Gimmie a U!

Mr. Na on the UW football field while he waits for his Ma to finish the Dawg Dash.

Well, Bring On the Dancing Horses!

From Pitchfork News:

Echo and the Bunnymen Plan New Single, Tour

Zach Vowell reports:
Echo and the Bunnymen, the oft-underrated granddaddies of this whole new wave revival thing, will continue their lengthy post-reunion stretch with a new single, "In the Margins", from their latest album, Siberia. In stores October 31 in the UK courtesy of Cooking Vinyl, the single is backed with an acoustic take on "Nothing Lasts Forever" and an instrumental version of "In the Margins".

The band's classic "Lips Like Sugar" will be remixed by Way Out West for Future Retro, a Rhino Records compilation of remixes of several 80s favorites. Rhino's favorites, that is. The comp will be released in January 2006.

By that time, we predict Echo and the Bunnymen will be basking in the glow of having completed their current tour, which takes them through Europe and America, from now until mid-December. (Southern California atmosphere-mongers Innaway open the American dates). Heaven up here:

10-27 Manchester, England - Academy
10-28 Leeds, England - Blank Canvas
10-30 Birmingham, England - Academy
10-31 Portsmouth, England - Pyramid Rooms
11-01 London, England - Shepherds Bush Empire
11-03 Cologne, Germany - Prime Club
11-04 Hamburg, Germany - Grunspan
11-06 Berlin, Germany - Columbia Club
11-07 Copenhagen, Denmark - Vega Jr.
11-08 Amsterdam, Holland - Paradiso
11-10 Antwerp, Belgium - Hof Der Lo
11-12 Barcelona, Spain - Bikini
11-13 Madrid, Spain - Arena
11-15 Paris, France - Trabendo
11-18 Washington, DC - Black Cat *
11-19 Boston, MA - Axis *
11-20 New York, NY - Irving Plaza *
11-22 Philadelphia, PA - Theatre of Living Arts *
11-23 Toronto, Ontario - The Carlu *
11-25 Chicago, IL - Metro *
11-26 Minneapolis, MN - Fine Line Music Cafe *
11-28 Denver, CO - Gothic Theatre *
11-30 Boise, ID - The Big Easy *
12-01 Portland, OR - Wonder Ballroom *
12-02 Vancouver, British Columbia - Richard's on Richard *
12-03 Seattle, WA - Showbox *
12-05 San Francisco, CA - The Fillmore *
12-06 Los Angeles, CA - House of Blues *
12-07 Anaheim, CA - House of Blues *
12-09 San Diego, CA - House of Blues *

12-16 Liverpool, England - Carling Academy
12-17 Liverpool, England - Carling Academy

* with Innaway

* Pitchfork Review: Echo and the Bunnymen: Siberia
* Pitchfork News: Echo and the Bunnymen Schedule North American Tour
* Echo and the Bunnymen: www.bunnymen.com
* Cooking Vinyl: www.cookingvinyl.com

Shucks! I'll been in Hawaii when they play the Showbox.

Beautiful day for a run

Hard to Hold (a 56 year-old)

His return to General Hospital may give me a reason to start watching daytime television.

Funny thing is, though...no matter how old I get, I just can't seem to bring myself to lusting over a 56 year-old. Egads, I can't believe how old he is now!

Silly, isn't he?

No word yet on my open letter...wah!

Great article on the best radio station out there

KEXP featured in today's Seattle Times.

The Collector

Long ago, before it became highly unfashionable to admit patronizing Starbucks, my husband used to collect the store's city mugs. Not wanting to cheat by making purchases on e-Bay, he took care to buy mugs in every city he traveled, or would accept mugs as gifts from people who visited a city and remembered his rapidly-growing collection. Now the city mugs (roughly 25 in all) sit crowded in one of our cupboards in the kitchen, not really being utilized to their fullest extent since they each hold 20 fluid ounces and that would be one hell of a huge cup of coffee.

