An odd experience on the way to work this morning. I was driving down the street that I live on to the first major intersection when the car in front of me, a green Mitsubishi, stopped and put their left signal on. Although they were in the left turn lane they had stopped about fifty feet short of the light. I noticed there was a driveway on the left and figured that’s where the Mitsubishi was going to turn as soon as traffic coming the other way had stopped. I was too close to his bumper to pull around him, and it would only have brought me to the red light, so I just waited for him to turn. I’m never in much of a hurry on the way to work.

As I waited for oncoming traffic to clear and the Mitsubishi to make a left into the driveway, a bright blue truck sped around my car and the one in front of me, tires squealing as he cut around the cars, clearing my bumper by about six inches and coming to a screeching stop at the light. It was such aggressive driving, that it must have been an attempt to communicate a message, although I couldn’t figure out quite what that message was. Maybe he disapproved of the Mitsubishi’s left turn, or he was just in a huge hurry.

The cars coming the other direction cleared and the Mitsubishi went left into the driveway. I pulled forward, ending up right behind the blue truck as the light turned green. At the next light, he came to another sudden stop in the lane going straight and then suddenly pulled to the right to get onto the street that goes towards the highway. It turned out we were following roughly the same route to the freeway, although his route involved weaving dangerously in and out of traffic, stopping in one lane and then suddenly accelerating into the other. Although I was hanging back, wanting to avoid any of the mayhem, we still kept about the same pace and I ended up on the freeway only a few cars behind the blue truck. Apparently extremely aggressive driving doesn’t actually make traffic go any faster.

When I took the exit from the freeway at work and pulled in the left turn lane to stop for coffee I found myself behind the blue truck again. This time I could see the driver better. It was a guy (surprise) with a shaved head, it looked like he was wearing a sweatshirt. He didn’t appear to be talking on the phone or doing anything that gave an indication about why he was apparently filled with rage. I couldn’t figure out where he was going. The only business open in the area was the coffee shop where I was headed for my morning java. Apart from that, there is a Hilton (maybe he was going to bust his wife in a hotel room with Gavin Newsom?) and residential areas. The truck was kind of construction-y so I thought maybe he was late to get to a job site. Or maybe he’s a plumber and was going to fix a burst pipe.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop, I got a little concerned. For the first time, I wondered if there was going to be a problem. What if he had noticed my car behind him and thought I was following him? I sat in my car for a moment, and watched him go into the coffee shop. As he went in, he glanced back right at my car. “Great,” I thought, “He probably thinks I’m going to come in there and lecture him about his driving and he’s ready to go apeshit on me.” Although I had thought of a few sarcastic comments for the crazy driver as I watched him almost cause about a half dozen accidents, I know better than to confront angry drivers… having been one myself. But nothing gets between me and caffeine so I got out, too, and walked over. I noticed he was standing near the door, looking through the cards. As I got closer to the door, he looked up and over at me. I was surprised to see that he actually had a quite pleasant face. The kind of person you’d pass on the street and say “good morning” to. As I pulled the door open, he froze with his hand on the cards. At this point I realized he had recognized my car and he thought I was following him. He didn’t look like the near occasion of apeshit. In fact, he looked kind of wary.

I picked a good day to be girly. Maybe I would have looked more like the kind of person who would yell at a stranger if I’d been wearing a pantsuit with my hair pulled back and glasses. But this is Friday and I was feeling pretty girly this morning, so I wore a short skirt, black platform sandals, did my hair and makeup and topped it all off with a short pink trenchcoat. I think it’s safe to say that he was a little surprised. So I did what I always do when I think that the shit’s about to hit the fan. I opened the door, make eye contact, gave him my biggest smile and said, “Hi!” Hand still planted on the card rack, he smiled, too and said, “Hi…” He appeared to actually be bracing himself on the rack of cards. I breezed past and got my coffee. At one point I realized he had ordered coffee too and was behind me at the coffee “stuff” table. I left without saying anything else and waited in my car for him to leave the parking lot. Maybe it was my imagination, but I would swear he was driving a little slower.

silver lining

I did just invent a new slang word. Getting "Newsomed," which is when one person close to you betrays you with another friend who is close to you. For example, "Jenn totally Newsomed me by going to the Castro Street Fair with FML and not telling me."

Or would you prefer "Gavined"? The trouble with that is that I like to refer to overly-gelled hair as "Gaviny" so I don't want the two to get confused. Let me know.

AIGH! AIGH! AIGH!

I'm so distraught! Why is this so disturbing? Here's why:

1. He not only had an affair with a married woman, he had an affair with a close friend's wife. It's skeevy enough to sleep with a married woman, but you're buddy's wife? C'mon. That's so much worse.

2. Male politician with great politics and charisma, betrayed by his philandering? Sound familiar, Mr. Clinton? Now the right will get to use his stupidity to undermine all the good work he’s done. When you are a politician, you’ve chosen to live a life where your causes are affected by your private and moral choices. If you’re going to undermine the sanctity of marriage by sleeping with someone’s wife, maybe you aren’t the best person to try to promote equality in marriage rights. Ugh. I can just see the religious right tut-tutting all though the Bible Belt.

3. And this is the thing about male politicians. When women get drunk with power, they just turn into mega-bitches. But men have to make it about sex. Why, why why?

4. My fall-back plan, that I would meet, marry and wean Gavin off excessive hair gel, is clearly in the toilet. I may have to resort to real relationships.

Natalie says that Molly doesn't like to be swaddled. She likes to strech out and cries when she is wrapped up in a blanket. I love this picture because she has obviously taken a break from crying to be like, "Look, I don't know what you people are thinking. You know what's going to happen, so why don't you just go ahead and unwrap me, or are you some kind of sadists? Can we just be reasonable about this?"

Laugh out loud.

Last Friday I went to a showcase of the winners of the San Francisco Comedy Competition. I don't see a lot of live comedy and I was kind of concerned that I might not laugh enough. I know, that's weird. Back in the glory days of cable television, I found that watching stand up brought out, at best, the occasional snort. Not as much snorting as I do when listening to Katie's running commentary as cute guys walk by. But something about seeing comedians perform live makes it so much funnier. I was actually concerned at one point that I may have laughed too loud.

The headliner was, of course, the winner of the competition, Jay Wendell Walker. His style was definitely "old school" in style but modern in content. Jokes about cell phones, jokes about eBay. He was able to spin stuff off the top of his head, playing with jokes from the previous two acts, interacting with people in the audience (this was in Mill Valley, so they really needed a laugh). In person, I have a new appreciation for how tough it must be to perform live comedy. At least if you're acting you don't really know how it's going over because people are supposed to be quiet. okay, they could get up and leave, but chances are, they aren't going to stand up and shout, "You suck!"

Best Books of 2006

The New York Times has published their Top Ten Books of 2006, and with it is the nifty photograph below.
Isn't that fun?

The text of the article is below. I'm not going to make any pronouncements about how I plan on reading every book on the list. Even if the Times thinks it's the best thing since sliced bread, that's not going to make me want to... hmm... actually these all do look pretty interesting. None of that Southern-childhood-incest drama like Oprah's book club selections always seem to be. I've heard some good buzz on Amy Hempel so that might be good to check out.

