Happy Anniversary Chimpy!

Today marks a special day in the PaNaMa household. Six years ago, I looked into Pa's eyes (as best as I could because the sun was in my own) while I held his hands and said "I do." And while the day also marks the anniversary of our country's most devastating tragedy to date, Pa and I still manage to celebrate quietly, albeit indulgently.

We stayed here last night, which at one point had been made famous by David Lynch as its exterior was The Great Northern Hotel in Twin Peaks. I spent Saturday afternoon getting pampered (or marinated, as Pa calls it) in the Spa and then we ate dinner while watching a glorious sunset over the Olympics--the sky colored brightly in popscicle orange and azure.

Mr. Na spent the night with his Nana, but Pa picked him up this morning where we three ate the most gi-normous three-course breakfast. (Two of my three courses are in the fridge and will be consumed later in the day). Afterwards, we headed to the airport so Pa could catch his flight to Italy.

Hard to believe we've been married for six years and tomorrow will mark eight years to the day we met, when, oddly enough, he had just returned from Italy, Paris, Germany and Austria. We met at intermission during the one-man show Keuroac at the Velvet Elvis . Afterwards, mutual friends of ours were getting together at the Garage and he offered me a ride since my car was parked at Harbor Steps. As we drove to Capitol Hill, he turned his CD player on and out of the speakers rose the most horrid sound I had ever heard.

"What IS this crap?" I asked, as I curled up into a little ball on the passenger seat to ward off the offensive noise.

"It's Jovanotti," he replied.

"Jova-who?"

"He's big in Italy."

"And David Hasselhoff is big in Germany," I thought.

On our next date, however, (which I guess was considered our first "official" date) I had a chance to peruse his CD collection at home, where I found a lot of R.E.M., INXS, Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Peter Gabriel. The clincher was that I believed he might have been the only other person on the planet to own Material Issue's International Pop Overthrow. I pretty much knew--then and there--that our collections might blend nicely together.

But there's so much more that I love about this man I married. It'd be trite just to say, "Oh yeah--he's smart and funny"; but this is a guy who studies Natural Language Processing AS A HOBBY and once Dave Eggers found out he had written this, he said, "Dude, that was you? That was AWESOME!"

But deeper still, he's a man who inspires me every single day. He's so incredibly passionate and committed to everything he touches, it makes me tired just to watch him and at times all I can do is stand there in awe. I've seen him transform our house into the most beautiful home with his own hands. I've travelled across the world with him--from Australia to Paris, London, Prague, and Ukraine--where I watched him connect with a little boy that would soon become our son. I've mourned with him through the four gut wrenching years of infertility where he agonized over injecting me with drugs day after day and stood by my side through our losses.

It hasn't always been easy and we've had our share of fights that would make anyone recoil; but I wouldn't trade places with anyone in the world. Without him, there'd be no Aspen in Chains, Jazz Dog, Petrospectives, or Coney Dog Bowl. No one would be wondering, late at night, how credit unions made money. There'd be no Chester and Baby. And my three year-old son wouldn't be saying "That's comedy, Mom!" to my jokes.

As I write this, my husband is somewhere over the Atlantic--probably sleeping--though he may be developing another list. I hate when he travels without me (partly out of missing him and partly because I wanna go too!) but even more so today since it's our anniversary (and--yeah, the whole 9/11 thing kinda creeps me out too). But we had a great weekend and the best thing about his leaving is, as he tells me and Mr. Na, "Papa always comes back!"

Mr. Na's First Day of Preschool

As the title implies, it was a big day for us. We began our little guy's school season by laying out his clothes the night before and doing a little early celebrating at Mix Ice Cream Bar.

I must've been a little too excited because I found myself asking him multiple times this morning if he was excited; but sensing my glee, he smiled and went along with it. When we arrived, 8 other beaming parents were waiting as if Mr. Willy Wonka himself was going to let us inside his factory. And at 9:30 on the dot, the doors were opened and we made a mad dash to the classroom, where the teacher greeted everyone with a smile. She showed each child their own cubby and accepted boxes of snacks from the eager-to-please, overachieving parents.

Mr. Na went straight for the toys and I hung back a little bit to make sure he wouldn't miss me when I left. I finally came up to him and gave him a kiss--letting him know I'd see him soon.

So what did Mama do from 9:30-12? It was a beautiful morning, so I went for a 4.5 mile run. I had time go home for a shower and out for a Mocha Frappuccino Light and then returned to school, where the 8 other parents were waiting to pick up their children. At 12 on the dot, the teacher opened the classroom door and Mr. Na ran up to me saying, "Mama!" followed by his new favorite question, "Can I play a little bit?"

His teacher told me he had a great day and is very well socialized (pat, pat, pat)!

Once on the playground outside, the questions began:
"So what did you do at school?"
"Dunno."
"Did you play cars and trucks?"
"Yes!"
"Did you make new friends?"
"Yes!"
"What else?"
"I played with Play Doh."
"Did you have a snack?"
"Yes!"
"What was it?"
"Crackers with peanut butter in them!"
"Mmmmmm, those are yummy!"
"Yeah, and I got a toothbrush!"
"You did? What color?"
"Green."
"Oh cool!"

Speaking of school, I just found out my 22 year-old niece just got a scholarship to Smith College. I'm in absolute awe. She went from having such a rough and tumble childhood, to losing both her parents within two years, to dealing with lifelong Bipolar Disorder. I wish her the absolute best and only hope she follows in Sylvia Plath's academic footsteps!

Mr. Na's Choo Choo Fund

Mr. Na had his first lesson in economics this week. I think he may be the only three year-old I know who earns up to $.75 a day for doing simple chores around the house and keeping his Thomas the Tank underpants dry all day.

It really started out as an incentive to stay dry. Pa and I are frustrated with how close Mr. Na is from being 100% potty trained, yet still it's so far away. He mostly just lets it fly if he's too busy playing with his toys and unless we tell him to go to the potty every two hours or so, he won't go. So, by the end of the day, if he doesn't wet his pants, we make a big deal by giving him two quarters and follow him to the kitchen where he deposits them into his very own piggy bank. If, however, he wets his pants, we take him to the potty, bring in the piggy bank and remove one quarter for the deed.

So to hold Mr. Na's budding but still short attention span, rather than wait until he saved $20, we took him to the toy store on Saturday and allowed him to pick out a choo choo. He picked out Annie and Clarabel, plunked his piggy bank on the counter (Pa stealthily whipped out his credit card and pocketed the quarters for household redistribution).

The verdict? So far, so good. He's definitely understanding consequences, but I'm firmly convinced now that there is NOTHING anyone can do as a parent to speed up potty training. Kids master it in their own time. He hasn't worn diapers in the daytime in 9 months, but he still doesn't understand that there's a difference between not wanting to go pee and not having to go pee. Although I'm thankful, I just wonder why it was so easy for him to be bowel trained.

In any event, our economics lesson is a win-win. Mr. Na unpacks the silverware basket in the dishwasher every morning and he's learning responsibility and the value of money. We still have some kinks to work out, but over time, he may very well be making more than his mom!

Merde!

We found out Thursday that Mr. Na's Pa needs to be here in the U.S. for a very important meeting at the same time he needs to be in Paris for a very important meeting. For some reason, the very important meeting in the U.S. is MUCH MORE important than the meeting in Paris--so the powers that be have asked him to stay home--at least until the very important meeting (which lasts for two days) is over, and then he can go to Paris. Not on September 2, as was planned, but by--oh, say the 7th or 8th--FIVE OR SIX DAYS LATER. He still needs to be in Italy by September 12.

This is very bad on several different levels: First off, Mr. Na, Pa and I have plane tickets to travel to Paris on September 2. Pa's work has offered to pay for any change fees associated with cancelling the trip, which is very generous. This means Mr. Na and I won't be going, which also means Pa and I would be apart on our anniversary.

So, no Paris for the Naster and me--at least not next week. I take comfort in knowing "We'll always have Paris..." NOT!

I ran 12 miles today and had to laugh at about mile six when "Hold On" by Yes came on my MP3 player. I suspect Chester, the midwestern brown squirrel, slipped that in unbeknownst to me. All things considered, though, it was an appropriate song for halfway through the run!

Let the countdown begin...

I really hate the term "girl power" and it grates on my nerves whenever I hear "you go girlfriend" but this morning, hearing it from someone as a means to motivate 5,000 women as they were about to embark on the Danskin Triathalon was kinda cool.

I dunno how I managed to roll out of bed at 6 a.m. to watch the start of the Danskin after running 11 miles yesterday--but I'm so glad I did. The moon was still bright over the Space Needle and the sun was just rising up over the Cascades as I parked a few blocks away from Lake Washington so I could bike in to cover as much ground as possible during the event.

At 7:10 a.m., friends and family members stood on the edge of the lake, cheering as wave upon wave of color-coded-capped swimmers lapped from the boat launch--half a mile out--and back. I was amazed by some of the women who chose not to wear spring suits as the water had to have been about 45 degrees.

Once they completed the swim, they ran across Lake Washington Boulevard to the bike station to ride 12 miles--from Genessee Park through the Mount Baker neighborhood and onto the Express Lanes of I-90 to Mercer Island.

I glanced at my watch when I saw the first runner make her way southbound on Lake Washington Boulevard. She arrived in less than one hour from the start of the race. Truly an inspiration.

The coolest thing about the race was that women of all ages, all shapes and all sizes competed. Whether it was just to finish the race, or to improve from last year's time, 5,000 women raced this morning in the 100th Danskin Triathalon.

