Call me. I've Got Nothin Better To Do...

Apparently, people are now taking their cellphones to the grave.

This is all my mom needs to hear. Knowing her, she'd still call me every day.

R.I.P. Arrested Development

It's so sad. I knew the day would come but yet I still fantasized about adding Showtime to my DirecTV lineup just so we could continue to tune-in.

But today's news shattered that fantasy, and the Bluths, in all likelihood, are no more.

Please observe a moment of silence before proceeding to the musical tribute.

Science!

Thomas Dolby has a new blog worth checking out. After 15 years he's about to embark on a U.S. tour and is coming to Seattle on April 22 and I'm psyched! I caught him during the Aliens Ate My Buick tour at the Wiltern Theatre in Los Angeles and he put on an amazing show.

I enjoyed reading his "Shed Life" entry, especially since I work out of a closet. It's nice to read about fellow writers' workspaces. Even doubly-so when it's a musical genius!

Stuck somewhere in between

I'm happy to report that I've been able to eat one whole banana today. That's progress. Given the sad state I was in the last few days, well, a banana is a feast for me right now. This is a really yucky way to lose weight, but I'm down, like, 3 pounds.

So I skipped my 12-mile run today and I actually feel okay about it, considering that I find I feel better if I just stay in bed. I found some pretty decent advice on how if you're feeling bad from the neck up, you should run; but if you're feeling bad from the neck down, it's a virus (which I'm sure it is) and running will only cause further dehydration. So, no run today; but hubby helped me to realize my body's not going to lose this conditioning I've spent the last 12 weeks working on and rather than run the risk of staying sick longer, or getting worse, I'm to just stay put.

I'm also happy to report that I found a place to stay on Whidbey Island next weekend, so at least I can sleep in until 5 on Sunday morning, instead of getting up at 3 a.m. like I thought I had to in order to get to the race on time! I can't tell you how relieved I am about that. Plus, as an added bonus, Pa, Na and Moofie are coming with me! I think Pa should hand Moofie to me at the 16 mile mark so we can finish together since she's been such an awesome "training buddy". Hmmmm...maybe I can persuade him!

Pretty awful the second time around

So after I posted about my yummy meal, I spent the entire evening, last night, puking it all up--and then some--and now I'm lying in bed, where I've been all day, with my head feeling like I drank an entire party's worth of liquor. My fever has gone down, but the only thing I can keep in my stomach, at this point, is water.

My only two thoughts are: where the fuck did I get this? And how the hell am I supposed to run tomorrow?

Beats me. I know one thing's for certain: I won't be eating another Banzai Burger anytime soon.

Random Crap

Oi, I'm a stuffed little piggy right now. Pa, Na and I went to Red Robin where I downed half a choco shake, a Banzai Burger (my fave) and fries. Sigh. I don't want to get too used to eating this much stuff because after April 2, I won't be running 100 miles a month like I am now!

Which brings me to my next subject: Ouch! I'm a sore little simian, just slightly over a week before the big race. I'm tapering now, with just a 12-miler (just...that's a bit of an understatement) on Saturday and a few random shorter runs before next Sunday. I usually take yoga classes on Friday to stretch everything out and so I'm really looking forward to tomorrow.

Which reminds me--if you have a dog, you HAVE to test this theory for me, ok? Every time I go into downward dog to stretch (get your mind out of the gutter) here in the house, Moofie does it too. So I wonder--is it just her or is this a common thing among dogs and their owners?

I'm excited, I'm nervous and I'm confident, in addition to being sore. I'm already looking at other races for next year (the LA Marathon's looking pretty cool!) But, as usual, I'm getting way ahead of myself. I need to finish this one first. I keep going back and forth, too. On the one hand, EVERYBODY says that your goal for the first marathon is just to finish. But then...I read Oprah's time was 4:29. Yeah, yeah--she had Bob Greene to train her, but I still feel compelled to at least try and beat Oprah's time!

Let's see, what else? Well, I'm still tinkering away on Chapter 13 of my manuscript. I got a little frustrated this week while doing research and coming across an account that was conflicting with other reports. I mean, I know everybody had different experiences, but I guess I'm trying too hard not to lean one way or the other.

Anyway, I've been previewing Morrissey's new album on My Space and it rocks! I'm looking forward to the release in April.

I asked Pa to make me a super "Monkey Marathon MP3 Mix" for my race. He laughed and said it would be good practice for when he has to make a mix for my funeral (he just can't wait to play "Monkey Gone to Heaven" by the Pixies). So I'm really looking forward to his mix because I know it's going to crack me up during the race. So long as it doesn't make me have to pee!

I didn't mention this before, but last week, Mary and I tried to register for the Danskin Triathlon here in Seattle and it was already closed! We were so pissed since they had just opened registration during the first week of March--so we waited too long (less than two weeks??!?!?) Instead, though, Mary's coming out in July to do the SEAFAIR Triathlon with me. It's basically the same set up--in Seward Park--just a month earlier. So I'll have a week off after this race and then I need to start swimming and biking.

So, um, that's me I guess. I'm gonna go put on my fat pants now and see what's on my TiVo!

Happy Spring!

In honor of the season change, I gave my blog a new makeover. You like? Yeah well don't say anything if you don't. Ok, tell me if you don't and I'll just pretend I don't care. I used my two favorite colors: pink and brown, which Pa calls the Baskin-Robbins color palette. Makes sense since I'm an ice cream junkie.

Anyway, maybe this'll get me bloggin more. Hopefully. We'll see.

It's just a list. Really.

The good news is someone in the PaNaMa household is getting published.
Through McSweeney's.
An actual book.


The bad news is, it's not me.

I'm happy for my over-extended, coffee-achieving, sickeningly-funny, and wickedly-smart husband.
Really.

And I have only myself to blame for not trying hard enough to get myself in (real) print. I often think if I could just harness the same energy I have to train for a marathon or a triathlon into submitting pieces to editors, I'd make some headway. But I'm lacking fire in my belly and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I want to stay focused on my manuscript and not bother with other pieces that would become more distracting. Or maybe it's that paralyzing fear that I just don't have what it takes.

I won't know, though, unless I try.

22 miles today. Two weeks before the race.

I'm ready. Bring it on!

My New (Old) Toy

Just got it the other day...
(and no, I'm not talking about the guy in the pic or the Sock Puppet).

Isn't it dreamy? I had this phone in 1981 and it cracked and broke in 1984, so I'm reliving my teenage years.

I'm so giddy, every time it rings I wanna pick up the phone and cover the mouthpiece and shout, "I'M ON THE PHONE, MOM!!!

From the Mouth of Na

PRESCHOOL TEACHER: That's a nice sweatshirt you're wearing. It says "Michigan" on it.
Are you from Michigan?

MR. NA: No.

PRESCHOOL TEACHER: Oh. Where are you from?

Mr. NA: I come from where babies are picked and my Mama and Papa picked me out.

Post Oscar Rants

It was a sad, sad state of affairs last night at the Oscars and once again, I'm thankful for my TiVo which enabled me and Pa to cruise through 75% it at high speed. It's too bad, too, because I was looking forward to seeing Jon Stewart (who is revered like a god in this household) as the host, but even his one liners and little quips were cautiously delivered and painfully bland. The only time I laughed was when he announced they had run out of clips for the montage "saluting montages".

Forget, for a moment, that Crash won best motion picture; forget that Lauren Bacall needed a larger font size in the teleprompter during her presention; or that Ben Stiller, once again, proved that he's really not at all funny. Just who the hell was Joaquin Phoenix telling he loved? Maybe it's none of my business, but if you're going to mouth the words straight into the camera for me and tens of millions of others to see, I think we have a right to know.

And while I find Charlize Theron adorable, I couldn't help but be reminded of the awful little head that sprouted on Richard E. Grant's shoulder in How to Get a Head in Advertising when I saw that---that--thing on her dress. I thought it might just tell Jon Stewart to get the hell off the stage or blow a poison dart right through Jennifer Garner's voluptuous postpartum breasts, though she might have done extensive damage to herself with the razor sharp heels she wore if she had actually fallen after she tripped.

Yeah, you can say I'm truly disappointed in this year's ceremony--with the winners, the losers and the one-liners. Perhaps next year the powers that be can enlist Trey Parker and Matt Stone as the show's emcees. At least then it'd be anything but boring.

If I'm a Zen Mom, Where the hell is my enlightenment?

Are You a Slacker Mom?

Your quiz results make you a Zen Mom

How do you do it? Even when explosions are all around, you are able to take a deep cleansing breath and chant your mantra "this too shall pass." You are a calming influence on your kids in a hectic world.

Summer Nights concerts canceled for 2006

From the Seattle Times:

Seattle has lost a showcase summer attraction — at least for this year — as promoter One Reel on Tuesday canceled its annual outdoor concert series for 2006, delighting those who had sued to keep the shows out of Gas Works Park.