ABSURDISTAN
By Gary Shteyngart. Random House, $24.95.
Shteyngart's scruffy, exuberant second novel, equal parts Gogol and Borat, is immodest on every level - it's long, crude, manic and has cheap vodka on its breath. It also happens to be smart, funny and, in the end, extraordinarily rich and moving. "Absurdistan" introduces Misha Vainberg, the rap-music-obsessed, grossly overweight son of the 1,238th richest man in Russia. After attending college in the United States, he is now stuck in St. Petersburg, scrambling for an American visa that may never arrive. Caught between worlds, and mired in his own prejudices and thwarted desires, Vainberg just may be an antihero for our times.

THE COLLECTED STORIES OF AMY HEMPEL
Scribner, $27.50.
A quietly powerful presence in American fiction during the past two decades, Hempel has demonstrated unusual discipline in assembling her urbane, pointillistic and wickedly funny short stories. Since the publication of her first collection, "Reasons to Live," in 1985, only three more slim volumes have appeared - a total of some 15,000 sentences, and nearly every one of them has a crisp, distinctive bite. These collected stories show the true scale of Hempel's achievement. Her compact fictions, populated by smart, neurotic, somewhat damaged narrators, speak grandly to the longings and insecurities in all of us, and in a voice that is bracingly direct and sneakily profound.

THE EMPEROR'S CHILDREN
By Claire Messud. Alfred A. Knopf, $25.
This superbly intelligent, keenly observed comedy of manners, set amid the glitter of cultural Manhattan in 2001, also looks unsparingly, though sympathetically, at a privileged class unwittingly poised, in its insularity, for the catastrophe of 9/11. Messud gracefully intertwines the stories of three friends, attractive, entitled 30-ish Brown graduates "torn between Big Ideas and a party" but falling behind in the contest for public rewards and losing the struggle for personal contentment. The vibrant supporting cast includes a deliciously drawn literary seducer ("without question, a great man") and two ambitious interlopers, teeming with malign energy, whose arrival on the scene propels the action forward.

THE LAY OF THE LAND
By Richard Ford. Alfred A. Knopf, $26.95.
The third installment, following "The Sportswriter" (1986) and "Independence Day" (1995), in the serial epic of Frank Bascombe - flawed husband, fuddled dad, writer turned real estate agent and voluble first-person narrator. Once again the action revolves around a holiday. This time it's Thanksgiving 2000: the Florida recount grinds toward its predictable outcome, and Bascombe, now 55, battles prostate cancer and copes with a strange turn in his second marriage. The story, which unfolds over three days, is filled with incidents, some of them violent, but as ever the drama is rooted in the interior world of its authentically life-size hero, as he logs long hours on the highways and back roads of New Jersey, taking expansive stock of middle-age defeats and registering the erosions of a brilliantly evoked landscape of suburbs, strip malls and ocean towns.

SPECIAL TOPICS IN CALAMITY PHYSICS
By Marisha Pessl. Viking, $25.95.
The antic ghost of Nabokov hovers over this buoyantly literate first novel, a murder mystery narrated by a teenager enamored of her own precocity but also in thrall to her father, an enigmatic itinerant professor, and to the charismatic female teacher whose death is announced on the first page. Each of the 36 chapters is titled for a classic (by authors ranging from Shakespeare to Carlo Emilio Gadda), and the plot snakes ingeniously toward a revelation capped by a clever "final exam." All this is beguiling, but the most solid pleasures of this book originate in the freshness of Pessl's voice and in the purity of her storytelling gift.

NONFICTION

FALLING THROUGH THE EARTH
A Memoir.
By Danielle Trussoni. Henry Holt & Company, $23.
This intense, at times searing memoir revisits the author's rough-and-tumble Wisconsin girlhood, spent on the wrong side of the tracks in the company of her father, a Vietnam vet who began his tour as "a cocksure country boy" but returned "wild and haunted," unfit for family life and driven to extremes of philandering, alcoholism and violence. Trussoni mixes these memories with spellbinding versions of the war stories her father reluctantly dredged up and with reflections on her own journey to Vietnam, undertaken in an attempt to recapture, and come to terms with, her father's experiences as a "tunnel rat" who volunteered for the harrowing duty of scouring underground labyrinths in search of an elusive and deadly enemy.

THE LOOMING TOWER
Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11.
By Lawrence Wright. Alfred A. Knopf, $27.95.
In the fullest account yet of the events that led to the fateful day, Wright unmasks the secret world of Osama bin Laden and his collaborators and also chronicles the efforts of a handful of American intelligence officers alert to the approaching danger but frustrated, time and again, in their efforts to stop it. Wright, a staff writer for The New Yorker, builds his heart-stopping narrative through the patient and meticulous accumulation of details and through vivid portraits of Al Qaeda's leaders. Most memorably, he tells the story of John O'Neill, the tormented F.B.I. agent who worked frantically to prevent the impending terrorist attack, only to die in the World Trade Center.

MAYFLOWER
A Story of Courage, Community, and War.
By Nathaniel Philbrick. Viking, $29.95.
This absorbing history of the Plymouth Colony is a model of revisionism. Philbrick impressively recreates the pilgrims' dismal 1620 voyage, bringing to life passengers and crew, and then relates the events of the settlement and its first contacts with the native inhabitants of Massachusetts. Most striking are the parallels he subtly draws with the present, particularly in his account of how Plymouth's leaders, including Miles Standish, rejected diplomatic overtures toward the Indians, successful though they'd been, and instead pursued a "dehumanizing" policy of violent aggression that led to the needless bloodshed of King Philip's War.

THE OMNIVORE'S DILEMMA
A Natural History of Four Meals.
By Michael Pollan. The Penguin Press, $26.95.
"When you can eat just about anything nature has to offer, deciding what you should eat will inevitably stir anxiety," Pollan writes in this supple and probing book. He gracefully navigates within these anxieties as he traces the origins of four meals - from a fast-food dinner to a "hunter-gatherer" feast - and makes us see, with remarkable clarity, exactly how what we eat affects both our bodies and the planet. Pollan is the perfect tour guide: his prose is incisive and alive, and pointed without being tendentious. In an uncommonly good year for American food writing, this is a book that stands out.

THE PLACES IN BETWEEN
By Rory Stewart. Harvest/Harcourt, Paper, $14.
"You are the first tourist in Afghanistan," Stewart, a young Scotsman, was warned by an Afghan official before commencing the journey recounted in this splendid book. "It is mid-winter - there are three meters of snow on the high passes, there are wolves, and this is a war. You will die, I can guarantee." Stewart, thankfully, did not die, and his report on his adventures - walking across Afghanistan in January of 2002, shortly after the fall of the Taliban - belongs with the masterpieces of the travel genre. Stewart may be foolhardy, but on the page he is a terrific companion: smart, compassionate and human. His book cracks open a fascinating, blasted world miles away from the newspaper headlines.

This last book is the only one I actually have. I'm listening to The Places In Between right now on CD and expect to make a lot of headway on it this weekend because I'm driving up to see CMW and Mr. CMW in Sac-town. Let me know if you'd like to give it a listen. Then, just as soon as I get back, I'm picking up the new Christopher Moore, You Suck. Looking forward to the latest from Mr Moore, hopefully silly, and yummy with lots of great dialogue and sex. His books area such a light read that you're always surprised to get to the end and realize you genuinely care about the characters.