You girls ROCK! See ya on the race course next year!

The last time I was at a listening party hosted by Capitol Records, I was an underage intern for the Media and Artist Relations department in Hollywood and it was for Eric Martin's I'm Only Fooling Myself--prior to his stint with Mr. Big.

Fast forward 18 years later--when, last night, not only was the listening party hosted on behalf of The Dandy Warhols, the drinks on the rooftop patio of the War Room were gratis, compliments of the band.

Not much has changed, though, in Capitol's style of industry parties--except maybe for a new generation of overworked and underpaid A&R reps (18 years ago, Tom Whalley was still an A&R guy, working on the U.S. launch of Crowded House). The tchotchkes were still lame (last night's was a Dandy Warhols disposable lighter for "Smoke It") and the band members were milling about--checking their watches to see what time they could escape without being in breech of contract.

Nonetheless, the crowd was intimate and the album is worth buying on 9/13 (although my husband was pretty underwhelmed). So for those of you headed into Portland tonight to catch up with the band at Masu, it'll be worth your while to come early to beat the rush and sip cocktails Dandystyle.

Photos from top to bottom: Yours truly (age 19) with Rodney Bingenheimer at some Capitol party; last night's parting gift; and Courtney Taylor-Taylor with Le Femme Monkita-Monkita.

I had a wonderful writing week--and I plodded through most of chapter four and actually wrote an open letter and submitted it to McSweeneys. It's a good one, too...so hopefully they'll agree and publish it! If not, I'll just post it here once I hear from them.

I ran ten miles on Saturday--and did great--until I fell down my friend's basement steps and bruised the shit out of the top of my foot. She treated me to Cupcake Royale for pain and suffering, though, so I couldn't complain! I was going to run today but my foot is bothering me too much, so I'll swim today and try and run tomorrow.

Mr. Na's Pa took the GRE on Friday, scored an obnoxiously grand score on both the verbal and math; and now with tomorrow's deadline hanging over his head, last night, he was holed up in his office pulling an essay out of his ass in the Eleventh Hour so that he can submit his application for getting his Masters in Computational Linguistics. And what I've read so far, it rocks!

I bought Mr. Na Miroslav Sasek's This is Paris book and I think he loves it as much as I loved Sasek's This is Munich book when I was a child. He's pretty excited to sail the toy boats in the Jardin du Luxembourg and this will be the first city where he'll ride in the underground choo choos. Big fun!

So that's about it from me. I hope this coming week is as productive as the last. It doesn't look like I'll be completely finished editing my manuscript before my cousin arrives, but I'll let him fly home with at least the first half.

Au revoir for now!

Dandytails

This just arrived in my inbox from the Dandys. I know where I'll be on Thursday:

Hey yeah.

We're going to have some cocktails next week in these cities near you.

9pm is the cocktail hour with our suitcases in tow.


monday 15th san diego cocktails - side bar

tuesday the 16th atwater village (LA) cocktails - bigfoot lodge

wednesday the 17th san francisco cocktails - otis bar

thursday the 18th seattle cocktails - war room

friday the 19th portland cocktails - masu


you'll likely need to be 21.

see you, rockers.

Mr. Na and the Blue Angels

Every first Thursday-Sunday in August, we're treated to the Blue Angels frolicking in the skies above Seattle. It's fun to go downtown during lunchtime to see and hear them practice for their part in Seafair as they put on quite a neat little show.

This year, I decided to take Mr. Na to Seafair on Lake Washington for a closer look.

I'm not a big Seafair Fan. My husband calls hydroplane races NASCAR on water and I tend to agree. So I knew, going in, I wasn't going to plunk down $25 to see a bunch of people wear inflatable hydroplane hats on their heads. Still, despite the fact that it took two hours to get there by bus, it was thrilling getting to the park in time for the airshow.

I love King County Metro's website for their awesome "Trip Planner" tool. All I needed to do was type in my address and the address to Genesee Park and it figured out the routes and times for the bus rides. So, our 9 mile trip, in reality, should have only taken 45 minutes and one bus transfer; but I made the grievous error of listening to the busdriver who, at the International District, asked those of us who were going to Seafair to come to the front of the bus. Upon doing so, he instructed us to get off at the next stop and walk to Safeco Field to catch the Seafair Shuttle.

"But wouldn't it be easier for us to be let out at S. Rainier at McClellan?" I asked.
"Well, either way--but these shuttles will take you directly to the grounds," he answered.

Figuring the bus driver would know better, I got off at the designated stop with Mr. Na in tow and looked southward, to Safeco Field--which was across the I-90 onramp, down a street that had no sidewalk, but a posted sign that read, "Pedestrians are prohibited on street." The only trail included a trek across a deserted parking lot, across train tracks, around the Qwest Stadium, and to the other side of Safeco Field. As we ambled down the scary street (thank God it was Sunday--no traffic), we were stopped at the train tracks for the world's longest train to pass. Mr. Na was ok with this; I was not. And it was straight out of a cartoon, too--because as soon as the end of the train was in sight, another train, coming from the opposite direction, whizzed past on the second set of tracks.

Twenty minutes later, we rounded Qwest and Safeco Fields only to find the queue for the Seafair Shuttle wrapped around Edgar Martinez Boulevard. To add insult to injury, the shuttle was $3; but there was no turning back, at this point--so we waited in line...and waited...and waited...

Packed like sardines, the bus crept up Columbian Way until it finally made its way to the grounds. We spread our picnic blanket out on the field and watched the Blue Angels dive, roll and zoom.

I gotta tell ya--my son has incredible patience for a three year-old. He was really, really good yesterday and looked at our botched outing as an adventure. And why wouldn't he? After all, an adventure involving bus rides, choo choos, baseball stadiums and the Blue Angels is the best kind. Next year, however, I think we'll just stay at home and once noontime rolls around, look up!

I'm Gonna Tri

This week I made the decision to finally do a triathalon. Ok--not like the Ironman or anything--just the Danskin, which is much more realistic for me! What stopped me from wanting to do it in the past was not really thinking I was a strong swimmer (that and I really hate swimming in lakes). But over these past few weeks, I've been taking advantage of the olympic sized swimming pool at my gym and swimming 32 laps twice a week (32 laps = 1 mile). I'm still a little slow--about 1:15 minutes/lap--but like running, at least I'm pretty confident I can cover the distance.

Unfortunately my decision to do the Danskin is a bit too late for this year--seeing that the Seattle Danskin is in two weeks and registration closed way back in March; but this will at least give me enough time to train and have fun! I still plan on doing half of the Seattle Marathon this fall and maybe the Whidbey Island marathon next May. I ran a 9 miler today: down Stone Way to the Burke Gilman trail, around UW up to Ravenna Park, through the backside to Cowen Park, to Ravenna Avenue to the top of Greenlake; around the top of Greenlake, along 99 (Na and Pa drove past me on the way to lunch--lucky dogs!) back down to Greenlake Way/Stone Way.

I wish I had this much energy for my manuscript. I haven't picked it up at all this week, but once I'm done posting this entry, I'll open it up. I think my stalling is due, in part, to reading War and Rememberance. I'm somewhere toward the end--where two characters are in Terezin and as I'm reading, I keep thinking, "Hey...my characters go through THAT" or "Dammit, I was gonna have them do THAT..." and so I feel like even though I had thought these elements through before even picking up Herman Wouk, I feel like I'm lifting ideas. Sigh!

I guess that's the price I pay for reading books similar to mine. I can't help it though, I love reading this stuff as much as I love writing about it.

Smoke It!

The Dandy Warhols new single "Smoke It" is now out. I heard it yesterday on KEXP and Rhapsody and it's--it's--it's...smokin! The new album Odditorium or Warlords of Mars is due out September 13--just in time for Na and I to return from gay Paree.

Incidentally, if you're a Dandys fan and you've yet to see DiG, what the hell's stoppin' ya? Admittedly, I really didn't know much about Brian Jonestown Massacre, but the documentary delves deep into the band's multiple implosions, fueled by Anton Newcombe, who's one crazy, but amazingly talented dude.

What I loved most, though, was the "You Were the Last High" video: a total homage to Duran Duran! Yeah, yeah, I'm a little slow, given that the video's been out forever--but it's not like I have oodles of free time to watch MTV2. I think the last time I had that much ample time, MTV was still cool (1982?)

Anyway, I have mixed emotions about missing the Dandys/BJM at Lollapalooza. On the one hand it would have been very cool to see them together; on the other hand, I don't think I'd have survived the stifling Chicago heat.

It'd be nice to see the Dandys again. I saw them at Bumbershoot in 2003 and it royally sucked. They were put in the worst possible venue at the Seattle Center and the accoustics were atrocious. Ah, well! Next time!

Seafair Torchlight 8k Run

I ran my second Torchlight race last night. The 8k course started at Seahawk Stadium, took us up 99 North through the Battery Tunnel, right around the Hostess Bakery (the smell of powdered doughnuts was intoxicating), on Dexter past KEXP up to Denny to Wall, left at Uptown Espresso and along Fourth, all the way back to Seahawk Stadium.

The highlights of the race include the beautiful, albeit roasting hot (it was 90 degrees) view of Elliott Bay as we raced along 99; seeing Pa and Na perched on the sidewalk in front of Uptown Espresso--approximately halfway through the race; and running along the Torchlight Parade route on Fourth where thousands of people cheered the runners.