One Reel sold more than 50,000 tickets to last year's Summer Nights, 17 concerts from June to September on the shores of South Lake Union that featured acts such as Lyle Lovett, B.B. King, Chris Isaak, Clint Black and Aimee Mann.

When the city's Department of Parks and Recreation announced in December that it had agreed to let One Reel move the series to Gas Works, the joys of listening to live music under starry skies quickly gave way to a racket over neighborhood tranquility and park access.

That battle landed in King County Superior Court last week. The lawsuit, faulting the city and One Reel for not formally evaluating the impacts of the move, was one of several factors that led One Reel to decide to cancel the series for this summer and instead point toward 2007, said Sheila Hughes, chief operating officer.

The move to Gas Works would have been the second in three years for the concert series that began 15 years ago.

"We simply ran out of time," Hughes said.

"It's a complicated series of things that have to come together in order for us to produce an event like Summer Nights. The timelines for all of those different pieces had become so compressed that we felt like we didn't have the ability to pull it off beautifully this year."

One Reel, a nonprofit that also produces Bumbershoot, already had lined up some undisclosed performers for this year's Summer Nights who now will either skip Seattle or seek out an alternative venue. One Reel needed to start selling tickets in April, but felt that would be a stretch for this year.

"We just haven't been able to move as swiftly into marketing, promotion and launch because we've been working so hard on the other pieces of this," Hughes said.

One Reel and the city were negotiating with the Wallingford Community Council over the configuration of the venue at the park, as well as how to manage parking, traffic and noise on show nights. The capacity for each concert would have been 3,800 ticket holders, although opponents of the move expected countless others would converge upon the park to listen for free.

Cheryl Trivison, founder of the Friends of Gas Works Park advocacy group that took the city and One Reel to court, said she is convinced the lawsuit prompted the cancellation. She said the group could keep its lawsuit active in order to prevent the series from ever moving to Gas Works.

"As far as I'm concerned, the concerts are gone from Gas Works for good," said Trivison, whose husband, Richard Haag, designed Gas Works three decades ago.

"One Reel's idea that it can fence off a 2 ½-acre section of the park, put up bleachers, a stage and 31 Porta Potties that would stay up from May to September to accommodate the concerts, that's just not going to happen now or ever."

But Mayor Greg Nickels and Parks Superintendent Ken Bounds both believe Gas Works is the appropriate location for the concerts and want the series to restart there in 2007.

"The mayor is very disappointed that One Reel was put in the position of having to cancel this year's series," spokesman Marty McOmber said.

"Being able to put on a waterfront concert series with amazing views of the skyline is something special in this city and it's unfortunate that's not going to happen this summer. It's a safe bet a lot of music lovers in this city feel the same way."

For many, Summer Nights concerts have become popular "date nights," with the romantic waterfront setting and high-end ticket prices a sure-fire way to impress.

The series began in 1991 on Seattle's central waterfront. Because Pier 62/63 needs repair, it moved to South Lake Union in 2005. The concerts needed to move again for 2006 because of park construction.

Much of the consternation over the move to Gas Works stems from the way it was disclosed — at a hastily called meeting with Friends of Gas Works and three neighborhood groups, three days before Christmas and Hanukkah.

Parks Superintendent Bounds told residents of Wallingford, Fremont and Eastlake that night that the concerts were moving to Gas Works, and that the city and One Reel would spend the next several months addressing any negative effects on the neighborhoods.

Although private discussions about the possibility of moving the series to Gas Works began in August, Bounds emphasized again on Tuesday that the neighborhoods were informed of the decision soon after he made it.

"We didn't have enough time to conduct a public process that the community would have considered to be adequate," he said. "But no matter what the process is, there are still people who are not going to be satisfied because they don't want the concerts to happen at Gas Works."

Bounds said if the concerts are to take place in a Seattle park in 2007, they will be at Gas Works. He said the decision to cancel this year's series buys the city and One Reel a year to negotiate a plan that addresses concerns of the Wallingford Community Council.

The neighborhood group opted not to be a plaintiff in the lawsuit because it was in talks with the city and One Reel about ways to resolve parking, traffic and noise issues.

Bob Quinn, the community council's spokesman, said the group could end up supporting Summer Nights at Gas Works if those negotiations go well.

The neighborhood council might have supported the shows this summer had the city and One Reel brought Wallingford into negotiations sooner, he said.

"We are not against the concerts," Quinn said. "We are against the process used to site these concerts at Gas Works Park. We think this hiatus of one year is appropriate as it will allow the appropriate process to take place."

The City Council last month approved the move to Gas Works, voting to release $150,000 for park improvements to support the shows. The council limited the run at Gas Works to three years.

After 2008, officials would consider a permanent venue, although the new South Lake Union Park would be off the table because the council has promised supporters trying to raise private money that the park is not being built to host events of that size.

One Reel and city officials have said that ideally, they would like the series to one day return to the central waterfront. But such a move would be tied up in the schedule for reconstructing the seawall and the Alaskan Way Viaduct.

Anywhere from 17 to 23 concerts would have been scheduled for Gas Works this summer, with ticket prices ranging from $20 to $55, Hughes said.

One Reel, which started in 1971 as a traveling vaudeville show, has grown into one of the Seattle area's largest nonprofits, with a full-time office staff of about 45 employees and an annual budget of more than $20 million.

One Reel, which is cutting back this summer's Bumbershoot from four to three days because of traditionally low attendance on the Friday of Labor Day weekend, also produces the annual Fourth of July fireworks show on Lake Union and Teatro ZinZanni, a dinner show.

Several other outdoor concert venues in the area could pick up the slack left by Summer Nights, including Marymoor Park in Redmond, the Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery in Woodinville and Woodland Park Zoo.

While recognizing the other venues, Hughes of One Reel said "there really is no other event in Seattle that combines world-class music with world-class views and ambience. Hopefully, by us taking a year off, people can remember what's so great about Summer Nights and get excited all over again when it eventually returns in 2007."

I, for one, am very glad Reel One canceled. It's hard enough to endure the throngs of people who come to the fireworks display every 4th of July. They park and double park on our street, dump their empty beverage containers in our bushes, and crank up the music in their cars after the event since they're stuck in traffic on my street for hours on end. With up to 3,800 ticketholders per show, plus any additional looky-loos, I couldn't imagine having to endure this 25 times over the summer--26 if you count the fireworks show. Gas Works Park is not a good choice for a concert venue. It'd be extremely disruptive to the community. And so, when this comes up for planning in 2007, I'll be there to vote it down.

Spring Fever

Oh, I know it's been awhile since I last posted. Things have been crazy and busy here and it's been mindless, silly shit and that's the type of stuff that just leaves you pooped by the end of the day.

I finally had another great writing session today, and many thanks go to my pal who is a great writing buddy. We sit, we write, we talk--whenever the mood strikes--but mostly we write and write and write. It's really pretty cool.

The cherry blossoms are--well--blossoming and that means that spring is right around the corner and I'm in the throes my annual cleaning frenzy. This year, I'm hellbent on cleaning all 30 windows in our house, inside and out; but I've had to cram this colossal endeavor in with all of the other million things I've been doing, from shuttling my mother and Mr. Na hither and yon to doing my own (real) running. This week I'll have run 35 miles total, if, God willing, I make it through the 18 mile run this Saturday.

Since we're cruising into March, I have about a month left of training before the big race. I'm a bit nervous. First of all, I'm a silly moron for picking a spring race, when I have to train in the shittiest weather imaginable. Ok, so no big deal. Once you get wet, you really don't feel the rain all that much. But get this: since it's on Whidbey Island, it'd be so much better if I stayed there the night before the race, but everything on that stupid island is booked solid. Sort of a pain in the ass, yes? Ah, but what's worse is that the first ferry of the morning is too late for the start of the race, so I have to drive all the way up through Anacortes, to the peninsula and across Deception Pass Bridge. And the piece de resistance? The race is on the first day of daylight savings which means I'll be getting up at 4 instead of 5. Whoop-dee-fuckin-doo!

Anyway, I'll stop complaining--maybe by April 3, or maybe when the weather warms up and the skies clear, somewhat.

Whichever comes first.

Closet Monkey

I'm sitting in my office right now, which is really a closet--converted into prime office space in the PaNaMa household. See, the kid got my big office, and so I was relegated to the back--or, the front of the house, since the smallish window in my office nee closet faces the street.

It's not such a bad little office. After all, it fits my desk--formerly a butcher block dining table that comfortably seats six. It was from the first marriage, this table. And anything from the first marriage stays either in boxes or in my office, away from the second marriage. Aside from the dog, of course, before he died. Fair's fair.

I like this space because it's quiet up here and I can write and not hear Mr. Na's shrill cries from below. So I have a lot of privacy and I can write about anything I want and listen to music really, really loud without disturbing anyone.

Which brings me to tonight's topic--music--since I'm listening to Rhapsody right now and I've created a new playlist which I love, love, love. It's not new music, it's old, old, OLD music. Music I grew up with--having to listen to it because either my mother, my sister or my brother was into it at the time. Or it was music that was on the radio during the 70s.

