to Mr. Na, he’d be driving a circa-1960s white, Volkswagen (Herbie) Beetle. He’d also stay up all night long, and would only go to school for recess. Sounds like a normal kid, I know, but it’s funny how frustrated he’s become about the fact that his height hasn’t quite caught up to his ability to reach the gas pedal of a car; or that he conks out after ten minutes of our allowing him to stay up “late”; and just the other day, the school principal joked about his strong enthusiasm for learning (the way in which she described it, though, made me see shades of Arnold Horseshack with his annoying “Ooooh, Oooh, Oooh”).

Slowly but surely, he’s shedding his “baby” image—trading his train table for monster trucks; using a booster seat in the car, instead of a full-blown car seat; riding his Razor like a skateboard, and favoring shows like Word World over The Wonder Pets. And usually, the transitions are pretty smooth, almost transparent, except for this past month when he declared he would no longer sit at the piano or the dining room table with his booster seat. He was “tired of being treated like a baby”, and as such, he was going to sit in a normal chair, even if his chin was level with the table.

Well, Mr. Na got his wish—except that in the nick of time, I found this clever contraption to solve his booster seat issue. The day it arrived at the house, it felt like Christmastime all over. He was so stoked once he got himself seated at the big table and as a bonus, the chair works great over at the piano.

The Kaboost came in one piece, and took nanoseconds to attach to the legs of the chair. It’s a brilliant invention and not too ugly or invasive (though who on Earth would want to buy one in lime green?), and it also came with a travel bag, though I don’t think I’ll have a need for it since I feel it’s still a little too unwieldy to carry around.

When I bought the Kaboost online, the company e-mailed this video, which I thought it was pretty spot-on, so enjoy!

It's April 23rd, and everybody knows that yesterday was Earth Day...

2008-04-23T09:06:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. I'm a day late. And my sincerest apologies, too, to Dramarama for completely bastardizing their song in my headline. I thought it'd be kicky.

Anyway, well of course yesterday was Earth Day...it said so on Google. But, according to an essay in the Washington Post, Earth Day is dead, so I guess Hallmark is going to need to find another holiday upon which to capitalize. Maybe they'll develop a line of cards for the Boston Marathon.

I'm being cynical, yes, to prove a point. 18 years ago, we celebrated the 20th anniversary of Earth Day with fanfare. There were concerts and t-shirts and TV programs and Earth Day hacky sacks and other green tschotskys. And the interesting thing was, after the celebrating was finished, and everybody went back home, leaving millions of pounds of trash in their wake, some people left scratching their heads, wondering why, on that 20th anniversary, Earth Day hadn't been celebrated for the 19 years before. Why was Earth Day suddenly so important in 1990? More importantly, if we fast forward 18 years, what have we done to date, other than mass produce more "stuff" like cell phones, SUVs, and plastic water bottles?

Now, I am probably the LAST person to pontificate the virtues of going green, so please don't think that my rant is about everyone else scorching the Earth. I'm just as guilty. But I am trying to make an effort, and little by little, I hope that I can incorporate better, environmentally-friendly habits in my family's daily routine. So, after the first of the year, I made the following changes:

1) Shutting off my computer every night: Time Magazine quoted the U.S. Department of Energy's statistic that "The average desktop computer, not including the monitor, consumes from 60 to 250 watts a day. Compared with a machine left on 24/7, a computer that is in use four hours a day and turned off the rest of the time would save you about $70 a year. The carbon impact would be even greater. Shutting it off would reduce the machine's CO2 emissions 83%, to just 63 kg a year."

Some experts say that setting your computer to "hibernate" is just as effective, but for me, it's just as easy to shut it off completely than to set it to hibernate.

2) Replacing my lightbulbs with compact fluorescents: I've got to admit, at first, I hated the lighting that compact fluorescents produced. But over time, I got used to them and now I replace our standard bulbs with compact fluorescents every time a bulb burns out. The reason? An article in Fast Company puts it succinctly, "the energy savings. Compact fluorescents emit the same light as classic incandescents but use 75% or 80% less electricity."

2a) Shut off the lights! This is a tough one because I'm constantly following Pa or Na around, turning off the lights in the rooms they've just left; but I'm finding that Mr. Na is starting to "get it", too as he turns off the lights he doesn't need.

3) Use canvas bags for groceries: When you go to a grocery store in Paris, you must buy a tote to use for your groceries as they do not offer paper or plastic. And from what I'm hearing, pretty soon grocery stores here in the States will soon follow. I find the canvas totes to be quite handy, so long as I remember to bring them when I make a mad dash to the store!

4) Walk: I'm awfully lucky to live in a pedestrian/bicycle friendly city that has relatively mild weather year round. And since Mr. Na has started Kindergarten, we've been walking to and from school nearly every day, which is about a mile and a quarter, round trip. The dogs love it, too.

4a Drive less! Again, I am very lucky to live in a city where I don't have to drive everywhere, and that Pa, along with most of our neighbors take the bus to work every day. And it shows. According to a study conducted by the Sightline Institute, drivers in the Pacific Northwest have cut their gasoline consumption by 11 percent since 1999. Now, ok, before you get all debate-y on my ass, yes, I realize much of this is because no one wants to pay $75 to fill up their cars at the gas pump. But I truly believe that "if" gas prices ever get back to any sort of reasonable amount, you'll find a minimal rise in gasoline consumption in the area. Yes, I have a car and no, I'm not getting rid of it because I own it and it'd be stupid to just flat out sell it. But it's 8 years old and has only 52,000 miles on it.

5) Stop buying water in bottles: I honestly don't know how we started the bad habit of buying cases of Crystal Geyser from Costco. Not only is it incredibly stupid to pay a premium for water, but our local tap water isn't so bad, either. After I got Mr. Glugger for Christmas (yes, he has a name, thanks to Mr. Na), we started filling him up with tap water and putting him in the fridge. There's something so refreshing about cold water from the fridge! Is that hysterical, or what?

There are other things I do (like wash our laundry in cold water and run a full load in the dishwasher, which, by the way is more efficient than hand washing) but I also know I should be adopting greener habits much more frequently. But I am human, and as such, I'm taking baby steps. Maybe, though, those steps will lead me into leaving a much smaller carbon footprint.

Mr. Na and the Dalai Lama

2008-04-22T10:27:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday, Mr. Na – along with 14,999 fellow classmates from the school district – had the rare opportunity to see the Dalai Lama speak. The program, Seeds of Compassion, was part of a 5-day visit to Seattle that included lectures, workshops, and lots of kid-friendly activities. When I first learned of Mr. Na’s class trip, I wondered what sort of program would be offered to school-aged children that they’d be able to sit still through and—perhaps—take one or two things away from it. I mean, after all, he’s five and as such, has the memory of a gnat. But I had the opportunity of catching the program via webcast and it was an hour and a half filled with music, storytelling, laughter, and finally, His Holiness, whose presence moved the entire Key Arena to absolute silence. Not an easy feat to accomplish, when 99.9% of the audience was children. Yet, it was so.

I’ve seen His Holiness speak on a variety of television interviews and programs and found him to be quite jovial, despite the decades-long hardship in Tibet. And my comment comes from awe, not judgment, that he is a living example of his belief that the very purpose of our existence is happiness. He’s a man that, despite his presence, is overwhelmingly down-to-Earth to a point that it makes me often wonder why I fall prey to sweating over the small stuff in life. Wednesday's program was no exception. When His Holiness took the stage, after the hour-long music and words by various performers, he said, “Because of all of the programs this morning, my mind’s scattered, so I don’t know what to say!” He discussed the concept of compassion--though understanding alone is not enough--and urged parents and teachers to lead by example, incorporating compassion into our daily lives.

The Dalai Lama spoke about our interdependency and interconnectedness – and not just among humans, but within the entire universe and beyond. One “body” does not mean one absolute, but a variety which is all interconnected. And since the very purpose of our existence is happiness, everyone has the same right to it—though not everyone achieves it.

"Compassion begins with motherhood" was a common theme throughout the 5-day program. The Dalai Lama had a very special bond with his own mother, and claims that even with all of his training, his spirituality, and his lifelong commitment to compassion, it was his mother who set the example for him. This was discussed at length on the Friday before, when Ann Curry from NBC News and Dave Matthews hosted an informal Q&A with His Holiness prior to a concert given by Death Cab for Cutie and then Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds (you can catch that webcast of the Q&A session, too, if you click on the link above and scroll up to Friday, April 11, at 4:30, but the concert is not a part of the webcast).

When I picked him up at school on Wednesday, I asked Mr. Na what he learned during his visit to see the Dalai Lama. He told me that he learned how it was important to be kind to others--proof, indeed, that a seed or two of compassion has been planted for our future.

Ukraine Bound, Part Two

2008-04-20T13:12:00.000-07:00

For those of you keeping score, here's the latest news about our second adoption:

We started our paper chase last June, which involved hiring a social worker to prepare our homestudy, getting physicals, obtaining copies of our home deed, marriage license, etc...etc...

We had everything gathered, notarized, apostilled and sent to our translator in Ukraine in October--two days before the adoption center in Kiev closed its doors to adoption for four months. Isn't that always the way?

The adoption center re-opened in February and since all of our documents only had a six month "shelf life" we had to re-do them again, and send the new batch on to Ukraine.

Our documents were submitted to the adoption center by our translator last Tuesday.

We'll find out by the end of May if we've been approved and the date of our appointment in Kiev.

Our translator predicts our travel to be either at the end of July or in August (barring any closures).

If you know me and you've lived through project "Mr. Na", you know that the adoption process is full of uncertainty (that makes it so thrilling, don't you think?) We have no idea "who" we'll be adopting (by that I mean age, sex or health) or, for that matter, we have no idea if we'll be successful. All we know is that we're going on another journey, albeit this time, during the summer and not the winter (January was a little too cold to enjoy Kiev). The bonus is that we'll be taking Mr. Na, who will be an enormous source of comfort.

Stay tuned...

Is that a Prius or a Pious you're driving?

2008-04-17T17:52:00.000-07:00

The dogs and I were on one of our daily walks yesterday when a shitty little incident occurred that made me, for the first time in eleven years, hate the fucking hippie-turned-yuppies that live in our neighborhood.

As we were admiring the spring blossoms, each in our own special way, Oatmeal took a little tinkle on the median strip. Now, mind you, she's an old dog and she pees frequently, and when she does, she squats. And unless you're watching diligently, you might wonder whether or not she's pooping. Well anyway, once she was finished, we continued on our merry way, and right as we were about to cross the street, a man driving a gray Prius rounded the traffic circle. He stopped the car, rolled down the window and said,
"You know, most people clean up after their dogs."
I looked at him completely befuddled and replied,
"Oh, uh...she just...peed."
Failing to apologize for his poor judgment, the asswipe simply said, "Oh."
Unsatisfied with his lackluster response I said,
"For what it's worth, I do clean up after my dogs," to which he replied, "Ok."
At this point, he stopped making eye contact with me, but that just made me get closer to his car window so that I could hold up the poop bag container that has a roll of 35 ECO-FRIENDLY, BIODEGRADABLE POOP BAGS which are conveniently clipped to Scout's leash.
"Would you like to see my poop bags?" I proffered.
"No, I understand. Have a nice day," he said, and then he rolled up his window and drove away.
That was one of the moments when I wish I had one of those poop bags full of Oatmeal or Scoutie goodness. I would have loved to have chucked it right in the passenger seat.