There were several things that kept me from passing out from the heat: my Camelback (which Pa froze the night before); being outrun by a giant Jamba Juice banana; and the songs on my MP3 player:

We Used to Be Friends - The Dandy Warhols
Taste the Summer - Duran Duran
Godless - The Dandy Warhols
Mr. Brightside - The Killers
Somebody Told Me - The Killers
(Reach up for the) Sunrise - Duran Duran
Bedroom Toys - Duran Duran
Midnight Show - The Killers
Point of No Return - Duran Duran
Nietzche - The Dandy Warhols
Jenny Was a Friend of Mine - The Killers
Every Day Should Be a Holiday - The Dandy Warhols


Of all the races I run every year, the Torchlight is my favorite!

Observation of the day

The only difference between a Starbucks Green Tea Frappuccino and a McDonald's Shamrock Shake is about $1.79.

Vintage Tears for Fears at Chateau Ste. Michelle

Here’s me as the ultimate skeptic: The night before the concert I dreamt that the title of this entry would be “Sour Grapes: Tears for Fears at Chateau Ste. Michelle”; but I have my husband to thank for the optimistic choice, despite the fact that he doesn’t really like the band. But hey, that’s the beauty of our marriage--I drag him to concerts like Bauhaus or The The, and he drags me to, oh, something like The Cowboy Junkies or Tori Amos and it works out just fine. So, with Na and Pa and dinner in tow, we picnicked on the grass while I, at least, enjoyed the show. Pa got to watch Na run around like a free-range chicken.

The show was pretty decent—though, I’ll admit the aforementioned skepticism comes from really hating their latest release, Everybody Loves A Happy Ending. After listening to the album, I likened the much-anticipated reunion of Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith to what my parents would have been like if, after thirty years of name-calling and screwing each other out of thousands of dollars, they remarried and moved into a trailer park. After all, the decade-long Orzabal/Smith feud spawned some really great songs like “Fish out of Water.” So I guess I figured that if it took them four years to come up with such sub-par material like Everybody…, then they’d suck live. Still, I didn’t want to miss the chance to see them. Call me conflicted.

Though I have loved Tears for Fears since I first saw the “Pale Shelter” video on MTV, the first concert I saw was a decade later, during the Elemental tour, when Orzabal—sans Smith--couldn’t keep his mouth shut about how much he despised his former musical partner. I guess time and aging heals most wounds and whatever caused Smith to walk away during the Sowing the Seeds tour in 1990 simply evaporated (though as a woman, I find that incredibly hard to believe), but having seen them live last night, it seemed they’ve resolved whatever it was that needed resolving because there was a lot of chemistry on stage.

I cringed when they opened with songs from Everybody… but I think they only played two or three songs at the most from that awful album before launching into some good stuff including “God’s Mistake” and then of course, they dove into songs from The Hurting, though they were somewhat apologetic about having written that material when they “were very young.”

I’ll admit, it felt kind of weird having my three year-old son on my shoulders while I danced to “Pale Shelter” (or swayed, rather, since I’ve never really seen anyone “dance” to “Pale Shelter”) because truly if “How Soon is Now?” was the rhetorical question of my adolescence, “Pale Shelter” was the answer to everything and every one; but looking around, I noticed the crowd was predominantly middle aged and pared with kids and/or non-enthused significant others, and if they, too, were former Becky Goths*, one would never know.


*for a definition of "Becky Goths" read Sarah Vowell's Take the Cannoli.




Yes, Mr. Na--it is a Mad World

It was a picture perfect day in Seattle today--the sun was bright but the temperature rested at 80 degrees--not too hot coupled with a little bit of a breeze.

I get swept up in beautiful days like today--where I want to be playing outside and so I hitched Mr. Na's Bell bicycle trailer up to my bike and rode the Burke Gilman trail to UW, made a right at Husky Stadium, watched as Mr. Na shrieked with delight at the Montlake Bridge opening and closing, and rode and rode and rode, hugging Lake Washington until we made our way down to Mt. Baker Beach. Mt. Rainier was visible in all her glory to the south and the top third of Mt. Baker could be seen above the crest of the Cascades.

We turned back and went to North Leschi Beach for our picnic lunch and for a little playtime in the sapphire blue waters of Lake Washington.

Heading back home was a bit of a challenge as I chugged and wheezed my way up Madison but we stopped at the market back in Montlake to share some Cracker Jacks (and Gatorade for Ma!)

And so, four hours and 20 miles later, Na and I crawled into our respective beds for a snooze. I have a feeling that I won't be getting out of bed too easily tomorrow morning! Not only did I drag a 40 pound bike trailer for 20 miles today, I ran 7 around Greenlake YESTERDAY.

Could you imagine if it was sunny here all the time?

Take the toddlers bowling, take them bowling...

What better way to spend a Friday night than to go to the "bowling alley" in the basement of Pa's office. I use the term loosely, since the "bowling alley" comprises only two lanes. Still, it's free, making it cheap entertainment for the entire family!

Editing, Shmediting...

Been working on my manuscript consistently now for a few weeks and it feels great. One thing I need to remind myself about though, is to eat BEFORE going to a coffeehouse to work. I had no choice today because I headed out to my editing session after a trip to the dentist (thankfully, today I didn't get my teeth cleaned by the Bitch of Buchenwald...but that's another story...). So, needless to say, I had to grab my lunch at Starbucks--which limited me to a selection of uber fattening pastries or the one and only sandwich choice: turkey with Monterey Jack cheese and some sort of pobleno-type mayo.

Despite my smallish frame, I'm still a weight watcher...so when I see a sandwich that's 520 calories and 20 grams of fat and NO FIBER, I get a little nervous; but I figured the sandwich would be the better option over the Top Pot Doughnuts or the black bottom cupcakes. Hell, I figured I was being "good" by getting a Mocha Light Frappuccino, so I ate the sandwich with only the slightest hesitation (and the comfort of knowing I couldn't look up my Weight Watcher points online until after the deed--or feed, as it were--was done). In the end, I'm down 12 points for the day...just enough for dinner but no dessert, which is going to be a bit tough given that my darling husband just announced he wanted to join me this evening in another work session at Zoka, which offers a selection of scrumptious delights.

Good thing I did an hour of plyometrics today!

Anyway, so while I was plugging away on my laptop, a guy sat down in a chair across from me and he said, "Hey, you work out at xxx gym, don't you?"
"I used to," I said. "I switched to a gym that has daycare."
Looking up, I immediately identified him as the man in my old gym that dresses like Spiderman (blue spandex pants/tight red spandex shirt).
"Yeah, you also live right by me too," he said. "You live in (neighborhood)?"
I nodded in assent and learned he lives only one block away from me.
"You have a great house," he said.
"Thanks," I smiled.
And that was that. Spidey and I introduced ourselves formally, swapped bathroom remodel stories and then he left me to go back to my edits. He's a really nice guy, but he'll forever be known to me as Spiderman.

Speaking of my new gym...I loathe it. I hate the fact that I have to drive 8 miles to my gym (when I could walk to my old one in minutes), but my new one has daycare and that enables me to work out for two hours a day--something I was really missing since we brought Mr. Na home. Jazzercise was doing nothing for me, although I still go once a week because Na made some really great friends there and I like the people too.

But I can tell that my new gym is the only one around that has daycare because of the sea of minivans parked in the lot (I will NEVER succumb to a minivan...EVER). Their daycare facility is tremendous, which is a huge plus--but the moms who go there to work out act like they're in high school, complete with the huge clique. Incidentally, these are the same women who took their kids to Na's first soccer class last year. They all went through prenatal yoga together and so their kids are all the same age and so they do EVERYTHING together...from soccer to swimming to working out and now, I seriously think, they vacation together because NONE of them were at the gym today. Most of the time, when I do see them there, they aren't working out. Instead, they're talking on their cell phones or just standing there (or better yet just SITTING on the equipment) chatting with one another. It's quite the scene.

At first glance, the women's locker room is pretty swank. "Spa Music" is piped in overhead and the showers have nice pressure...but almost a little too nice. The other day, as I was putting on my makeup in front of the mirrors, I heard a woman in the shower directly behind me moan a little bit. The first couple of times, I didn't really think too much about it...but as her moans grew a little louder (even rising above the whir of my blow dryer...I shit you not) and more frequent, I got pretty grossed out. Look, I'm all for getting yourself off in the shower, if that's what floats your boat...BUT DO IT IN YOUR OWN GODDAMNED SHOWER, AND NOT IN THE WOMEN'S LOCKER ROOM WHICH, BY THE WAY, ALLOWS MOTHERS TO BRING IN CHILDREN UNDER FIVE.

Of course, she had this big goofy grin on her face when she opened the shower curtain. Funny thing is...she had her bathing suit on...

Anyway, I guess these are small prices to pay for having daycare at my gym. If anything, it's writing fodder, hey?

All Hail the Fremont Troll!

According to today's Seattle Times, it looks like our beloved Fremont troll may be getting his very own street! Apparently, the tiny two-block street, which is named "Aurora Avenue North" often gets confused by emergency vehicles with the Aurora Bridge, directly above that street.


Photo by Mike Siegel/Seattle Times




I think Troll Avenue North is much more fitting, don't you?

Special Delivery

To celebrate Amazon.com's 10th anniversary, the company has enlisted celebrities to make random deliveries across the country.

So far, Anna Kournakova delievered a pair of Adidas tennis shoes to someone and Chris Noth brought an unsuspecting customer her box set order of Sex in the City.

Hmmm...I wonder if I should order Pearl Jam's rearviewmirror...