It wasn't so much the mug as it was the thrill of the hunt. Part of going to a place like, say, Maui (I know, not a city, but we do have the mug) warranted a stop in Starbucks and the purchase of a mug (and a double tall, nonfat dry cappuccino with three Equal on the bottom for him and a double tall, split-shot, non-fat latte for me). Even today, when we visit different cities, he wanders through a Starbucks in the hopes of finding a long-retired city mug; however, there are certain rules to his quest: #1-(which I've already covered) they have to be from a city in which he (or someone else) has visited; and #2-they must be the old city mugs (circa 1994) not the newer ones, which are ugly. There are exceptions when people send the "wrong" city mugs as gifts. We forgive them and love them just the same.

This collection-thing is nothing new. As a young boy, my husband used to collect old beer cans--which, even back then he applied certain rules. He then progressed to certain sports paraphenalia (only cool stuff, though, like Cal Ripken's ball or Ken Griffey Jr.'s bat), in addition to baseball cards.

Being a collector is in his blood since his parents are avid collectors and once owned a Hallmark store/hobby shop which fueled their passion. They are SERIOUS collectors, as in they collect EVERYTHING from gas station signs to old Fisher Price toys. Casually mention that you like cerulean blue Fiestaware pitchers and BAM! one is in a box shipped to Seattle the next day. Comment on the cool Streamline Moderne salt and pepper shakers circa 1933 that are in their kitchen and BOOM! they're mine to keep since they already have two sets. It's crazy, I'll tell ya.

Now that he has a son, my husband's latest hobby is very similar to the city mug collection. Since he travels to Europe frequently, he now collects soccer jerseys for Mr. Na--though he's promised not to overdo it. Of course, the silly-heads we are, we never bought a soccer jersey for him when we were in Donetsk (his birthplace)--which happens to be a huge soccer town. And while the Shakhtar Soccer Club has a totally swank website, there's absolutely no way for foreigners to purchase goods online. So we're hoping that when we go back next year, we might find a way to either make it to Donetsk, or purchase a DCC jersey. For now, Mr. Na is sportive in his new Roma jersey and his new Deutsche jersey, compliments of Cousin Jens.

I can't complain though. It could be far worse. My husband could be into collecting Harley Davidsons or hatchets or guns.

But then, he wouldn't be my husband, would he?

The Great Pumpkin Patch

Mr. Na visited his first real pumpkin patch (as in, not the one in front of Albertsons) today. The farm did not disappoint as it violated every copyright law to include wooden Peanuts characters throughout the patch--including Snoopy, who sat perched on the Great Pumpkin.

After picking out three of the most suitable pumpkins, we entered the giant 5-acre corn maze and about halfway through it, I heard the worst words a mother could ever hear when she's stuck inside a 5-acre corn maze:

"Momma, I have to go poop."

We made it, though, thankfully--despite having to backtrack and then run clear across the field, and uphill to the nearest porta potty. I must say, potty training has paid off tremendously! I highly recommend it. :-)



Anyway, between today's events and his soccer class yesterday, where he actually scored three goals**, and taking him to see the new Wallace and Gromit movie on Friday night, we sufficiently wore the little guy out this weekend.






















**we're talking toddler soccer here, not, like, the real game for big people. Actual scoring may vary.

What Papa Does When He's Got Too Much Time On His Hands...

...He creates a New World Order (with ants and Legos).

Spider Myth DEBUNKED!

Ha! And here I thought I was a Snapple Statistic.

From the UW's Burke Museum, I present to you "Just Plain Weird Stories".

Myth: You unknowingly swallow an average of four live spiders in your sleep each year.

Fact: This very widespread urban legend has no basis in fact. It exists in various forms; another common version is that you swallow an average of 20 in your lifetime. (At 4 per year, that would make a very short lifetime of 5 years...) A correspondent in Pennsylvania had heard a version that involved swallowing a pound of spiders (while sleeping) in one's lifetime. (That would be over 20,000 average spiders, for a lifetime of 5,000 years at the 4 per year rate).

For a sleeping person to swallow even one live spider would involve so many highly unlikely circumstances that for practical purposes we can rule out the possibility. No such case is on formal record anywhere in scientific or medical literature. Since this page first appeared, I have heard from one person who found a small harmless spider hiding in her ear (which is possible), another who claimed to have had one in her nose (but had no evidence that it wasn't already in her hanky), and one who claimed that when she was a young child a spider leg was found by her lips. But not one person has claimed that a spider entered his or her mouth.

