Home for the Holidays. Sortof.

Another week in Baltimore! I straightened my hair for the occasion. When my mom saw me, the first thing she said was, "Why is your hair flat?"

My brother Bryan came in from New Zealand with his wife Nancy and 21-month old daughter Abby. Ultimately, they flew to Madison, WI for Christmas with Nancy's family, but they arranged to spend some time in Baltimore first. I hadn't seen them since May (their last trip to Baltimore), before Abby could talk. Now she calls me "Zora". And she has a Kiwi accent, which must have come from daycare, because both her parents are American. AND, unlike the rest of the family, Abby has curly hair, like mine. When she gets older, I can be her spiritual hair advisor (e.g. anti-frizz curl-defining hair products and anti-Bette hair straightening techniques that work).

When I got into town, we had another Thanksgiving meal, complete with mushroom stuffing, because the NZ contingent missed out on the calendarly correct one. Again, it was fabulous. Then, over leftovers the next day, we discussed things that intellectuals discuss, such as "gym nakedness protocol". My parents go to a gym, but not together; they have slightly different exercise regimens. My mom lines up at the front door and waits for it to open at 5:30am so that she can do 30 minutes of cardio, then some weights, then 30 minutes of cardio before work. My dad does a lot of hanging out, which is understandable, because it's the fanciest gym in the universe. You know, super clean, all the newest cardio machines complete with built-in DVD player and cable TV, no rust on the spin bikes (I actually went to a spin class. So that's how a spin bike is supposed to work! The ride was so creamy smooth, I didn't even realize I was at threshold the whole time. But the phrase "this is a Johnny G. technique" was actually uttered, which was a little scary.), several Internet stations, smoothie bar...blah blah blah. My favorite part of the gym is the women's steam room. It's all sparkling white, smells of eucalyptus, and few people use it. I mentioned this during our Day-After-Thanksgiving#2 meal, and Bryan asked, "Do you go in naked?" As I said "yes", I realized that I've never seen anyone else in there naked. But at my gym, most women use the sauna naked (we don't have a steam room). Plus, what's the point of a steam room, if half of your skin never gets the benefit? Apparently, most of the men go into theirs naked. Bryan's scared to go in. My dad wears shorts.

Intellectual/cultural pursuits continued the next evening, when I went downtown to see the Monument Piano Trio at An Die Musik with my parents. My mom lined up early (do you see a trend here?), so she snagged a couple of front row seats when the door opened. At intermission, mom dashed out to the lobby so that she could line up early at the bathrooms. I slowly made my way to the lobby, and she was still waiting, first in line, with a guy behind her, wondering aloud what could be taking so long. The guy behind her asked, "Are you sure there's someone in there?" So she tried the door again. Oops. It was empty the whole time. I guess she's just used to waiting....

One of the pieces they played was E.W. Korngold's opus #1, which he wrote in the early 1900s at the ripe old age of thirteen (!!). I think I still had a sticker collection at thirteen. I'd have felt better if the sheet music had been written with crayon, but I was close enough to see it, and it wasn't. Maybe it was transposed from crayon.

Well, I may not have written a concerto, but on the not unpleasant Christmas day flight back to Oakland, I did something that I'm sure anyone would agree is fairly comparable: I totally reprogrammed my HR monitor with all new workouts! It took 2 hours (I accidentally re-set it after the first hour, erasing all my work). I now have to burn at least 75% of my 9 hour/5800 calorie weekly goal to earn the flashing trophy every Monday. I know what you're thinking: Where can I get a watch that'll get me to work out for 9 hours a week, just so that my watch will flash a trophy for me every Monday?!?! Polar, baby. Polar. It's the wave of the future.

After 2 hours spent fiddling with my watch, I started my new book: Everything is Illuminated. I've been meaning to see the movie, and this guy that I might sortof have a crush on told me at a party that the book was even better. So far, so good. One passage in particular made me laugh out loud on the plane. Next on my reading list is some of David Foster Wallace's fiction. From the way Bryan describes his work, it seems like his writing style might be similar to that of Dave Eggers (A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius). But Bryan says DFW has more soul. If his initials were DSW (as in, "Designer Shoe Warehouse"), you could say that his work had "sole". I kept forgetting his name, so I used that as a mnemonic device.

I didn't mention that in between Thanksgiving#2meal and Day-After-Thanksgiving#2 meal, I got a massage from Amy, my oldest friend in the universe. She's a massage therapist by trade, and she'd never actually given me a massage. At Thanksgiving, she offered to drive in from Virginia again on my next trip, specifically to give me a massage at her mom Rosalie's (Rosalie lives in Baltimore, also does massage, and has a table). How sweet is that?! Bonus: she brought my 3-year old cousin-nephew Carter (she'd wanted him to call me Aunt Laura, and I thought that sounded old, so I asked to be called Cousin Laura, so we compromised, and now the kid is thoroughly confused). We jumped on the bed together before my massage. It was tres fun. I also told him all about my pet polar bear, to entice him to visit me.

Does anyone know where I can get a pet polar bear?

Quod erat demonstrandum.

I was told the other night that my blog posts can be somewhat incoherent*. Not in those exact words, but that was the basic gist.

*"lacking normal clarity or intelligibility in speech or thought" - Merriam-Webster Online

Well, I just came up with one word to describe the nature of my writing, when the original message was conveyed with several. Hah!

While we're not on the subject, I'd like to take this opportunity to say, once and for all, that it doesn't take an intellectual to be good at Scrabble. You don't have to know what the words mean, you just have to know how to spell them. And everyone knows that Scrabble is generally won or lost on 3-letter words and 2-letter words.

Ergo: asking the woman sitting in front of you at the movies what the end of "No Country for Old Men" meant, just because you noticed that she was playing Scrabble on her phone before the movie started, is not necessarily going to get you any closer to truth. It would have been different, had she been spotted reading a book entitled, say, Film and Allegory, or maybe What the End of "No Country for Old Men" Means. But who has time for books, when you're busy spelling out "ewe" on your phone?!

UPDATE: While we're not on another subject, Steve just sent me this photo that he took of me with my mom and dad over Thanksgiving. I had to cut my dad out of the photo because he was making a funny face. HAL!

Must be a full moon tonight?

I was trying to decide what to do tonight:

POO ride?
Spin.
POO ride?
Spin.

The expected overnight low: 34 degrees. I chose spin. Anyway, I just felt like going to spin tonight. Plus, I had been elected to pick up a DVD for my boss' birthday bash tomorrow (Flight of the Conchords, Season 1), which I could totally do on the way home from spin.