My heart goes out to all Londoners today--particularly those who fell victim to today's terrorist attack in the Underground and on a doubledecker bus. Last time I was in London, I stayed near the King's Cross station and so I know how incredibly busy it is during rush hour. I'm simply amazed there weren't more fatalities; though any life lost, of course, is one too many.

According to this story in the Guardian, "within hours of the attacks 30,000 abusive and threatening e-mails were sent to the Muslim Council of Britain's website." Why? Because terrorism, sadly, has a mistaken identity. The assumption is that any person practicing the Muslim faith is a potential terrorist. And this assumption couldn't be further from the truth and is about as dangerous as an act of terrorism itself.

Ironically, I caught an episode of Morgan Spurlock's new show, 30 Days last night. The episode was about David Stacy, a white Christian from West Virginia who, knowing very little about the Muslim faith, chose to spend 30 days with a host family in the largest Muslim community in America, Dearborn, Michigan. Stacy spent the entire 30 days immersed in Muslim culture, including attending prayer five times a day, abstaining from alcohol, wearing traditional Muslim attire, growing a beard and learning the teachings of the Qur'an. This was all very hard for him because as a devout Christian, Stacy had a difficult time participating in prayer--largely because of his lack of understanding but also because he didn't want to betray "his" God; but I felt he really made an effort to try and learn and open his mind as much as he could. After 30 days, it seemed that, despite his returning to his own life--he might have come away with some enlightenment. At the very least, he learned that Muslims are peace-loving people who by no means live to wage Jihad against western civilization.

There was a point in the show, when Stacy went on an interview at a local radio station, where callers phoned with questions. Some asked whether he saw any "sleeper cells" in the community; others exclaimed that the Muslim community had yet to apologize about 9/11, to which, initially, Stacy agreed.

And that, my friends, is what I mean when I say that general assumptions about Muslims as terrorists must change.

During the show, an attorney for the Muslim community in Dearborn later confronted Stacy, explaining why the Muslim community had no reason to apologize about 9/11 or any other terrorist attacks and Stacy, I believe, finally got it by drawing this parallel: to say that Muslims have to apologize for 9/11 is like saying that Christians must apologize for Eric Robert Rudolph.

Does the name ring a bell for you? It didn't for me or my husband--and so, after looking up his name on Wikipedia, I learned that not only was he the person solely responsible for the bombing in Atlanta during the 1996 Olympics, he also bombed a gay and lesbian club in Atlanta as well as an abortion clinic in Birmingham, Alabama, killing one. It's been alleged that he was tied to the Christian Identity, who "asserts that the white Aryan race is God's chosen race and that whites comprise the ten lost tribes of Israel." Not only that but a "relatively new tenet gaining popularity among Christian Identity believers justifies the use of violence if it is perpetrated in order to punish violators of God's law, as found in the Bible and interpreted by Christian Identity ministers and adherents. This includes killing interracial couples, abortionists, prostitutes and homosexuals, burning pornography stores, and robbing banks and perpetrating frauds to undermine the 'usury system.'"

As someone who grew up learning Jesus's teachings, that doesn't sound very "Christian-like". And I'm certain that's how Muslims feel about militant Islamists.

Catching Up

And so, as the MA-NA-PA eight-week-long celebration comes to a close, I say "thank heavens!" I've had enough birthday cake to last me for a decade and I'm all partied out. The next person's birthday is The Nana and I'm just taking her to Teatro Zinzanni.

Pa's birthday was very fun, though, with oysters and sea bass at The Brooklyn and champagne cocktails and dancing at Pampas. We also celebrated my finishing the chapter two edits (finally...and I'm not revealing how long it took!) I owe a big thanks to two of my writer friends who met me for coffee, lunch and writing on Friday, where I made tremendous strides. It's amazing how a change of venue and chit-chat with some lovely women can make a difference!

I'm in the middle of reading The Winds of War by Herman Wouk and I have to say, it's an amazing book! That's what has been taking up my free time. That and, oh, I had a beautiful run today. It was only a four miler, but when I finished, I felt invigorated. I just love that feeling. I was jamming to The Killers--which, oddly enough, I really don't listen to that much; but when I'm running, it's awesome!

On a sad note today, one of my dearest friends just told me that her ex-husband has cancer. I was floored. I mean--he's so young and I just can't believe what a horrible illness he has. So far, it sounds like he has a few months left to live--although he's now going to see a very good oncologist next week--so perhaps there might be some better news on the horizon. So far, he's been told it's inoperable and he would need a liver transplant among other things.

They were together for 16 years and officially divorced about 6-7 months ago. Despite going their separate ways, she's made every effort to help him as best as she can during treatment. My friend is an amazing and incredibly strong person; but seeing anyone go through anything like this would shake solid rock, I'm sure.

What were they thinking?

I've been involved in a lot of silly PR stunts: world's largest cookie; world's largest salad; etc. But this was just poor planning on their part.

What a goofy idea to make the world's largest popsicle and drag it around the streets of Manhattan in 90% humidity.

I'm a sucker for Cheerios

Click here to see a recent Cheerios commercial called "Adoption Story".

I'll admit, I cried...

Cuts in funding threaten public broadcasting

I'm sure you've all seen those bogus e-mails floating around cyberspace for a few years claiming that NPR, PBS and the NEA were in peril should legistlation pass to cut funding.

This time, sadly, it's true. According to Moveon.org and this article making its way through the wires, the House Appropriations Committee approved a 23% reduction in budget for fiscal year 2006, thereby eliminating services such as "Ready to Learn" for children.

I don't know about you, but I love public broadcasting, especially shows on NPR like All Things Considered, Fresh Air and This American Life. Likewise, I love shows like Sesame Street for Mr. Na and Frontline, which, in my opinion, is the most honest news program, bar none. I'd hate to see these quality television and radio programs disappear.

This is MY bike

Mr. Na and I took a spin on his new trike today (actually, he rode it, I pushed it). He still hasn't figured out how to work the pedals quite yet but I'm certain by the end of this summer he'll be a regular speed demon. I loved the fact that I could just wheel him into the drugstore so I could pick up my prescription and he made the most of it by telling everyone in the entire store that this was his new bike. He discussed the trike's features with anyone willing to listen, and showed them his handy dandy hand brake. which he's learning how to use at every stop sign.

Our weekend was just chock full o'goodness and Mr. Na's birthday party was a smash hit. We had twelve little indians converge on our home to feast on the Thomas the Tank birthday cake and burn through their sugar high by running up and down the stairs. As I went to grab some language CDs in my office upstairs to give to a friend who was leaving, I found three littleuns in Na's crib, bouncing up and down and giggling--but they were at least polite enough to take off their shoes first!

I took it all in stride--I had to--given the lack of sleep I had the night before. Plus, I had some really wonderful friends help me to direct traffic. I have Phantasiewriter to thank for being the best toddler wrangler in the West.

Anyway, part of the reason for my lack of sleep--aside from the stress of holding a party at my house--was that I came down with a nasty UTI on Friday; but I was fortunate enough to be able to see my Dr. that afternoon to get some antibiotics and pyridium. That evening, I dosed my self up with Motrin and ran the Fremont 5k (which tells you that either I really love to run or I'm just plain stupid). All things considered though, I felt fine and the race was a cinch to finish!

Now it's time to plan Mr. Na's Pa's Father's Day Extravaganza! I think there will be baseball and Eggs Seattle involved.








I wonder if I could enter the Tour De France this year?

Diet Vanilla Pepsi Break...

This has been the first day in a week that the sun's bothered to come out and Mr. Na, Fifi and I took a lovely stroll before their nap (yes, Oatmeal actually goes to sleep on her bed until she hears Mr. Na wake up. Cute, huh?)

Now it's time to roll up my sleeves, suck down my pop and get back to "chapter two" (sigh)...I'm changing lots of stuff around, but I guess that's what I get for writing without an outline. One of these days, I am going to have to write an outline to make sure everything in the book is consistent at least!

I'm all registered to run the Fremont 5k tomorrow night. And afterwards, it's date night with Pa for some sushi and SIFF! There's a documentary about Death Cab for Cutie playing at the Neptune but, er, uh, I'm not that big of a fan. But there is a Steve Buscemi film starring Casey Affleck called "Lonesome Jim" which looks pretty cool!

Speaking of documentaries (or rockumentaries...whatever!) I am dying to get my hands on this!

Ok, well my pop break is over...I've got to get back at it so I can spend some time finishing one of the most borrrrrring books in the world: Inside the Third Reich by Albert Speer. Actually, I'm in the home stretch, with only 50 pages to go and it's getting interesting (Finally! It only took 600 pages)

If you're in Seattle, get out and enjoy the sunshine because it's going to turn crappy again by tomorrow! And for my friends out on the East Coast, I hope you don't swelter too much from the 84% humidity! (K, you're gonna have to train for that marathon at 5 a.m. girlie!)

Oh, p.s...keep your fingers crossed: Na and Ma might be going with Pa to Paris and Italy in early September! Wooooohoooooooooo!

Happy Birthday Mr. Na!

My little guy turned three today. And as I write this, he's in the next room with Pa, singing "The Alphabet Lost and Found." His latest addition to this song has been to sing the part where they say "slang words, you're in the wrong building!" He knows that part cracks me up when he does it and since he hears me typing next door, he shouts,

"You hear that Mama? That's comedy!"

(I like him. He's silly.)