I realize that there are the occasional assholes who do not clean up after their dogs, as evidenced by the random piles of dog shit that dot the median strips. But as a homeowner, law abiding citizen and someone who hates stepping in dog shit as much as the next person, I believe in cleaning up after my dogs. And yeah, sure, this guy didn't know me and probably figured I looked stupid enough to let my dogs crap in front of someone's house in broad daylight; but that's just the thing that gets my panties in a bunch. Mr. Dickwad loses mega points for assuming the worst in a fellow neighbor. All in the name of righteousness.

I was going to let this stupid thing go...chalk it up to randomness and call it a day, until this morning when the driver of a red Prius shot me a dirty look as he drove past and watched Oatie get up from her squat position.

ATTENTION PRIUS (MIDDLE-AGED MEN) DRIVERS OF OUR NEIGHBORHOOD: Back the fuck off. You may think you're stewards of all things green, but it's about time you got off your fucking high and mighty horses, ok?

Oh, and have a nice day!

Ready, Steady...Neti?

2008-04-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

When I moved to Seattle 11 years ago, I developed allergies I’d never had before. Assuming it was because of the constant dampness and moisture in the air, I figured it was moss or mold related; but what I discovered over my first year here was that my allergies were mostly seasonal: I would have an attack in the spring, then again in mid-summer, and finally in the fall. These attacks often came on like bad colds or the flu—I experienced body aches, sore throats, stuffy head and a bad cough. But because they came on during same time every year, I suspected they were allergies (I also never had a fever). Finally, I went to an allergist who ran a whole host of tests on my arm—poking me with samples of grasses, dog and cat dander, mold, oak--the whole shebang. And sure enough, I was allergic to grasses, dog and cat dander and oak—though, surprisingly, not mold.

The allergist told me not to let my dogs sleep in my bedroom (yeah, right!), to wear a mask when mowing the lawn or dusting the house, and he put me on some nasal sprays and told me that I could get away with just using Claritin or Sudafed as needed. He also said that if those things weren’t doing the trick, I could come back in for weekly shots, a thought which, I explained to him, did not interest me in the least. He then suggested I try nasal irrigation, which is something Pa had been doing for years (his allergies are far worse than mine). I explained to him that I had tried that a few times, the way Pa’s allergist had instructed him—a little salt mixed with baking soda in warm water, and using a bulb, snort the stuff up the nose, hold it there and then let it out—but all it did was make me choke and make me swallow lots of salty water, so I stopped, thinking it was a mild form of torture. But my allergist said to try just a simple nasal irrigation using a Neti pot, which is a fancy-looking pot that has a long spout used for stuffing up your schnozz. Armed with some instructions, I went to one of the gazillion naturopathic wellness stores Seattle has to offer and plunked down $15 for a pretty little ceramic Neti pot with a blue glaze. I bought some coarse sea salt from Trader Joes (the salt must be non-processed, non-iodized) and when I got home, I mixed a half a teaspoon with warm water filled to the rim of the Neti pot.

At first, it was a little tricky, but once the water started coming down out of the other nostril, it was easy to just relax. Nasal irrigation can be done using a bulb like the one Pa uses, but I discovered that Neti pots are a lot easier to use because you don’t have to squeeze the water up your nostril, you just pour the water while tilting your head and let gravity force it out the other side. Now I use the Neti pot every day, right after I brush my teeth in the morning, and after two months, I really do notice a difference. Once the cherry blossoms bloomed in my neighborhood a few weeks ago, I hunkered down in preparation for my spring seasonal allergy attack; but so far (knock on wood, but not red oak since that might trigger an allergy attack), nothing has happened except for one sinus headache. And I think—the next time I feel a sinus headache coming on—I might just try using the Neti pot twice a day to see if that’ll alleviate the pressure.

Though nasal irrigation using a Neti pot has been around, like, forever as an Ayurvedic treatment, it’s become popular as more and more medical papers are being published about the subject. Do a Google search on Neti pot or nasal irrigation and you’ll find family medicine websites that provide step-by-step instructions—even a demonstration video. The press has also grabbed hold of this technique—even Oprah’s own Dr. Oz has touted its efficacy.

I’m all for doing things the natural way—especially when I see immediate results, and I don’t have to pop a million horse-sized supplements to make me feel better. I really find that using the Neti pot has worked for me. It’s definitely alleviated any allergy symptoms I usually experience with every change of season. But this is as “gross” as it gets for me, and I assure you that you won’t see me singing the praises of a coffee enema any time soon.

Carpe Diem, Na Style

2008-04-07T12:32:00.000-07:00

Last week, Mr. Na was off from school for Spring Break--a term I still associate with heavy drinking and practically falling off a house boat in Lake Havasu.

There was no partying going on here, but I have to say, it was actually a joy to have him around. He's gotten to the age when children have better control over their emotions, a high command of language, and attention spans longer than 5 minutes. So one day, we took a day trip to see the Tulips up north and had a picnic; the next day, we rode our bikes all the way to Green Lake, and had another picnic; we walked the dogs together; he practiced braking on his Razor; and we watched episodes of Discovery Kids Ultimate Guide to the Awesome--where we learned about dinosaurs, crocodiles, the sun, the human body, even spiders! And not once did I have to raise my voice or get into an argument with him over this or that.

No matter what we did or where we went, every so often, Na would exclaim, "I loooooooovvvvve picnics!" or "My mom is the greatest mom in the world!" or "I love my bike more than my scooter." or "I love my scooter more than my bike." And these affirmations were totally unprompted too. He would just blurt out his love for any one or any thing that was within his reach.

From what I've read, Na's behavior is not unique. Five year-old kids are, for the most part, in love with life. In fact, Louise Bates' book about five year-olds is titled "Sunny and Serene", which pretty much sums up their little personalities at this age. From the time that he wakes up in the morning, to the time he goes to bed at night, Mr. Na is one of the most pleasant human beings to be around. His healthy attitude puts mine to shame because, as anyone who's ever been around me in the morning can attest, I'm a total bitch. I have to thank Na, though, for his cheerful enthusiasm since it definitely rubs off, or, at least, makes the morning more bearable. I often wish adults could have the same optimistic, bright and chipper outlook on life. It'd certainly make the world a better place.

Sadly, though, Na is turning 6 in June and according to Louise Bates, he'll soon transition from "sunny and serene" to "loving and defiant." I don't want to hang my hat on the opinion of only one child development specialist, but I've read enough of Bates' books to know that she's not too far off from nailing a kid's personality at a given age. So while the "loving" part is something that seems to be a continuation of his current demeanor, I'm not looking forward to the "defiance" half of the label. This is especially vexing since, in her book, Bates describes how six year-olds shift from placing their moms in the center of their universe to laying blame on them for everything that goes wrong. It makes me wonder how well he'll deal with going to Ukraine to see his birthplace and to help us adopt a younger sibling. Ukraine's a tough place to be for an adult, let alone someone smaller and dependent on someone else to keep them occupied. But Pa and I both feel we'd be making a huge mistake in leaving him home, since, we feel, he's a major part of this family and as such, needs to be involved in this life-changing milestone we're about to experience. And hey, at least when he starts to fight with his younger brother or sister as siblings often do, and he blames me for making his life miserable, I can remind him that he was just as much a part of the decision-making process.

Having been with Na these last four years, I know that his behavioral shifts don't happen from the moment he has a birthday. It usually takes about six months to see his personality change, which means it'll happen some time during the fall or around the holidays; but I will definitely miss his daily declarations like, "That is the BEST peanut butter and jelly sandwich I've EVER had!" I've often thought about turning on the voice recorder on my phone, just so I can capture these sentiments, and play them back whenever we have bad days. Maybe then, we'll both try harder to move away from the storm clouds and, as one of my all-time favorite Chet Baker songs goes, "try to find the sunny side of life."

I'm just gonna forget that I haven't posted since last year

2008-04-02T17:55:00.000-07:00

To do list this week:

1) Crash the Trophy Cupcakes shindig
2) Sugar crash from the Trophy Cupcakes shindig
3) Continue to work on various writing pieces I've been working on for several years
4) Finally submit aforementioned writing pieces so that someone else actually has a chance to suffer through them
5) Get off my ass and run the much dreaded 800s, plus a long run
6) Do the caucus thing, again, as a delegate for the 43rd
7) Re-start this silly little blog because, really...how frickin hard is it to blog a little every day? (Ok, maybe not every day...)

More later...

It's all I want for Christmas!

2007-12-03T21:22:00.000-08:00

A dear friend of mine told me that one of our former colleagues and her husband developed this lovely pitcher. When I came to her house for dinner, I instantly fell in love. It has such a pleasing sound.

Isn't it wonderful when people develop something so simple yet so clever?

Funny of the Day

2007-12-01T14:16:00.000-08:00

Ohhhhhh, I just looooooove dem LOL Cats! This one was my favorite so far:

moar funny pictures

Has it really been that long?

2007-11-29T21:19:00.000-08:00

I've been a baaaaaaad girl. It isn't enough that I've fallen out of the blogosphere, but I've had a lot more free time since Mr. Na started school in September and I'm no further along in my writing than I was...oy...I don't think I can openly admit when. Let's put it this way...Pa and Na are ribbing me much like Stewie does with Brian on Family Guy:

Needless to say, I'm enjoying my respite from full-time, hands-on, 24x7 parenting.

And yet...

We're gearing up to bring number two home from Ukraine sometime in 2008. Yup, I'm a glutton for punishment.

Life's been good, albeit Kindergarten has been an adjustment for all of us. Mr. Na has had his world turned upside down, what with sharing his attention with 27 other little five year-olds and he's coming around, albeit slowly.

Anyway, on the "me" side, let's see...the last time I blogged, I had returned from New York, I think. And so, in June I spent some time with Pa in Helsinki, Finland (my first vacation sans child in 4 years!)

Yours truly with my new Marimekko scarf

While there, I took a day trip (I love saying that...it was just a jaunt between countries!) to Talinn, Estonia, which was just beyond awesome.

Talinn--->

Helsinki was "nice"...but I could have totally done that city in, like, a weekend, while I could have totally spent a few more days in Estonia and would have loved to have gone down to Latvia...but hey, it was only a week!