My brother, being the oldest sibling, was the trendsetter of the family. He loved everything synthesized, and I can remember the costume he wore to the Rick Wakeman Halloween concert at Madison Square Garden. I think it was the glittery Christmas tree blanket that he wore for a cape. Since he played his music on the family's quadrophonic stereo, I was introduced to the likes of Emerson, Lake and Palmer and Pink Floyd; and then he got my sister hooked on Todd Rundgren and Utopia.

When I was little, I had a radio in my bedroom, but it only played AM. So I can remember listening to WABC and WNBC out of New York City and those two stations played Top 40 hits like "Love the One You're With" and "Brandy". My mom, on the other hand, had the prime AM/FM radio in her bedroom and her dial was fixed to WPLJ ("White Port and Lemon Juice") which, at the time, played hard rock. Later, her boyfriend bought her an Audiovox FM receiver for her Camaro (she had a 1970 Rally Sport) and so wherever we went, I heard Led Zepplin, The Rolling Stones, and Steely Dan.

Sometime in the late 70s, my mom's taste changed. She traded her Camaro for a Cougar and her radio dial drifted to the right a little bit, until it landed on WYNY (somehow, she bypassed the whole Disco thing...) which played mostly soft hits from Air Supply and Barry Manilow. And if that wasn't enough, Dr. Ruth Westheimer had her very own show on Sunday afternoons--so I got to learn about "really good sex" from a woman with a German accent thicker than my mom's.

It seemed like everyone from my little suburban hamlet was switching over to softer hits because as my friends' sisters got older and started driving, I heard England Dan and John Ford Coley more than Deep Purple. Not my sister, though. She went the opposite direction and became a Dead-Head.

The very first record I bought was Steve Miller's Fly Like an Eagle and the second one was Pink Floyd's Animals. So I was kind of all over the map, but I tended to stay in the mainstream. I can remember my first Columbia House order--you know, the one where you tape a penny to the order form. It included Peter Frampton's I'm in You, Al Stewart's The Year of The Cat, Barry Manilow's Trying to Get That Feeling and Band on the Run from Paul McCartney and Wings.

Later, I had Meat Loaf's Bat Out Of Hell which was a big hit for me in fourth grade and my neighbor made me a tape of Fleetwood Mac's Rumours album. It was a crappy little Apex tape with psychadelic colors on the label and it broke after 6 months of listening to it day after day. That summer, disco lit up the New York skyline, so of course, I had the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack but I also bought a copy of Cheap Trick's Live at Budokan. A year later, it was Grease; a year after that, my brother's return from California in a bright red Karmann Ghia with his copy of Supertramp's Breakfast in America. And finally, the 80s happened and I was introduced to an entirely new style of music thanks, in part, to an older cousin who had The Police, Squeeze and Split Enz.

But sometimes I can't help but want to dig into the oldies and so tonight, I've created a playlist called "FM". It's a smattering of everything I heard and that seemed to stick inside my head all these years. The only addition, which was Pa's suggestion, was Rush's Limelight. For me, that was Freshman year of high school when my friend Gina was a full-on Rush fanatic.

Here's what's on:

Take it on the Run - REO Speedwagon
Give a Little Bit - Supertramp
Stone in Love - Journey
Isn't She Lovely - Stevie Wonder
Turn It On Again - Genesis
Story in Your Eyes - The Moody Blues
Long Distance Runaround - Yes
Limelight - Rush
Feels Like The First Time - Foreigner
Do You Feel Like I Do? - Peter Frampton
FM - Steely Dan
Crazy On You - Heart
You Make Loving Fun - Fleetwood Mac
All Right Now - Free
Time - Pink Floyd
Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult
Cinnamon Girl - Neil Young
Sympathy For The Devil - The Rolling Stones
Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen
Trilogy - Emerson, Lake and Palmer
We Gotta Get You A Woman - Todd Rundgren
I Can't Explain - The Who

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

It's Saturday night and after a week of traveling, my little family is finally back together. Pa returned from his European trip yesterday and even with an 11 hour plane ride, he still hadn't finished his midterm. So he spent an additional 8 hours behind closed doors and e-mailed everything to his professor 8 minutes to midnight last night. Talk about down to the wire!

Since we skipped the whole Valentines thing last week, Pa lavished me with chocolates from Spain and Holland and Mr. Na is now sporting a new red and blue horizontal-striped Barcelona Football jersey. I guess if he grows tired of soccer, he can always apply for a job at Hot Dog on a Stick.

Mr. Na and I had a gay ol' time in Nevada and though it's quite nice to come back to much needed sunny skies here, it's freezing cold. I went skiing up at Snow Summit yesterday and it was 21 degrees and windy. I froze my ass off but my new skis are just like buttah!

Mr. Na was just fascinated by Las Vegas. From the moment we walked off the plane, he zeroed in on the slot machines saying, "But Momma, these are my favorite games. Why can't I play with them?" And then as we waited for our luggage, he was mesmerized by the gigantic plasma screens touting the Blue Man Group. As we made our way across town, he begged me to go on the rollercoaster that looped around the outside of New York New York, but instead settled for the kiddie rides inside the "Adventuredome" at Circus Circus.

Pappy's place is a haven outside of the nastiness of Vegas, and we enjoyed the relaxing pace; but it just amazes me every time I go out there because it seems like soon enough the city will sprawl out to Hoover Dam. Why my Dad ever chose Vegas as a place to retire, I'll never know. But hey, to each his own, right?

Anyway, time for a chocolate fix and some snuggle time with the boys. I leave you with Lessons Learned This Week:

Do not attempt to run the same pace at an elevation of 2400 feet as you would at an elevation of 14 feet. It's really hard.

It's always a good idea to bring feminine (ahem) supplies with you on a 15 mile run during your period. The Jack in the Box on Aurora and 85th does not have a tampon machine and the AM PM Mini Market across the street does not have a public bathroom.

Never buy a model Northwest Airlines airplane for your 3.5 year-old. Unless, of course, you want to see it completely destroyed within 24 hours.

Just because a novel is listed in Time Magazine's "All-Time 100 Novels" list doesn't necessarily mean you're going to enjoy it. (I'm just t-r-u-d-g-i-n-g through Saul Bellow's The Adventures of Augie March.)

Some time during your parenting years you WILL shout "BECAUSE I SAID SO" to your child. It sucks, you will hate it, but it's inevitable--so don't be surprised when it happens.

Viva Na Vegas

Well folks, Mr. Na and I are off to visit Pappy in Las Vegas while Pa jet sets to Barcelona (bastard!--No wait, El Bastardo!) So while Pa is off schmoozin at the All-Geek Mobile Conference, Ma will teach Mr. Na the finer art of gambling and everything else that you come to expect from Vegas. Actually, I kid. I loathe that sand trap and wouldn't set foot there if I didn't have to.

Sand trap or not though, there are some pretty parts of Nevada, including Pappy's Sunday ritual motorcycle ride up Red Rock and our leisurely drive to Mt. Charleston.

My cold is definitely at a manageable stage right now, thank goodness--and fingers crossed Mr. Na escapes the cold entirely.

Until next week, then! Ciao!

CG-1 is Down! Repeat, CG-1 is Down! We Have a Code Blue!

I caught myself a big, nasty cold this week. Maybe running 12-miles during a windstorm might have had something to do with it, I dunno. Nevertheless, I woke up this morning and realized there was no friggin' way I was getting out of bed. Of course, I had no choice, since Pa's in San Francisco until tonight--so I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen to let out dogpal Moofie and feed Mr. Na. As soon as I achieved those two goals, I trudged back to bed, armed with orange juice, Thera Flu and a box full of tissues.

















It's been a lonnnnnnnnnnng while since I've taken a full-fledged "sick day". In fact, I don't think I've ever been this sick since Mr. Na's been home. I feel worse than awful. In fact, the image that came to mind was the "Nurse Stimpy" episode from "The Ren and Stimpy Show" in which Ren was just this big ball of sickening goo. That's about as bad as I feel.

Upon hearing that all activities planned for the day had been cancelled, Mr. Na didn't take the news too well:

"But why can't we go to Kids Club today, Momma?"
"Because Momma will puke on the treadmill if she tries to run 6 miles today, that's why."
"Awwwww, but all my friends will miss me!"

Despite his protests and my feeble attempts to console him, he settled into his day a lot better than I anticipated. For one thing, I didn't want to park him in front of the TV all day and fry his brain; so he played in his room for awhile and then down in the basement (our new and improved "Rumpus Room"). It's 2 p.m. now, so he can watch his favorite shows until his 3:30 naptime. The only downside is that his shows are on TiVo (we rarely let him watch live TV) and I have to get my ass out of bed every 30 minutes to put on a new show. I've tried to time it with my pee breaks to minimize my up and downs, but things aren't going quite as planned. My liquid diet of Thera Flu, coffee, water, orange juice and tomato soup doesn't help much in that regard.