I'm always so amazed how quickly time is passing, yet I'm sad, too. As much as I love watching my son grow up, delighting me every day with his new skills, I often get these stupid fears that creep up on me every once in awhile. What if, once he realizes what adoption is all about, he winds up hating us? I mean, I know all kids at some point "hate" their parents for one reason or another; but I'm talking about real resentment. What if he blames us for having been abandoned by his birthmother? While I can't control my son's feelings (and I wouldn't want to) I try very hard every day to show him how much I love him. I suppose, initially, it would break my heart to see any anger or resentment taken out on us--but as always, I'm preparing for us to have a lot of open communication so that we can help him work through his issues. Of course, all of this could be a total non-issue and he'll keep trying to make us laugh--as he does each and every day!

During Monday's episode of Six Feet Under, David and Keith were talking about adopting children. David said, "when you adopt, you fall in love with that child as you would your own." To which Keith replied, "maybe." I gotta tell ya, there's no "maybe"...at least not for me. I remember how much I mourned over the fact that we could never have a biological child. Now I'm thankful that things turned out the way they did. I love my son with every inch of my being--and probably appreciate him moreso than I would have had I been able to get pregnant without any problems and given birth to him.

I feel so blessed that our paths crossed in Ukraine. Not only is Mr. Na a handsome little boy, he's smart as a whip, too, and is starting to develop a very witty sense of humor. Of course now he's in the "why?" stage where everything we say is followed by him asking "why?" And lately, too, if we say something like "because..." and leave it at that, that's not good enough for him. So he'll then ask, "WHY NOT?????"

Now THAT'S comedy!

aaaahhhhh...Monday's coming!

We had such a busy, crazy weekend that I can't believe I'm writing this but: I'm glad tomorrow's Monday!

Most of today was spent doing some late spring cleanup in the garden: weeding, pruning, edging, mowing which all lead to sneezing, coughing and tearing. The rest was getting ready for the big shindig next weekend: Mr. Na's third birthday party. So far, we've got about 10 wee ones confirmed. Gulp! I keep reminding myself if it gets too far out of hand, there's always the park two blocks up.

I'm anxiously awaiting the 20 pound package from My Toy Box this week. In it is the super duper Thomas the Tank party pack and his very own trike!

I've ordered the Thomas the Tank cake, the helium tank and balloons. I've bought the chips, dips, pop and juice. Now it's just a matter of running around next Saturday to collect the goods and get the lunch-type food.

His little head's gonna explode next week! I can't wait!

All of this has been a fun distraction, but I'm itching to get to my writing desk this week and continue with my edits. If I can edit a chapter a week, I could be finished with this draft by fall. That'd be nice!

Hair of the dog...

This has been, for me at least, the worst allergy season to date. Since January, I've been hit with not one but two major allergy attacks that left me wheezing and practically laid up in bed with a sore throat, stuffy nose and raging cough. At one point, I actually thought I had the flu, except my temperature was well within the normal range.

I wasn't always like this. When I was 20 and living in a smog bank, otherwise known as the San Fernando Valley, I started getting these weird panic attacks. I couldn't catch my breath and the more I tried, the more panicked I became until I would go into full blown hyperventilation. I went to the ER during one of the attacks and they treated me for asthma. The next day, I went to a specialist who tested me positive for asthma--and that was my first bout of it. I was given an inhaler and sent on my merry way. When I moved out of the San Fernando Valley, my asthma disappeared about as fast as it came--which was nice, because I hated using the inhaler--it gave me the worst heart palpitations. I started to feel a little bit like Felix Flanken--where I'd take one thing for one ailment and it would lead me to another.

When I moved to Washington, D.C., I discovered seasons--and with them came seasonal allergies. The green dusting of pollen on my car should have been my first clue--but sadly, it wasn't. It was the week-long bout of cold-like symptoms that made me wonder why I moved away from my cozy life in West L.A.

For the last eight years, I suffered season after Seattle season, trying one form of over-the-counter medicine after another, as I vowed to make an appointment with an allergist to find out EXACTLY what the hell I was allergic to and to be put on the same drugs as everyone else in the club. So, today, I finally did what I had been wanting to do since I developed these symptoms in my 20s: I paid a visit to my friendly neighborhood allergist.

It wasn't an easy appointment either: from the moment the nurse pricked my skin with 12 different allergens, I began to feel itchy all over and developed these massive hives around some of the areas she hit. Then, she had me WAIT for 15 minutes and told me not to scratch. I squirmed uncontrollably in my chair and decided to SMS the hubster since it was all I could do to keep my hands occupied. I kept him apprised of the situation:
"Looks like Dog/Cat dander are neck and neck...wait a second, coming up fast, it's grasses and pollen, followed by dust mites and red oak..."

The nurse came in to check me and she told me the winners of the first round: red oak and grasses. Then, she told me we'd have to go to the next round: injecting under the skin by creating air bubbles with larger needles. At that point, I was awfully glad I had gone through infertility treatments. Needles used to scare the living shit out of me. After injecting myself with hormones everyday, twice a day, in my stomach voluntarily in addition to having a FOOT LONG needle inserted into my vagina, piercing a wall and an ovary to retrieve eggs voluntarily, these little needles this afternoon were childsplay.

Thankfully, the second round didn't bring about the awful itching I experienced during the first--but it did manage to raise a few more angry little welts on my arms.

The results? I am allergic to dogs, cats, grasses and dust mites, in addition to oak.

The Doctor came in, discussed my reactions, gave me a "what you need to know about your allergies" welcome packet, loaded me up with Astelin, Rhinacort, Flonase, Singulair, and Nasonex and said, "Try these and whichever one you like, just check off on the prescription form..."

As I read through my "welcome" packet, I literally laughed out loud:

"Ideally, it is best for highly dust mite allegic individuals to avoid vacuuming or dusting duties..."

"For patients allergic to animals, it is best to keep the animal out of the house. Keep the animal 100% out of the bedroom."

"Don't mow lawns or be around freshly cut grass; mowing stirs up pollen and molds. Don't rake leaves, as this also stirs up molds..."



Achoo!

These are a few of my favorite things

The new trailer for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is pretty cool; although, what is up with Johnny Depp's goofy smile and hairdo?

Coincidentally, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which is one of my all-time favorites, came out when I was three; but Mr. Na won't be seeing the new one for a few more years.

Today, The Guardian announced the Live 8 lineup in full detail. Hard to believe the first Live Aid was twenty years ago. I was going to summer school then to make up for the history class I failed because I cut too many classes in my junior year. Where were you?

No surprises as far as the lineup: Madonna, U2, Paul McCartney, Robbie Williams, Duran Duran, Coldplay, Dave Matthews; but there will be no Concorde for anyone to hop the pond in a hurry.

I won't be going, but I'm sure VH-1 or someone will be broadcasting it and re-broadcasting it a million times for all to see. I am, however, looking forward to seeing Chris Isaak, Oasis and Kasabian, Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright, and Tears for Fears this summer.

Some more of my favorite summer things:
The smell of Play-Doh (it's a year-round thing but I just got some for Mr. Na so it stirred up memories of Lollipop Camp);
an afternoon thunderstorm;
cherries;
hearing the ice cream truck outside;
daylight at 9 p.m;
bike rides;
swimming outside;
fireworks;
BBQ ribs;
corn on the cob;
outdoor concerts

Warm in Whistler

You know, when you drive 5 hours up north, up to 2100 feet in elevation, to where you can ski during the summer, you think, "ah, this trip will be all about the cooler weather..." Well, think again. I mean, we were prepared for warm temperatures prior to our trek--but Whistler was ROASTING and HUMID with daytime temperatures in the mid to upper 90s. Nonetheless, aside from Mr. Na's wicked heat rash, we had an awesome time.

I had been to Whistler before, but Na, Pa and FiFi had not. We were immediately thrilled by the fact that we were staying right in Whistler Village and that the entire place was just downright dog friendly. FiFi even got to shop at Lush with me and she helped me pick out Sonic Death Monkey among other tasty treats.

The only bummer about the whole trip was the stupid 5k race I entered on Sunday. It really would have been an awesome race if it had just been better organized. The starting line was not where it was supposed to be--and so 300 of us started in a parking lot. Then, while the trail around Lost Lake was properly marked with cones and friendly people for the first 2k, the remaining 1k was not and so I got LOST. I mean, REALLY LOST. And there's just something dreadfully ironic about getting lost on a trail that loops around Lost Lake; but the irony was lost on me on Sunday. I was just livid and by the time I got back to the Village, I gave the "organizers" an earful. But apparently I wasn't the only one who got lost. They were still on the radio trying to find some other wayward souls. Gadzooks! And to think I was on the trail, hopping over piles of fresh bear poop. It definitely wouldn't have been funny if I saw a runner's bib in one of those piles!

Anyway, one of the highlights of the trip was actually the car ride home. British Columbia has to be, by far, one of the prettiest spots in the world. I love the drive between Whistler and Vancouver, where the snow covered mountains meet the sea. Everything is so green and lush--it almost makes Western Washington look pale.

Well, almost.

Why I live in Seattle

Photo is from Mike Siegel/The Seattle Times

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/home/





And just in time to enjoy this gorgeous weather, Na, Pa and Ma are headed to Whistler for the weekend.  Have a nice holiday!

Things that make me sad

I'm a crier. Not, you know, the average crier watching sad movies like Steel Magnolias or The Notebook; I have been found crying over iMac commercials (I'm such a sucker for Kermit the Frog singing "It Ain't Easy Being Green") and the opening credits of "Winnie the Pooh" among other things.