Funny thing happened in Helsinki...so, I'll back up by saying that whenever we travel together in Europe, random people always come up to Pa and talk to him in either French, German, Russian...Polish...you name it...And if you know him, you know why...he's got very strong Eastern European features (though France, I'm not quite sure why they love him so much since he's like Gigantor over there). But ME? Ha! They take one look at me and call me "Disney". Doesn't matter what I'm wearing (and no I don't dress like a frickin' tourist, so shut the hell up), doesn't matter if I stay quiet or open my mouth...they SMELL it on me or something.

Well, I finally felt vindicated in Helsinki where EVERYONE came up to me and gave Pa dirty looks while asking me questions in Finnish or Swedish. People scowled at Pa because I think they're still a little angry with the Russians.

Another odd thing about Helsinki is that they are all about the extremes. I'm thinking maybe it has something to do with the fact that it's completely dark for 9 months out of the year, but I dunno...it'd be an interesting study to conduct. For example, Helsinkians love either "dream pop" (or "cuddle music" as we like to call it...but more on that later) or heavy, I mean HEAVY metal...like Black Sabbath, Motley Crue and Iron Maiden. And so going out to bars or clubs was quite the experience because we'd either come across places where people played air guitar, wore black t-shirts, and in some cases, mullets. Or we'd stumble across a place that resembled somebody's livingroom, circa 1972, complete with the white shag and the modular furniture and people would be sitting on these couches, chatting, drinking, laughing and listening to music that I swear Nokia uses for its ringtones. Some examples of "cuddle music" would be Air or Zero 7, though Pa would have to disagree because his idea of "cuddle music" is that it's only instrumental. Ok, so here's a good compromise:
Air – Mike Mills

Me, in a cuddle bar. My cuddler's takin the pic.

Well, I'll plan to do my updates in a few installments, dear readers (all two of you!) That way, you'll tune in to read more about my exciting adventures (yawn!)

Until next time! Ciao!

So, anyway...

2007-04-14T15:53:00.000-07:00

Quintessential quote of the week:

"The ideal modern brownie is simple and unadorned, but rigorously designed (like a Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress)."

From: "Simple Pleasure, American Style" by Julia Moskin, New York Times, April 11, 2007.

I couldn't have said it better myself and as soon as the last of the Easter candy has been digested, I'm whipping up a batch, whilst wearing my Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress.

It's been quite a few...whatevers and this post won't come under the heading of apologies given that I'm not quite sure I want to continue throwing crap out into the blogosphere. But it's Saturday and it's a beautiful spring day here in Seattle and I just finished running 6 of the best miles I've run in awhile and--yeah, so...I'm here.

After PaNaMa's glorious trip to Spain, we downgraded, most abruptly, and went to Orlando for a week. Gosh, what a nasty-ass place. Nonetheless, we got some sun (a little more than anticipated, leaving Mr. Na with a bad burn and me heavily-burdened with guilt).

The following Monday, my stepmom passed away after a long illness. And while it had been anticipated for quite some time, I was pretty bummed. I'm not one for writing obits and she wasn't nearly as cool as Kurt Vonnegut, but she was a full-on mom to me for 30 years and she taught me a lot and she had the patience of a saint in all-things-my-dad, so she was cool enough for me. (I could be really trite here and write "So it goes..." but why?)

We're flying to NYC for the weekend of May 18 for her service and to give Mr. Na the opportunity of FINALLY meeting everyone in my family whom he hasn't yet had the pleasure. (<---note to self, this seems like a very bad grammar faux pas...but fuck it).

On the plus side, we're starting the home study process for adoption, number two, Ukrainian Bugaloo, and we hope to get over there sometime next winter. Mr. Na starts Kindergarten this fall (holy shit!) and you know me, I'm a glutton for punishment and I never want to finish my novel (I don't really mean that...really...) so it's the perfect time to find our "Ra" (get it? PaNaRaMa...oh, I know, we're just so witty).

And that's what's what. Next weekend, I get an extra dose of FREE TIME and I'm going down to LA all by my little self to see one of my bestest friends get married and to see my other friend who just returned from Lhasa, China and India and to visit
my other friends who just bought a bungalow in Santa Monica.

And you know...it's friends like those who help me to see the sunny side of life when shit goes down.

Donde he estado

2007-02-13T21:29:00.000-08:00

Hola, my friends. Long time no publish. Well, I've got a good reason actually. Team PaNaMa has once again gone abroad to the Old World and this time, we made tracks in Spain.

Na and I returned last night after a ten-day whirlwind tour of that delightful little peninsula just north of Africa, where we spent some time in Barcelona and Madrid.

Quite honestly, of the two cities, Barcelona kicks ass. Not that Madrid was terrible, mind you, but it reminded me so much of Manhattan while Barcelona was a gem, full of eye candy (and I don't mean just the guapos!) including some really great architecture and art on every block.

I promise to post pictures later, after the jet lag wears off but I'll fill you in on some of the highlights:

Barcelona is a very noisy, late-night city...and we had an apartment that was right in the Gothic Quarter part so it was pretty damn noisy. Even the garbage collectors pick up at like 3 a.m. We all wore earplugs and that helped quite a bit.

My pants are fitting a little too tight right now. Too much bread and wine, man! The food was great. We did a lot of eating-in because the apartment in Barca was way cool and had a spacious kitchen. Plus it was a lot of fun just hanging out, watching Spongebob Squarepants in German with Mr. Na. Of course, eating out was awesome, too. Who could resist tapas and paella and sangria and gelato? Not me!

We went up to Montjuic to see the old '92 Olympics site which was so cool. They also have a Joan Miro foundation set in a park which is just beautiful. We were just a few blocks away from the Mediterranean and so my running routes were pretty neat. They also have lots of cool little parks, too. So I ran twice there and not once in Madrid. In Madrid, I just didn't feel safe.

But we were only like a block away from the heart of Madrid. Our apartment was much smaller and a little icky, but it was like being a block off of Broadway in Manhattan. So--cool real estate but you get a lot smaller space and something that's a little more run-down. The parks in Madrid were beautiful too but not close enough where I could run to them and then do a few laps or whatever. But we went to Park Oeste which is like on the upper west side of Manhattan and from there took this gondola across the old royal hunting grounds to an even bigger park where they had an amusement park and lots of trails for biking and hiking. So we hiked all around. It was so beautiful. We spent one day at the Reina Sophia Art Museum where they had Picasso's "Guernica" which was awesome. We wanted to do the Prado but we were too tired! We needed more time! We also went to the Royal Palace which suspiciously looks a lot like Versailles. Makes sense since the king who commissioned to have it built was born in Versailles.

Ugh! I need to recover. Until next time, mis amigos!

Wonder where I've been? Me too...

2006-12-20T20:55:00.000-08:00

All I can say is that my plumbing is problem-free for the moment (thank goodness!) and that this little guy has been the focus of my daily life for the past month:

I named him Scout and he's a 13-week-old Labradoodle Retriever. He's keeping Oatmeal company and he's such a good little doggie!

Anyway, Happy Holidays from the PaNaMa/Oatie/Scout Household! May you find sweetness and light in 2007!

Do Not Go Gently Into That Marathon...

2006-12-03T09:12:00.000-08:00

Yeah, so I sat perched on the fence about running this race for so long, I wound up plunking down $30 more than the usual fee for the priviledge of the day before to register for the half.

That was my first mistake.

When I woke up at 6 the morning of the race, it was snowing. Relunctantly, I dressed quickly, had a light breakkie and headed out the door.

That was my second mistake.

I raced out of the house so quickly, I had forgotten my Gu.

That was my third mistake.

When I got to the starting line, I realized my pace pod battery was dead.

That was my fourth mistake.

So, I guess it goes without saying (or writing) but I'll write it anyway...this race SUCKED and it was the worst I'd ever done. I was soaked to the bone; freezing cold; I had no idea how fast I was going; I completely ran out of energy and hour and a half into it and while I finished, my time was abominable and I'm too ashamed to share. Aw hell. I don't care.
Can't win 'em all, eh? Sigh!

Is it safe?

2006-10-20T17:56:00.000-07:00

Earlier today I had four wisdom teeth pulled which, all things considered, really wasn't that bad. I was surprised when they started me off with nitrous oxide, followed by twilight drugs, and then they sent me packing (or packed---in gauze that is) with enough Percoset to make Matthew Perry reconsider rehab. And yet--and yet--my Colposcopy, which is scheduled for November 13, involves no drugs unless, of course, I save these nasty 'sets for then, which is maybe what I'll do since I really and truly don't need 'em now. Hell, I still have a desire to run the Dawg Dash on Sunday.

Ask me in about 8 hours from now, though!

My dear husband took this while I was still under. Nice, huh?
Rent-a-pooch courtesy of Dr. Tidwell.

Anywho, Na and I had a nice time in the O.C., catchin' up with the crew and goin' to Dizz Knee Land. This was the first time I tried California Adventure and while it ain't no Magic Kingdom, it's definitely good for the little 'uns. Na loved "meeting" Kitty and Boo and Woody and Buzz and Frozone and Bear in the Big Blue House. I thought his head was gonna explode when he "met" Mater and McQueen from Cars. I loved the Muppets in 3D. How could you not?

He still enjoyed the Magic Kingdom and for me, well, you can totally tell Disney is changin with the times. The Swiss Family Robinson lost the lease on their treehouse and it now belongs to Tarzan and there's talk that Tom Sawyer's island will be converted to a Pirates Playground. It's bad enough they added Johnny Depp to the Pirates of the Carribbean! Pirates are NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HOT! Especially fake ones!

I had serious mixed emotions about Disney changing the Haunted Mansion for Jack Skellington and his gang from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Hey--it's not a bad little movie, but it disturbed me when we were all in the elevator and I did NOT hear "There are no windows and no doors!" No worries, though, I asked one of the dead guys at the door who told me it was just for the season. Phew!

If you go with little kids to Disneyland, do yourself a favor and book a package through their site. The value was enormous and we got to do the character breakfast at Goofy's Kitchen at the Disneyland Hotel which was phenomenal! You wanna talk cupcakes, K10? These were GOOFY'S CUPCAKES, liebschen. 'Nuff said!

The main reason I went to Orange County was to go to my 20 high school reunion which SUCKED MAJOR ASS! If it hadn't been for seeing two of my high school buds (one being a lifelong dear friend the other being my prom date) I would have bailed within two minutes of walking in. Serously. It was THAT bad.

Let's put it this way: my friend and I DID NOT (I repeat) DID NOT tell each other about our dresses until she was in the car coming to meet me at the reunion. So we both had "O" dresses. By the end of the night, people were calling us "Big O" and "Little O". Sigh. Some things never change except maybe that of the dozen or so women there, at least 15 of them put on about 40 pounds since high school.

So here I lie with four stinky gum holes and no chance of eating anything solid today and feeling hungry because of the blood seeping into my stomach. Ew, I know but it's nice to share with you, dear reader! I'm watching movies on my laptop and icing every 20 minutes. Don't you wish you could be here too?