The author must excuse herself to go downstairs to turn "Oobi" on for Mr. Na.

I believe Mr. Na thinks that being sick makes you deaf, too. As soon as I heard the closing credits of "Caillou" he rushed to the staircase and shouted,
"MOMMA! CAILLOU'S OVER! MOM-MA! IT'S OVER, MOMMA!"

To be fair, though, he's being really good. I often hear him acting out with his trucks or choo choos, pretending one is sick and the others are taking care of them. He comes in to "check on me" every so often, bestowing kisses on my throat (to make it feel better) or bringing me "presents" (his toys wrapped in bows or paper).

It could be worse, right? I could have Nurse Stimpy looking after me.

Aaaachoo.

Note: CG-1 stands for "Caregiver 1". That's my handle between me and Pa (who is CG-2).

My mini midlife crisis

So shortly after my long run on Saturday, I had kind of a gross womanly thing happen to me. I'll spare you the details but I'll admit it got me a little panicked--enough, at least, to go in and see the doctor today.

"Nothing to worry about," she said. "Just keep an eye out and see if it happens again; but I wouldn't fret too much. These things happen. Especially at our age."

I was relieved for, oh, about a split second until she said "especially at our age."

"Our age?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "That's what happens."

I was stuck on the "our age" phrase, wondering when the hell I had been inducted into the "our age" stage of life, and miffed I hadn't been cordially invited. Or contacted. Don't I at least get a free ice cream sundae or something?

I've gone through my life always being the baby of the family; the younger sister/cousin/friend/co-worker. Women with these huge age hangups would chide, "When you get to be my age..." and I literally had a woman boss tell me I couldn't present a pitch to the Washington Metro Transit Authority because "they wouldn't believe anything coming from someone your age"!

I grew to resent being the youngest--never getting to go to the City to see a concert because I was too young; never getting to go out drinking with some college age friends until I became of age, by which time they were pretty much over drinking. And as I grew older, I realized that it was out of jealousy that I got teased. Sure I was younger--but that was an advantage. You can't get any younger.

But now that I've reached the plateau and am looking over the hill, I miss being the younger one. My telltale gray hairs prove that I'm no spring chicken anymore and my womanly parts tend to malfunction at the wrong times now; and every time I step into my client's agency, the women look much, much younger (was Melrose Place really on 14 years ago?) But I don't begrudge younger women their youth and wouldn't trade where I am in life with anyone, at any age. Still, I wondered why, since my doctor is at least 10 years older than I am, she lumped me into the "our age" category.

It wasn't until I was checking out of the office when I realized her mistake on the diagnosis sheet. Instead of the "Age 30-39", the "Age 40-49" choice had been circled.

Thank goodness, but I think she needs to switch to bifocals!

Run Like the Wind

To be clear, I didn't want to reference that God-awful Christopher Cross song; but if you're thinking it's why I titled today's post because I listened to that on my MP3 player during my 12-mile run today, I hope that stupid little ditty gets stuck in your head for the rest of the weekend.

I did, however, enjoy a two-hour soundtrack filled with Love and Rockets. I was inspired after John Richards played "It Could Be Sunshine" on the morning show sometime last week and it put me in the best mood.

Despite all the media hype, the winds were really not that bad today, and I ought to know--having made a lap around Lake Union and Greenlake. Sure, sure--it got a little gusty now and again--but geeze, they made it sound like we're in the midst of Katrina-esque gales here. We have power, we have trees still standing upright, and by God, we have satellite TV for the big game tomorrow (rolling eyes...).

Listening to Love and Rockets took me back to my senior year in high school, when I first bought Seventh Dream of Teenage Heaven. I had a brief crush on this guy named Colin who worked at the Tower Records on Beach Boulevard, and so, since he was British, I thought I was impressing him by picking up that album AND Tones on Tail. Turns out, while he wasn't impressed by my musical choices, he did take me to see Tom Waits at the Wiltern a few weeks later, but I was bored to tears. Not a good match, me and Colin.

While I listened to tracks from Express during the run, I remembered when I saw Deborah Harry live at the Roxy and I was wearing a Love and Rockets t-shirt. We stood butted up to the stage and I felt incredibly hot and yucky--so I headed toward the back of the venue and lit a cigarette. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and when I looked up, I shit you not, it was Daniel Ash himself, asking me for a light. I felt INCREDIBLY stupid wearing a Love and Rockets shirt but I think I must've lit about four or five cigarettes for him before the show was over.

I've seen Love and Rockets probably more times than I can count, though one of the best times was in Washington, D.C. We were late, my boyfriend and I--very late, and I was pretty pissed at him though I can't for the life of me remember if being late was his fault. He more than made it up to me, though, by pulling some of his concert promoter strings and getting us through a side door and walking down some stairs and through some dark corridors until we arrived backstage, behind the band. It was amazing and so much more rewarding than the last time he and I had seen them live--when they opened for Siouxsie and the Banshees in Irvine. We had arrived just as they began to play my favorite song, "Haunted When the Minutes Drag" and if you know the song, it's something like 8 minutes long (which is another reason why it's such a great song to have while running!) but it took us the ENTIRE frickin' song to get from the parking lot to our seats it they were pretty much finished by the time we got to see them.

The last time I saw them was here at the Showbox a few years ago and they still put on an amazing show. I love running to the entire Lift album. While it's hit or miss anymore if they bring out the Bubblemen for their encore, I was pretty geeked seeing them during the Bauhaus show a few years back. Poor Pa, though. While he enjoys a lot of what I listen to, he just couldn't stomach Bauhaus--even with the Bubblemen to lighten the atmosphere.

Aw well. His saving grace is that he doesn't care for Tom Waits either!

My Running Buddy

It's gotten to the point now that my dog pal Moofie nudges my hand with her nose on Saturday mornings. She knows those are my "long run" days and she's not afraid to tell me she's ready to go.

I almost cancelled on her today, poor thing, because at 11:00 the rain was coming down sideways mixed with an icy wind. So I opened the shade in our bedroom and went back to the warmth of our bed and waited for the rain to stop--or, at least, taper off a little. Judging by the starlings nesting comfortably in the giant Douglas Fir high above our neighbor's rooftop, it was going to be awhile.

Lucky break, though, by noon the sun poked through the clouds and the rain lightened a little. Knowing that I had at least an hour and a half of running ahead of me, I took my chances and put on my gear. Moof flew off her bed as though she'd been shot out of a cannon. There was no way I was going to leave the house without her.

The first hour was virtually rain free and it wasn't until we crossed the University Bridge and headed up Roosevelt that the rain began again. By mile 8 I could tell Oatie was getting tired. Long strings of dog drool looped around her nose and dangled off her ears. She lost the spring in her stride and slowed considerably. I slowed my pace and talked to her--hoping my words would soothe her somewhat. We still had two miles to go though I was fully prepared to board the number 16 bus that'd take us the last two miles; but Oatie kept up.

Finally, 10 miles later in a mixture of sun and rain, we came home.

We've been bathed, showered, dried and fed and now it's naptime! Adieu!

It's Immoral, It's Repugnent and...What Time is it On Again?

Pa sent me a link today to this article.

Apparently, the joke was on the producers at BBC Three in the U.K. when they conducted a bogus focus group in which they pitched a TV show called "Let's Make a Baby". According to the article, they told participants the show "would centre around contestants - all strangers - living in a 'fertility house', with the least attractive being voted out each week. The remaining two couples would then have a race to conceive a child and win £100,000 each." Evidently, the focus group loved the idea.

Funny how this was all a spoof and yet a Dutch Television company is in the process of producing "I want your baby, not your love". In it, "men compete to be the one to donate their sperm to a single woman who wants a baby but not a boyfriend."

Set your TiVos! I'm sure something this whacked out will be gracing the U.S. soon!

Clash O' The (Socio-Economic) Consciences

Hillarious!

Happy Worst Day of The Year!

According to this article, today's the worst day of the year.

It can't be that bad, can it? The sun is shining (after a month-long hiatus), I'm about to take Mr. Na to school and bring my dog pal Moofie for a 3 mile run. I also have a writing date planned.

Could be worse, eh?

Random Musings from Mr. Na

"Papa, you got a new backpack."
"Yes I did. Can you read what it says on it?" (pointing to the company logo).
"Yep. It's says 'Papa's Work'."

"I know why they call it hip-hop music, mama."
"You do? Why?"
"Because they dance around on hippity hops."

"This is papa's new school," I said, pointing to the university.
"Is that where Papa plays with big trikes, choo choos and soccer balls?"

"Once upon a time there was a mama who lost her ring. She cried. But then she found it in her backpack. And she didn't cry anymore. The end."

Happy Homecoming Day!

A typical "apartment building" in Ukraine. This one has "Nirvana Cool" graffiti on the side.