As I was getting ready to leave the locker room, Carly, the blind woman who spins, asked for help: one of her shoes had gone missing. Two of us emptied her bag (separately) and looked all over the locker room for it (I actually looked twice), and it wasn't there. I asked at the front desk, and it wasn't there. I borrowed the key from the front desk, went back up to the spin room, and it wasn't there. I looked in the lost and found, and it wasn't there. Meanwhile, it was getting later and later, and I was getting crankily hungry, and I had a DVD to buy. I had to leave. But I couldn't just leave her and her blind boyfriend to walk to the bus stop with inadequate foot protection! What if she stubbed her toe?! So I offered her a flip flop (not terribly protective, but better than nothing). She was not enthusiastic. I offered to drop them at the bus stop, and they agreed. Of course, as I led them to my car, I realized that my back seats were down for bike fitting purposes, so I fiddled with the back seat on the driver's side to create a seat for Boyfriend, who got in back. And when we got to the corner of San Pablo and Ashby, I was all, "what side of San Pablo Avenue" (really cranky now), and of course they didn't know how to explain it, but I figured it out. Then I was worried that a cop would show up (they'll ticket you in Berkeley for sitting at bus stops, and bus stop tickets are expensive). I could just see it: my two blind passengers hopping onto the bus as a cop pulls up behind me and rolls his eyes at the old "I was just trying to help a couple of blind people" excuse. Then I also realized that Boyfriend had to open the back door on the driver's side, in traffic, to get out. I'm all, "OK go now. Too late, don't go. OK, now. Too late..." It was ridiculous, so I got out of the car to help Boyfriend out. But I was like, "we have to hurry, I'm going to get a ticket." I must have sounded like a total bitch. So much for the good samaritan bit. After dropping them off, I made it to Borders, only to find out that they didn't have the DVD in stock (They never have anything in stock! Borders sucks!). So I grabbed a bite next door and moved on to Barnes and Noble down the street; there, I snagged the last copy in the store. Yay!

When I got home, I talked to Mel. She had just done the POO ride, after which she headed over to her boyfriend's place, and then managed to lock herself out of her boyfriend's apartment with her bike still inside. Her boyfriend's in China. Oops. She's going to try to key the lock before our Saturday ride. In an unrelated matter, I'm going to meet up with her in San Francisco for drinks tomorrow after work, but the person who'd originally set up the "girls' night out" thing won't be coming now: she and her husband were just out walking their dog when some other dog walker threw a ball, causing the other dog to (1) take off after it, (2) slide in some mud, and (3) accidentally take out this woman's husband! His knee is jacked and he's totally immobile, so she has to take care of him instead of coming out with us. Weird....

How'd it go?

My current BFF has a job interview today. I wonder how it's going. I wonder if I should call him to remind him to turn his phone off. This idea could backfire, though, depending on the timing.

So if he gets the job, he'll be working in the East Bay. I work in the East Bay. And I live in the East Bay. How fun would that be?!?! But then the poor thing will be working as a real lawyer. So he'll be a bucket of stress, and he won't have time to hang out, because he'll be drafting some brief, or traveling for discovery/interrogatories, or doing whatever it is that those wacky lawyers do 120 hours/week. I don't know if I should want him to get that job. I bet my local Trader Joe's needs checkers though, because it just opened. The more I think about it, Trader Joe's just works better for me. I think he should work at Trader Joe's....

Gastrointestinally speaking...

...it would behoove me to improve on my cornering skills. My HR monitor recorded an all-time (biking AND running) HR max on the POO ride tonight. I wasn't looking at my monitor at the time (poor vision/newbie bike handling abilities preclude such silliness), but I know exactly when it happened. I had just sprinted to catch the pack after slowing to round a corner, and just when I managed to grab the last person's wheel, I felt the strongest urge to hurl.

I'm also going to revisit the possibility of Lasik when I go to the optometrist next week. It would be so nice to be able to see stuff once in a while, when moving quickly, at night, 2 inches away from lots of other people who are also moving quickly, with only spandex between me and whatever. I've been told that I'm not a good Lasik candidate. Same for contacts. But maybe there have been developments? Hullo? My prescription glasses don't work well for cycling. Plus, glasses are such a pain. I broke a pair several few months ago, when I stepped on them (I didn't see them, because I didn't have my glasses on). None of the screws from the eyeglass repair kit would fit, so a co-worker patched them together for me with one of those tiny binder clips -- you know, the paper clips that resemble handbags for Barbie? I only wear this pair at home.

OK, I'm going to go sit on the nice warm floor (next to the couch) to watch TV for a spell before bed.

My Couch is freezing.

My neighbor gave (!) me her leather couch when she moved out this summer (she was feeling overwhelmed by the whole moving process). I've never had a leather couch; how could I have known that I wouldn't want to sit on it in the winter? Oh: this post has to be tiny, because the dumb arrow on the post below it still has to point to the poll. UPDATE: Voyla (English spelling)! More room for posts (see comment). Maybe, in my next post, I shall discuss my doorknob or something.

PINCH ME!

I hella worked out today. I burned about a gazillion calories, more than I could have possibly consumed in a day. Drinks and socializing the night before, drinks and celebrations immediately after. Bonus: I got to take pictures this evening, and I wasn't the one who dropped the camera! Bonus #2: I told Lawrence The Psychiatrist all about my crazy, incredibly and unusually lucid dream of the night before, and not only didn't he charge me a fee or roll his eyes, he didn't even declare me totally nuts! At least not to my face. AND, he even validated me by saying, "that must have been really scary!" On top of all of that, tomorrow I have a massage. Then I only have to work 3 days (actually, Wednesday's only a half-day). Then I get to go to Baltimore for Thanksgiving, my absolute favorite holiday in the whole wide world, because it's all about food (specifically, mushroom stuffing) and movies, and hanging out with family and quasi-family. Plus, I'll see Amy and Steve, who both happen to be coming to Baltimore from the "deep south" (I wonder if they're republicans now).

I can barely stand it.

I might be really depressed on Sunday. Oh no. I definitely will. I'm not going to think about it!

It's been decided.

I'm going to start racing my bike next year.

Early Bird crits start in January.

Ack.

In other news, I have an 80 mile ride tomorrow. Palomares. My pre-ride evening meal: a burger, some fries, a mixed drink, and an Arrogant Bastard. Bring it on.

Went flying this weekend...

I went to Dance Jam with Lisa on Friday. It was my first time, but I found it similar to Groove Garden. Only no one got naked (someone decided to go topless at Groove Garden, and the really weird part, to me, was that none of the men stopped dancing to check her out). Actually, Dance Jam was a lot bigger, and the music was better, in both the hot room (upbeat music) and the chill room (ambient music). Wow, this all sounds very Burning Man.

Lisa was once a Dance Jam regular, but life intervened, and now she wants to get back to the way she looked and felt when she spent a lot of time dancing. Frankly, I was worried, because I'd worked out for over 3 hours the night before, I was up at 5:30am that morning for an hour and a half of spin, and I had a ride planned for Saturday morning. But I'm her support, as the former personal trainer and, well, compulsive exerciser. Plus, I thought it would be good for me to dance. I don't dance much.