Screw it. I'm goin' to Disneyland

2006-10-09T09:30:00.001-07:00

Mr. Na and I are off to the O.C. for a Disney bender. My 20th high school reunion is this weekend. Whoopie! At least it'll get my mind off of wisdom teeth extraction and cervix scrapings.

Adios!

"You're 'here' and cervical cancer is 'here'"

2006-09-30T13:34:00.000-07:00

Thus spoke my gynecologist yesterday as he spread his arms wide and made two fists--one demonstrating my cervix and the other cancer. And while the distance between the two was vast, I still cringed when he told me I'd had two bad pap smears in a row, thereby making it to the bonus round for my first ever Colposcopy complete with biopsy, if needed.

Yeah, so I know--it's a fairly common procedure and one in which many women have walked--er, hobbled away from it dysplasia-free, but fuck you if you've never had it done and you think it's a walk in the park. In fact, I would personally like to come to your house and drag you down the street on your nose. A mile or so would do. That would give you a rough idea how much slicing off a piece of my cervix will hurt me. And just how do I know this? I've had an endometrial biopsy before where they take the equivalent of a juicebox straw, thread it into your cervix and scrape off a piece of your endometrial lining just to have a nice look-see. So basically anything, unless of course it's a blunt object belonging to the opposite sex, touching my cervix is a no-no and certainly one that involves sharp edges is just flat-out wrong.

Since I have to have this done sooner than later, I've thought about having Pa wheel me straight from having my wisdom teeth pulled to the Colposcopy table across town.

I wonder if the twilight drugs will last that long?

The Dandy Warhols/Brian Jonestown Massacre at the Showbox

2006-09-12T20:01:00.000-07:00

Initially when I heard the double bill was playing down in Portland, before they announced their date up here in Seattle, I had visions of sneaking Mr. Na into the show since Pa was slated to be in Europe. But alas, no sneaking was required and I happily plunked down $30 for a ticket to see both bands here at the Showbox--still, to me, one of the best venues in town if you want to get up close and personal and the like.

I expected the worst from Anton Newcombe, given his history of unstable behavior during shows and so I retreated to the upper bar area, back by the sound board so I could watch the fireworks from above and stay out of any barroom brawls. But actually, Newcombe was quite subdued--if subdued is the right word for it. I'm not quite sure what illegal substance he was snorting onstage, but it only affected his banter and not his musical skills. For what it's worth, he's an incredible musician and the band he brought was complimentary to his talent.

Maybe it was the heat and the fact that we were all packed like sardines in a sweaty, smelly can--but by the time the Dandy Warhols came onstage, I was wilted. I think, too, the fact that Pa had just flown in after two weeks of being in France and England, took a cab home, showered, shaved and dressed, and took a cab to meet me in the Green Room at 11:30 p.m. (he didn't have a ticket to get into the show) may have had something to do with my waywardness...but honestly, the Dandys were just not as lively as they were last year. It seemed that they, too, suffered from jet lag and so I wandered to and fro to my Pernod-sipping husband who sat watching the bouncers chase after some hipsters who tried to sneak in.

I absolutely suck at taking pictures during concerts. I blame it on my Nikon Cool Pix which sucks ass; but this woman snapped some amazing photos which you'll have to see (note to CLR, she has some great Marah shots on her Flickr page!)

Des serpents dans l'avion

2006-09-06T14:35:00.000-07:00

I know it's a crappy picture, but I couldn't resist.

Pa's back in Paris, giving yet another talk...and he just sent me this snap of a movie poster in the Opera District:

Or, to quote Samuel L. Jackson at the Cannes premiere:
"Serpents de Motherfucking sur un avion motherfucking!"

Backy Skanking at Bumbershoot!

2006-09-05T14:32:00.000-07:00

Skavoovie, Loves!

Hard to believe I almost skipped last night's English Beat concert at Bumbershoot. The dog had hives, the kitchen sink was backed-up and I was still so very tired from our little trek out to the Gorge the night before. But I am sooooo glad I went because Dave Wakeling and the English Beat's special guest, Lynval Golding of The Specials were just utterly amazing! They played under the shadow of the Space Needle at the "Bumbrella" stage at 9:45 p.m. and despite the fact that it was one of the last shows of Bumbershoot, it was still packed cheek-to-jowl with Beat Girls and Boys--many of whom remember back in the day when Creepers were in vogue and boys wore porkpie hats driving Vespas.The Beat opened with The Specials' "A Message to You Rudy" and then launched into a dozen or so favorites including "Twist and Crawl", "Whine and Grine/Stand Down Margaret", "Tears of a Clown", "Mirror in the Bathroom", "Best Friend", and "'ands Off She's Mine".

I miss my Rude Boy and expert backy skanker, Pa, who's giving a talk right now in London. But I phoned him after the show to tell him that Dave and Lyn signed my English Beat poster and wrote "Stand Down Margaret!"

I've gotta have this framed!<

People Talking and Singing Onstage While Members of the Audience Are Laughing, Crying and Peeing

2006-09-03T14:26:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure Friday evening's event "People Talking and Singing" --the 826 Seattle benefit at McCaw Hall--can be topped. Ok, maybe the NY event was better but it doesn't count because I didn't go, so there. Several favorites were on-hand including Sarah Vowell, Dave Eggers and Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket) who did most of the talking while Ben Gibbard (of Death Cab and Postal Service), Colin Meloy (of the Decemberists), the Smoosh sisters and Zach Rogue of Rogue Wave--just to name a FEW--sang, sometimes together, sometimes solo and then as a jam band in the end...but more about that later.

The event was pee-in-your-pants funny. Not just a tinkle trickle either...I mean, having to get up in the middle of Zach Rogue's set and run to the ladies room funny. Yeah, yeah, impolite, I know, getting up in the middle of a performance, but dammit, I forgot my adult-sized Huggie. It couldn't be helped.

The show opened with John Hodgman as the emcee and Jonathan Coulton as his guitar-strumming sidekick who provided intro themes for each guest, including The Scorpion's "Rock You Like a Hurricane" for Dave Egger's first appearance onstage; but before that, the dynamic duo opened with a singalong about a coworker-turned-zombie who pounds on an office door singing "All we want to do is eat your brains. We're not unreasonable, I mean, we're not going to eat your eyes."

And what can I say about Smoosh without repeating what everyone else has said, thereby being redundant? They're two of the most talented teenage girls I've ever seen. It's really too bad the sound guys didn't turn up Asya's mic enough. Her angelic voice got lost among her sister's wicked drumming.

Daniel Handler then called out Colin Meloy, Sarah Vowell and Ben Gibbard to read his three-act play based on his life. In five minutes, the play covered everything from childhood troubles to college lover dumping his ass only later to wind up in a crack house. Gibbard, who played the role of Handler, was also asked to be the Voice of God which, Handler directed, should have the same voice as the one he was using for Daniel Handler.

When it was time to hold out the hats -- or, um, buckets in this case -- the audience lights came up with promises of Dave Eggers providing hugs to $20 donors and buddy punches by Sarah Vowell to those contributing $5 or more.

Before Eggers provided the audience with the tote board total, Colin Meloy made me cry with his band's beautiful new song "The Crane Wife" (the album's due out October 3) and then wowed me as he and Gibbard performed Blur's "End of a Century".

All told, over $10,400 was raised for 826 Seattle. And for being such good donors, we were treated to an onstage jam featuring Smoosh, Colin Meloy, Ben Gibbard, Zach Rogue, and Daniel Handler on accordion as they belted out Meloy's "worst song he ever wrote": "Dracula's Daughter". And while it wasn't like last year's 17 minute-long version of "Hungry Like The Wolf" it still closed the show on a perfect note.

Stay tuned for my review on tonight's mission: MaNaNa goes to the Gorge to see DMB live!

Looky at Meloy and Gibbard sing Blur:

High School and Plays That Re-Enact High School Suck

2006-08-22T20:54:00.000-07:00

Last weekend began with a "Bat Watching Hayride" at Seward Park on Friday evening. I don't know about you, but whenever I think of "hayride" I think of a horse pulled a wagon loaded with hay. And when I think of bats, I think of the huge flying foxes Pa and I saw in the rain forest in Australia.

But we saw neither a horse-drawn cart nor a gigantic flying fox on Friday night. Instead, a Seattle Parks and Rec truck with a flatbed trailer hitched to the back and lined with hay took us around the park to watch bats that were no bigger than Starlings.

No matter, I figured. It was still cool to see so many bats come out at dusk. The truck would've gone faster than a horse-drawn wagon if our guide hadn't felt compelled to stop every 80 feet or so to show us his Barred Owl call; but other than that, it made for an interesting evening.

Saturday morning was a lot better--starting off with Heather running to meet me at the house so I could join her for a lap around Lake Union and then up Roosevelt to Green Lake. We parted ways after 9 miles and I went home, showered and headed to Nordstrom downtown where I found the purdiest little Diane von Furstenberg Vintage wrap dress I bought for my high school reunion in October (I call it my "O" dress because it has "O's" on it. You were thinking something else, weren't you?)

So, until about 8:30 p.m. on Saturday evening, I was pretty psyched for my reunion. But all of that optimism changed when we saw "Rewind 1987" at the Last Supper Club in Pioneer Square. Aside from the "actors"--if that's what you can call them--flitting around unrehearsed and spewing mindless banter about who should be nominated for homecoming king and queen, we picked at cold, stale nachos and drank cheap wine and mused about how much this reminded us of high school because it sucked about just as much. We were given cheesy cardboard Polaroid holders for Polaroids which were never taken and afterwards, shown to this hovel of a room so DJ Trent could play some more lame-ass selections of 80s music until 11:00 p.m. when he pulled the plug and flipped on the fluorescent lights above. All in all, it was the worst $85 we wasted in a good, long while.

But if art is representative of life, then the play did its job and reminded me how much I couldn't wait to go to college.

Mr. Na and his friend, the literary character

2006-08-22T20:42:00.000-07:00

My friend and her husband are both sports writers for one of local dailies here and because of playoffs and such, they've been dispatched to cover some games in different cities this weekend. Their son, whom I shall call "the boy named after a literary character" is Mr. Na's age and his preschool mate, so I offered to take him in for a weekend of fun, fun, fun while his folks left town.

For the most part, the weekend was partly fun for those two but there was a lot of bickering involved. I've never seen two strong-willed four year-old boys hang out together for more than a few hours, but I never expected them to act like an old married couple. They fought over everything from choo-choos to competing about who can jump higher or run faster and, get this, they were using dirty ol nasty tricks in hurting one another that I thought were reserved only for fourth grade girls: I'M NOT YOUR BEST FRIEND ANY MORE! Yet if you each asked them if they still liked one another, they'd say "yes" without hesitating.