If you have any book recommendations, write me a quick review and I'll post it. We're always looking for a good read.

SOTU drinking game

Now this is the kind of State Of The Union activity I can get behind. Ah, drinking and politics... I really miss college!

Mind Games

Having a conversation with my mother is like playing Mad Libs. Now I no longer have to remember the details of my own life, but of hers as well. And I’m held to a high standard, there’s no margin for error as she gets quite grumpy if I can’t immediately identify the missing noun. This particular conversation was had yesterday evening while I prepared dinner and Scrumpy held court in my pint-sized kitchen with a glass of wine.

“I went to see that movie… you know, the one with that actress I really like. You know, what’s her name?”
“Helen Mirren.”
“No!”
“Judy Dench.”
“Yes, that’s her. She has that new movie with, um…”
“Cate Blanchett.”
“Right, so we saw that movie, and I can’t say I cared much for it. It was very dark and a bit nasty.”
“Mmmmm…”
“Then we went over for that hike I really like… you know the one…”
“Sobranes?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s far too cold to go to Sobranes. The other one.”
”The other one?”
”Yes, you know the one I mean… err….”
“Point Lobos.”
“Right, Point Lobos. Obviously. Why do you think I would go to Sobranes?” glares over rim of glass. There’s really no reply to this, so I just keep pulling out plates and washing things.
“Anyway you’ll never guess who we saw at Point Lobos.”
“You’re right, I probably won’t.”
“The old art teacher! From the high school! The one who left!”
Ooooh, this one is tricky. She’s mentioned this person before during one of these monologues, but I’m not sure I’ll get the name. She stares at me expectantly.
“Hmmm… Ann?” An eyebrow goes up. Wrong answer. Suddenly it comes to me.
“Laurie!”
“Yes, so we saw Laurie…"

Inserting the missing words into my mother’s conversations has become second habit for me. I find I half listen to everyone’s conversations and end up inserting words that I think they’ve forgotten. I find myself doing it constantly at work, and even to strangers. It's a matter of time before I insert the wrong word into the wrong person's conversation and get myself in serious trouble.

Tidbit

Santa Cruz City Parking Enforcement collected $759,756 in 2006. If I hadn't let my meter expire while I was at the optometrist, it would have been $759,732. You're welcome, Santa Cruz!

"This is not just."

Happy Dr. Martin Luther King Jr Day.

Below is an excertp from a speech Dr. King gave at a church New York City on April 4th, 1967, in which he explained his opposition to the Vietnam War. Not surprisingly, it is a popular speech this year, what with so little about war changing between 1967 and 2007, between Vietnam and Iraq. I heard to part of it when I woke up this morning, huddled in my bed, listening to the patient voice of a man killed eight years before I was born as he pleads for peace at home and abroad.

In 1957, a sensitive American official overseas said that it seemed to him that our nation was on the wrong side of a world revolution. During the past ten years, we have seen emerge a pattern of suppression which has now justified the presence of U.S. military advisors in Venezuela. This need to maintain social stability for our investments accounts for the counterrevolutionary action of American forces in Guatemala. It tells why American helicopters are being used against guerrillas in Cambodia and why American napalm and Green Beret forces have already been active against rebels in Peru.

It is with such activity in mind that the words of the late John F. Kennedy come back to haunt us. Five years ago he said, "Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable." Increasingly, by choice or by accident, this is the role our nation has taken, the role of those who make peaceful revolution impossible by refusing to give up the privileges and the pleasures that come from the immense profits of overseas investments. I am convinced that if we are to get on the right side of the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical revolution of values. We must rapidly begin...we must rapidly begin the shift from a thing-oriented society to a person-oriented society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights, are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, extreme materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand, we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life's roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.

A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth. With righteous indignation, it will look across the seas and see individual capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia, Africa, and South America, only to take the profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the countries, and say, "This is not just." It will look at our alliance with the landed gentry of South America and say, "This is not just." The Western arrogance of feeling that it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from them is not just.

A true revolution of values will lay hand on the world order and say of war, "This way of settling differences is not just." This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into the veins of peoples normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice, and love. A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.

America, the richest and most powerful nation in the world, can well lead the way in this revolution of values. There is nothing except a tragic death wish to prevent us from reordering our priorities so that the pursuit of peace will take precedence over the pursuit of war. There is nothing to keep us from molding a recalcitrant status quo with bruised hands until we have fashioned it into a brotherhood.

Molly's here!

6lbs, 15oz: how can a person be so tiny? It's amazing. 10 fingers, 10 toes. Full head of hair. Momma Natalie doing well. Daddy Michael much relieved and ready to spoil his daughter.

Miracle of life, people. It's freakin amazing.

Mrs. MLE's Celebrity iTunes Playlist

I had to ask my friend "Emily" why she called herself "Mrs. MLE"... well, if you say the letters out loud... and you're not dumb like I am... it sounds like her name! Mrs. MLE was Ms. MLE when we started law school together. We were both paralegals, in the part time program, and on the same side of the fence politically. Since then, I've been delighted to find out more and more things that Mrs. MLE and I have in common, including fabulous taste in music! The photo below is the day Ms. MLE became Mrs. MLE in a beautiful Hawaiian wedding. Her husband, needless to say, is referred to ask "Mr. MLE."



DISCLAIMER: It was a very difficult exercise to narrow my playlist down. I resorted to listing to the ipod on shuffle and picking out songs that I really really like, don’t get sick of or automatically start dancing around to. I just had to stop myself at some point meaning the list is probably missing a lot and too long at the same time :)

Kiss Off
Violent Femmes
Violent Femmes
Basically any song off of this album gets my head bopping and feet bouncing. Just think of someone of someone who dumped you or really pissed you off and you are compelled to rock out. I almost chose “Add It Up” because it has the fantastic line of “I look at your pants…and I…I need a kiss.”

Do You Wanna Hold Me?
Bow Wow Wow
This song always puts a serene smile on my face and causes me to jump around. Now it makes me think of the beach and marrying Mr. MLE. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it.

Blasphemous Rumors
DP
Catching Up With DP
Did I mention I am an 80s girl? And was a chronically depressed teenager? I reminisce of those days, dressing in all black, writing dark things in my journal, not comprehending how the hell Reagan was re-elected (scary thing is now that doesn’t seem so bad!), getting disgusted with anybody who didn’t “get it” and buying Smiths’ tapes at Tower Records. It was between this and Somebody off of Depeche Mode 101, but Somebody was just a touch too positive. I really thought I was deep at 15 and that these lyrics profound.

September
Earth Wind & Fire
Earth, Wind and Fire: Greatest Hits
Maybe it was the sparkly, flowing outfits or the giant afros. Perhaps the tight horn section or, most likely, the scores of happy, singing and dancing people on stage when I got to see them on TV (B&W of course). Whatever it was, I loooooooooooved this group when I was little and I still love this song and many others. Makes me think of a happy, racially diverse environment a la Sesame Street (ie before reality finally crept in when I was about 9 and some girl called me a “prejudiced white bitch” for no particular reason). Did I mention I grew up in the bubble of Berkeley?