Last night, we actually braved the crowds and saw Star Wars III (I know, I completely went back on my last blog entry...it's a long story) and halfway through it (I won't spoil it), I was crying. The dialogue SUCKED, the acting SUCKED, but all that yucky murder MADE ME CRY!

I just finished watching the season finale of The OC and it left me bawling like a baby. A lot of it, though, also had to do with the fact that I just read that the voices of Fred Flintstone and Tony the Tiger died. That made me sad, too.

An 11 year-old boy was hit by a car down at the bottom of our street yesterday. He was using a crosswalk. One car had stopped; another car attempted to whiz past in the next lane, oblivious to the stopped car in the other lane. All I kept thinking was: it could have been Na. So I spent this afternoon gently telling Na that he can never, ever, ever, ever cross the street without holding my hand. He wanted to know why I was crying. I told him I didn't ever want him to get a bad owie like the boy.

My naturopath called me a "Pusatilla"-- which is actually a wildflower. Women with "Pulsatilla" tendencies are criers. They also tend to be fair haired, fair skinned and blue eyed. After my sister's death and during our adoption turmoil, she gave me a tincture made of Pulsatilla. I took one or two of the smallest doses and cried for an entire day. I called her (in tears) to tell her it wasn't working. She told me that since homeopathic remedies contain trace amounts of "what ails ya" that I'd be feeling blue for one or two days. A few days later, amazingly, my melancholy lifted. It felt awesome, again, to be alive.

I don't mind being a crier, really. All things considered, I'd rather cry out my feelings than keep them bottled inside. And hey, I've got a personality of a flower!

Film Wars: Revenge of the SIFF

So while everyone and their uncle stands in line or squeezes themselves into the front row to watch Revenge of the Sith this weekend, I'm making my plans to go to The Seattle International Film Festival.

SIFF always happens right around the dreariest part of spring in Seattle, when the weather gets warmer but it stays gray and rainy. It's the perfect time for spending 8 hours (most of them daylight) in a darkened movie theater, munching on popcorn and being transported away to different countries.

I've seen some awesome films at SIFF, including Das Experiment, Dirty Pretty Things, and a short called D.E.B.S. which was later made into a full length feature. I think my all-time favorite screening at SIFF was My Dinner With Jimi. Afterwards, Howard Kaylan stood up on stage and did a very cool Q&A. (Of course, it was also pretty cool when princess kanomanom and I saw The Secret Lives of Dentists and Tom Robbins sat behind us). I also got to see Anthony Michael Hall after the screening of Pirates of the Silicon Valley (but secretly wished Noah Wylie was there).

There used to be a time--Pre-Na--when hubby and I would actually create a spreadsheet in Excel to map out all the movies we wanted to see at SIFF. We'd drop about $300 easily on the Festival and spend entire DAYS inside movie theaters, eating the Clif Bars we brought with us to keep our energy levels up. Sadly, those days are gone and now we must choose around babysitting schedules and Papa's travel schedule, so if we're lucky, we'll be able to catch a handful this year. Here's my (partial) wish list:
The Dying Gaul
4
Absolut
Adam & Steve
and Amazing Grace: Jeff Buckley. Sadly, the first showing of it is already sold out!

The Ultimate Monkey Mix for Spring 2005

The spring music mix currently in my MP3 player:


Club Foot - Kasabian
Feel Good Inc - Gorillaz
Silver Rider - Low
Black and White Town - Doves
I Predict a Riot - Kaiser Chiefs
Losing My Edge - LCD Soundsystem
Let Go - Frou Frou
Somebody Told Me - The Killers
and
The Alphabet Lost and Found - They Might Be Giants


p.s. - Mary, your CD is in the mail although I may never forgive you for telling me who won the Apprentice this evening.

Two Angry Forces

I woke up this morning learning that two poingnant events took place 25 years ago today: Mount St. Helens erupted and Ian Curtis of Joy Division hung himself.

I was only 12 at the time--a seventh grader tucked away in a sleepy northern New Jersey town. Suffice it to say neither of those two events affected me at the time. Although I do remember seeing news reports of the blast, I lived 3,000 miles away from Washington State. And I can only assume Curtis's death barely made any news in the U.S., given the volcano's eruption. Even if it had, I didn't become a Joy Division fan for another four years, when New Order took off.

Today, I live within 100 miles of Mt. St. Helens and I'm listening to "Shadowplay" (although I guess I should be listening to Iggy Pop's The Idiot since that was what was on Curtis's turntable when his wife found him in the kitchen).

What a strange day it was.

Mt. St. Helens Photo from AP




Ian Curtis photo from NME

IF TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY...

Your Horoscope for May 15, 2005

You will find yourself in quite a few situations where you have to fight for what you believe. Fortunately, you are not the sort to let others walk all over you, but there is no need to stomp your opponents into the ground. It might also help if you were not quite so touchy about criticism. Just because someone disagrees with you does not make him your enemy.

To celebrate my 37th birthday, I rolled out of bed at 7 a.m. (on a Sunday, no less) and ran Nordstrom's "Beat The Bridge" 8k during a torrential downpour. It opened my sinuses and alleviated the nasty allergy haze I've been under for the past few weeks. Not a bad way to start the day!

So as of today, I am:

13,514 days old
1,167,609,600 seconds
324,336 hours
1,930 weeks (rounded down)


I'll admit I was dreading adding another candle onto my birthday cake; but today I feel like a million bucks!

Coffee Break!

I just finished reading The Nanny Diaries last night--a breath of fresh air compared to my bleak Holocaust repertoire. It was actually a lot better than I thought it would be and as I read it, I wondered how two people collaborated together to co-write a book. I would imagine it'd be difficult to have the same voice coming from two different writers; unless, of course, one writer writes the protagonist and the other the antagonist.

Hmm, that might actually be fun!

And now back to more somber reading...which is getting me in the mood to do more editing.

Happy Mother's Day...and now, back to work!

If it wasn't for the gloomy weather, Mother's Day would have been perfect. Na and Pa treated me to brunch at Palisade, overlooking Elliot Bay and a misty view of the Space Needle. We enjoyed the banana/macadamia nut pancakes, fresh fruit and pastries until we were stuffed beyond words.

Then Na and Pa gave me a present from my favorite clothing store, tastefully wrapped in paper colored by Mr. Na himself.

But the best Mother's Day present of all was later at home, when Na laid his head on my lap as I stroked his head. I'm nuts about that kid and I couldn't picture my life without him in it. Hard to believe he's been "here" for half his little life already. Time has flown.

Pa's back out on the road again, leaving me and Na to hold down the fort until Friday. I've been editing my second chapter. All I can say is that this process is S-L-O-W. At the rate I'm going, Na will be off to college by the time I'm finished!

One woman's luck is another woman's misfortune

This day started out positively shitty. Actually, let me back up and start from yesterday when I accidentally locked the dog in my husband's office for a few hours; and then forgot to close the garage door.

We live on a fairly busy street in a nice, middle class neighborhood; however, I'd be lying if I didn't mention the prostitutes who conduct business less than a mile from here or the transients who come by late at night and knock on the door, offering to mow our lawn for money. This is a city and that's our reality. We still love it here.

So needless to say, when I discovered my garage door having been left open all night, I panicked. Not only are our bikes stowed there, but my husband has a woodshop with many tools.

It could have been worse--luckily only one bike was stolen; but it was my bike and I was PISSED. I was mad at everyone, including hubby because he wasn't home. And, since I didn't want to take my anger out on my son, I called his father:

PA: Hello?

MA: SOMEONE STOLE MY BIKE!

PA: How?

MA: I LEFT THE GARAGE DOOR OPEN ALL NIGHT, THAT'S HOW.

PA: Oh, shit! Did they take anything else?

MA: HOW SHOULD I KNOW? I DON'T HAVE AN INVENTORY OF YOUR TOOLS!

PA: Ok, well, I need you to calm down and...

MA: DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN! YOU...

NA: Mommy? I wanna go bye bye!

MA: Not now, honey, Mommy's yelling at Papa.

NA: Why?

PA: Yeah, why are you yelling at me?

MA: BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT HOME!

PA: This would have happened regardless if I was home or not.

MA: THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT...

I'll spare you the rest of the conversation. Especially because he was right. But after finding out we had a $500 deductible for theft loss, I was livid.

Fast forward to a few hours later, as I'm entering my neighborhood. Less than a block from my house, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a bike laying on the sidewalk. I stepped on the brakes.

NA: Mama, what was that?

MA: Is that my bike?

Sure enough, it was. I got out of the car, picked up the bike and put (as much as I could of) it in my trunk. A woman on her front porch waved to me.

WOMAN: Is that your bike?

MA: Yes, it was stolen from my garage last night, which I accidentally left open.

WOMAN: Oh, well, whoever stole it, stole my car!

MA: You're kidding?

WOMAN: Yep, right in front of my house.

MA: Was it unlocked?

WOMAN (blushing): Well, see, I have a baby...

MA: Say no more, my friend. I completely understand.

Anyway, I'm happy I have my bike but sad for my neighbor. Hopefully, the police can lift some fingerprints off of the bike.

On the plus side, it's nice to know I'm not the only one with "mommy memory".

Alone again, naturally...

I'm feeling incredibly ancient today. Maybe it's the ache in my knees and lower back, along with the sore throat. It's probably also my 2-1/2 year-old sucking the very life out of me. He's different when Papa isn't around. He tests me more and he's clingier--though the funny thing is, he doesn't ask for Papa.

Anyway, have I mentioned before how much it sucks being a single parent? I don't know how people do it, but hats off to them who do!