But despite the fracas here, I did manage to get a 10-mile run in on Saturday morning, exploring a part of Seattle I'd never seen. That's what I love about this city--even after 10 years here I still manage to stumble on new places. There are beautiful wooded running trails on the backside of Ravenna, adjacent to Cowen Park that make you feel like you're nowhere near the city, though U Village is a stone's throw away. I connected to the park from the Burke-Gilman and ran the backside of the trail until I came upon Ravenna Boulevard and then caught Roosevelt and made my way down to loop Lake Union.

Later that evening, after we put the little ones to bed and secured the Nana as our glorified baby monitor, Pa and I ventured downtown and caught Little Miss Sunshine which, by far, was the best movie I'd seen all year. I laughed so hard I nearly had popcorn coming out of my nose.

Well, it's Sunday night (sorry, I'm a few days late in posting this here) and our little literary character friend is sleeping in Mr. Na's bed while he and I are watching my favorite childhood movie (which is now his! How cool is that?) His father has just landed from Dulles and will be here shortly and I'm breathing a sigh of relief. All things considered, I like having one little guy to contend with, not two.

Not yet, anyway!

Pa, Na, Ma and 66,827 other fans...

2006-08-10T22:12:00.000-07:00

After last night's soccer match between Real Madrid and D.C. United, I couldn't understand why we 'Mericans never warmed up to the whole futbol thing. I mean, sure, sure, we had a sellout crowd last night in our little Seahawk Stadium, but soccer has never truly caught on here in the states as much as it has the world over. We care too much about more important sports like, uh, NASCAR or 'Merican Football. And then I thought, well, why not come up with a list of reasons why people should embrace it as our national pasttime:

1)David Beckham

2) The men are hot. And I don't mean just the players on the field either. The guys watching aren't too hard on the eyes.

3) David Beckham

4) The women are hot. There were many beautiful girls drooling over the players--hell, even the soccer moms were babalicious.

5) Did I mention David Beckham? Ok then, how 'bout his cool shoes?

6) The game is only 90 minutes. Perfect for four year-olds and most of us with the attention spans of mice.

Are you there, God? It's me...uh...ohmigod I TOTALLY FORGOT MY NAME

MTV Turns 25: Where Were You?

2006-07-30T11:42:00.000-07:00

In honor of MTV's 25th birthday (Gawd I feel old), VH-1 Classic will be airing "Day 1"--a recreation of MTV's first day, August 1, 1981. All 6 videos shown on the first day (kidding) will be seen in all of their underdeveloped glory! I look forward to seeing .38 Special's "Hold On Loosely". Gawd that man's mane was sexy, eh?

I was one of the few fortunate to have Cablevision in my house in 1981 and so I watched MTV nonstop in it's fledgling years (yep, even during those silly "breaks" when they played instrumental music with a backdrop of space or other psychedelic images). I dug Martha Quinn's mini skirts, black tights and Converse high tops (you mean she went to Colgate?) along with Alan Hunter's wannabe Chevy Chase antics (can you believe he was in David Bowie's "Fashion" video?) and Mark Goodman's REO Speedwagon-esque 'fro. It was, in my opinion, the greatest time for MTV because it brought the likes of Adam and the Ants, Simple Minds, Split Enz, The Specials (and Fun Boy Three AND Bananarama) and, of course, Duran Duran into my living room.

Set your TiVo!

Race Report: Seafair Triathlon

2006-07-18T22:54:00.000-07:00

Normally when I know I have a race in the morning, I have a hard time getting to sleep and sleeping through the night before. It's one of those things where I'm so keyed-up, and I know I need to get up so damn early, I can never give myself a moment's peace and wind up tossing and turning until it's time to get up.

On Sunday, however, I lucked out. I don't know what it was, but I slept from 10:00 p.m. until 4:10 a.m. and got up without any problems. I hope that's the beginning of a new trend!

It was still dark outside except for a fissure of light in the east. I knocked on the den door to make sure Mary was awake and headed for the shower. Two of the greatest things known to mankind: morning showers and double-tall lattes were at the top of my to-do list before we left the house.

Mount Rainier came out for us in all of her glory Sunday morning! You know, ten years living here in Seattle and I still never get tired of her majesty. She stood tall like a beacon as we made our way down I-5 to Seward Park.

Anyone who was on the road at 5:50 a.m. had bicycles racked on their cars. We were driving in formation on the freeway, then on to Rainier Avenue South, adding more cars to the flock the closer we got to the event. Of course, none of us could park at the actual park--and so we unloaded the truck about a mile away from the event. Sort of like a pre-tri warm-up, I guess, since our bags were loaded with our gear and we had our bikes in tow.

The sun hadn't quite made it over the ridgeline, so I was quick to put on my wetsuit the moment we set up in the transition area. The air outside was a cool 56 degrees and, in fact, when we made our way down to the beach, we found the temperature of the water to be warmer than the air, and kept our feet warm as we waited for our wave (the last one of the whole race) to be called.

The race announcer was a dead-on Principal Skinner from The Simpsons. So there were a few chuckles from the crowd as we hoped he would say, "BART SIMPSON, the school dress code specifically forbids the wearing of earings unless you're of gypsy extraction". But no such luck!

It was a lot of fun watching the brightly-colored capped swimmers make their way counter-clockwise around the lake and the extra time we had, waiting for our wave, allowed me time to see the mistakes a few made. A lot of people on the edge of the pack seemed to stray farther away from the buoys which basically meant they wound up swimming farther in the long run, and taking extra time getting back on track.

Finally, our wave was called into the water and I found a spot on the outer edge so that I wouldn't get too clobbered by feet or arms. The horn sounded and we ran (as much as one could run on silt and waist-deep) until we felt comfortable enough to dive in and swim.

During the first few strokes I heard a few voices around me shout for help and I thought "My gosh, so soon?" But honestly, if you're not used to swimming in open water or in a pack, it can feel overwhelming and it takes a long time (if you can at all) to catch your breath. I was really glad I had done a few open water swims prior to the tri and participated in a competition, so I knew what to expect. Otherwise, I might have been one of the participants clinging on to a surfboard!

No matter how much I wanted to stay on course, I still felt like I was also swimming on a diagonal and straying too far. Halfway around, I looked at my watch and saw I was in the water already for 12 minutes. I felt I wasn't going to make my time. But rounding the third buoy, I managed to pick up a little more speed and I actually relaxed a little until I hit the milfoil. The closer I swam to the beach, the thicker it got until it began covering my face when I came up to breathe! I felt like the creature from the Black Lagoon!

When I hit a sandbar, I got up and walked briskly out of the water. Padding on the timing mat, my watch read 20:57 and I didn't feel too bad. This was, after all, my first tri and I suck at swimming!

There was no way I was going to run to my bike, but I did manage to walk fast and unzip my wetsuit along the way so that by the time I got to it, I was already taking it off. I stepped on my towel to dry my feet and used another towel to dry off my body. I had already pinned my race number on to my cycling jersey but as I tried putting it on, I popped one of the pins and ripped the bib, so I spent some time re-pinning it. It was also tough putting on socks and my running shoes with my feet still wet. I stashed a Gu into one of the pockets on the back of my cycling jersey and donned my helmet and bike gloves. As I reached for my bike, I saw Mary come up from the beach. We traded "good lucks" and I wheeled my bike out of the transition area. The mat beeped and I looked at my watch. I had spent 6:40 in the transition area. What a waste of time!

I started out pretty strong on my bike since the road was flat a wide open. We followed Lake Washington and headed toward I-90 and although my bike shorts were still wet (I wore them under my wetsuit) I wasn't as cold as I had been prior to the start of the race. I passed a few people and switched gears in anticipation of the hill going onto the express lanes of the freeway and made my way on to the top and out of the chute. I rode anywhere between 13.5 MPH to 20 MPH depending on the road. Going across Lake Washington was breathtaking with Mount Rainier to the South and the 520 bridge to the North.

The course was like a bowl with one big steep hill before the turnaround. At the hill, my speed was quickly reduced to about 8 MPH and I just pushed my way through to the turnaround. I had made the halfway mark (6 miles) in 27 minutes. Coming back, I spotted Mary in the opposite direction and shouted "YOIKES AND AWAY!!!!!!!!!" and she smiled and gave me the thumbs up.

I was flying at 23 MPH until we got to the bowl before the end of the freeway. I passed a guy on his left, giving him plenty of notice but as soon as we got off the freeway, I could tell his little ego was bruised that I passed him because the a**hole shortly thereafter decided to pass me ON MY RIGHT without saying a word. I quickly schooled him and passed him again, leaving him in a trail of dust! Ah, I love sweet revenge.

I passed a few more women but there was one woman who seemed to be a lot closer than three bicycle lengths behind me. I never looked back but I could sense she was close especially when the course volunteers were saying "great job you two" as if we were together. She never passed me either and in hindsight, I'm thinking the bitch was drafting me! As we approached the entrance to the park, I slowed down and she flew right past me, having drained me from my last little energy reserves. Curse you, L.V. from Seattle Washington. Nevertheless, we had the same bike time: 48:12.

I dismounted and got to my rack only to find that my original spot for my bike had been taken, and so I hung my bike farther away from my bag, praying that no one had stomped on my stuff and smashed my cellphone and camera. I took off my helmet and gloves and broke into a jog as I made my way through the chute and onto the running course. My legs felt like rubber. At least my transition time was a lot shorter this time: 2:26.

I felt there was no way I could pick up my pace. And despite all of the brick work I had done beginning in June, I still felt pain in my shins and I figured if I could just run the course at a 10 minute mile, I'd be ok, which worked out fine until I hit the hill in the second mile. I was spent. I need to do ALL of my brickwork outside instead of doing ANY in the gym. The hill really knocked me out and I reached for my Gu. Someone coming down the hill called out that there was water at the top and I was thankful--otherwise, the Gu would've gone down a lot harder!

I tried to make up for my slow down as we headed back down the hill--and did so for a bit, but I realized I wasn't going to finish in under 30. We rounded the lake and I saw the finish line, imploring my quads to work harder, but finished in 32:13. Curse you hill from hell!

I felt great, though, despite my lagged time in running. Usually when I'm done with races, I'm pretty winded and I need some time to settle down. But after I finished, I grabbed a bagel, a Jamba Juice smoothie, my finisher's medal, and a water and headed back over to the finish line to cheer Mary in. I was thinking about when I could do another one though I'm planning on running the Seattle Marathon in November and I need to start training for that this week! But what a great experience! And it's definitely one I won't soon forget!

So, overall, my time was 1:50:29. My splits are as follows:
Swim: 20:57
Bike Transition: 6:40
Bike: 48:12
Run Transition: 2:26
Run: 32:13

Those Crazy Days of Summer

2006-07-11T09:04:00.000-07:00

We just returned from a whirlwind road trip to San Francisco--first time we actually took a "family road trip" and you know what? It wasn't so bad! Sure, I think having invested in a portable DVD player for the car made all the difference, but whatever works!