Two years ago today, Pa and I stood in a stuffy, crowded hallway of a courthouse in Donetsk, Ukraine. We were among several teenage hoodlums and various miscreants waiting to be heard by a judge. To pass the time, Pa played chess on his mobile.

The orphanage lawyer--I shall call him "Skippy"--lustily eyed Pa's phone. It just so happened, after the judge heard and approved our case, that he screwed up Mr. Na's name on the paperwork and wasn't going to go back and change it, despite numerous requests. "I like phone," he said in English. "It is Smart Phone, yes?" Pa handed Skippy the phone to have a look--but there would be no negotiations for it--no deals to be struck in exchange for fixing the one little fuck-up on our new son's adoption decree. Not only was this stupid, yet highly-coveted phone property of Pa's employer, there was no way the little weasel was going to get it in exchange for fixing his mistake.


"You can change his name back in Seattle," my translator reassured me. I nodded, still a little fazed from what had just transpired: the approval of our request to adopt a child and giving my utmost assurances to the judge that we would take care of this child forever--all overshadowed, for a moment or two, by this asshole who had the nerve to ask for Pa's phone in order to make one tiny, yet hugely significant change. Once Skippy realized Pa wasn't going to deal, he said to us, "It's much better this way anyway. I don't like (Mr. Na's new name)."

As we got back into our driver's car, my translator handed me a gift of three lillies. In Ukraine, the custom is to give an odd number of flowers as an even number signifies bad luck. I smiled, still a little shellshocked at the prospect of being a brand-new parent to a 19 month-old boy. I think I stayed that way for at least a month after we returned to Seattle--shellshocked, sleep deprived and in slight disbelief. Over time, though, I settled in very comfortably with parenthood and watched my son grow from a little sickly child with rickets to a handsome, healthy and clever 3.5 year-old whom I love more and more every day. Despite that minor setback in Ukraine, Mr. Na's name was legally changed the following November when we readopted him in our local county courthouse.

I bring this part of the story up--certainly not to put a damper on this day--just to recount the facts because our adoption wasn't all wine and roses; but all things considered, that was the worst of it. In fact, my hope is that when we go back some time next year to adopt another little one, the process will be a smooth as the one we experienced with Mr. Na.

Oh, and I'll be bringing that phone next time--since I inherited it; but you can bet I won't be playing chess in the hallway of the courthouse!

Mr. Na's flight to his new home. January 2004.

Mr. Na today, January 2006.

Have you ever had one of those moments in your life where the little voice inside your head says, "Better not do that, or something could happen..." Sadly, I had one of those moments today, just before I lost my wedding ring.

It could be much worse--I lost the diamond band, not the engagement ring, thank God; but I'm so busted up about it I could spit. As I'm sure anyone could attest to theirs, my wedding band is beyond sentimental. Not only does it match the engagement ring, I also have a very special inscription on the inside.

The little voice spoke to me at the gym this morning as I placed the ring on the shelf in my locker so I could put on body lotion and not get it all gunked up. I put it in the front, though, so it wouldn't get lost in the pile of clothes behind it.


"Hey, don't leave that up there," it scolded.

I ignored the voice, of course, as I often do, and then for some strange reason, my mind wandered and I thought about the jeweler who made the ring. He lives close by and I often see him driving his big Lincoln Navigator around town. I always know it's him because the SUV is a baby barf brown and it has a big bike rack in the back. He's a nice guy, though. And then I wondered what it was that made me think about him and then I thought about the quality craftsmanship he and his brother do and I thought about how happy I was with all of the pieces they had made for us and then I thought about my husband and what a great guy he is and how kind and generous he is and how he needs a watch battery for his watch and how he never has any time to do anything like get a watch battery and how he needs some sort of a personal valet service and then I'm all, "wait, what about me? I mean I could get him a watch battery..." and then a woman who had shared my lap lane with me in the pool came over to the locker next to me and asked, "Is this your locker?" and I nodded and went back over to it to get out of her way and I hastily scooped the clothes that were laying on the top shelf and got dressed.

It wasn't until I headed back up the stairs to pick up Mr. Na in daycare when I realized my mistake. A tearful search ensued, which included several concerned women (the woman next to me had already left), Mr. Na, and the person at the front desk--all for naught--though on the plus side, a lot of the older ladies are saying prayers for me (smiling).

And now the little voice is doing it's "told ya so" number inside my head.

I had assurances from the gym staff and from the concerned ladies and from the police officer who took my report that in all likelihood it could turn up; but I'm not feeling terribly optimistic.

40 Days and 40 Nights, Didn't It Rain Children?

Well, it's not that bad...but it's bad enough. 25 straight days of rain with no end in sight according to Jeff Renner. Normally I'm not one to bitch and moan about the weather--I leave that up to my mother; but this rain just sucks. It makes training for a marathon a nightmare, plus I'm getting into the snacks a bit too much and I have no motivation to pick up my manuscript. So I'm in bed now (Pa's downstairs doing his homework) hoping to get a little bit of writing in before bed.

Moof and I ran around the lake this morning after dropping Mr. Na off at school. The poor dog came back home looking like she dragged the entire lake. She had burrs and twigs stuck in her fur and sand and mud caked between her toes. At least she's in good spirits. Last week I had to take her in to see the Vet because she was whiney and wouldn't eat her food. $300 dollars and one set of X-rays later, it was confirmed she had a good, old-fashioned case of gas. Must've been something she ate since the Vet concluded it was some sort of bacteria--which is exactly what Pa's been suffering from as well. Not very pleasant in my house these days. And it certainly doesn't smell an awful lot like flowers.

I was glad to hear Pat Robertson today publicly apologize for his obdurate remarks regarding Ariel Sharon. Perhaps he got a call back from God saying "I didn't MEAN that. Really. Take it back." You know, since he's got His direct line and all.

Well, before it gets too late, I'm going to open Chapter 12 and work on it. Ni'night.

(psssst...be sure to click on the link in the title so you, too can have "Elementary My Dear" stuck in your head!)

Create Your Own Moz Lyrics

With his new album, Ringleader Of The Tormentors coming out in March, Morrissey's been working hard (as always) at creating catchy titles to his woeful lyrics. He doesn't disappoint, either:


01. I Will See You In Far-Off Places
02. Dear God Please Help Me
03. You Have Killed Me
04. The Youngest Was The Most Loved
05. In The Future When All's Well
06. The Father Who Must Be Killed
07. Life Is A Pigsty
08. I'll Never Be Anybody's Hero Now
09. On The Streets I Ran
10. To Me You Are A Work Of Art
11. I Just Want To See The Boy Happy
12. At Last I Am Born

Now here's your chance to take a crack at creating some Moz-like titles and seeing what other goofy people like me have come up with.

Mine:

1) It's Inconceivable To Think That I Like Jell-o.
2) If You Found Prozac Would You Mind Sharing With Me?
3) Clearly I Meant To Be Morbid.
4) I Loathe The Sound of Packing Peanuts.
5) A Feeling of General Discomfort is What I've Been Told To Expect.
6) Since I've Moved to LA I've Noticed the Sun.
7) You Bore Me To Death Now Go Fetch Me a Coke.

Scene: the bedroom. Ma's already in bed reading a borrowed copy of Diana Gabaldon's Dragonfly in Amber. Pa plops his book, Syntactic Theory, down on his pillow.

Ma: Oh, look honey...our book covers match.

Pa: Yeah, but yours is about fuck buddies traveling through time.

The above was from last night, before my husband came down with a nasty flu/virus whatever that took away any last shred of humor. Poor guy!

I suppose, though, he does have a point--that the book I'm reading is about fuck buddies traveling through time--but hey, we all need a brief distraction now and again, eh? How I ever got caught up in the world of historical fiction set in the Scottish Highlands is beyond me; but Gabaldon's prose is as intoxicating as listening to her speak in person. She--and her writing--is charming, intelligent and graceful.

It's late and my boys are asleep upstairs. Rain is streaming off of the roof's pitches and Moof is contentedly curled up on the other end of the sectional here in the den. I'm tired too but I think I'll put on some tea and cozy up to those time traveling fuck buddies!

Happy New Year!

I'm awfully glad the holidays are over. I'm Christmassed out and Coneyed out...and yet the tree is still up, the lights are still on, and we still have about 24 servings left of coney sauce.

Holidays and vacations remind me that Mr. Na is very much a creature of habit. Without his normal schedule of school, Kids Club and soccer, he gets cranky. Throw the grandparents' two-week visit into the mix, and we had Mr. Franken-Na who, despite having every one of his friends over to the house during the Coney Dog Bowl, went up to Pa and asked him if they could go into our bedroom and snuggle in bed to read "Go Dog Go!"

Still, it was hard to see Pa off to work after his week of RnR and the rain hasn't let up in the last two weeks so it's been kinda quiet and uneventful. I'm already looking forward to a long weekend visit at Gran-pa-pa's house in Nevada in February. At least there'll be some sun!