The Shining - REDUX. That's Comedy!

This guy is destined to become, like, the new Martin Scoreseeeze for cutting a new trailer for The Shining and turning it into a comedy.

You can read about it here, too, since I'm too lazy to go into detail.

Sweatshirt Saturday

Ahhhh, fall is in the air and my senses were treated with pine, lavender and rosemary during my 6-mile run this morning. I love running just after it rains, though sometimes it can be a bit slippery and tricky to navigate through the puddles around the outer loop of Greenlake.

It's the perfect day to wear one of my softest sweatshirts from my Alma Mater and just hang out around the neighborhood. I hope to get some writing done today.

We saw Everything is Illuminated last night and I thought the film was great despite mixed reviews. It's quite different from the book, but I fully expected that. I don't know that Jonathan Safran Foer's beautiful exposition could ever be fully recognized on the screen, and I highly doubt Liev Schreiber ever intended to take that challenge.

Speaking of difficult novels, I just finished The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen. Despite Franzen's pretentious abuse of 50 cent words throughout the novel, it's a story filled with multi-dimensional characters that stick with you for a very long time; in fact, I had a dream about Denise last night though I can't for the life of me remember what it was about. I think it had something to do with Country Spare Ribs and Sauerkraut. I recommend reading it, but before the holiday season kicks into high gear.

Speaking of food, my client has roped me in to doing one more week's worth of work which is good and bad. While I certainly don't mind the money, I find myself hungry throughout the entire day pitching pasta or asian spices and poor Mr. Na doesn't have nearly as much fun with me if I'm stuck in my office making media calls. I don't get to write as much either (or at least think about writing more!)

I can't complain too much though. I get to work from home and wear my comfy sweatshirt!

Happy BBW!

I know, I know--it's Wednesday, so I'm a little late in posting this; but ever since I helped pack up my cousin and send him back to the Fatherland, I've been freelancing for some food clients.

In any event, it's "Banned Books Week" and if you poke around on the website, you can find 100 of the Most Challenged Books according to different decades. I'm always amazed by what makes the list (and pleasantly surprised I've read most of 'em!)

Back to work for me! I'll leave you with a picture of a big ol' elk we saw while hiking in the Hoh Rain Forest this weekend.

Busy me!

This has been a very exciting week, largely due to the fact that my long lost cousin is here from Germany. Although I had EVERY intention of having my ENTIRE manuscript revised and ready for him to read, he is armed with the first five chapters and so far, he's given it two thumbs up. Phew! Not a bad review. Sure, sure there are a few aspects that need tweaking, but he's set me straight on a few issues (i.e. writing "relocation" not "deportation" and the fact that the Nazis would never have rounded anyone up on Christmas Eve...but that's me, always erring on the dramatic side!)

My cousin arrived here safely on Saturday, though he should have been here Friday night (he missed his connection from Toronto, no thanks to Air Canada). He loaded us up with a ten year supply of Milka chocolate which is pretty funny considering that Pa returned from Italy on Saturday and brought me a backpack loaded with Milka, too...I'm going to replace their spokescow if I attempt to devour the chocolate on my own (which, by the way, isn't THAT hard for me to do).

Let's see, for the most part, he's been doing the touristy stuff on his own. But on Sunday we went for a 40 minute run which took us through Fremont and on part of the Burke Gilman trail. This evening my cousin whipped up his specialty schnitzel which, I might add, is the best damn schnitzel I've ever had, hands down.

On Saturday, he and I are off to the Olympics to hike the Hoh River and Rain Forest, which, I hope, will be the highlight of his trip (well, that and seeing me of course!)

And how's Na throughout all this? Well, he scored himself not one but TWO soccer jerseys on Satuday: one being from Deutchland, of course and the other from Roma. Pa got to spend about 15 hours in Rome on his way home from his meeting--and even chose to stay awake all night to get as much in as he could. I have a feeling, though, he'll be back there again soon enough.

Bush visits New Orleans

I gonna BBQ this sucker and have it with a hurricane at Pat O'Briens!

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!