Anyway, San Francisco was lovely. San Jose was hotter than hell (Pa had a few meetings in Silcon Valley), Santa Rosa had the awesome Charles M. Schulz Museum, and Ashland had Shakespeare!

We got home just in time for me to clean the house from top to bottom in anticipation of Mary's arrival tomorrow. I don't even have time to stress out about the triathlon this Sunday...but I did diddly squat last week as far as training. Too late now to freak out about it!

Enjoy our pictures for now. I hope to come up for air sometime in August!

Witches and devils (oh my!)

2006-06-28T20:24:00.000-07:00

We saw a private screening of The Devil Wears Prada last night and I must admit I was pleasantly surprised. I'd never read the novel--am not a really big fan of chick lit--the only novel I've read within the last two years that falls into that genre is The Nanny Diaries and, once again, a pleasant surprise there. But Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci did an awesome job in Prada and I think every single soul that saw the movie last night could recall at least one time in their lives where they worked so hard and had such a royal pain-in-the-ass boss they forgot the meaning of life.

My "devil" came extraordinarily early in my career, thank goodness, because it allowed me to make some adjustments in my work ethics and ask myself some exceedingly tough questions along the way.

I was working for Capitol Records in Hollywood--in the Media and Artist Relations Department back when the now CEO of Warner Bros. was on the rise, promoting fledgling groups like Crowded House. She--the Wicked Witch of the East--hailed from NYC and brought with her all the brash hot-headedness one might expect from a record exec from Manhattan. I suppose living in LA for the five years before this monster came into my life softened my own temperament, which is hard to believe when I have a half dozen aunts who are from Queens and Long Island and spent my formative years in Bergen County, New Jersey, where people like Anthony Soprano really do exist.

But yes, this woman, who replaced another woman who was wooed over at Geffen and was ten times more capable and gentle than Ms. Witch, made my life a living hell and left me to decide that being an A&R rep in the music business really wasn't worth the hassle.

Ms. Witch would get herself into a lather if the Mango Koala Water (think Talking Rain) wasn't cold enough for the staff meeting and you could hear her incessant screaming orbit the round tower from the 8th floor in which we stood, practically down to the lobby thereby shaking some gold records loose from the walls. She'd scream at anybody and everybody--flinging spit through her bucked teeth--and she let everyone have a dose of her napoleonic complex--anyone who wronged her and that basically meant anyone who didn't wipe her ass correctly.

My tenure, during Ms. Witch's reign, was relatively short--in part because there was no way I could put up with her bullshit and because I, along with many others in her path, failed to live up to her expectations. I wasn't fired (never been), but darn near close. I moved on to Corporate PR where I still encountered many other wicked witches, but how I learned to deal with them I owe eternal thanks to Ms. Witch.

I have reason to believe (with facts to prove it) that there are a lot of women in the media industry who feel they must steamroll over anybody who's in the way. And there are those whose own lives are so completely miserable, that their one mission is to bring everybody else down. It's a lesson I learned from Hollywood--but having lived there--not by watching a movie.

You GO Girl!

2006-06-21T20:30:00.000-07:00

Ugh, if I hear that catch-phrase again it'll be too soon I tell ya. I positively loathe "girl power" and last week at the Danskin clinic at REI it was just this one, big giant estrogen fest that left me feeling nauseated.

In some small way, I can understand why the Danskin Tri is so girl-centric, though. It happens to be the largest Sprint Triathlon event in the world and the Seattle race boasts about 5,000 participants; but what is truly extraordinary is that it attracts women of all ages, shapes and sizes. There must have been about 500 women in attendance last week, and a good 2/3 of them were overweight by about 50-150 pounds. Likewise, the median age there had to be about 40. There was a woman sitting next to me who registered for her first Tri and she was 62! In fact, the Danskin Tri athlete extraordinare: Sally Edwards is 58 and had just completed her 104th Tri last weekend.

But that isn't what turned me off about this event. I say all the more power to anyone who attempts to do a Tri in their lifetime. It's definitely a huge accomplishment. What bothered me was the rallying around being a woman, emphasizing that we just do things differently from those "other" people. What sort of message is that?

Perhaps there's a small amount of bitterness behind my rant in that Mary and I attempted to register for the Danskin two weeks after enrollment opened in March and we were turned away because it was sold out. Instead, we chose SEAFAIR which, in and of itself is a good race, it's just not as nationally-known and might not be as well-run as the Danskin, which has been going on over the last 17 years. Yet last week, the spokespeople opened registration to all of the attendees, pissing off a large portion of those of us who either already signed up for another race or had friends who wanted to do the race but were denied entry. I thought that was really schmarmy.

I left REI frustrated--not only because there was another opportunity to register for the Danskin, yet no one from corporate said anything about this when I called and emailed them last March; but also because the spokespeople said NOTHING about the actual race itself. Instead, it focused on the importance of training and provided women with some essential tools to begin a training program. Important to some, but not to me since I've been training for the swim over the past year and began the Tri training immediately after my marathon in April! I hoped for information about what to bring, what to eat, what to do during transitions, blah, blah, blah. Instead, I just got a Bic Soliel disposable razor and a Cubic Zirconia from Helzburg Diamonds. Wah, wah, wahhhhh.

Can't I just dog paddle?

2006-06-15T15:12:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to a tri clinic at Greggs in Green Lake. It focused mainly, of course, on bicycles since that’s their business. I got a lot out of it even though I’ve been biking most of my life (and half of that with the same road bike!) and it put me at ease about the race. The worst thing that could happen, in my opinion, is that I get a flat. But even then, there are three Greggs employees on the route, just in case something does happen to someone. Besides, the course is only 12 miles long and it’s on the Express Lanes of I-90, so it’s not as though this is a particularly challenging part of the Tri.

What scared me was after the bike discussion when I heard a few people talk about the swim portion. Sure, I’d read that swimming in a group as large as a Tri competition means basically swimming in such a huge cluster you’re likely to get jostled and bumped the whole way; but what really made me feel nervous was the experienced folks in the room talking about getting hit in the head or elbowed in the ribs or having ones goggles ripped right off their face. The bike guy at Greggs advised those of us who hadn’t raced a Tri before to get in the open water with a group prior to the race to see what it felt like to have people swim directly over you. He also suggested ripping our own goggles off and swallowing a mouthful of water just to get “acclimated” to a competitive swim setting. My nerves spiked then since I’ve been swimming in the safety and comfort of my gyms 80 degree Olympic-sized pool, which is usually pretty empty when I go to swim in the mornings.

So the guy next to me mentioned that Green Lake is hosting an open swim competition on Sunday, June 25 at 9 a.m. Participants can choose to swim either a mile or a half-mile and wetsuits are permitted. When I got home last night, I looked it up online and realized if I wanted to participate, I’d have to register by TOMORROW—which didn’t give me a lot of time to hem and haw over it. So, I mailed it in this morning. I look at it this way—despite the fact that it’s a “competition” I certainly wont swim it that way. Instead, I’ll just do it for the experience of swimming with a large group of people so I’ll have that feeling prior to the Tri. I’m a bit nervous about it, but I’m always that way before a big “something” I’ve never done before. As I put the envelope in the mailbox last night, Pa asked, “Are you really going to swim in Green Lake?” “Yeah, why?” I asked. “Aren’t there things like Pike in Green Lake?” “Dunno,” I replied. “Don’t Pike Fish look scary? Like CrocoStimpys or something?” At that point, I just wanted to smack him.

Of course, he’s referring to one of these:

But in reality, they really look like this:

I’d prefer swimming into the cartoon character, myself, but I guess I don’t have that choice. My friend, who’s doing the Mercer Island Tri in September, will be out of town on the 25th, otherwise, she said, she’d do the swim with me in Green Lake. So I’m basically on my own. We’ll see how it goes!

Tonight is a huge Danskin Tri clinic at REI downtown. Sally Edwards will be there to give people tips on everything about racing a Tri. I’m looking forward to it!

You Shall Know Us By The Color of our Face Paint

2006-06-14T08:57:00.000-07:00

Pa’s making pancakes right now and the intoxicating smell has somehow wound its way up to my office, so my tummy’s rumbling and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hold out! The house is abuzz with excitement as Pa and Na load their plates and move into the den to watch the TiVo’d World Cup match between Ukraine and Spain.

We’re not big sports fans around here, though Pa and I have fierce college football rivals (my USC to his Michigan) but when it comes to soccer—specifically Ukraine soccer—you’d think we were die-hards. It’s our way of bringing home a little piece of nationalism to Mr. Na who, at four, is becoming quite the little kicker himself.

In Donetsk, where Mr. Na was born, soccer is a huge deal. As piss poor as that city is, their soccer stadium is a massive temple to their gods—the Schactor team—and Pa and I repeatedly kick ourselves for never having gone to their team shop while we were there to get Mr. Na a hometown jersey. It’s one of those things you just can’t buy online and until we actually make it back to Ukraine, he’ll be without.

My cousin in Frankfurt sends me daily commentary and photos of World Cup as he’s dead-center in the thick of all the festivities. I’m amazed by all the fanfare as, like the Olympics, people from all nations have flocked to Germany to cheer their favorite team. It reminds me of the World Cup festivities in 1994 when I was living in D.C. Yet somehow Americans never quite grasped the whole soccer fever, though we’ve tried. It’s just not as exciting and glamorous for us folk as, say, American football or auto racing—which, to this day, leaves me scratching my head. Please, anybody, clue me in as to why this is so? I’d take David Beckham over Matt Hasselbeck or Matt Kenseth ANY DAY and not only for the hottie factor, either—but for Beckham’s grace.

Well, I’ve lost all self-control and now I’m headed down to gorge on pancakes and watch the game! Meantime, please enjoy some photos from Frankfurt!

You know you're out of control when...

2006-06-12T09:15:00.000-07:00

You stay up all night trying to perfect a Herbie the Love Bug cake for your kid.

The weather could not have been more beautiful for Mr. Na's birthday party. We decorated the house in red, white and blue (and are seriously considering leaving all this shit up through 'til the Fourth of July!) and the kids loved beating the crap of of the Herbie pinata in the driveway!

Mr. Na made out like a bandit, getting some super-duper-kick-ass presents (including a toy leopard-spotted VW Bug!) All in all, it was a fine time!

SIFF'in It, Part Deux

2006-06-09T22:04:00.000-07:00

Actually, I wrote this earlier in the week and just never posted it here. Aw well. It's still pretty timely!

Last night was another SIFF double-header, and the two films we screened couldn't have been any more different from one another; but they were equally entertaining.

Factotum (based on Charles Bukowski's novel) was excellent I love Matt Dillon -- I really do. I think he's a highly-accomplished actor and this role was a tough one. He plays a drunk who goes through a series of jobs, usually getting canned on the first day for wandering off to the bar; and though he's pretty wasted most of the time, his wit is dry and sardonic. Living in cheap rooms, with or without his drunken love interest (played by Lili Taylor) he writes short stories and submits them to Black Sparrow, who actually accepts one of his pieces, titled similarly to Bukowski's works like "Poems Written Before Jumping out of an 8 Story Window" or "All the Assholes in the World and Mine". I was bummed that Dillon did a no-show last night at the screening, but I guess he had more important things to do last night like tape an awards show. Woo-hoo.