So yeah...New Year, new goals, eh? Everybody has 'em, so I've got mine. Here they are:

1) Begin the adoption process for Puttie #2--Electric Bugaloo in January;

2) finish current edit of my novel and dive into second edit; It'll be done when it's done. I'm not trying to rush it but...

3) I hope to pitch the novel to agents/editors at the Whidbey Island Writers Conference in March and have the first 50 pages ready to send to any takers afterwards;

4) train and run the Whidbey Island Marathon on April 2--the whole enchilada this time--none of that wussy half-marathon stuff. I'm looking forward to crossing the Deception Pass;

5) train and compete in the Danskin Triathlon in August;

6) read another 35 books.

So marathon training starts this week. I'm running every day now instead of every other. It was a bit tough this morning, adjusting to a half mile swim after a 4-mile run but all is good! And just to follow-up with my previous post, I wound up getting the Nike Philips MP3 Run and I love it! I can't tell you how frickin' cool it is to have a calm, soothing voice tell you your time/distance/pace every few minutes.

Well, it's T-two minutes to Rose Bowl kick-off (I started this post last night and fell asleep part way through!) Pa's heading off to Wingdome after his first day of classes to bring home the food. So I'm signing off. Go Trojans!

This year our annual Coney Dog Bowl takes place on January 2 which makes me feel a whole lot better. Since the party coincides with watching the major Bowl games, we usually hold it on New Years Day--hungover and miserable. But I'm looking forward to the party this year since we'll have a day to recover before opening our home to our friends to partake in this annual shindig.

What, might you ask, the hell is a Coney Dog Bowl? It's a time honored tradition in our home. Given that Pa is from Michigan and prides himself as a lover of Coneys-- which, if you don't want to take the time to read the article (and I wouldn't blame you but it is a good one), is a hot dog loaded with beanless chili mustard and onions. These are, thank God, only eaten in our household once a year, when Pa arranges to have two blocks of "Coney Sauce" imported from the Midwest. This year, Grandpa and Grandma have been our Coney mules, which saved us a boatload in Fed Ex costs and the blocks are thawing nicely--ready to be gobbled up by the 2nd.

Part of the preparation of the Coney Dog Bowl is the design of the invitation, which Pa does entirely on his own. The first Coney invitation featured our pal Moofie as a pup--to serve, not only as the Coney mascot, but as an interpreter of sorts--to provide a clear definition of the event.

Year after year, Moofie modeled in some more adventurous scenes, including posing with Audrey Hepburn or as a bandito
Moof was able to take a break this year when Pa produced a flyer designed as an invite to an art gallery opening. Titled "THE CONEY IN MODERN ART" the invite features artwork presented by the fictitious "Oscar and Cheryl Mayer Traveling Collection" with "closely held masterpieces never before seen in public including de Kooning’s One with Everything, Ellsworth Kellly’s Beige, Brown, Yellow, Maroon, Warhol’s Chili Cans, Stuart Davis’s Detroit, and Max Ernst’s tormented Zehn Frankfurter -Acht Brötchen! (Ten Hot Dogs-Eight Buns!)


The highlight of the flyer is the infamous "Fountain" by Marcel Duchamp which had been defiled by his brother, who threw a Coney in the urinal and wrote "U.R. Stupid" and titled it "Wiener" in mustard as explained in the text below:

"In 1917, under the pseudonym 'R. Mutt', Marcel Duchamp entered Fountain (a urinal laid on its backside) in a show promoting avant-garde art.
The prank was intended to challenge conventional thinking on the use of found objects and taunted artists and critics alike.

Duchamp’s brother Raymond Duchamp-Villon was in attendance and was not amused. Immediately recognizing Fountain as his brother’s doing, Raymond responded in anger by placing his lunch, a coney dog, inside Fountain. Entitled Wiener! and signed 'U.R. Stupid' in mustard, Duchamp-Villon’s sophomoric message to his brother is widely recognized as the first appearance of the coney in modern art."

One would think, after reading the invite, that Pa has a lot of free time on his hands. Well, he does, since he's decided that sleep is for the weak.

In any event, the party will be free flowing with laughter and Coneys. And new this year (since we haven't thrown a Coney Dog Bowl since Na's been home) is that "the wet wipes will be plentiful and the sippy cups bottomless."

Of course, the first thing that comes to my mind is Mr. Mom (you gave a baby chili?) But thank goodness Na won't go near the stuff!

Pimp my Nutcracker!

This site is awesome! Have fun with it! I know I did.

Medicare, Shmedicare

I feel for the hundreds of thousands of senior citizens living in America who, after January 1, must begin the painful process of enrolling in Medicare Part D. Like anything with this practically worthless, fucked-up system, Medicare Part D has to be one of the hardest things to figure out, let alone apply for.

Why is someone like me, a 37 year-old, even remotely concerned? I'm enrolling my mom. And aside from tackling the holidays and dealing with the visiting relatives and spreading comfort and joy, I spend the majority of my time making phone calls to Medicare, Social Security and the Department of Health and Social Services to try and get what I thought were simple answers to some very basic questions. Today, I was on hold for about an hour and a half total, after calling the three agencies mentioned above--and each entity referred me to the other, so it was like being stuck in a goddamned traffic circle without a way to get out.

Oh they try to make things easy by automating their frickin' system so that instead of waiting for a live, clueless person, one gets lost in a phone tree, taking direction from a canned, clueless voice. And they try to make it personable by playing Baby Boomer appropriate hold music while you wait; but, honestly, wouldn't anyone have the right mind NOT to include "SHOUT!" as a hold song? Because, after all, isn't that what one wants to do when one is stuck on hold all afternoon?

It isn't just a matter of choosing or enrolling in one medicare-approved third party insurance company either; for me, it's about getting my mom enrolled after meeting low-income requirements and then finding out who decides to choose the insurance carrier: me or Social Security. Funny thing is, Social Security couldn't tell me!
I swear they make this complicated so that people will miss the deadline to enroll (which is actually May 15, 2006) so that they get penalized and will pay higher premiums.

I still haven't gotten anything accomplished and the deadline is fast approaching. I'll tell you though, once I'm finished with this mess, I'm going into business for counseling seniors because I don't know how anyone can get themselves enrolled.

Tomorrow's another day, eh?

Ho, Ho--H-, aw hell 10 more miles?

'twas the week before Christmas with all of its stress.
I said "I'll run a race," and Pa said, "Surely you jest."
"You're running already--all throughout town.
Traffic makes you crazy, the malls bring you down."
"And that's exactly why," I said with a smile,
"if I do something for me, it'll make all this worthwhile."
So off we went--two hours away,
way down to Olympia on a chilly Sunday.

The Christmas Classic Marathon was the name of the race.
It was freezing cold, so I quickened my pace.
I ran the half, all 13.1 miles,
I saw Santa headgear in various styles.
For two hours and fifteen, I was really hopping,
while Pa and Na spent their free time shopping.
See they were at the mall, all cozy and warm
while I passed lots of horses and a Christmas tree farm.

I wore racing Santa socks on my very cold feet.
They wicked away moisture and people said they were neat.
I carried my phone so I could listen to music
but it kept taking pictures, so I barely used it.
I carried Clif Bar Jellies and ate them after an hour,
but they went down too hard and my stomach went sour.
So the last half was a little harder than the first,
but I felt much better after the gas bubble burst!



When I finally crossed the finish, Na and Pa were on hand.
They took lots of pictures, they said I did grand!
There was hot apple cider inside of a kettle.
We noshed on doughnuts and candy,
and I even got a medal.

I feel so much better after running this race.
The Christmas blues are over,
I've got a smile on my face!

Oy, the Dilemma!

Ok, so since our heating oil debacle is pretty much history, I can now move on to dilemmas that are more trivial, meaningless and downright stupid.

Every year, I get a new portable MP3 player--not because I need to be up on the latest technology or anything (though certainly that is a bonus) but because I usually beat the shit out of the one I have, thereby rendering it useless after 12 months.

Good thing Pa bought me my first MP3 player with a buyer protection plan--which, by the way, is TOTALLY worth the extra $30-$50 depending on where you buy your electronics.

This whole "leasing" program I developed started roughly 4 years ago when Pa bought me my first player--a Nike 120PSA made by Rio. It only had 64MB of memory (ROFL!) and it took an AA battery, but it sounded awesome and it was the smallest of its kind and perfect for running! It died actually two years later, and like I mentioned, we sent it in through our buyer's protection plan.

Even though I hated the fact that the AA battery died after every use, I decided to get the next version and was especially excited since Nike partnered with Philips. To me, the Philips Nike PSA 128 Max was an upgrade -- not only in memory, but the fact that it required two AAA batteries that lasted longer than the previous generation. Well it, too, died a violent death a year later and so I sent it in and last year, bought the next version: The Philips Nike PSA 220. Again, it was a great upgrade AND as an added bonus, no additional batteries required!!! The unit has a lithium ion rechargeable battery that lasts a really long time.