Lo Que Pidas
Julieta Venegas
Sí
I can’t have a list without any Rock en Español.
Julieta Venegas totally rocks! She’s the strong Latina
woman that is encompassed is so many Mexican and South
American novels. Not the siliconated bubble heads you
see prancing around wedgy pants and white boots on
Univision. She just simply rocks like sox in a box.

Ain’t That a Kick in the Head
Dean Martin
Capitol Collector’s Series: Dean Martin
I love me some drunken Rat Pack singing! This is one
of the best with Dino and a punctuating horn section.
You can practically taste the scotch swirling around
in his glass.

Ain’t Nobody
Chaka Khan
Epiphany – The Best of Chaka Khan
Excellent dancing-while-driving music. Good for
self-esteem, too. It’s got that 80s electro-poppy funk
R&B thing going on.

What I Am
Edie Brickel
Shooting Rubber Bands at the Stars
Kind of an anthem for me I guess. I listened to this
a lot following a big Tori Amos/Chris Isaak/10,000
Maniacs phase and right around when I stopped taking
myself so damn seriously. Some lines still make no
sense to me, but that’s part of its charm, I suppose.
Plus, it’s got a good beat and I can dance to it.

Sex and Candy
Marcy Playground
Maybe I just like songs that have lines that make no sense (“like disco lemonade”). I dig this guy’s voice. Groovin’ tune.

Sir Duke
Stevie Wonder
Songs in the Key of Life
Awesome horn section, groovin’ bassline, and a good message. I think I’ve actually scat out loud to this song. My poor children will likely be subjected to it over and over as my form of education!

For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her
Simon & Garfunkel
Simon & Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits
Um, it’s pretty. And romantic and stuff. No other reason, really ;)

The Noggin Song

In Newcastle I found a box set of ambient tunes on sale. Ambient is my favorite putzing-around-the-house music. The first CD has one of my favorite songs, “Lovely Head” by the British band Goldfrapp.

Check out the lyrics:

Starts in my belly
then up to my heart
Into my mouth
I can't keep it shut
Do you recognize
the smell?
Is that you how tell
us apart?

I fool myself
to sleep and dream
Nobody's here
No-one but me
So cold
You're hardly there
Why can't this
be killing you?

Frankenstein
would want your mind
Your lovely head
Your lovely head

It sounds overwrought, but when you hear it you can appreciate how marvelous it really is. It’s the phrase, “your lovely head” that really does it for me. Who thought that? It’s not just the mind that is the focus here, but overall cranial appreciation, including skull shape and hair distribution. There should be a new category of music called Silmo. It’s music that’s kind of emo but appealing in a silly way.

Sydney Fireworks

Here's two very brief videos of the fireworks from the Sydney Opera House on New Year's Eve. I took these with my digital camera, so the resolution isn't super, but it gives you an idea of how impressive the display is. You can see the "emerald" on the bridge. Sydney is known as the "Emerald City" and the theme for this year's NYE was "Diamond Night in an Emerald City."

This is from somewhere in the middle:

This is the very last part of the finale of the fireworks on the bridge:

Ok, I'm not that sorry.

Katie gives a long, long explanation on her blog (see Katie's Adventures on the right. I'm too lazy to HTML a link right now) as to why she looked like a crazed person when she was eating a lamb shank in the photo of her a couple posts below. But the truth is, everyone knows Katie looks like this at every meal. Right, Katie? Here's another photo, of Phat Pantz and our new Scottish friend Fiona, who didn't realize how enthusiastic Katie is about food. Look how calmly they are eating. Look how Katie rabidly attacks her food.


In case you can't get a good enough look at her molars, I've provided a close-up below:

Stay tuned, I'm sure there'll be plenty more!

I'm sorry, Katie...

...but this photo is far too good to stay in the camera.
As Hoov said, "That's just a big meat lollipop!"

There's no place like home.

To add to my legendary difficulties at the Honolulu Airport, my flight was delayed last night for 4 hours. Right before I got on the plane I heard one of the crew say, "Well, they took it on a test flight and they think they fixed it..." Great... We arrived in San Jose a little after 1am. By the time I got my luggage and my car and drove home, it was 3:30am. I'm going to post more about Australia, and more photos, tomorrow. I'll probably continue to complain about airport drama and how much I hate Hawaiian Airlines.

Right now it's time to head up to SF for Hoov's birthday dinner at Betelnut. Hoov's Friday was even worse than mine, and it was her birthday. Suck-diddly-uks. Can't wait to see the other Ya Ya's who weren't in Australia and will therefore be subjected to endless re-tellings of the same stories and explanations for why they are so damn funny.

Trapped in Honolulu

Dudes. This is not good. Short story: I missed my flight back to San Jose yesterday and can't get home until Friday night.

Long story: I'm well-known for my penchant for getting to the airport long before it's necessary. It's not unusual that I arrive before they actually start checking people in for the flight. Back when Southwest issued numbered cards I had the first one more times than I can count, and was always one of the first ten. It just don't like feeling rushed, or stressed out that I might miss the flight. When I travel with my boss or my mother, typically the last people on the plane (not the same plane, you understand) I end up in a state of near-hyperventilation.

On my way to Sydney from Honolulu, I arrived so early that I spent several hours wandered the airport at night, after most of the shops and restaurants were closed. However, when I left Sydney for Honolulu, it took a total of 20 minutes to check my bags in and get to the gate, thanks to the combined efficiency of the Sydney airport and (gasp) Air Canada. I was determined not to spend the entire afternoon wandering around another airport.

Unfortunately, since I was in Honolulu for only one day, and didn't turn on the tv or pick up the newspaper, I apparently missed the fact that the airport was in total chaos. The only thing I've seen close to this kind of airport mayhem when I was in Heathrow two days before the Hajj. I did call the airline that morning to ask about baggage restrictions and no mention was made about how far in advance I should arrive. Apparently the chaos arose from the fact that people have to wait in FOUR separate lines. So, the lines. First, you start out in the agriculture check line, where they look through your bags to make sure you don't have plants or animals that shouldn't leave Hawaii. This line is about an hour long because a) it is run by the federal government, and we all know how efficient that is; and b) for some reason many people leaving Hawaii seem to think that it's a good idea to bring a lot of food with them. I'm talking about boxes of fruit, ice chests with fresh fish, pretty much whatever you can imagine. Now, I'm a fan of the fresh food here, but I wouldn't take a bunch of fish, slap it in an ice chest with some ice and wrap it up with duct tape. I saw this done several times, with some very difficult situations involving how to dispose of the several pounds of fish that were not going to be allowed to leave the state.

The second line is to check into your flight. That line looked long but I wouldn't really know because I got about halfway through the agriculture line and realized I was going to miss my flight. The third line is where you take your bags after you've checked in, because you can't hand them across the counter like you can in every other g*dd*mn airport in the developed world, you have to take them over to a separate baggage area. Where there is another line. Then, after all this, you get in the line to go through the security check of you and the belongings you would propose to take on the plane. With more confiscation of fresh fruits and other plants and animal life.