Andreas
There was this guy, in the chill room, lying face up, twisting and turning a woman in the air above him in slow motion with his arms and legs, to the beat of the music, for what seemed like forever. She never once touched the ground, and she never stopped moving. It was all very fluid. He brought her upside down into a split, his legs tucked into her hips to hold her up. Then she was facing the ceiling, then she was standing above him, then his foot was in her back and he had her in a deep backbend, etc. At times, only one of his limbs was in contact with her body. It was like a really advanced version of that airplane game you played as a kid, where someone's got their feet in your stomach and you're above them holding their hands for about 5 seconds until their legs give out and you fall forward, hitting the floor with your face.

Lisa saw me staring. I asked her what it was called, and she said she didn't know, but that "that's what he does." Actually, another guy saw me staring too, and he walked all the way across the room to tell me I should try it. Then Lisa said she knew him, and she asked me if I wanted to try it. Of course I had visions of falling on my head after either the poor guy's strength gave out (his current partner looked awfully light and limber) or my body didn't cooperate, so I said no. Lisa then went over to hug him hello, and the next thing I knew, they were both beckoning me. I shook my head. They came closer and beckoned. I shook my head. This went on until they were within hearing range. Andreas said, "I just wanted to say hello!" Oops. Hello! Then Lisa asked me if I was sure I didn't want to try it. I said no, I've never done it and I didn't know how. Andreas said it didn't matter.

So I said OK.

And Andreas said, "Yay!" What?!

Then I was in the air, twisting and turning, and transitioning slowly from one pose to the next without ever touching the ground, for a really long time. I was totally relaxed, and no words were exchanged. When my hand would fall backwards, for example, he would grab it, and he'd use it as leverage, together with his foot on my hip, or leg, to flip me into another pose. It felt like I was flying, and like I was being stretched, and like a massage, all at once. Unbelievable.

So I researched it on the web, and apparently it started here in the Bay area. It is a blend of yoga, acrobatics and Tai massage, and it's called Acro Yoga, specifically, the "flying sequences". Aptly named.

Here's an example I found on the web:
I did that!

Major Miscalculation

So as I'm getting on the bus this morning (along with 2 others who must have looked like they were "from California", because they were not interrogated), the bus driver says to me, "What do they mean by 'kosher?'"

I am not making this up. And she really wanted to know. I told her that it was kind of a long answer. She looked really disappointed, so I felt bad. But what do I know from kosher?! I just like to listen to my ipod in the morning.

Then, Larry emails me at work, saying, "you should know that for the most part, Bette Midler has her hair colored a solid red." He was kind enough to include a picture:Is "Bette" supposed to mean better than "best" here? Because the above seems to go from the superlative backwards: there's "best", there's "better", and then there's just "good" ("Bette"). Basically, this poster says, "Pin me up! I'm mediocre!"

Is my nose that long?

I do agree with Larry that she looks good in this other one:

But my hair doesn't look like that. It looks like the mediocre pin-up girl one. Oops.

Splotch

My new favorite word.

E.g. "Laura. You no longer have that splotch of blonde in your hair. You could not possibly look any less like Bette Midler. Do you want to drive my brand new Ford F150 4x4 until you get bored, and then I'll drive it?"

There was a health fair at work yesterday - free flu shots. I've been getting over a cold (which I am loathe to say, because only a few weeks ago I told a table full of people that I never get sick, and they were really impressed), but the waiver thingy said nothing about colds. It said not to get a shot if you had a temperature, which I was pretty sure I did not (hullo!). So I got the shot (the nurse did not have a very nice bedside manner - I told her to tell me when she was going to stick me, and she said, 'oh, just look over there' all irritated-like), and then later, I suddenly started coughing alot, and so of course I worried that I was now coming down with the flu because my immune system was compromised, so of course I called Mom The Nurse, whose immediate response was, "why the hell did you get a flu shot when you're sick?!"

What's with these modern-day nurses and their attitudes?

I've been feeling my struggling body build antibodies ever since. I slept nine (nine!) hard hours, waking at one point with a killer sore throat, which was gone when I re-awoke. I'm a "test case" in my department at work. No one else in my suite wanted to get a flu shot (they think it'll either cause the flu, or be way too "strain-specific" to prevent it). They're all watching me very carefully. I thought about faking convulsions, but I decided against it: someone might call a nurse to the scene. The horror!

Buses, Wineries, and Restaurants

I usually walk to work, but I wasn't feeling well yesterday, so I took the bus. As I was depositing my fare (with at least a couple people behind me), the driver singled me out for a conversation....

Driver: You're not from California.

Me: No, East Coast. Why?

Driver: Please don't take offense. You just have that East Coast, Barbara Streisand look.

I think she may have been confusing Barbara with Bette?!

Either way: UGH!

I figure the problem must be with my hair, so I totally changed my haircolor today. As I was getting Spanked (my hair salon is called "Spank"), I told Angela, my stylist, that I was getting a lot of "you remind me of [insert name of uncool older Jewish female singer here]". She laughed, and said, "Don't feel bad. The other day, I got Celine Dion." And she's, like, super cool and trendy, so I felt a little better. She then assured me (after I looked in the mirror, at the results, and asked) that I did not resemble Bette Midler. Angela, did you ever know that you're my hero?

In the afternoon/evening, I went to help bottle wine at a Bobby's winery. It was a 2003, cabernet mostly, with some zinfandel thrown in. We tasted as we bottled (I'm surprised nothing broke), and then we got to go to Lanesplitters for pizza and more wine! And beer! Kathryn and I got in big trouble for taking matters into our own hands and pulling 8 chairs up to an empty table that was only slated for 6, or some such thing. Bobby got a little upset at us for causing problems, because he's a regular, and they weren't charging us a corking fee, but we were quite buzzed, and we'd been waiting for close to an hour at the bar to get seated! Anyway, it was tres fun getting into big trouble with Kathryn.

And here I am with a head cold and wine headache. Oh dear. I have to go to sleep now.

P.S. I met someone, at the bottling gathering, who's from Alaska! I've never met anyone from Alaska!

What do you MEAN you're out of "road rage" costumes?!

It is not cool to drive under 60 MPH in the middle lane of a California freeway for no apparent reason. In fact, it's dangerous. And FYI, proper on-ramp merging procedures involve acceleration.

WTF?! This state is, like, 90% freeway! How can anyone with a California plate not know how to drive on one? What's wrong with you people?!

The Pinky Swear

I couldn't go see the new Steve Carrell movie with my Movie Husband on Friday, and he couldn't go see it with me on Saturday. So I went without him.

Long email string short, we now have a pact, memorialized by an in-person pinky swear after Michael Clayton (executed in the movie theater parking lot while pouring over my poorly organized VW Golf manual in poorly lit conditions, and figuring out how to hand-crank my completely frozen half-open sunroof back to the closed position) to see every Steve Carrell movie made from now until the end of time together, unless one of us consents to the other person seeing it outside the pact.

Movie restrictions are highly risky endeavors. I'd once promised the new Bond movie to someone, and my whole family got mad at me because we went for our traditional Thanksgiving Day "mom's-yelling-at-us-for-loitering-in-the-kitchen-while-she's-trying-to
-cook-especially-Hal-who's-snacking-on-all-the-ingredients" Movie Outing, and of course everyone wanted to see that, and my brother said, in his infinite wisdom, "you should never, ever promise to see a movie with someone" as we went in to see Bounce instead (I didn't mention that I'd already seen Bounce. I'd caused enough problems.)

