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

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



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

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

Do Not Go Gently Into That Marathon...

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

That was my first mistake.

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

That was my second mistake.

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

That was my third mistake.

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

That was my fourth mistake.

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

Is it safe?

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

Ask me in about 8 hours from now, though!


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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

Screw it. I'm goin' to Disneyland

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

Adios!

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

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

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

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

I wonder if the twilight drugs will last that long?

The Dandy Warhols/Brian Jonestown Massacre at the Showbox

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

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

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

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

Des serpents dans l'avion

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

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



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

Backy Skanking at Bumbershoot!

Skavoovie, Loves!





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


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

I've gotta have this framed!<

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looky at Meloy and Gibbard sing Blur:

High School and Plays That Re-Enact High School Suck

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




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



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

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




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

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

Mr. Na and his friend, the literary character

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet, anyway!

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

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

1)David Beckham






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






3) David Beckham







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






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













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












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

MTV Turns 25: Where Were You?

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

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

Set your TiVo!

Race Report: Seafair Triathlon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those Crazy Days of Summer

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

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

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

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

Witches and devils (oh my!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You GO Girl!

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

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

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

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

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

Can't I just dog paddle?

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

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

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

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



But in reality, they really look like this:













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

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

You Shall Know Us By The Color of our Face Paint

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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