So I get in the "special services" line to change my flight and when there are only two people in front of me, the woman working at the counter leaves. And no one else comes over. Some enterprising soul found out that she was on her mandatory lunch hour and no one else was authorized to work that line. The line is snaking through the airport because at this point many people have missed their planes. We begged for some kind of supervisor or manager to come out and tell us how to arrange to get on another flight, but every person in a position or authority refused to come out and deal with the customers. You know, the ones who pay their salary. The people in lien were unhappy, but optimistic that they would be able to get on a place that day. When the line shut down, and no one else could help us, things started to fall apart.

The girl in front of me sat down on the ground and began to sob. "I have nowhere to go." she kept saying. The guy behind me was supposed to be in Seattle at 8am the next morning to sign a contract to join a minor-league sports team. I didn't ask which team, or even which sport. No one was really in the mood to chit chat. A guy behind us in line had a total meltdown and started running after anyone in a Hawaiian Airlines shirt, screaming profanity at them. Another woman who missed the flight to San Jose had called the airline on the phone, since no one was at the counter any more. She eventually found out, as I did, that despite the fact that we arrived at the airport in what should have been plenty of time, we would not be "bumped" to the next flight, but would have to pay to change out flights to the next one. I ended up having to book a first class one-way upgrade to leave on Friday. If I had waited for the next available seat in economy, I would have been here until Thursday. Another family from the San Jose flight, a couple and their two young children, were going to have to wait for that flight. His wife told me they had already called the hotel where they had stayed but it was sold out. "I don't know where we're going to stay." she said. "I'm more worried about what I'm going to tell my boss." her husband replied.

Oh, that's right. I have a job. I had been so determined to find a flight I forgot I still had to call my boss and tell him I'd be out another two days, on top of the three weeks I'd already been gone. I recalled giving advice in similar situations before, usually it involved sending a very unsympathetic letter telling the employee to be back at work on X date or they would lose their job. Karma's a real bitch. When I did call him, I think he could hear the tension in my voice because he was actually pretty cool about it. I got him a "thanks for not making this worse" gift this morning.

I wish I could say I was using this time to hang out with J, but he's still on the mainland, so it's more of me wandering around Waikiki alone. I did get my marine geek on at the Aquarium this morning.




There are worse places to be trapped. And there are worse things that can happen to a person than this kind of airport drama. I could be in Sierra Leone. Or Ithaca. But it's been a long trip, and after three weeks, I really just want to go home.

Happy New Year!

My most important resolution of 2007 is to do those once-in-a-lifetime things... like ringing in the new year from the Sydney Opera House. I cannot believe I had any reservations about forking over the $275 US to go to the New Year's Eve Gala. It was, bar none, the best money I have ever spent. I will post the list of what was performed at the concert when I get home. It's worth putting together as a playlist of top opera "tunes."

Here in Sydney it's already 2007, which feels a little weird because everyone at home is in 2006. And even though I don't leave until tomorrow, the 2nd, I'll get to Honolulu on the 1st. This international date line takes some getting used to.

I have some cool fireworks videos, but no photos so I'll most other assorted hijinkery from the evening, which gets progressively more chaotic as the evening wears on and more champagne is consumed.

People stake out their places along the harbor all day to get a good place to view the fireworks. By the time we got there, it was closed to everyone except ticket-holders for the Opera House. Like us! After seeing people sitting on blankets on the pavement and the row of heavily-used porta potties, we were glad we'd forked over the $ to go "posh" and go to the Opera House, with it's clean, plentiful bathrooms and many comfy places to sit.


Inside the concert hall.


Painful shoes are taken off, chocolate is called in as the perfect supplement to champagne.


Katie and Siobhan recount the "chicken dinner" story for the 80th time, and it is still only funny to them.

Last night we went for Indian food on Darby Street near Jim's place in Newcastle. I have hankered for Commonwealth Indian food since the last time I was in Britain and I've been delighted to find the Australians, like the British, have found a delicious way to bastardize this cusine. Indian food in the Bay Area is excellent, and a great deal more authentic, I trust, than the "curry shops" that are found in the Commonwealth. But there is something about chunks of mystery meat in sauce over rice that just goes down so well with big cold pints of beer. Maybe the epicurians of the world turn their nose up at this ritual, but after our first Indian meal in Cairns, I could happily eat out on it for the rest of our time in Australia. They were playing a Bollywood film on the tv inside the restaurant and Laura was transfixed. Ever since Oodles had her Bollywood party, Hoov has become quite the enthusiast.

Then we went to the pub across the street, The Delaney. The Delaney is one of those huge pubs that seems to have multiple bars in one. In the back, near where we were, a two-man band belted out covers of popular tunes from the 70s and 80s, and although they played well they tended to stick to a pretty depressing selection of tunes. We were hoping that we finally had enough energy for a decent night out, and we were determined to have it, no matter how tired we were! Unfortunately, I never finished the pint I was holding, nor did Jeye. Katie had already sucked down two G&Ts by the time we got around to taking the photo. We stumbled out, more from being tired than drunk, a little past 10.

Nick's Christmas Miracle

On Christmas Day, we decided to drive the Waterfall Circuit, a loop of roads in the tablelands east of Cairns. We took a road that could easily have been called The Windiest Road in Australia, or Find Out If You Get Carsick. Hoov was put in the passenger seat as she was voted Most Likely to Vomit among the Ya Ya's. Jimbo drove. Or should I say, flew. Jimbo is a pilot as a profession, a pilot of F-18's, which have a top speed generally agreed as "at least" Mach 1.8. So let's just say Jimbo likes speed. The Toyota minivan we rented does not like speed. The windy road along a shear cliff does not like speed. Jimbo's actually quite a safe and careful diver, he always pulled up in the passing lanes to allow traffic to pass. But left to his own devices, or on the rare occassions the road straighten out a bit, the speed would begin to creep up. At one point, distracted by the endless badgering and cat-calling from the backseats, we had crept up to about 120 kilometers per hour. I know the metric system about as well as the average American, and therefore have no idea what speed that is in miles per hour. But it felt like the rear axle was about to fly off. As we hurtled along the highway, Hoov gently leaned towards Jimbo and placed her hand on his arm. "I think it's ok to slow down a little bit," she gently told him.

Our first stop was Lake Eacham, a lovely little lake that promised a remarkable absence of crocodiles. Having seen signs warning of the beasts at pretty much every other body of water (the sign pictured here is from the ferry to Cape Tribulation) I wasn't really tempted to venture in. Who knows what croc could have found it's way to the peaceful shores of the lake? There were plenty of picnicers and rosy-cheeked Australian families hurling themselves in the clear water. We stopped at the "Turtle Lookout" which delivered what it promised, and took a walk around the lake. We were all ambivilent about putting our suits on and going for a dip, and instead voted to press on in search of waterfalls and lunch.


I was distracted by the book Hoov had brought along, "The Bachelorette Party" which she'd pretty much had stuck her nose in during any of the down time on the trip so far. In addition to being hysterical, it is quite naughty and I spent the better part of an hour skimming the book for the raunchiest bits for quiet titillation. When I looked up, we were nowhere near any waterfalls and people were beginning to make noises about food. Unfortunately, everything was closed. I mean, everything. Even the imported American fast food joints were quiet. What kind of country is it that lets the people who staff the low-end restaurants have holidays off to spend with their family? Sheesh.