But a pinky swear is a pinky swear......

So There!

Ack; apparently it's been over a week since my last confession. Some weekend highlights:

I volunteered my services at a Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk in a very cold Golden Gate Park, way too early on Saturday morning. And by the time they told me where the coffee was (the organizers don't drink coffee, and hadn't noticed!), it was gone. There was no real creamer anyway, just the scary powdered stuff. So I was cranky until they handed me The Keys. To the white Ford F150 4x4 pickup truck. That I was to drive the paparazzi around in, so that they could capture the event.

While I was dating Rod The Carpenter, he bought a white Ford F150 4x4 pickup truck. He would not let me near the driver's side, because, he insisted, I would not know how to drive it. I hate to drive, so I didn't mind not being allowed to, but I found his presumption tres annoying. Especially when he almost ran us off the road and into a ditch that one time. But whatever.

So when they handed me the keys on Saturday, and they just assumed I'd be able to carry 4 people around in the back of it and not hit any of the people walking the very crowded route, I was a little surprised. And then when I was forced to parallel park it into a tiny spot, twice, I was more surprised at their faith in me (so what if it was a rental!). And then when I was able to parallel park it, with lightning speed*, maybe an inch of clearance in front and 2 in back, I was, well, pretty impressed with myself.

So there, Ruprecht!

*It had to happen fast. The thing was wired to make that horrible beeping noise when in reverse, and I didn't want to draw attention to myself as I backed over someone's BMW.

Then I went to watch Wendy. She was doing a 24-hour run, which she'd started at 9 am. By the time I arrived (a little before 1pm), she'd run about a marathon, and she looked totally fresh. Amazing (but we were still planning on tripping the competition, because it was fun to contemplate). Then, after I left, spent like 2 hours and over $100 at Sports Basement, and came back, she still looked great. Then, after I left, attended another party at Marlic's, had a couple beers, ate some Zachary's pizza, met my husband's new girlfriend, bowled a spare at the bowling alley (where the party had migrated), couldn't convince anyone to do karaoke with me, which was going on in the bowling alley lounge, and came back (I was soooooo tired, because I'd been up since 5, and she seemed soooooo far away, over that Bay Bridge, but given what Wendy was doing, "tired", coming from me, was just laughable), she'd done about 70-some miles, and still looked fantastic! I ran with her for a spell, in my evening attire, at 2 am. It was supposed to be a walking lap, but when we were a little more than halfway around, another woman passed us, and she was close in terms of lap counts, and there was some discrepancy being ironed out regarding said lap counts, so we couldn't chance it. Off we went, and we passed her right back. Merell clogs are fairly supportive for impromptu runs in the dead of night without a headlamp, FYI. Anyway, I think Wendy was directing her head for both of us.

OK, so my big milestone: driving some dumb truck from Hertz. Wendy's big milestone: running 105.8 miles over a 24-hour period, making her the first place female finisher, and the 7th place finisher overall.

She stole my thunder. Dammit!

I went to my co-worker's daughter's birthday party the next morning at MOCHA (Museum of Children's Art), and my co-worker is quite a foodie, so the gourmet birthday cake was phenomenal. Tallulah informed me that being 5 is a lot like being 4, and she instructed me to make her a baby jellyfish for her "CD jewelcase aquarium" at one of the art tables (the party was Octopus-themed), and would not leave for the whole happy-birthday-cake-time ceremony, even though everyone was calling for her, until I finished it. It was a pressure-filled weekend, full of parallel-parked trucks and baby jellyfish cutouts. I think I handled it all quite well. And I'm ulcer-free! My only faux pas was when I asked one of the other guest's dads about his costume (apparently, the guy dresses eclectically in general, and this was no costume).

Then I went for a run (it's so easy to run 6.5 miles after watching someone top 80!) and didn't have time to stretch because I had to leave for my massage. When I got there, Becky said, "oh I'll stretch you." It sounded almost sinister, and I was a little scared. But I stifled several urges to scream, and I really felt like I was floating afterwards. Then I had the yummiest nap. Then I did my laundry, with no drama. And I lived happily ever after. The end.

Weekend Synopsis (with your host, Bette Midler)

OK, first, I've been alerted to some inaccuracies in my previous post:

1. The second party was Sylvester (New Years), and I wasn't able to bring the canned champagne (they'd stopped carrying it), so I brought these little chocolate mouse cups from TJs instead.
2. Dolly, the world's first cloned mammal, was not run over by a tractor, but died prematurely of natural causes.
3. I was an inch off on the height of Someone Else.
4. The organic Spinach had no E. Coli at all. It was persecution. By a bunch of Popeye haters and Anti-Spinites.

A question was raised as to whether anyone had actually died from the tainted inorganic spinach. The matter was researched, and it was concluded that the spinach had indeed killed at least one person. But a tractor idled suspiciously nearby.

Back to your regularly scheduled program.

Saturday's ride was breathtakingly beautiful. It was a brilliantly sunny early morning, after almost 24 hours of rain (the first rain of the season, and my first rain as a cyclist). Fog hovered in the valleys we passed, and everything was a lush green (after only one rain!), interspersed with a tiny bit of some east coast orange/yellow (Yay! Fall!). Wooded areas treated us to the fragrance of eucalyptus mixed with pine.

The ride went up Wildwood, across to Park Blvd. via St. James, to Joaquin Miller via the frontage road, up Butters to Skyline to Redwood, to South Pinehurst to Moraga, where some broke off to do Morgan Territory, one of my personal favorites, but that's 120 miles all told, and it caught me unprepared, so after a wistful moment I continued with Mel to Lafayette via St. Mary's (pit stop at Peet's), then half-Happy Valley to Orinda via Sunset Blvd, then up Wildcat Canyon, then down Euclid for some puttering at The Missing Link in north Berkeley (throw in some separation anxiety over my bike, which sat oh-so-vulnerably alone and untethered near the store's entrance), then back home to Lake Merritt in the flats.

Don't I sound so smart?!?! Well, the above was pretty much cut/pasted from the ride leader's emailed description of the planned route. Unfortunately, I'm way too preoccupied with things like not falling too far behind after catching a red light (or unexpected hill) (or both) in the highest possible gear (again) to pay enough attention to road signs. And on this particular day, there were really wet leaves on really wet roads, really unresponsive brakes, and really foggy sunglasses. It was a frightening Redwood Rd. descent. Yikes.

When I got home, I had a nice nap, and then went into San Francisco with my friend Nneka, who had a Samba performance at this Brazilian restaurant. She's really good, and the food was phenomenal.

Nneka likes to stay up all night. Her philosophy: "Sleep? You can sleep when you're dead." A bunch of us went to Puerta Vallarta for 4 days once, and we slept an average of 2 or 3 hours a night. I was hoping I'd die, so that I could get some sleep. But instead, we spent the wee hours clubbing and getting felt up by other women and whatnot (while being fed shots of tequila, I don't know, apparently it's customary). Oh, and I got pinched on the ass by a transvestite at a gay dance club (not my idea!) who was much prettier than I. He had just performed onstage as Madonna. I was too tired and confused to be offended.