Anyway, it was great while it lasted--which was about a year and so after the headphones broke and the backside began to corrode, I boxed it up and sent it back for a refund, which brings us to today.

I'm faced with the ultimate dilemma. At first, I was going to cave and buy a Nano or an iPod, but after reading the sucky reviews for the Nano and knowing that the iPod is so, like, two years ago, I decided against that idea. Then my darling husband reminded me that we have a free Rhapsody account and now they make MP3 players compatible with "Rhapsody to Go"--which basically means I can load any of the 1.3 MILLION songs and borrow them whenever I want.

Sounds great, huh?

Yeah, well, Philips Nike has a new player and granted...it's probably got like the smallest amount of storage on the market but for runners, it's an absolute dream. It works with a pod you put on your shoe and basically, it will TELL YOU, through your headphones, how far you've run, how long you've run and your pace. To me, that's like the coolest thing next to sliced bread; but it's not compatible with "Rhapsody to Go" which means I have to be like everyone else and buy my music, not borrow it (Sheepish grin).

So what to do, what to do, what to do: Buy a great new MP3 Player that has ooodles of storage and is compatible with Rhapsody to Go or buy another Philips player that has the cool running features?

See? I warned you this was meaningless, trivial and downright stupid!

A Christmas Miracle!

For those of you intimate with our heating oil debacle, I'm happy to report that our homeowner's insurance is going to cover everything, except for the first batch of oil we ordered. But hey--$800 is better than $8,000!

Did you hear that big sigh yesterday? That was us! PHEW!

Tis the Season -- Part Two

One thing I enjoy most about the holidays is baking everyone our dog's world famous biscotti. In a town notorious for coffee addicts, biscotti is one of the best gifts one can give to friends!

This was our original label; but of course, when Aspen died, and Mr. Na came into the picture, we modified it accordingly. The tasty flavors include: Double Chocolate; Chocolate Cherry; Biscotti Toscani (almond, orange and chocolate chip); Cinnamon Hazelnut; Italian (anise, almonds); and Lemon Poppyseed.

Want a recipe? Let me know and I'll ask Oatie to send one to you!



Moofie’s Own


Holiday Bisc-Oatie
(Tasty treats for humans)

These are good cookies so please eat them!
One day my good friend Aspen and I were enjoying our morning cookie and as my Dad left for work I thought to myself what a shame that my Mom and Dad don’t have a tasty cookie to start their day. Good cookies improve your overall outlook on life by giving you a good reason to, sit, shake hands and speak. In short, they just plain make you friendlier, and friendliness is a leading cause of world peace! So I went back to my ancestral home of Snohomish and retrieved my Great Grandma Sophia’s Biscotti recipe. And the rest, as they say, is history. May these Bisc-Oatie bring you peace this holiday season.

Happy Holidays!

'Tis the Season

We have been on a party circuit since Friday night with no end in sight. Much as I enjoy parties, it'd be nice to take a little break. I never thought I'd be saying this, but thank goodness tomorrow's Monday!

On Friday night, we went to Pa's office party. There was a live Rockaroke band and of course, after three Cosmos each, Pa and I got up on stage to sing "Love Shack." Now we'll be forever known in his office as "The Love Shack" couple. I think Pa did an awesome Fred to my very busy Kate AND Cindy.

Yesterday was non-stop (or, rather, Na Stop). After Pa and Na came home from soccer, we went up to North Bend to hop on the Santa Train so that Na could present his Christmas list.
Cheeeeeeeeeese! Ma and Na aboard the Santa Train.

This year, Mr. Na fits into an outfit Pa and I had bought lonnnnnng before we adopted the cutie pie. Here he is---Mr. Johnny Bravo (he fits the suit) himself:

After the Santa Train, we headed over to a birthday party for one of Mr. Na's friends. Here he is with the birthday girl:

Now we have to duck out and get another birthday present for another friend so we can make it to another party this afternoon. Phew! I'm beat!

Next week, it's another party followed by The English Beat in concert and a 2.5 hour drive down to Olympia on Sunday morning to run in this race. Weeeeee!

Remembering Pearl Harbor

Much as I've studied about World War II, I never spent a lot of time reading about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. For me it was like learning about the Civil or Revolutionary Wars. They happened, of course, on U.S. soil; but so long ago...way before my time.

I suppose it is, in part, my ancestry that led me to focus more on the European Theater instead of the Pacific. To my knowledge, I'm not related to anyone who fought in the Pacific War so I wasn't personally affected. But, aside from that, the Pacific War was confusing. I didn't know why we cared about Japan's invasion of China, or why England fought over Burma, or the significance of the Battle of Midway. Little did I know that one of the main reasons we were dragged into the Pacific War had to do with oil. Hmmm...some things just never change.

Believe it or not, after I read Winds of War and War and Rememberance , I had a better understanding of the Pacific War's nuances than I learned from any history teacher in school; but it wasn't until I had the opportunity to visit Pearl Harbor last week that I truly felt the loss of the 2,280 military personnel and the 68 civilians who perished 64 years ago today.

Visiting Pearl Harbor is a humbling experience. The National Park Service maintains the landmark meticulously, urging visitors to treat the U.S.S. Arizona with the utmost respect for the shrine it has become. Prior to visiting the memorial, we were led into a theatre to watch an overview of the events leading up to and on December 7, 1941. It was a Sunday morning, just before 8:00 a.m. when a fleet of Japanese pilots flew into Pearl Harbor from three different directions. A second wave ensued and by 9:45 a.m. nineteen naval vessels, including eight battleships were destroyed.

Silence blanketed the theatre after the film had finished and the crowd quietly filed through a corridor and onto a ferry that would bring us to the memorial.

Once aboard the memorial, I couldn't help but think that I was standing above a mass, watery grave of the 1,000 victims who perished on the Arizona. Their names engraved in the shrine room heightened this awareness and my sadness was compounded by reading clusters of the same last name which, according to our guide, was not a coincidence. The Arizona was home to families of servicemen--some brothers, some fathers and sons. But what had affected me most was seeing names of those who had died in 2005, 2001, 1998, and 1982. Those were the men who survived that fateful day but chose to return to the Arizona as their final resting place.


I left the memorial with a heavy sense of sadness and I wondered if, what I felt, had anything to do with experiencing 9/11--not firsthand, of course, but one who became paralyzed by the same fear and terror every other person alive experienced that day. Would I have felt the same emotion about Pearl Harbor had I not lived through an attack on U.S. soil? And will our son view 9/11 as I did Pearl Harbor? Because by the time he's my age, he'll have learned about a tragedy that took place long ago...way before his time.

An Open Letter to the Clerk at My Neighborhood Bartell's Drugstore

This got rejected by McSweeneys. A pox on you Ed Page!

Dear Sir,

Notice that I start off addressing you appropriately, for, unlike you, I have learned to respect others.

Now then, my reason for writing to you is as follows: At least once a week, for years, I've been coming to your pharmacy--whether it's been to fill a prescription for myself, my mother, my husband, my son, or my dog. My loyalty primarily lies in the fact that the store is a convenient 5 minute walk from my house--with the next closest pharmacy two miles away. I feel you know this piece of information and therefore, use it to your advantage as justification to be a collossal asshole to me every time I come to the store.

I have no idea what it is about me you despise. I know it can't be my three year-old son, since you've often initiated conversation with him and have indicated to me before how much you adore children; nor is it a reaction to the way in which I treat you since, despite the fact you've earned zero respect from me, I still manage to force a smile while I give you my order. No, if I were to take an educated guess--it would be that you're a crabby old fart who's just sitting out the rest of your working days behind a pharmacy counter, doing nothing more than the two things you absolutely must do to keep your job: take prescriptions and, once filled by the pharamcist, ring it up.

Case in point: Last Thursday when my son and I arrived to place an order, you asked me if we were going to stay and wait to have it filled. I asked how long it would take and you replied, "Approximately five to ten minutes."

"Great," I said, "we'll wait."

"Shall I page you when it's ready?" you asked.

"Please do," I said, smiling.

Waiting for five to ten minutes for a prescription is doable with a toddler. Waiting 30 minutes is not. My three year-old is a busy child, with a busy mind, and hands that are equally as busy. No one expects a toddler to sit still for more than five minutes. And so, spending five minutes following him around the store--watching him play with the blood pressure machine, the scale, the chair massager, and then making a beeline to the toy aisle--and arguing with him for the remaining few minutes because he will not get a toy--is manageable.

However, doing all of the above-mentioned activities AND THEN follwing him to the candy aisle--arguing over the fact that there will be NO CANDY; and realizing that it's past his lunch hour so the child is set to detonate in T-minus five minutes; then, diverting him to the toothbrush aisle so he could replace his electric fire engine toothbrush, but realizing he intentionally made a left instead of a right to head back down the toy aisle; and prying his little hand from the strategically-placed toddler-level Matchbox cars and protecting my ears from the high-pitched shriek followed by a temper tantrum fueled by desire. And perhaps, Mr. Pharmacy Clerk, I might have remained composed if I HADN'T seen you from behind the counter WATCHING US WITH A SMIRK ON YOUR FACE as I placed my child in a time out for being such a little shit.