As we moved, collectively, from hanky (hungry and cranky) to the more serious hangry (hungry and angry), we came across a sign promising "Nick's Swiss Italian Restaurant" ahead. By some miracle, it was open. They were just wrapping up a reservations-only, $88 per head Christmas buffet but we threw our six grimy, hungry selves on their mercy. They said they would cut us a deal and for $35 per person they would serve us plates of the food from the buffet. We thought the first course was the main meal but more plates kept on coming. A charming Australian man dressed all in red, including a little Swiss-German red cap with a feather, sat down and began to belt out Chistmas carols on the accordian. Although it was piping hot and the restaurant was beginning to empty, we felt nothing but endless goodwill towards everyone and everything. Our good cheer came to a head when we led the restaurant in a rousing rendition of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline," although we only know four words to the song, including the title.



Our last stop that afternoon was the Curtain Fig Tree, a sight we knew nothing about but it sounded interesting and we were hoping to make up for the dearth of waterfalls with other Aussie natural wonders. The fig tree actually sprouts on a "host" tree and it's roots grow down towards the earth. The roots bury into the ground and eventually the roots are large and strong enough to support both trees. At some point, the fig tree's roots have strangled the host tree and it tips over, leaving a "curtain" of roots. Even the trees here are homicidal. Yet it's a beautiful, peaceful sight and we were all happy to have indulged our whim to see it.



A few miles back on the road, we spotted a sign for the "Cathedral Fig Tree" but we figured we pretty much had the gist of the fig tree scene and decided we could probably skip it.

On the way back down the Road of Death we spotted the image of a frog someone had carefully spray painted on the rock wall. How did anyone do this? There's no where to stand on the side of the road. It's high enough up on the rock that you would need to stand on something. The wall is one of dozens of blind curves on a road that sees plenty of traffic. I suppose you could try your luck at night when the traffic is lighter but the idea of trying to paint the face of a frog on a rock wall at night on a road that hugs a cliff seems, uh, foolhardy. I suppose someone must really like frogs.

Favorite Aussie Brekkies

fresh fruit with yogurt and honey in Sydney


thick buttered toast with two poached eggs and bacon in Newcastle

Last day in Sydney...

This morning I went running with Jeye and Jimbo around the Opera House and the Royal Botanical Gardens. Running with Jeye doesn't leave you much breath for idle chit chat so it's a good thing the scenery was remarkable. Running is such a great way to cover a lot of ground in an unfamiliar place. It was about 8am so people were on their way to work.

The afternoon was spent at Manly Beach, which did not quite live up to it's name because of the many schoolchildren on holiday. Apparently the Australian students received their GCSE results yesterday, so everywhere we go you can overhear teenagers discussing it. Hoov started chatting with an Australian student who is trying to decide what to study at university. Like Britain, the educational path starts at a much younger age than in the U.S.

Here's Jeye and Hoov at Manly. The safe swimming areas on the beach are marked with flags so that beachgoers don't get sucked in by the many dangerous rip tides. Even the water in this country is dangerous! I took a brief dip in anyway, and came away with the insight that it's colder than it looks. About San Diego temperature. Why did I think it would be warmer? Jeye is a little phlemy and uncharacteristicly quiet. Katie arrives today and she and Phat Pantz are out roaming the city somewhere. Hoov is on a shopping marathon.

Everytime I go by the Opera House I get the feeling that I'm just dreaming I'm here. Hard to believe we leave tomorrow for Cairns.


Apologies for the banality of this post, it's being composed off the top of my head and under the time pressure of the hotel's extortionate internet access prices.

Welcome to Australia, Land of Venom.

I sent out an email yesterday to a large group of people to tell them I had arrived in Syndey safely, wax lyrical about the views of the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. I also outlined our plans to go to Manly Beach today. When I checked my email this morning I had received four replies, all of which referred exclusively to our plans to visit "Manly" beach along with the kind of entendres you would expect. Including the reply from my mother. I'm not sure if that means that I have friends with dirty minds, or if the people in my life really, really think I need a man. I'd like to think the former but suspect the latter.

Flagging down Australian men is the last thing on my mind. Frankly, I'm just trying to stay alive. I'm reading Bill Bryson's book, "In A Sunburned Country" while I'm here (apparently the book is pretty notorious here, although I have yet to come across anything that could really be perceived as insulting. Maybe the Australians aren't used to anything other than the standard warm tourist reactions to their country - try being American). To give you an idea why I might be concerned about my well-being, I'll give you Bryson's description of the delightful Australian wildlife:

It is the home of the largest living thing on earth, The Great Barrier Reef, and the largest monolith, Ayers Rock (or Uluru to use it's now-official, more respectful Aboriginal name). It has more things that will kill you than anywhere else. Of the world's ten most poisonous snakes, all are Australian. Five of it's creatures - the funnel web spider, box jellyfish, blue-ringed octupus, paralysis tick and stonefish - are the most lethal of their type in the world. This is a country where even the fluffiest of caterpillars can lay you out with a toxic nip, where seashells will not just sting you but somethings actually go for you. Pick up an innocuous cone shell from a Queensland beach, as innocen tousits are all too wont to do, and you will discoer that the little fellow inside is not just astoundingly swift and testy but exceedingly venemous. If you are not stung or pronged to death in some unexpected manner, you may be fatally chomped by sharks or crocodiles, or carried helplessly out to sea by irresistable currents, or left to stagger to an unhappy death int he baking outback. It's a tough place.

Oh, goody. Crocodiles and snakes, two of my favorites. I was reading the Chronicle on my flight to Honolulu and found on the second page an article about an Australian woman who called a plumber because her toilet was backed up and found a seven-foot python was the cause. The article referred to the fact that the python had actually stuck it's head up out of the bowl. It's like this country is custom-made to terrify me. I remember hearing about snakes in toilets as a kid, and it kept me in "hover" stance, anxiously peering over my shoulder. Eventually I convinced myself that Snakes In The Toilet was an urban legend, only to discover that I'm going to the very place where these kind of things happen. Not just with little garden snakes flushed away my mischeveous little boys, but seven-foot pythons. Something that could really do some damage to one's pale, unsuspecting derriere.

In the meantime, in comfoortable, clean, No Snakes In The Toilet Syndey, I've discovered a new way to get hurt in Australia: going outside. The sun's rays are incredibly powerful here, and any spot on my tender Irish skin not slathered in high-powered sunscreen turns pink almost instantly. I think of the boatload of British prisoners and their wardens who first landed in Syndey and I wonder how they fared. No sunscreen back then. No plumbing, even. Just a big beautiful harbour and a country full of lovely animals waiting to try new and exciting ways to kill you.

Down Undah

Safely arrived in Sydney and met up with Jim and the other Ya Ya's, the only technical issue so far being that I can't find the card reader for my camera and therefore can't post the freaking awesome photos from the last couple days. In the meantime, Hoov and I are working on our Aussie accents (they're still a little bit like a drunk Cockney) and I'm haunted by all the scenes from Mission Impossible II, which was filmed in Syndey and used it a lot in the movie. So I can't quite shake the feeling that Tom Cruise is going to arrive be helicopter at any moment. Everyone in Syndey seems really tan and really fit... and really happy. I would think it was something they were putting in the water, but this place is pretty great. Maybe they're just happy to be here.