On this comparatively mundane Saturday night, I couldn't stop yawning, even though I'd had a nap, so I got yelled at a few times. But in all fairness, I yawn a lot regardless as to whether I'm tired (I just feel like I need the oxygen). I've heard that Tiger Woods does the same.

After the restaurant, we ended up at Medjool, where it was "lame pick-up lines" night...

Random Guy (coming downstairs as we're heading upstairs to cool off on the rooftop deck, interrupting his cell phone conversation to block my path): "Hey, how's it looking downstairs? Is it hot?"

Me: "Yeah, it's pretty warm."

RG: "No, I mean are the women as hot as you? Because if not, I'm turning right around to follow you back up."

Random Guy #2, walking up to the heat lamp under which we were huddled on the roof (we'd cooled off pretty quickly) and saying to Nneka: "Hey, is it the lamp making this area so hot, or is it you?"

And then to me: "You've probably heard this before, but you remind me of Bette Midler."

Me: "Ugh! I have heard that before! And it's a very unflattering comparison!"

RG#2: "What! The Bette Midler of 20 years ago was quite an attractive woman!"

Me: "TWENTY years ago?!"

RG#2: "OK, OK! 30 years ago!"

Hmph.

I'd made plans with a friend for Sunday morning. We were going to call each other when we woke up. She called at 9. Normally, I'd be up, but this was right after a Nneka night. My head was smarting (I'd only had 2 drinks all night, so I realized it was from having cooked my brains under that heat lamp). I'd wanted to go to Bakesale Betty's but it turns out it's closed on Sunday. So we went to Fat Apples! I'd never been. It was yummy.

Carnivore, Beware.

My friend Larry was a garden-variety carnivore (HAHA!) when I met him at one of Marla and Eric's parties. I kept calling him Allen that night, for some reason.

We were at another party at Marlic's several months ago (was it last September, Larry?) when he announced his decision to become a vegetarian. I think I choked on the canned champagne that I was drinking at the time (Yes. It had its own little telescoping straw, like one of those kids' juice boxes. I had to get it when I saw it on the shelf at Trader Joe's. Coppola made it. It was really bad.). Here's what I remember....

Me: A vegetarian? Why?

Larry: The sheep died.

Me: What sheep?

Larry: The one they cloned. The first successfully cloned sheep. It died a terrible death.

Me: What does that have to do with anything?

Larry: blah blah blah meat blah blah blah cloning blah blah blah really bad blah blah blah book by Blah Blah

Someone Else (who discovered months later that he wasn't 5'9" as he'd always thought, but was instead 5'8"+, which he divulged at the dessert table at another of Erla's parties recently, to which a 6-foot-tall Larry responded that he might get taller if he spent time in the zero-gravity environment of outer space): Are you going to stop eating meat gradually?

Larry: No, I'm just going to stop.

Me: So you're going cold tofurkey?

*laughter* (I think I laughed at my comment more, perhaps much more, than the others did. It was tres funny, after all. But the canned champagne and whatever else may have had something to do with my inability to stop laughing.)

So, of course I had to point out later that most vegetables are cloned. And of course he found out later that he'd totally misunderstood about the sheep. I think it was run over by a tractor or something. But he's still a vegetarian. And now he's talking about going vegan.

So this came up because he just sent me an email. His subject header: "carnivore beware"

The body of his email contained two articles:
1. ConAgra Closes Pot Pie Plant Due To Salmonella Concerns
2. E. Coli-Tainted Beef Leads to Suit Against Manufacturer, Stores

Yeah. Maybe we should just stick to something safe. Something vegetarian. Something like, hmmm. Spinach! Who was ever killed by spinach? Oh...wait....

Hal

After the army (he was ROTC at Johns Hopkins University), Hal went to work as an engineer for the navy, where he remained his entire adult working life. He used to get up at 4:30 am for his daily commute from Baltimore to Washington DC. He didn't really talk about his work. He refused to eat anything with poppy seeds, which ruled out pretty much everything in the freezer (Coincidence? I think not.), for fear of testing positive for opiates. And, every now and then, the next-door neighbor, Mr. Gordon, would let him know that the FBI had come around again, asking questions (routine security clearance). Which often led to the "let's pick up the lamp and talk into it" game.

At age 56, he took early retirement, and lied about his age to get into some senior citizen watercolor class at the Jewish Community Center. Way to buck the system, Hal! Oopsie. Hope I didn't just get him blacklisted from the JCC. Anyway, it was to be his very first art class of many. Now he's an award-winning watercolorist and pastelist. Who knew?!

Hal's my dad, and today's his birthday. He's pretty old, so he doesn't have to lie anymore.

Here are some of his originals (the first is a pastel, and the others are watercolor):

HAHAHA!

The college application stated that the photo was optional, but the one below might warrant a full scholarship for this prospective student...


...or maybe I'll add a Photoshop class and ask him to teach it. Or maybe we'll just go for a bike ride or see lots of movies at the cineplex.

~~Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad! 43 years!~~

Addendum: The Office was tres funny this week. YAY!

Laura University

I was thinking today that I'd start a university. Mainly because I'm jonesing for one of those super-thick hoody college sweatshirts, and I don't want to wear the name of some dumb school that didn't even prepare me for real life. Here's the core curriculum so far....

Yoga Self-Defense (3 phys ed. credits)
Yogis are not always "zen." There are some, at a certain West Berkeley gym, who will slam you against a wall without hesitation to compete for a spot on the floor where they can hurry up and start achieving tranquility, connection to the world, and whatnot. Do you want spiritual enlightenment? Well hey: Grow a set. Coursework includes ancient sanskrit method instruction on how to run into class, quickly throw your stuff down in strewn-about piles, designed to hold your place while you run over to the yoga mats in a complete panic for a "not-too-icky" mat and return to your spot all while staring down the idiot who's eyeing your spot and who thinks they're about to get away with moving your strewn-about stuff so that they can throw down their pristine brightly-colored mail-order eco-friendly recycled rubber yoga mat and conveniently close their eyes fake meditation-style until class starts (along with the guy next to them, who refused to save the spot, suggesting the "throw down your stuff" approach instead).

The Illusion of Neutrality (3 poli sci, sociology, or criminal justice credits)
I have this friend. Her name is Shmaura. She's a total dumbass, because she introduced her single male friend to her single female cousin and was determined to be optimistic that all would be fine as long as she stayed out of it, even refusing to take the bait when her single male friend kept sneakily plying her for information and her single female cousin called her don't-ask-don't-tell policy "so American" in a not-very-complimentary tone. This course explores Shmaura's downward spiral, from neutral, loving friend/cousin who had the best intentions, could do no wrong, and loved/was loved by all, to miserable friendless cousin-killer whose Murder 1 conviction was sealed by the corroborative testimony of the entire city of Oakland, which overheard her screaming at the top of her lungs, "WTF?! I never said you needed to lose 40 lbs! How did that even come UP?! I'm going to kill her!" If there's time, we'll discuss viability of the "prison day pass" (so that she can bring a really fattening non-vegetarian meat pie to her former male friend at the eating disorder clinic).