So we walked down to Pacific Place from the Egyptian and shopped at Nordy's as a palette cleanser for the next film. Thank God, too, because I don't think I could've sat through both in one theatre, back-to-back. We went from gritty and raw to pouf pop.

The documentary on George Michael was enlightening in that it took his "Behind the Music" one step further with Michael explaining the whole Sony Music lawsuit and why he seemingly disappeared off the charts here in the States while continuing to sell millions of records in the rest of the world. I don't "love" George Michael--I grew up with Wham U.K., so to me he's like this cousin I have whom I enjoy talking to during the holidays but don't keep up with much any other time during the year. But I think he's very talented and had a lot of bad shit happen to him that pretty much took the wind out of his sails.

Happy Birthday Mr. Na!

2006-06-08T06:07:00.000-07:00

Hard to believe our little guy is four today. Where the hell has the time gone? I looked at pictures of him when he first came home and nearly broke down sobbing because he was so little, and now? now the kid's ready for a Herbie!

The cupcakes are frosted and ready for his preschool party this morning and I've made a solemn vow not to do anything today other than play with Mr. Na after school. We'll see how that goes!

For the Love of Herbie

2006-06-05T18:15:00.000-07:00

As soon as Pa gets home, I'll be working on my Herbie the Love Bug practice cake number two. Number one was totaled earlier today in a rollover accident, creating a cakey, gooey, burnt mess on the bottom of my oven.

How was I supposed to know that the cake pan would become too top heavy and tip over? It's torture I tell ya and I'm really getting tempted, at this point, to fly out my friend, the best damn cake sculptress of the world; but she's got twins who are turning four in a few weeks too, and she's probably swamped with wedding season. The next best thing, she's offered, is technical support via phone.

Good thing I have enough foresight, at least, to do a practice run (or two) because I'd be in a far worse state if it was Saturday night and I had to turn around and go back to QFC for two more boxes of Duncan Hines and a box of unsalted butter. Besides, I'm working with Fondant for the first time in my life and while Krissy says it's about as fun as playing with Play-Doh, I'm a little skeptical of my skills--or lack thereof--in the cake decorating department.

You know, if I step back far enough and say, "Wait a sec, this is just for a 4 year-old," I'd probably curl into a fetal position and demand to be left alone; but I can't help but WANT to make this stupid cake (actually I'm making three--no, four, now with the one totaled, not including the cupcakes for Preschool). Perhaps it's just me being eager to please, doing everything in my power to create memorable experiences for Mr. Na. Or I'm as manic as I sound.

Either way, God willing, I will post the finished product when all is done.

"when you're done playing with the bear, we'll be right here waiting for you"

2006-06-04T19:14:00.000-07:00

From today's Homer Tribune (Homer, Alaska). Man, this guy's one lucky person!

All I want for Christmas is my (kid's) two front teeth.

2006-05-31T19:47:00.000-07:00

So there I was having a somewhat ok day given the fact that my hay fever has reached an all-time high and I had very little sleep last night when I get the page at the gym from daycare to come upstairs. Lucky me, I had just finished swimming, I had showered and gotten dressed.

I could hear Mr. Na's screams from the stairwell. And when I came in to the daycare area, he was standing on a chair, at the sink, blood gushing out of his mouth and when he saw me, howled with his sanguine-stained mouth: "MAAAAAAAAAAAA-MAAAAAAAA!"

I saw it right away--his front two teeth had been pushed back further than the other eight who--up until five minutes prior--stood perfectly aligned. My first thought was, "Jesus, I just took him to the dentist YESTERDAY!" and then I saw that massive amounts of blood pooled from the gumline and boy, oh, boy it's true what people tell you--that headwounds are the bloodiest.

It took a long time to calm him down and I asked the women at the daycare for an icepack, which seemed to help stanch the blood--and even then I wasn't too sure I wanted to see the damage. I gave him a play-by-play of everything we'd be doing to get into the car and leave and even told him we'd be seeing his favorite dentist lady again (he gives anyone rave reviews who gives him a fire truck toothbrush) and still, despite his incessant screaming in the women's lockeroom (where I still had my gym bag and purse) and in the parking garage (where I had to phone my husband then the dentist) I knew if one of us, namely me, wasn't able to pull it together, we'd be hitching a ride back home from West Seattle.

The dentist assured me he would be ok. And while he might lose his left tooth from his fall down the slide--teeth first--there won't be any damage to his permanent teeth. He's sporting a David Bowie smile right now, but hey--it's better than having completely broken teeth.

Meanwhile, I'm on the hunt now for all things Herbie for his 4th birthday party--which is rapidly approaching. I ordered a Herbie cake pan, personalized Herbie invitations, a Herbie mylar balloon, a Herbie pinata, Herbie stickers--everything short of a frickin' VW Beetle. I'm glad this little mishap happened this week and not next because it might have put a damper on the festivities.

And speaking of major bummers, we were set to see Stewart Copeland this evening at the Egyptian (a SIFF treat) but sadly, his older brother Ian has recently died of cancer and he canceled his appearance. The documentary he's created chronicles the early beginnings of the Police which Copeland shot with a Super 8. I dunno--given that Mr. Na can't have any solids these next few days, we may just have to lie low. So it's back to the garden where I'm still wrestling with my beloved Osmanthus Burkwoodii bushes. At least for tonight!

SIFF'in It

2006-05-27T23:25:00.000-07:00

Pa and I caught two films at SIFF on Friday night: Conversations with Other Women and Nick Cave's highly-anticipated, The Proposition. I thought Aaron Eckhart and Helena Bonham Carter were wonderful together in Conversations as the divorced couple who ran into each other after 9 years (sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it???? except !!!SPOILER ALERT!!! that couple does the unthinkable and they actually sleep together...thereby making them both feel sad, lonely and depressed afterwards. Well, DUH!) At first, the split screen was a tad distracting, but then it was actually very playful in that it depicted a lot of what each character was thinking. Very nicely done!

The Proposition was pretty damn heavy and filled with gore but beautifully shot. Guy Pearce and John Hurt--two favorites of mine were pretty good, especially Hurt who does every role over-the-top. I'm not really big on westerns--and have little to NO knowledge of life in the Australian Outback when the British were trying to "civilize" the land; but it's definintely something I'd like to learn.

So what's next--who knows. Pa and I are still SIFFting through the schedule, and as a break from all that heady stuff, we took Mr. Na to the NW Folklife Festival to see some Ukrainian dancers and musicians and chow down the usual "festival food"--not to mention perusing through the usual vendors who sell boxes in which to put your weed. And after attending a birthday party in the afternoon, we saw Over the Hedge which was, ya know, not SIFF material but cute and heavy on the adult references (Mama, why are you laughing? What's so funny?) Besides, how could you go wrong with a soundtrack from Ben Folds? Much better than that syrupy Jack Johnson who RUINED the Curious George movie.

Ouch!

2006-05-22T14:44:00.000-07:00

Today was definitely a recovery day for me. I am very sore, but not so much from the race yesterday--even after having twisted my ankle. Last night I stepped on something really sharp in my office and while it feels as if I have a giant splinter under the skin of my heel, there isn't anything there.

My office is the only place where we haven't replaced the old fur floor. We never really intended it to be an office until after Mr. Na moved in. It's actually the walk-in closet adjacent to Mr. Na's room, though it's spacious like ours at a whopping 8'x12' and has it's own cute little window for peering out onto the street. We want to finish off our basement so that Pa and I can move our offices down there as soon as Mr. Na is old enough to move to the first floor, to Pa's office and number two has moved in to Mr. Na's current room.

In the future, my office will be the master bathroom, so we can have two upstairs--one for the children and one for us--but that's a long way off from now. Pa's gotta finish the kids' bathroom first...

Usually when I do a brick at the gym, I set the bike to the "Hill" setting on Level 12 and I wear a heart rate monitor so I can keep my pulse up between 150-160 bpm for 20 minutes. Then I hop off and run on the treadmill with the incline set at 2.0 and the speed between 6.0-7.0 for 20 minutes. It's been hard, though, because while my heart rate has stayed up with the cycling, it goes even higher when I try and run a 9 minute mile immediately afterwards. I need to work on that for the race. I think the best approach is to start out running slower and then increase as my exertion diminishes. Otherwise I'll be huffing and puffing the minute I get off my bike.

Today I rode for 20 and then did a recovery run (much slower pace) for 20. I then swam for only 15 minutes, doing drills. By the time I was done I was ready for a nap!

I finally broke down and invested in a really nice pair of swim goggles. They're anti-fogging which was the worst gripe I had about my former pair. Now I can see everything under the water--it's awesome!

Speaking of gripes, I have one major complaint about swimming as much as I do: I can't seem to keep my fingernails!! I've tried everything but they continue to peel and crack and they look just plain awful--so now I have to keep them "jock-short" LOL! I just thank God for this product, otherwise, my hair would be dead and I'd have to cut it short. That'll never happen! I also have to thank my awesome hairdresser of 9 years who told me to put conditioner in my hair after I've showered and conditioned it there--and then leave in the second application.

Pa is in SF until tonight. Thank goodness he won't travel for another month or so because I need to have my mornings back to work on my manuscript!

Interesting Readers

2006-05-22T09:16:00.000-07:00

I've been getting hits on my blog from people all around the world, including readers from the Netherlands, France, Spain and Japan. Here in the States, I have quite a few people who read me on a fairly regular basis, including someone from the University of Georgia and someone in South Dakota. Just thought I'd say "hi" and it'd be really nice if you could come out an introduce yourselves!

Oddly enough, the number one search people do to get to my site is "Sporticus". That just goes to show you how many of us have the hots for that guy!!

I Beat The Bridge!

2006-05-21T17:33:00.000-07:00

Not only did I beat the stupid, ol' bridge today, but I PR'd on my 8k time. Not bad for someone who woke up at 4 a.m. and had a hard time falling back to sleep because she was bathed in sweat. I HATE that!

The morning was beautiful--such a huge difference from last year's torrential downpour. The sky was Bomb Pop blue and it was just that perfect kind of temperature where it was slightly brisk to stand still and perfect for running hard.

The only bummer was when I twisted my ankle stepping off the curb after mile 4--but it only slowed me down about a 1/4-1/2 mile.

Yesterday I got to try out my new cycle computer and I rode 15.6 miles in 77 minutes. I hit mile 12 in just under 53 minutes, so I want to bring that time down to 45 minutes or so prior to the tri. I'd love to finish in 90 minutes, but we'll see. I learned a new tip yesterday: if you wear a wetsuit for a tri, spray yourself down with Pam first so you don't chaffe. Ew! But whatever works!