One last note: the entire Australian military shuts down for the month of December. I don't know what would happen while I'm here that would require the mobilization of the Australian armed forces, but it does give you pause, doesn't it?

On The Rocks is relocating...

...look for me here on New Years' Eve!

Oodles Celebrity iTunes Playlist

I foolishly disputed Oodles' claim that she had already sent me her playlist, so this should have been published some times ago! Reading her blog is what got me interested in starting my own. I always felt more in tune with what was going on her life - it helped me be a better friend (at least, I hope so). When we were in Costa Rica, she broke her foot while we were mountain biking on like the second day we were there. Everyone, including the doctor, thought it was a sprain. She continued with the trip with an amazing good attitude, despite the hiking and the jarring drives. It wasn't until weeks after we got home that we found out it was broken. In typical Ya Ya fashion, we frequently threaten to take mountain biking vacations. She just smiles.

In addition to being a music maven, keeping hundreds of kids healthy as her job and being the YaYa webmaster, she is also a remarkable photographer. What makes me insane with jealous rage about her photos is that she manages to correctly expose in difficult lighting situations - the low light parts of the photo still have detail, the brighter areas aren't washed out. Instead of pictures of the artists, I've sprinkled in some photos from her recent trip to Spain.

Freedom '90
George Michael
For some reason, I listened to this song over and over again before my high school basketball games. I'm not sure how this helped my game, but it did.

Brown Eyed Girl
Van Morrison
Somehow this became the theme song among my girlfriends in college. My best friend was proposed to with this song, and it seems to always be that one song that we know we will hear over and over again when we are together.

The Scientist
Coldplay
It's a sad song, and unfortunately reminds be of a terrible break-up.

In the Sun
Joseph Arthur
This was on my playlist when I was in India last year and reminds me of being there... even if it has nothing to do with India.

Brand New Colony
The Postal Service
I just can't seem to get enough of this song.

Family Affairs
Mary J. Blige
Takes me back to my sister's wedding, which is hands-down the most fun I have ever had at a wedding and where I danced and danced. It also was a huge family gathering.

Jaan
Talvin Singh
In Punjabi, maybe even Hindi, it means "my life." It has special, bittersweet memories. Nowadays, the song has become a dance/trance song.

Hips Don't Lie
Shakira
On my recent trip to Spain, this song came on the radio on the bus I was on, and in 5 seconds, I was on a party bus. The people on the bus got up and started dancing between the seats on the bus! To top it off, it is the song that led me to stay out until 4:30am the day I was leaving Spain, in some random club in Barcelona.


Beat It
Michael Jackson
When I was a kid, my sister, myself and two other kids thought we were the biggest Michael Jackson fans out there and would sing our hearts out to this song.

New Slang
The Shins
This is my new favorite, even though it's been out for awhile. If you haven't listened to the Garden State soundtrack, you are missing out! The song makes me feel blue but also makes me hopeful... it's hard to describe.

JNC's Celebrity iTunes Playlist

JNC doesn't remember when we met, but I do. It was in Mr. Grippenstraw's sophomore biology class, and JNC was the only person who got busted more than me. And it was always for the same thing: talking. Eventually we started talking to each other, and we really haven't stopped since. She's come close to being my bridesmaid twice. We've did our post-college Europe backpacking trip together, went to China together, and have taken several trips to Mexico together.

For her birthday this year, I got her the complete episodes of Sex And The City. We're both SATC enthusiasts, although more so the first couple seasons. We were talking about that this weekend, that the first seasons are focused more on how the friendship among these woman outlasts jobs, fashion crises and boyfriends. That's why it felt more real to us, because we recognize that your true partners in life aren't necessarily the romantic ones.

As is typical with JNC, she reviewed the guidelines I sent out for the playlist, read what other people had done, and then pretty much did whatever she wanted.


You know I march to the beat of my own drummer. So here’s my play list – I didn’t follow the rules, it has 6 of my favorite artists – I will download anything by them without know what it sounds like, just because I like them. Then there’s 6 songs that I am rocking out to right now:

6 artists that are on always in heavy rotation:
Biggie Smalls.
I love anything by Biggie. He is a lyrical genius, just listen to what he’s saying the next time you hear one of his songs…. We really lost a brilliant man when he died. I still listen to him because he’s so much more creative than a lot of current artist. Juicy is a particular favorite. Nasty Girl is one of my current ring tones.


Mary J Blige.
Hasn’t everyone listened to MJ when they were going through a break up, or to feel more empowered. I love everything from the 411 to her recent releases. Her heavy drug use years produced some really good music, all that pain made great music.

Prince.
He’s one of the few men who is comfortable enough with who he is to wear heels. And buttless pants. Without him, I wouldn’t know what it sounds like when doves cry.

Thelonius Monk.
When I need to write something persuasive, I listen to Monk. He gets my creative juices flowing. My favorite is a song called two for tea.

John Legend.
He is such a smooth crooner. Most of his CD’s I will listen to straight through. I have seen him perform live, and it’s INSANE. All he needs is a mike. This man has real talent. He has seduction songs, apology songs, celebratory songs. Ahhhh, he’s dreamy.

New Edition.
This is a band I grew up with. I have seen them in concert, and it was AMAZING. These men can perform. I will rock out to everything from popcorn love to their last misguided album on the Bad Boy label. Also, their ability to do solo projects and come back together as a solid group is admirable. These are six of my favorite signers!!!!!

6 songs that I am playing to death right now:
Lloyd and Lil’ Wayne
You
The instrumental of this song is so haunting. Also, there’s something about thuggish Lil’ Wayne rapping about a girl he’s really into that I find strangely alluring. I am always a fan of the collaboration of two artists who seem like they wouldn’t fit together.

Robin Thicke
Wanna Love you girl – the regular and the remix!
Like Prince, this man can squeal. He has an amazing vocal range. I pretty much like anything he signs. Hand him the phone book, and it will probably sound good when he sings it.

Justin Timberlake
My Love
It’s catchy. And he’s yummy, I wish I was Cameron Diaz. Le Sigh.

Beyonce
Irreplaceable
This is another great women’s empowerment song. I am not the biggest Beyonce fan, I prefer Destiny’s Child [I still rock Survivor from time to time] The first time you hear it, you’re like, “to the left, hunh???” . But after listening to it….MAN!!!! This is the new break up song! Or even the new I don’t have to settle for a bad relationship song. My favorite line “I could have another you in a minute”. Yup, sometimes love is like that.

Akon and Eminem
Smak That
There’s a line that just cracks me up….We can just kick it like Tae-bo…..LOL. The beat is great for getting you moving. But when you listen to the lyrics, it’s a little stalkerish.

Akon and Snoop
I wanna love you
This is my theme song on the dance floor. There’s several versions. They range from very clean to so dirty it will make a statue of the Virgin Mary blush. This song will make you shake your rump.

Use the word "dirigible" in a song.

Last Friday the Notorious D.R.J.U. was in town from Seattle and invited me to go to a show with his good friends A & K. I don't know A & K that well but I really like them. They are one of those couples that you can't imagine not being together, yet they are each also really cool as individual people. They have two young munchkins and a bun in the oven. They were so pleased to be out for a night on the town sans children that they gleefully called out their favorite profanities as we walked from my place to the show.