Don't Ever Make Plans. Or: Make Breakable Plans Constantly (3 philosophy credits, but note that this course schedule conflicts with the only other course that you really want)
Have you ever noticed that when you make plans, suddenly about a million things that you wanted to do are happening on that day, or that one person you've been wanting to see for months is finally available at that very time? And you've got absolutely no commitments at any other time that month? Why does that happen?

Assessments and Self-Assessments

Season 4 of The Office started tonight. Didn't love it. I fear it may jump the shark this season, but I'm willing to reserve judgment for now.

Speaking of the office, I just drafted a self-assessment for my performance review tomorrow morning. "A ridiculous exercise" as a friend has recently been quoted as saying?

Speaking of exercise, I didn't, today. I was too busy being ridiculously stressed about doing my self-assessment. Here's my self-assessment:

1. Fat (didn't exercise today).
2. Proficient at "the segue."
3. Very tired.

Speaking of tired, I'm going to bed (it's actually a lot later than 8:44 pm).

Chairman Mao Finishes First!

Welp...

I've seen lots of photos of me lately, so I decided to start running again this week, after a little unintentional hiatus as cycling ever so insidiously usurped my life.

The original plan was balance: Cycling*, yoga, running, lifting.
Which became cycling, yoga, running.
Which became cycling, yoga.
Which became cyclingcyclingcycling.
Which became cycling, yoga.
Which became cycling, yoga, running.

*includes spinning

Now you're all caught up (if you haven't moved on to check your email or water your plants or something).

The running's going OK, I guess, except when I almost died on Thursday at the gym while trying to high-five Marc from my treadmill. I was just so excited to look up to see a friendly face, and as I took out my earphones and turned, there was a wobble, a yelp, and a remarkable save (pure athletic prowess). This is why I keep my head down, under my baseball cap, in spin class. They don't make blinders for people; that's pretty much just a horse market.

Speaking of farm animals, last night at the Black Sheep reunion and slideshow (I can't believe there really was an inflatable sheep, in response to my "who's bringing the inflatable sheep?" comment on the evite! Especially since inflation is anathema to our leader! Do you see the personal sacrifice here?! Or at least the irony?!? Did you even look up "anathema" for crying out loud?!?!), right before Morgan told me that I always keep my head down in spin class and never talk to anyone, Wendy mentioned that representatives of the gym's running club would be running this morning's Lake Merritt 5-10-15K; you can run once around the lake, twice around the lake, or three times! "Choose-a-you," as we Italians say. I'm not really Italian, but once upon a time, I knew an Italian named Luciano who spoke really poor English, and that's how he said it - he also had the most hideous fluorescent board shorts that he wore constantly, because men don't wear shorts in Italy no matter how hot, unless they're tourists, and he was just so happy he could wear shorts here that he didn't care what they looked like. So picture this trim, well-groomed guy with the most fashionable horn-rimmed tortoise-shell glasses, and crisp button-down shirts...and fluorescent board shorts.

Oops. Back to the race. It's held every 4th Sunday of the month by the Lake Merritt Joggers and Striders. Wendy is training for a 24-hour run (where she aims to top 100 miles in a row, and of course she will, because she's already done like 72 miles over the course of a 12-hour run), Marc's her antelopean protege, and Judy's been training for the Rock and Roll Half Marathon (her first, I think!) next month.

Well I live in the area, so I decided to join them. It's such a great concept (to foster a sense of community and camaraderie in my very own neighborhood!), and it's so cute because everyone gets a gold ribbon at the end, just for finishing. I entered the 10K (it didn't occur to me that it might cost money, so Wendy had to front me some cash. Duh.). My absolute favorite part was when Wendy was explaining to Marc and me before the start exactly how she was going to pace us (because she was thinking I might be able to keep up! How cute is that?!). I didn't tell her, but my only goal was not to get lapped by Wendy (she was doing the 15K).

I WON!

Well, among the women, aged 30-39, who did the 10K, anyway. And I may have been the only woman aged 30-39 who did the 10K. But I got a blue ribbon, so whatever, OK? Actually, I thought it was a mistake. But the results announcer said my name again, and told me to come get my ribbon, so I knew it wasn't a mistake. Of course I said, "Oh, shit!" in shock. To which she responded into the megaphone, which she still had to her mouth, "Don't swear!"

Then Marc was announced the winner in his category! And I couldn't stay for her finish because I had to leave for my haircut, but Judy looked awesome as she headed out for loop 3 (go Judy!). And I was there when Wendy came in, and I'm sure she won in her category.

While I'm certain I will barely be able to walk tomorrow, my second toe (which is usually perpetually in agony when I run a lot, because the nail gets all deformed from repeated impact against my shoe, and I've tried lots of things but still haven't figured out how to fix that, and it's really weird because I don't have one of those insanely long 2nd toes, it's actually shorter than my big toe, yet my big toe is always fine, and aren't parentheses the coolest? You can go off on tangents without having to start a new paragraph!) isn't really bothering me yet.

So what's with Chairman Mao, you ask?

I have these legwarmers that are made of army green-colored wool. They have brass, army-ish buttons all down the outside. And they have built-in spats (they partially cover your shoes, with a strap that goes underneath the foot). Chairman Mao's been dead for, what, 30 years? He totally missed the Jane Fonda legwarmer craze. Anyway, Jane Fonda was pretty political. He probably despised Jane Fonda and all that her corrupt, capitalist legwarmers represented. But if he had worn legwarmers, people, he'd wear these! They just look so...communist. Then, the other night at the slideshow (where my 10K run plan was hatched), I was wearing them (they're very snuggly on a cold and/or rainy evening like yesterday) and it was brought up (who brought this up?!) that they could be British army legwarmers, and that, in fact, they just look "army." Usually, when I introduce them as my "Chairman Maos," people just think it's weird that I'd imagine Chairman Mao wearing legwarmers. But now people are actually imagining other nations' armies wearing legwarmers. From Anthropologie. A boutique that sells women's apparel, smelly soaps, candles, and coffee table books.

If this catches on in Britain (personally, I think France is more likely): They'll always be Chairman Maos to me, China!

My Week In Review - Reader's Digest Version

Lots of Yoga/Not Enough Spin
I got in trouble for leaving work early to go to spin class. I'm trying to be zen about it, but I'm definitely losing it. I'm considering going back to being a regular morning spinner, but even when I do manage to get out of bed for a morning spin class (the hardest part!), those classes are generally only an hour long (as opposed to 1.5 or 2 hours Monday thru Thursday evenings). And it feels less like a party. And I burn fewer calories per minute in the morning. And I'm asleep at my desk by 3. UGH!!! Namaste namaste namaste. I'm fine.