On top of feeling icky, I'm also tired of being alone. I've been used to being alone for hours on end all my life, but there comes a point in time where having a conversation with yourself in your head gets pretty boring. Oh, sure, sure, I have someone here to talk with 24/7, but my daily dialogue consists of this:

"Eat your food."
"No"
"Do you have to go pee?"
"No"
"Why didn't you tell me you had to go pee pee?"
"I dunno"
"If you don't listen to me, you're getting a time out."
"No."
"Leave the dog alone."
"Tell FiFi to leave my toys alone."
"I'm going to count to three..."
(usually triggers an action, not a verbal response)
"Eat with your spoon."
(is usually followed by picking up the spoon).

I don't have a lot of Mommy friends and come to think of it, I don't have a lot of friends here, period. All of my close friends are really far away--and the funny thing is, if we lived in the same town, we'd all hang out together because we're all parents. So needless to say, my husband is my social stratum. Pretty sad, eh? Well, a lot of my childless friends have kinda disappeared--and probably because my kid is firmly attached to me whenever they see me anymore. So I spend endless hours alone, though not necessarily alone. It's not like I can use this "alone" time to write since my hands are usually filled with wet wipes/food/choo choos--you name it.

At the end of the day, though, I still wouldn't trade my life for anything.

Selling A Vowell

I'm bummed I missed Sarah Vowell at the Elliot Bay Book Company last week. Her acerbic wit, coupled with her voice make for great reading and seeing her live at Bumbershoot with Dave Eggers was a memorable pee-in-your-pants experience.

I rented The Incredibles over the weekend and the bonus disc contains an essay from Vowell who plays Violet in the movie. I thought it was a clever cross promotion for her because she somehow managed to tie her experiences of playing a superhero teenage daughter to her latest book Assasination Vacation. I'll have to remember that little marketing tip for when I star in a film and the DVD release coincides with my book hitting the stands.

In any event, I haven't picked up Assasination Vacation yet, but the historical aspect has got me looking forward to reading it soon.

Jetset Na and His Single Mom

As of today, I'm a single mom for two weeks. Mr. Na's Pa hopped on a plane this morning to go "home" (where he grew up...somewhere in some flyover state), so he could be with his family. His father is having his cancerous bladder removed on Monday. Yuck. Then, after next week, he's off to one of my favorite west coast cities, where the temperature stays 67 degrees all year round (lucky stiff). Thankfully, he'll be home in time for my birthday!

All in all, it's not so bad being spouseless for awhile. I get to see movies hubby won't and I get to spend my evenings catching up on my reading and writing (or more like editing, as the case may be). If anything, I feel worse for him for having to go to the midwest and deal with all that; and moreso for his Dad who is losing a major organ. I don't know what I'd do without my bladder. Sure, it's been a pain in the ass a lot of the time, but I wouldn't go so far as getting rid of it. I'm hoping I'll never have to.

Today, I took Mr. Na to his soccer practice (er, as much as 2-3 year-olds practice soccer) and then we went to the Museum of Flight where we got to board The Concorde. I've always been fascinated by it and I'm pretty sad Mr. Na will never see one in the air. I was around 8 or 9 the first time I saw one in flight, which had to have been around 1976 or '77. Traffic practically went to a dead stop on the Long Island Expressway when one was either taking off or landing out of Kennedy on a muggy summer afternoon. The sonic boom sounded as if the sky cracked wide open.

I'll admit, seeing the inside of the Concorde it's not as impressive as I had imagined. The seats are not much roomier than a coach seat on a 747; but I suppose when the elite absolutely, positively HAD to get across the Atlantic Ocean in half the time for some really super-huge emergency (or, in the case of Phil Collins, who had to be at the Philly Live Aid four hours after playing the Wembledon Live Aid), paying $10k for a seat was worth it.

Hmm... I guess.



Lookit the nose on that thing!
p.s. yes, Mary, he's wearing the Ramones shirt you sent!

Music to my Ears...

And while we're on the subject of Sheer Bliss, I just heard the best sounds a Mother could ever hear while writing on her laptop: a nearly three year-old getting off of the toilet by himself, FLUSHING said toilet, putting the potty seat back on his own potty and closing it, standing on said potty, turning on the water at the sink, grabbing the soap from the soap dish--then PUTTING IT BACK and finally, shutting OFF the water.

All by himself!

(Sigh). I'm taking the rest of the day off! :-)

Rhapsody = Sheer Bliss

I'm really digging our new Real Rhapsody subscription. Despite the fact that it's streaming audio, the sound quality is amazing and they have a database of over a million songs. But what I love best is I can create my own radio station by listing a few of my favorite bands. The player then cross references other bands in that genre and plays them as well. So, like, my radio station (which I named K-MUNK) has artists I listed like: Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Echo and the Bunnymen, Depeche Mode, The Smiths, The Jesus and Mary Chain, New Order, The Dandy Warhols, Low, and Duran Duran. The database includes music from: Yaz, The Power Station, Erasure, ABC, Pet Shop Boys, Morrissey, Cocteau Twins, Psychadelic Furs, The Church, Robyn Hitchcock, etc.

Of course, like any other music site, Rhapsody has some limitations as well. For instance, there is not ONE Radiohead song in the database (which hubby is actually quite happy about). But brand new releases make their debut immediately--like, for instance, Ben Folds'Songs for Silverman which just came out this week.

One of Hubby's is called Requiem for a Singe. Here's the playlist:
RHAPSODY Link

Monkey - George Michael
Shock the Monkey - Peter Gabriel
Brass Monkey - The Beatie Boys
Bad Monkey - Love and Rockets
Monkey Gone to Heaven - The Pixies
Monkey in the Family - Happy Mondays
Monkey Man - The Specials
Monkey Wrench - Foo Fighters
Monkey Murders - The English Beat
The Monkey Dance - The Wiggles
Me and My Monkey - Robbie Williams
The High Monkey Monk - Cocteau Twins
Welcome to the Monkey House - The Dandy Warhols
and...
The Union of the Snake -- (The Monkey Mix)-- Duran Duran


I'm flattered! He made a playlist for me AND he used awesome songs!

Jonathan Safran Foer at Chop Suey

I have this woman to thank for turning me on to Jonathan Safran Foer. She knew that a) I was writing a novel based on the Holocaust and b) I was about to adopt a child from Ukraine and so as she handed me Everything is Illuminated, she said, "You of all people must absolutely read this."

It's a fabulous book and I'm so excited to read his latest, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close next.

Last night, the author made a special appearance at Chop Suey and he brought along fellow author Charles D'Ambrosio and a band, aptly named "Awesome." Though the smoke was bothersome and the lines for the signings were completely disorganized, it still made for a fun evening. Both of the author readings were fantastic.

Safran Foer read an exerpt from Extremely Loud... which is told by a nine year-old boy named Oskar, who says that somewhere he had heard that there were more people alive on the planet now than all of the people who had died since the world began and that if you stop and think about it, that meant that not everyone could play Hamlet at once because there wouldn't be enough skulls to use (now you can see why I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the novel!)

As a writer who has tackled the Holocaust and has written about historical events including the bombing of Dresden, he inspired me by saying that he didn't get hung up on the facts nor did he rely too heavily on research. And though he had been to Ukraine prior to writing Everything is Illuminated, he wasn't too specific and he felt that since the country was so bland (though I beg to differ), it enabled him to use more imagination.

For my novel, I hope to fall somewhere in between Safran Foer and Alan Furst who tends to bog the reader down with almost TOO much detail, which, personally, bores the crap out of me.

Safran Foer laughed when I told him I had given my copy of Everything is Illuminated to my translator in Ukraine (who facilitated our adoption). I figure now he knows that at least ONE copy of the book is in Ukraine. I'm really looking forward to seeing the movie when it's released in August!

Yummy Mommies or M.I.L.F? Which is worse?

Writer Sprout, my dear friend who recently left the Emerald City for the Big Apple posted this article on her website.

So it got me thinking (and I posted this comment on her blog):
I've never heard of the term "Yummy Mommy" though I have heard of the acronymn "M.I.L.F." (Mothers I'd Like to Fuck). I can't decide which one is more degrading...they're equally moronic and both the product of some cheese-eating demographer who doesn't get enough action on his own (er, uh, maybe too much on his own and not enough with another partner). In any case, so long as there are Mommies on the playground who are stupid enough to wear Jimmy Choos whilst chasing after their toddlers, these labels will continue to exist. Me? I'm quite happy with my Nikes, thank you; but although you won't catch this Mommy dressing frumpy or changing her figure, I'd be the first to put your eye out if you called me either.

Plain ol' "Monkey" will do, thank you!

Phooey!

In case you were wondering where I've been lately, I've been reading one of the worst novels ever written: The House of Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne.

I know that having been an English major I should bow down to Mr. "Canonized" Hawthorne but, I've been out of school for 15 years and I'm sorry, my time is FAR MORE PRECIOUS now than when I was in school; therefore, I must write, with all due respect: Hawthorne's writing is what it is, and in my opinion, it's garbage.

I decided that since I didn't read The House of Seven Gables in high school or college, I'd read it now. So I did and the only reason why I'm wasting space now in my blog is to vent about some of the garbage English students are required to read. How could anyone, let alone a squirmy teenager, sit through 22 pages of endless, tedious narrative?

If it's one thing I've learned about being a parent, it's that I value what little free time I have. Wasting it on a shitty novel really pisses me off!

Ok, that's the end of my vent. I feel better now, thanks for reading!