We saw Joanna Newsom at the Rio Theatre with Bill Callahan aka SMOG opening. Some musicians make me feel like maybe I'm just not smart enough or cool enough to get their music. Unfortunately, Bill Callahan did that for me. I recognize that I have JoJo on my Celebrity iTunes Playlist, though, so I'm at peace with my musical senses having been dulled by years of listening to over-produced pop music. It was all a little too intense and introspective for me. Callahan sang one song that repeated the word "sycamore," but it he sang it in such a way that it sounded like "Sycamo...ore...whore... whore..." I was relieved when someone a few rows away got the the giggles.

Joanna Newsom was another story. When I first heard "harpist" I thought, "Check, please." but I was delighted to find I was wrong, wrong, wrong. Joanna Newsom is a straight-up trip. Her voice has been described as "child-like" and the Notorious D.R.J.U. turned to me at one point and said "Is she twelve?" but he didn't mean it as an insult. She has a voice that is light and airy but powerful. Her band with her that played instruments like the glockenspiel and an actual saw. Have you ever seen someone play a saw? Let me tell you, it is quite cool. Eclectic does not begin to describe the band or the music. It's kind of a folky alternative grassblues. I think. She seemed to really enjoy herself and was totally comfortable on stage. The lyrics are... well, take this example, the song "Bridges and Balloons":

We sailed away on a winter's day
with fate as malleable as clay;
but ships are fallible, I say,
and the nautical, like all things, fades

And I can recall our caravel:
a little wicker beetle shell
with four fine maste and lateen sails,
its bearings on Cair Paravel

O my love,
O it was a funny little thing
to be the ones to've seen.

The sight of bridges and balloons
makes calm canaries irritable;
they caw and claw all afternoon:
"Catenaries and dirigibles
brace and buoy the living-room --
a loom of metal, warp - woof - wimble."
And a thimbles worth of milky moon
can touch hearts larger than a thimble.

O my love,
O is was a funny little thing
to be the ones to've seen

Does this all sounds a little too Rennaisance Faire for a cynic like me? Not really. Apparently the glockenspiel is enjoying quite a revival. Green Day, Radiohead, Panic! at the Disco and The Arcade Fire have used the glockenspiel as background, although when I saw Aracde Fire at the Download Festival and I don't recall seeing a glockenspiel. It's not the kind of thing that goes unmissed, really, although I don't think there's many instruments they don't use. I just wish I'd had occasion to comment at the time, "Nice use of glockenspiel."

A and K have been folowing her music for a number of years. A recommends the album "Milk-Eyed Mender" for the Newsom novice. She is a cousin of the SF Mayor so I wore my best I'd Be Surprisingly Good For You smile in hopes that he would make an appearance, but my life remains Gavin-free. More information about the enigmatic Ms. Newsom on her just-enthusiastic-enough-not-to-be-scary fan site.

Fresh & Fruity After 26.2

Second marathon, successfully completed. I usually place a little higher in my age group, but there are a lot of very fast runners in this race because it's a popular qualifier for the Boston marathon. On one hand, I'm just happy I finished. On the other hand, I realize that I could train smarter and do better so now I'm motivated again.

I spent most of last week freaking out and nursing an injured achilles tendon, worrying I wouldn't be able to finish the marathon this weekend. It sounds silly, that my biggest worry is whether I'll be able to run 26.2 miles, when other people have real health problems, ones that threaten their lives, or the lives of their loved ones. I am healthy enough to be able to train for and complete a marathon, and that is such a blessing, I felt ungrateful for being so upset about this injury, the first problem I've had that has threatened to stop me from completing a race. For me, running is a prayer of thanksgiving for my health and the beautiful place I live. So grumping about a minor injury is like complaining to a someone in chemo that you're having a bad hair day. But I was freaked out. Training for a long race has meant some sacrifice. Getting up early, passing on social events because I have a long run the next day, keeping a consistent training schedule. Although it brings fitness benefits, I've been training for a particular event, and the thought that I wouldn't be able to complete it made me think, "what was the point?" So I babied it the week prior to the race, sprayed and rubbed it with strange Chinese herbal concoctions, and did a lot of praying. Some combination of God and herbal medicine did the trick, because it gave me no serious trouble.

CMW (see her playlist below) and her husband played host to the three of us who came up to do the race. They took us for pasta the night before and CMW got up at 5am to drive us to the start. Then she drove down to the Capitol, did her own race, and stuck around to watch us finish. People, you can't pay for that kind of support. They gave us way more than a place to crash, and it made the race experience for me.

Also in the Pumpkin Support Team was Rhubarb, who drove from Oakland to Sacramento to be there at the finish line. Maybe it doesn't sound like a big deal. Maybe it seems silly to drive for damn near two hours to see someone run by you. But let me tell you, when I was out there at mile 19, my knees and my hips hurting, my whole body telling me to just STOP, it makes a HUGE difference to know that there is someone at the finish line waiting for you. Knowing that in that crowd of faces at the end, there's someone looking for you, someone shouting your name.

After the race, we went to the IHOP near CMW's house for a big brunch feed. Rhubarb immediately picked up the insert to the menu and asked if I would be interested in the perennial IHOP special, the "Rooty Tooty Fresh & Fruity." ("RTFF") We've been to IHOP a couple times, and every time she manages to bring up the RTFF. She claims this is ridiculous, but I remember there have been repeated instances of the RTFF interaction at IHOP. I passed on the RTFF, but I have a feeling it won't be the last time it's on offer!

Brie's Celebrity Playlist

Brie was my constant companion my first year of college. We were equal measures of silly and wild. I was tickled to see a TMBG song on her list, I remember they were her favorite band and she took me to a show when they came to the Price Center at UCSD. We lost contact after college until she found me on Friendster a few months ago. She married her college boyfriend and has a baby girl, Lauren. She lives in LA and does web design.

Learning to Fly
Tom Petty
reminds me of college and hanging out with the guys down the hall. They taught me to play bass to this song.

Dreaming my Dreams
Cranberries
Song I danced to with my husband at our wedding.

Everybody Dance Now
C & C Music Factory
First song I learned to fast dance to in junior high and takes me back

Tears in Heaven
Eric Clapton
Always makes me cry. Clapton wrote it for his young son who died, and I listened to it a lot in early 2005 when I lost a baby in second trimester.

Could You Be Loved
Bob Marley and the Wailers
My infant daughter has decided that she loves reggae and can hear this song endlessly. Before she was born, the song always reminded me of the relaxed time on my honeymoon with a pina colada in my hand and the island breezes in my hair.

River
Indigo Girls
So many good songs by Indigo Girls but this one gets into my soul every time I hear it and I can't help but sing along

Older
They Might be Giants
Have to taunt my friends with this one on their birthdays! Also saw TMBG perform this live several times and they never do it the same way twice.

I Drove All Night
Cyndi Lauper (also Roy Orbison but I like her version)
I lived this for 2 years of a long-distance relationship. Fun catchy song, too!

One Million Miles
Mauzner
Yes, the song from the Volkswagon commercials. Secret vice of mine to blast this song and careen recklessly around at top speeds in my automobile as if on an important wedding-stopping mission (when really just out getting milk.)

American Pie
Don MacLean
This used to be the last song they played at the last dance at CTY every summer and it was the bittersweet sound of going home.