Seafair Torchlight 8k Run

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

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

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

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


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

Observation of the day

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

Vintage Tears for Fears at Chateau Ste. Michelle

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

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

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

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

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


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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take the toddlers bowling, take them bowling...

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

Editing, Shmediting...

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

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

Good thing I did an hour of plyometrics today!

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

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

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

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

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

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

All Hail the Fremont Troll!

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


Photo by Mike Siegel/Seattle Times




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

Special Delivery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catching Up

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

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

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

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

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

What were they thinking?

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

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

I'm a sucker for Cheerios

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

I'll admit, I cried...

Cuts in funding threaten public broadcasting

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

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

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

This is MY bike

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

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

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

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

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








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

Diet Vanilla Pepsi Break...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday Mr. Na!

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

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

(I like him. He's silly.)

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

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

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

Now THAT'S comedy!

aaaahhhhh...Monday's coming!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hair of the dog...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Achoo!

These are a few of my favorite things

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warm in Whistler

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

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

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

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

Well, almost.