Willpower Issues
I watched every single minute of every single section of my new "The Office, Season Three" DVD, including bonus features. I tried to stretch it out until next week's sesason premiere, but that didn't work, because I have instant gratification issues. Like when my brother and I were kids, and we were allowed one coke at Milano's, and my glass was empty in about 5 seconds, before my food arrived, while Bryan's was only two-thirds empty after he'd eaten two-thirds of his sub. And then I pouted, so I got another coke. And Bryan got really mad. Hah! Anyway, now I have to wait an entire week for the premiere, and it's my parents' fault.

Bars Bars Bars
You know those friends you have who are stuck in college party mode? I spent Friday and Saturday nights with mine, at a few drinking establishments. The highlights: I totally sucked at pool and won anyway, and we played dumb 80's songs (e.g. Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name") on the jukebox and sang along at the very tops of our lungs, which really endeared us to the bartender.

Happy New Year!
Delightful brisket, and company, on Thursday night. I resolved to be more "focused" in the coming year. I need focus. Which reminds me, I haven't been to the optometrist in eons. Gotta set something up.

Neighbor Update
X and Y have forgotten about me for the moment, because they are currently consumed by this new yappy dog situation which seems to be coming from across the courtyard. Y keeps yelling, "Keep it up guys. I'm CALLing the po-LICE." Is he trying to reason with the dogs?!

The Whirlwindy City

I've FINALLY seen Chicago, where I converged with family for my cousin Mike's wedding this past weekend.

I arrived pretty late on Friday night, and I left at 0:dark:30 on Sunday, so I really only had one day there, which wasn't enough! The daylight hours on Saturday were spent walking past that evening's venue (to nose around a bit and get some history on the joint), strolling along the endless running/biking path on Lake Michigan, feeling very sad for the big cats and polar bears in cages at the zoo (which happens to be along the running/biking path on Lake Michigan), eating french toast, picking out a gift at Bloomingdales, obtaining the next day's boarding pass at the Ipod--oops-- I mean Apple store, watching street performers, and getting a new lipstick at MAC (my first ever MAC purchase!).

The evening was spent as a guest of the historic Women's Athletic Club, founded in 1898 not for athletic endeavors (the first gym equipment was added in the 1980s), but for entertaining. There, I was able to catch up with the "other cousins" at the "cousins table," and ride the old-school elevator being manually operated by an Elevator Guy.

Here I am, after two yummy martinis from the martini bar, taking a self-portrait with my dad, using his camera:


Why is my head so huge?!

One of my spaghetti straps broke later while I was dancing, so I immediately sought out the wedding coordinator (clipboard: dead giveaway), who hooked me up with a safety pin while chastising me: "Always. Reinforce. A spaghetti strapped dress."

Things That Are Gone

My cornrows...

...this sundae...

...flash-free-photo-induced jaundice (not contagious)...

...and my two weeks with Dawn, who left today.

My First Screenplay

I've been hearing a lot about film lately, so I thought I'd write one. How hard could it be?

I No Longer Heart My Upstairs Neighbor, Who Never Hearted Me Anyway (A Tragedy Based On a True Story)

Fade in to laundry room, which contains only one washer and only one dryer, and which is in the basement of the apartment building next door to Laura’s apartment building, and which is meant to serve both buildings, which themselves contain a total of at least 10 apartment units, some of which are double occupancy.

Close-up of washer, which totally sucks even when you don’t fill it to capacity, and this is obvious because when you open the lid after a cycle, all of your clothes are in exactly the same place as when you put them inside, and clearly you are the only item that’s gotten agitated in the last 30 minutes.

But the playwright digresses.

Cut to Laura, who looks tragically amazing framed in the doorway against the late afternoon light as she enters the room, despite having carted her awkward laundry bag thingy down the stairs and into the basement of the next building after a long run and some puttering around in the intense heat of the farmer’s market, at which the Chair Massage Guy, who is always there, and who was pretty much the reason for her visit (well, that and the heirloom tomatoes), was noticeably absent. She also looks tragically amazing despite contemplating the three (three!) loads of laundry she has to do, and the fact that it’s a race against the clock because she has plans for the evening.

Justin Timberlake’s Cry Me a River plays in background.

Laura walks over to the washer and opens the lid. Close-up of washer innards from above reveals wet clothes. The last items placed in the washer are still on top. Laura wasn’t there for the loading procedure (since these are not her clothes), yet she is secure in this knowledge, and the mere sight of the wet clothing evokes for her a moment of Pavlovian, classically conditioned, agitation. Laura was a psych major, and she recognizes these things.

Closer inspection reveals quarters poised in the washer’s coin-op mechanism, waiting for the owner’s next load. Even closer inspection reveals a basket of whites to the left.

Laura doesn’t know who’s stuff this is. Could be anyone’s. They could have gotten side-tracked. Maybe they’re yammering away on the phone. Laura utters some expletives to herself. Improvisation here (regarding the expletives) is OK. As she dumps out the owner’s quarters, places them on top of the basket of whites, and pulls the wet clothes from the washer, Laura wonders who will play her when this becomes a major motion picture. Maybe Scarlett Johansson. Laura notes to herself that whoever plays her must be extremely facially expressive, due to the lack of actual dialog so far.

Cut to stairway back up to Laura’s apartment, about 10 minutes later. Laura runs into her favorite upstairs neighbor ever, “X”, who is coming down with, OMG, some whites.

Laura: Uh-oh.

X: Hello. What.

Laura: Um, I think I just took your laundry out of the washer.

X: OH. I had quarters in there, for my next load.

Laura: Oh! *helpful look* I put them in your basket!

X: That’s. So. Rude. I can’t believe you did that. I’m always punctual coming back to the laundry room.

Laura (VOICEOVER: Then where the f*ck were you?), out loud: Sorry! I didn’t know it was you! Would you like me to spring for the next load?

X: No. It’s not that. That's not the point. I just can’t believe you would be so rude.

Exeunt X, who keeps going down the stairs, screaming some expletives herself. X eventually comes back up the stairs, making a point of slamming her door and stomping around up there for a couple hours. Laura worries about a possible return of the Dreaded Oscillating Fan.

--Fin--

Jersey City, NY

My cousin Dawn works in New York City's cut-throat film industry. After 6 solid months of work, her latest film just wrapped, and she found the money and time to come for a visit, so she's finally here!

Dawn hearts NY, for sure. If you ask her (as at least a few here have) where she's visiting from, she says "New York" without hesitation.

Then, if you ask her (as the same people did) exactly where she lives in New York, she replies, "Jersey City."

I wonder if, when she told people that she was going to visit her favorite cousin in the whole wide world, she said she'd be staying in San Francisco's Oakland district?

We've been having a fabulous time.

Thursday: Dawn called me "perfect-ish" (I chose to take that as a compliment, though clearly it can go either way). She also used the word "avocado" as a verb (in the cafe's sandwich line: "I like the way he's avocado-ing that").