After several deep breaths and watching my son transform from a gelatinous mass back to his solid form, I approached the pharmacy counter and I calmly asked,

"How's that order coming along?"

To which you calmly replied, "Oh, it's ready."

And I stood horrified as I watched you walk to the back of the room--to where you hang the COMPLETED prescription orders and when you returned, I asked,

"Why wasn't I paged?"

"I don't know," you said as you shrugged your shoulders. "If I tell you that you'll be paged when an order is ready, it means that the pharmacist will page you. Not me."

And so, dear sir, my only wish for you is that when you're wallowing in your own filth in a nursing home bed, and you've pressed your call button for a nurse to change your linens, that the nurse who actually does come in, merely shuts off the call button and says,

"I only come in to shut off the call button, not to clean up your shit."

Sincerely yours,
LFM

Heatless in Seattle

We came home last night from O'ahu to a very, VERY cold house! The furnace is kaput and it's Sunday--which means the repair service is going to charge us double time and a half for having a look see. Never mind about the parts...if they can get 'em. I guess that's the price we pay for owning an old bungalow, eh? The only warm spot in the house last night was the heated bathroom floor and I seriously contemplated sleeping there.

The trip to Hawaii was awesome, of course...how can you go wrong with 80 degree weather every day? But talk about extremes! We went from 80 to 30 degrees in a matter of five hours. On Friday night, I got up in the middle of the night to crank the AC in our room. Last night, I slept with two comforters, a blanket, sweats, long johns, a heating pad (cramps) and my dog pal Moofie, in addition to Pa. I'm so frickin cold in here that I'm about to sit in my car for a few hours, just to enjoy the heated seats.

Well, as soon as we're up and running again (read: fingers not stiff from the cold), I'll write more about the trip. Honolulu was nice, though not as nice as Maui. It was way more crowded and a little on the cheesy side, but for the most part, very relaxing and WARM!









I really could do this every day.

Progress!

Today's writing session helped me break through my clogged little chapter nine.

I see light at the end of the tunnel.

Only five more chapters to go before I start from the beginning edit it alllllll over again! But I'm getting way too ahead of myself.

As an aside, I'm currently reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand and if you've ever read it before, you'll probably remember that it's a frigging HUGE book -- 1150+ pages in the hardcover edition. So far, I'm on page 230 and it's fantastic; but it's due back at the library by next Friday--so, uh, no pressure there, huh?

It's funny because I was at the Greenlake Community Center playroom today with Mr. Na and I pulled the book out of my knapsack and began to read when this woman came up to me and said,

"Oh, that's such a great book. How do you manage to get through something like that in here?"

I laughed because I hardly noticed the high-pitched shrieks and annoying sounds coming from the assorted, woebegone toys until she said something.

"Well," I said, "if I can make it through a whole page without having to find my child or break up a fight over a toy, I consider that a success!"

She warned me about the three hour long speech in the middle of the book that takes, like three hours to get through--so I guess I won't be reading that at the playroom.

Maybe I'll try and get an extension and read that passage on the beach!

Morrissey's new release, March '06

This was such a great article--so enjoy:
Morrissey Unveils Ringleader Tracklisting, Release Date

Matthew Solarski reports:
Suaver than the Fonz, more loveable than the Coz, the Moz (aka Morrissey, aka Stephen Patrick Morrissey, aka the reigning godfather of eloquent mopery) has a new record just for you. Scouring the moors of England far and wide, Pitchfork has retrieved all three quintessential components of a satisfyingly Mozzy news blurb: title, tracklisting, and release date. Actually, we just waylaid the NME after class and copped the stuff from them. It was a good waylay, a good waylay.

Ringleader of the Tormentors arrives March 20, 2006 in the UK courtesy of Sanctuary Records, and presumably March 21 in the U.S. If these titles are any indication, Morrissey's playing all his standard cards: king of ostentatious romanticism, queen of woebegone sulkery, jack of neo-chivalry, ace of bile, and level-three Charamander. Or he just used the Internet Morrissey Song Title Generator.

The royal flush:

01 I Will See You in Far-Off Places
02 Dear God Please Help Me
03 You Have Killed Me
04 The Youngest Was the Most Loved
05 In The Future When All's Well
06 The Father Who Must Be Killed
07 Life Is a Pigsty
08 I'll Never Be Anybody's Hero Now
09 On The Streets I Ran
10 To Me You Are a Work of Art
11 I Just Want to See the Boy Happy
12 At Last I Am Born

Portraying the wizard of Moz on his bloggy website, been-there-done-that producer Tony Visconti (David Bowie, T. Rex, Thin Lizzy) exclaims that he is "two thirds of the way through one of the best albums I've ever worked on, with...Morrissey at his best." Said site also features a photograph of Moz at the mixing boards sporting what appears to be a "Mozalini" English football jersey. Controversial!

Visconti also alludes to album-recording escapades with an Italian children's choir and legendary film-scorer Ennio Morricone. We already scooped you on how Moz and Vis are recording in Morricone's former studio, located in the catacombs of a seventeen-century church. Could there be more? For the answers to this, and the mystery of how Morrissey's new record can be both "balls-to-the-wall" and "perhaps the most gentle so far", keep your mice perennially stationed at the ‘fork.

* Pitchfork Review: Morrissey: Live at Earls Court
* Pitchfork News: Morrissey Titles New Album
* Morrissey: http://www.morrisseymusic.com/
* Tony Visconti www.tonyvisconti.com

Not Such a Bad Little Tree

Now you can own your very own little Christmas tree like Charlie Brown.

Me, Myself and Na

Hi-dee-ho friends! No, I haven't fallen off the planet (yet), just hangin' out with the Naster while Pa makes a trek to Paris, London and Bordeaux these next few weeks. You'd think I'd be freakin' jealous--and part of me is, since I'd love to spend the weekend in Oxford too--but we're off to Oahu the day after Thanksgiving, so that's keeping my spirits high.

I've been a reading fiend lately. I guess since I know it's the end of the year, I want to get as much reading in as I possibly can. A friend once told me she'd read something like 75 novels last year and, um, I haven't even come close. I'm up to 33--but in my defense, I've read quite a few 800+-page epics. Right now, I'm reading Stephen King's book On Writing and it's grand.

Speaking of cool things to read, be sure and check out this week's Seattle Weekly featuring "24 Hours in Music" in Seattle--which includes John Richard's morning program on KEXP. All I need is a caffeine drip and John in the Morning and I'm usually good to go for the day.

I'm a happy-go-lucky simian since I'm going to see the Dandys on Monday at the Showbox. My friends who are about to embark on their own Ukrainian adoption are doing a new-parents-to-a-toddler dress rehearsal with Mr. Na while I go see the show. They're so totally awesome for sitting for me!

And while I'm on the subject of awesome friends, a dear pal o'mine has decided to go into the cake decorating business. Cake sculpting is more like it, since her creations are quite extravagant. She's looking for a clever name, so if anyone has any good suggestions...

And finally, from my writing desk...I'm trudging through a really shitty chapter in my manuscript right now and it's killing me, so don't ask. I spent a fair amount of time on it yesterday and I think instead of caving in and watching The Apprentice tonight, I'll work on it instead. Um...at least that's what I'm telling you!

Time for Mr. Na's bath. Ni'Night.

Weather Forecast Tonight For France

This one's for you, honey!

!@$!!%& !!

After weeks of nothing but great days, I have to admit, yesterday just flat out sucked. Just moments before I was going to head up east to see Alyssa's new digs and to spend the afternoon writing and writing and writing, Mr. Na and I got into a messy car accident that, as he so eloquently told Pa, "Gave Mama's car door a big boo boo."

What can I say...we were driving during the "tons of rain" downpour and as I was about to enter a small roundabout in my neighborhood...SMASH! A woman coming from the left plowed into my car door.

Oddly enough, Mr. Na barely felt a thing (gotta love that German engineering) and wondered why I was turning off the car in the middle of the road muttering "shit (I said 'shoot,' honey...'shoot')". The woman was kind enough--admitted her fault and after we exchanged information, I drove my poor battered car home.

Yes, I'm thankful no one was hurt. Better still, thankful I wasn't
this poor man. I just hope the rain lets up enough for me to run not one but TWO laps around Lake Union tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Follow up: Despite the rain, I ran 13.5 miles on Saturday. Kinda wish I had run today instead of yesterday since the sun's out! Aw well!

Today's weather forecast according to Bloglines:



Weather Forecast for Seattle, WA
Tuesday
Overcast.
Tons of Rain.
Temp. (°F) 48° | 52°

TONS of rain! That's a first!

Today, my short runs have officially moved indoors.