Now it's back to butchering--er, uh cleaning up my garden beds. I hacked my burning bushes to pieces yesterday and now they look like shit. I hope they forgive me.

I picked Pa up at the airport on Friday after a week of being in Dallas and now he's en-route to San Francisco. Man, oh man I hardly remember what the guy looks like anymore!

Mr. Na and the City of Love

2006-05-18T07:57:00.000-07:00

Paris was--how shall I say--tres magnifique. What's not to love? It'll be pretty hard to top this birthday.

We strolled, we shopped, we supped, we saw the sights, and suprisingly Mr. Na got a lot out of it. Of course, if you ask him what his favorite thing about the trip was, he'd reply "playing cars in the hotel room!" but he enjoyed riding the Metro and climbing the Eiffel Tower and the boat ride on the Seine.

It's impossible to do everything you want to do in Paris in only a week's time. Even having been before, I needed at least two more weeks to soak in everything. I missed a Los Angeles photography exhibit at the Pompidou Center, which I thought looked very interesting and the L'Orangerie re-opened on the day we left. But we ate to our heart's content and Mr. Na managed to get some premium playground time in-between sightseeing, thanks to this book that highlighted all of the kid-friendly spots.

I'm happy to report that we stayed far, far away from Disneyland Paris and instead went to the most amazing children's museum I'd ever seen: Les Cite des enfants, which is part of Paris' Museum of Science and Industry. Mr. Na got to fix a car, build a house, ship cargo, play with pneumatics, water, grain--you name it, this place had everything suitable for a 3 year-old to get into.

More to come, but for now, please enjoy our pictures!

Tellement longtemps pour maintenant, mes lecteurs fidèles et fidèles!

2006-05-05T07:40:00.000-07:00

(Translation: So long for now, my loyal and faithful readers!) Ok, all two of you!

Team PaNaMa are off to Paris for a fun-filled week. Yep, this time we're really going. I mean it. No more cancelling at the last minute, like we did in September.

Au Revoir!

The Point in Which I Cram Way Too Much Crap into One Day

2006-05-01T08:17:00.000-07:00

I may very well be the only person on this planet who gets stressed out over lists--any kind of list, not just the straightforward "to do" versions but anything that requires any kind of action on my part.

I have lists of library books on hold for me that if I don't check out, they will go to the next person in the queue; I have a giant list on my TiVo of things that, if I don't watch soon, will be deleted; I have a list of things to do freelance-wise; a list of things that need to be done in the garden, before spring turns into summer; a list of people waiting for me to finish this draft of my novel so they can read it; a packing list of items we will need for our trip to Paris next week; a list of things to do to prep the house for our housesitters. The list goes on! All this, on top of my usual weekly "To Do" list.

I'm becoming manic the older I get. My days are spent in hourly, half-hourly or quarter-hourly increments as I try and cram as much shit as I possibly can into one day which results in reading books while brushing and flossing my teeth and scanning media headlines on my laptop while clearing off shows on the TiVo or writing scenes in my head while playing "Candyland" with Mr. Na.

And yet, the funny thing is, if you asked me, "What've you been up to lately?" I'll reply my usual "Not much" because really, all of this stuff just gets absorbed somewhere in the recesses of my brain and goes dormant. I retain nothing! I get characters and real people confused and the lines between fact and fiction become blurred.

This is probably why I enjoy running so much. It's the only time I get to clear my head and oddly enough, while my body moves rapidly, my mind slows down. Strange, too because the time in-between runs, when I move at warp speed, I'm forgetful. Take, for instance, yesterday: I took Moofie with us to the lake to run but I forgot her leash, so the poor dog had to sit in the car and wait until I was done; I forgot my shopping list (thankful that Pa was working home so he could e-mail it to me); forgot my purse at Mr. Na's preschool; and I forgot my sunglasses in my friend's babyjogger.

Running clears all of the clutter and noise out of my head and I'm able to focus on a few things (i.e, my breathing and stride) rather than a few thousand. It's actually easier for me to relax during my runs than it is to lie in "Savasana" ("corpse pose") when I practice yoga.

Over the last five weeks, I've shifted my training from simply running to include biking and swimming in preparation for the triathlon in July. And while the crosstraining, overall, has been fabulous, I really miss the long runs I was doing before the marathon. Long bike rides, for me, doesn't give me the same mental space for some reason and so it doesn't give me the same satisfaction.

I guess I'm weird like that! As if you didn't know!

Thomas Dolby at the Fenix

2006-04-24T13:33:00.000-07:00

For me, Thomas Dolby will forever be one of the biggest icons of New Wave. And so, imagine my disgust at seeing him in such an awful venue as the Fenix last Saturday night.

The Fenix, in it's former location, was once a great place to see shows. The intimate yet wide open space made it easy to wiggle my way up to the front to see some great performers, including Marc Almond, John Taylor--hell, even Buckethead was mildly amusing if not terrifyingly loud.

But the new space is cramped, flanked by a wide staircase and low hanging balcony with barely enough room on the main floor to accomodate concert attendees, much less TMDR fans who've waited 15 years to see him again.

TMDR did put on a wonderful show, though I was pinned between DJ Trent's table and the fire door door and couldn't hear a damn word he said to the audience, nor see his fabulously elaborate video production. It made me pine for the experience I had seeing him at the Wiltern Theatre during the Lost Toy People tour.

I might've scored a better spot in the venue if I had camped out starting at 8 when the doors opened, but that would have meant standing in one place until 10:45 and suffering through the opening act, Basic Pleasure Model, which Pa renamed Amalgam since they basically sounded like anybody else.

But we meandered through the other levels of the club, since there were plenty of wide open spaces OUTSIDE of the room with the stage and listened to DJ Trent's 80s playlist and even tried our luck in scoring a highly-coveted "purple stamp" that appeared on random receipts for TMDR merch-purchases, which qualified lucky recipients to meet him 15 minutes after the show. I struck out.

And so, my excitement was quelled by a lackluster evening. I was so looking forward to seeing Thomas Dolby, I had dusted off all my records, including one of the first 12" singles I bought--"Hyperactive!" and played them ad nauseum weeks before the concert.

So much for great expectations!

Happy Earth Day!

2006-04-22T12:02:00.000-07:00

Watch Videos:

What Are We Gonna Do? (Dramarama) Video Codes by VideoCodeZone.Com

I remember when this first came out in '92. I heard it last night on Kevin Cole's show on KEXP and it's been in my head all day.

The suit that makes the monkey

2006-04-22T10:34:00.000-07:00

I am now the proud owner of an O'Neill Reactor wetsuit, which I'll be wearing while I brave the chilly, murky, Nutria-infested waters of Lake Washington while training for and participating in the SEAFAIR triathlon.

I love it, this hulking piece of neoprene. It's way cool and it was on sale for $65 at GI Joe's and best of all, Mr. Na says it makes me look like a superhero.

This weekend is the "Friends of the Seattle Public Library" book sale at Sand Point and as a "friend" I was able to get into the super-huge airplane hangar last night and shop before the crowds. Apparently there are many other "friends" as the place was packed last night--which is a good thing for the library and a bad thing for people like me who can't stand huge crowds. I swear people fart in crowded places just so they can clear the area. And it works, too. There's nothing worse than going to a place right after the dinner hour and succumb to other people's highly noxious gas. Truly nasty.

I made a huge mistake in not reading the fine print on my invitation indicating that as a friend, I could purchase up to 25 books and you can only imagine my frustration when I had to argue with Pa and Na to get rid of the extra 25 we had. Despite that, I am very pleased with my purchases. You can't go wrong with spending only $1 per hardcover book.

I can only blame my mistake on how much I ran around town yesterday. The highlight was having to go to the Northwest Outpatient Imaging Center for an ultrasound. See, I've had this god-awful pain on my right side for about a week now and I was worried that it was either some sort of cyst or I twisted something internally during the marathon. Going for an ultrasound sucks, too, because you have to drink a whole quart of water an hour before the appointment and while you feel like you're gonna pee at any moment, the lab tech takes the doppler and PRESSES DOWN on your bladder to get a good look at your innards. Sure enough, I've got a 2cm cyst which doesn't seem like it's creating a torsion (twist) but it definitely hurts like hell. I'll have to wait to hear from my doctor on Monday, but I just wish the fucker would go away.

Anyway, I'm sure that's more information than most of you wanna know, so I'll leave you now with a little something that Mr. Na picked out at Dilettante for me for Easter.

I think he's trying to tell my that I talk on my cellphone too much. Nevertheless, it was tasty!

2006-04-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

So yeah, as I mentioned below, I've been getting up with the roosters lately--although, technically speaking, there are no roosters in my neighborhood, unless you count this one. I can't get up any earlier than 6 a.m., though I have tried. It's just impossible because that'd mean going to bed before Mr. Na and that's just not right.

The original intention for getting up at dawn was so I could sit in my office and write for a few hours before the force of nature known as Mr. Na goes into high gear. But I find myself finding more shit to read on the Internets and most of it (as evidenced with the post from this morning) is just plain garbage, so I'm filling my free time with CRAP instead of finishing this stupid book and it's driving me crazy!

I'm glad I'm not alone though. I heard Anne Lamott speak on Monday night and she mentioned how the little voice inside her head often tries to plead with her: "Just let me do this one load of laundry..." or "Just ten minutes of CNN..." The difference, though, between she and I (at least one of them) is that she is an accomplished author with 8 books under her belt and a regular column in Salon while I am a little maggot still making futile attempts at editing a novel that's taken way too long to finish.

I've often wondered what it'd be like if I could just leave town for a weekend and go to a place that doesn't have an Internet connection or a TV. Would I go completely crazy or would I actually get a lot of work done? Many of my friends who have done this have, in fact, finished books or other pieces and so I could see it working and I've asked a few fellow writers to join me for a weekend sometime in the fall. But until then, I've thought about having a solo writing session in Paris when we travel there next month. While I won't be able to get away for more than a few hours, I could see myself holing up in someplace like the Café de la Mairie on the Place Saint Sulpice, the Café de Flore and the Café Aux Deux Magots with many cups of espresso. Ah, the romance of it! We'll see what the reality will be like, though!

Meantime, send a little chutzpah my way to actually WORK ON MY BOOK in the mornings instead of surfin' the 'net. I'd appreciate it!

My Spidey Senses Are Tingling

2006-04-19T07:02:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry, maybe it's because I'm getting up so early in the morning these days, but I've been rolling on the floor with laughter over this.

What do to with those leftover Peeps you won't eat

2006-04-17T13:10:00.000-07:00

Photo from Seattle Times

Pa and I came *this close* to submitting our entry to the Seattle Times "Peeps" contest this year but life kinda got in the way and...well shucks, maybe we'll try again next year. I won't tell you our entry but it's sure to be a hit.

Meantime, if you're so inclined to check out the winners of this year's contest, here's an article.