Bela Lugosi is dead. Really.

Hubby and I had a date on Saturday night and for the first time in a long while, we decided to go "clubbing." I'm using that term loosely because--for all of you who know my darling life partner, he's Mr. Preppy and owns maybe two or three black articles of clothing: one of which is the sweater he wore on our date. I think after five years of marriage, his preppiness has rubbed off on me, too, as I don't own much "club wear" anymore either.

Quite a contrast given that my previous husband was Mr. "New Romantic" or whatever you want to call it (I can't really call him a Goth since he wasn't into the undead, nor did he invest in white pancake makeup), but he wore his hair much like Robert Smith when we were in college and had more eyeliner in his makeup collection than many of his feminist roommates.

I never really played the part, you know, of Siouxsie to my first husband's Robert Smith--but I loved going out to clubs with him and dancing until all hours and never really thought twice about the weirdos around me. To me, they were actors in a play and dance was their form of expression--even if it was just swaying back and forth while making hand gestures to various lyrics. Besides, I went to high school in Southern California--where we had Goths, Mods and Punks in addition to Burnouts, Surfers and Preppies. It came with the territory.

After feasting on nummy Italian fare at Machiavelli including several glasses of wine, we ventured to The Bad Juju Lounge, passing some friends of hubby's who were also trolling clubs in the vicinity. They looked at us quizzically as if to say "what are you doing here?" (I actually wore khakis on Saturday because clubbing was not premeditated--more like planned after the wine)--to which I replied, "Well, if anyone gives us any shit, we'll just smile and start speaking German." Feigning tourists always throws people off.

We were bored at Bad Juju. The DJ--a small Mexican woman who looked to be about 50--was playing some good stuff--some Jesus and Mary Chain and The Damned; but then she started playing "Fox on the Run" by Sweet and I was ready to bail. That song invokes way too many emotions in me as it was Hubby #1's most favorite as he was going through his Glam phase. Just as the Jack and Coke began to kick-in, I grabbed hubby and we pushed on to The Vogue.

Now, the Vogue has always held a special place in my heart, since it's one of the first clubs I went to when I moved to Seattle. At the time, though, it was Downtown in a much nicer space than it's current address. But after we paid our cover charge and made our way to the bar in the back, I couldn't stop laughing. It wasn't just the cross dresser pole dancing in a skirt and a G-string; nor was it the overweight, middle aged Goths donned in lace-up latex and black lipstick. It was that this place hadn't changed at all, but I had. I suddenly found myself repulsed with everything around me--except maybe the music. UNTIL they played "Pure Energy" from Information Society. I almost spit out the contents of my drink and yelled "WHAT THE FUCK?" when I looked over at my barmate--a guy with a shaved head wearing a Bauhaus t-shirt who was just ROCKIN out to the synth beat and electric drums and I said, "AW, COME ON. ARE YOU FOR REAL? DID YOU ACTUALLY LIKE THIS SONG IN 1988?" To which he replied, "I ACTUALLY SAW THEM IN CONCERT AT DV8--OR WHATEVER IT WAS BACK THEN."

I couldn't believe it. A Goth gone soft? I was shocked. I was appalled.

The DJ then played "She Sells Sanctuary" by the Cult and my ever-so-witty husband turned to me and said, "You know, it's ok to loathe these people." (editor's note: if you haven't seen the movie Singles, please watch it. You'll get the joke, I promise!)

After a few more drinks, I made my way upstairs where people were writing down their song requests for the DJ. I perused the list which looked all too benign for the crowd below: Duran Duran, Portishead, etc. I wasn't really thinking too much (or, too clearly) so I wrote Propaganda (anything...) and left a smiley face on the end of the ellipses. Suddenly, I heard this "YEAH! YEAH!" coming from behind me and when I turned I saw the DJ giving a "Whoop Whoop" and making a mad dash for the record. I guess I made him happy.

As soon as the current song was over, I heard the familiar start of Propaganda's "P-Machinery" and laughed at hubby who stood there with a perpetual smirk on his face as he took in the scenery. I made my way out onto the dance floor and began my sway/hand gesture dance. All I needed was a clove cigarette and I would have been in heaven.

We left right after "P-Machinery" so we could end the night on a good note. The long walk back to the car (parked on Melrose) did us some good. We marveled at the pole dancers (some who brought their own liquid wax with them!) and the others who looked as though they had been regulars since the club began. Me--I'm too old for this shit and I mean that not because I'm 36. Hell, everyone there looked like they were in their mid-thirties. But I just feel as though my life is more enriched than it was when I spent my weekends dancing.

Besides, getting Mr. Na up after an evening of drinking really, really SUCKS!

Springtime ! ? ! ? !

I have a love/hate relationship with spring.

I love it because it's warmer, but here in Seattle, we still have a long way to go before we get several days without rain; I love Daylight Savings so that now it's lighter later but it usually takes me a few weeks to get over the hour I've lost; I love everything in bloom, but I have the worst allergies this time of year; and I love the tulips in my garden though I know it marks the beginning of gardening season for me and mowing my lawn on a regular basis.

Yes, I mow my lawn--and it's a back breaking endeavor. It's not like I live on any sort of acreage or anything (LOL, for those of you who've been to my house) but it takes me over an hour and a half to mow, edge and sweep up.

Mowing the lawn is a great exercise, too, though I never know how many calories I've exerted and I'm really big on counting calories. I've been using Weight Watchers's online journal now for three and a half years even though I lost 30 pounds three years ago and have been at my goal weight ever since. I dunno--I guess I just got into the habit of recording everything I eat and every activity I do and I firmly believe that keeping myself accountable keeps the weight off--so I never quite gave it up. It's really a great way to maintain my weight.

The thing that frustrates me, though, is that the online tool is very limited in terms of searching for various types of activity. If, for instance, I want to keep track of how many points (Weight Watchers term) I earned for mowing my lawn, I can look up gardening, but all that's listed is "hedging," "digging," and "hoeing" neither of which come remotely close to the exhausting task of pushing a mower, in my opinion. So I just figure, "hey, whatever". Given the amount of sweat pouring out of me during this 90 minute exercise, I can safely assume I've earned plenty!

Incidentally, they don't offer activity points for having sex either. Maybe that's what they mean by "hoeing"?

Anyway, back to spring. It's lovely here this time of year. The cherry blossoms have been in bloom for weeks now--even though I hate how the pedals scatter all over my car. See what I mean? Love/hate.

I'm looking forward to summer!

C is for Cookie, but M is for Moderation!

The folks at Sesame Workshop have posted a press release on their site promoting a new initiative on developing "Healthy Habits for Life." During the 2005 season, Sesame Street will incorporate curriculum emphasizing healthy eating, exercise and proper. Addionally, PSAs will be shown on PBS stations featuring Elmo and Rosita who discuss the important of good health.

Bravo, Sesame Street! Now if we can completely revamp our public school lunch program by the time Mr. Na is in first grade, I'll be a happy, happy Mama.

Not much new here. How are you?

Every few weeks when I stop blogging regularly, my friend Mary sends me an e-mail to complain that I haven't been blogging lately. My response to her is usually, "well, I don't have a lot to say lately" and I guess in this instance, that much is true.

Truth be told, life's been on an even-keel, with not a whole hell of a lot going on--at least not anything noteworthy enough to blog (as evidenced by this mundane blather!)

Let's see: I'm helping a friend here locally with her Ukrainian adoption; had dinner with another last night who wanted me to come back to work full time (to which I replied, "fuh-get-about-it"); and I found out my cousin, Jens, is coming to visit me from Germany in September (and I haven't seen him in 24 years!)

My darling husband is enjoying his new job--though they were ready to whisk him off to Dusseldorf next week already! (Gasp! He may be meeting Jens before I get to see him again!) His father is having surgery to remove his cancerous bladder in the beginning of May and so he will be there by his side as only a loving son should be.

I just finished reading "The Art of Raising a Puppy" by the Monks of New Skete because I'm ready for a new puppy! I'd really like to get another American Eskimo, but hubby wonders if I'm trying to hard to replace Aspen. To that I say "Nah! There could be only one!" It's been two years--and while Fifi is still very much a superstar here in our house, you can never have too many pets! There's a local breeder who's whelping a new litter any day now, and maybe--just maybe we'll be the proud parents of a new pup soon!

Mr. Na, of course, is his loveable self! Mommy is very happy that he still LOVES "Here Come The ABCs" by They Might Be Giants, and he and Papa have developed their own little version of Gnip Gnop where every morning they toss Na's stuffed animals back and forth from the crib to the rocking chair.

From my writing desk: I have to say that I haven't done a line of editing since I finished my book two weeks ago. (sigh). I'll get to it. Now that I know Jens is coming, I'm looking at that as a deadline so that I can have him read it (he's German, he's an historian...who else is better qualified?)

Finally, if you're up for a really depressing movie, I highly recommend "Downfall" which we saw last Friday. It chronicles Hitler's last few days in his bunker before commiting suicide--and it's from his secretary's point-of-view. The actors were amazing. In fact, I was haunted by the guy who played Goebbels. Not only did he look exactly like him (same rat face; same dead, black eyes) but he played him spot-on. It just turned my stomach seeing his wife poison each one of their five children before they both walked outside and turned a gun on eachother.

So that's me in a nutshell. Same ol', same ol'!

Tune in next time when I have something really meaningful to write!

Finally, Something Funny!

It's been awhile since McSweeney's published a funny list! This one is definitely one I enjoyed!