Friday: Dawn, who doesn't own a car, much less a stick-shift, drove down my skinny road on my skinny hill from my tricky driveway and picked me up from work in my manual VW Golf. She's good. Then I got behind the wheel and we headed to Bear Valley for the night. Over the 3-hour drive that took 4+ hours, I subjected the poor thing to my ipod, which contains about 90% bubblegum pop. By the time we were almost there, she was so disoriented that she agreed Justin Timberlake has talent.

Saturday: Dawn slept in, and then spent the day enjoying Lake Alpine, vacation-style. I, on the other hand, awoke at 5:45 am so that I could, um, not eat until after 7 (Nothing was open! And then we went to the wrong place! And then there was an oatmeal situation!) and be 40 minutes late for the start of the Ebbetts Pass Century, a new ride of 101.7 miles and 12,800 feet of climbing in the Sierras. Joining me were some 2007 Camp Blacksheep alumni (and possibly one or two future Black Sheep campers?), who were kind enough to wait for me. It is unbelievably beautiful up there. And oxygen's overrated.

Then we won stuff at the post ride dinner/raffle! It was tres fun. I scored a cross-country skiing day pass for two with free rentals, and Dawn came home with a bottle of wine (the winnings of a rider who doesn't drink, and whose name, ironically, is Chuck -- as in "Two-Buck"!). Then, Dawn drove us home. The seat belt was cutting into her neck, so in one swift move, while driving, she adjusted its height and resolved the problem. That seat belt has been digging into my neck for the 7 years that I've had the car. I never knew it was adjustable. She's never even owned a VW!

Sunday: Brunch! Shopping! Manicures! Pedicures! We were barely home! But unfortunately, during the period of time that we DID spend at home, "Y" was unhappy, and came upstairs to knock on the door and let us know it. Twice. Apparently, New Yorkers living in Jersey City walk more loudly than San Franciscans who live in Oakland. And just when I thought my neighbor karma had stabilized ......

*sigh*

My Teleconversation (not) With Amy

Amy called me at work today. Amy's my oldest friend. Not "old" like "senior citizen," but "old" like "we met in kindergarten." Which we did. One of my first memories of Amy involves giant clumps of white hospital tape. She showed up at kindergarten with it stuck to her head in what looked to be random places near her scalp, all entangled in her hair, making quite a little rat's nest of it. I must've gone up to her to ask her what was up with her hair, because I found out that her mom accidentally shut the trunk on her head, or backed over her or something. The details were a bit fuzzy and then I think we had to go learn to spell our names, so I was distracted. But I remember thinking the remedy a bit ineffectual. And I was in kindergarten. But that's neither here nor there. I miss Amy because she's back east, and because our conversations are almost always fleeting due to time zone issues or child distractions, unless I'm having a personal crisis and we block out some time. Today was not a personal crisis day, and the conversation went like this:

Me: Amy Beth!

Amy: HEY. LISTEN.

Me: ......

Amy: I'm just calling to tell you that I can't talk.

Me: OK. Thanks for letting me know. Bye.

Amy: Just listen. I want you to know that I'm AT THE GYM. I have on BOXING GLOVES. And I look really cool. I mean, I look like I know what I'm doing.

Me: That's so great!

Amy: OK, I have to go. You shouldn't talk on cell phones at the gym.

Amy just got into working out. Isn't that so cute?!

Adventures of a Black Sheep

I should be able to say that I've now biked the Sierras. However, I have been informed, by the former press secretary of the Sierra Club no less, that no matter how many of the Sierras have been climbed (and/or cursed while climbing), it's still singular: The Sierra.

Screw that.

So I survived an entire week of cycling the Sierras and surrounds. Well, really 6 days of cycling, with a rest day thrown into the middle. The rest day consisted of a 5-hour meandering hike/walk around a portion of Lake Tahoe. It felt really good on the legs for the first half. I was a little tired during the second half, so I entertained Morgan and myself with some "watch out for the bear"s muttered to passing hikers. I felt really bad though, when this cute little passing family did a double take, and the cute little dad went, "REALLY?!"

Anyway, back to the cycling. All told, I put 437 miles on my bike in a week, and I climbed 41,400 feet. Wait. How can that be right?! Some of our bikes requested a group shot (see above). Mine is in the foreground.

Some random highlights (huge thanks to various Black Sheep for all the trip photos, as I was too lame to have a camera):

1. No flats or mechanical malfunctions on my bike whatsoever (both a blessing and a curse, I would discover on day 4, when everybody else was invited to the "let's fix each others' bikes" party in the parking lot). Unless you count the very beginning of the first day, when I so enthusiastically pulled the pump nozzle off my freshly self-pumped tire that half of my tube's stem came with it, thereby compromising the tube and necessitating the first tire removal/tube change of the entire trip, which hadn't even started. I was afraid to touch the pump after that morning, so I enlisted others to pump my tires to 120 psi every single morning thereafter, for 2 very important reasons:

a. Why ride on stale air when you can ride on puffy, fresh air!?! Hullo!

b. My bike mechanic told me that 120 psi would reduce the risk of broken spokes (I didn't have spare spokes because they're all different sizes, and they have to be special ordered, and there was no time).

A certain Head Counselor of Camp Blacksheep (www.blacksheepadventures.com), while accommodating, wondered aloud whether I'd been a 300-lb man when I last visited my bike mechanic. Which leads me to believe that this certain Head Counselor may be anti-inflation, or possibly anti-obese transgender. I'm not naming names, but his initials are Fred.

2. Absolutely stunning scenery.








My personal faves: going over a beautiful green suspension bridge (where WAS that and why oh why are there no photos of it?), and Mosquito Lake (also love this rock formation on Ebbetts Pass...and the sky really was that blue!). Though, at one point, I was chatting with Marc during an ascent, and we agreed that it was too bad that it just doesn't matter how damned pretty it is when you're about to arrest.

3. Amazing descents. I hit my all-time high speed of 47.3 mph on day 2. Yay!

4. There was foosball in Quincy. And plush terrycloth robes for everyone in the rooms! Why was I the only one to get excited about that?!

5. Judy saw a bear while hiking alone in the wilderness (...wrestled it to the ground, made bear jerky out of it, and gave it to Mark, who was handing it out at the pool...)

6. Becky and I crossed the street and stumbled carefully into Lake Tahoe immediately after a difficult ride to experience the ice bath effect (my brilliant idea!). Of course we later discovered that the motel pool, which was closer, was just as cold (but not as cool, so there!). Oh, and at one point Becky looked down at her feet and said, "look at the little lobster!" which I deduced later was actually a crawfish. There are crawfish in Lake Tahoe!

7. Tahoe City may be home to the only ice cream shop (or non-aircraft structure for that matter) in the world that smells exactly like the inside of an airplane.

8. Gluttony without guilt. On the evening of day 5, I ate a rib eye with the best mashed potatoes I've ever had in my life. And then I ate half of Andrea's rib eye and the remainder of her mashed potatoes. Then, I started chewing my own arm off. Kidding!

9. We had a party in the breezeway of the Inn at Markleeville, with beers and crushed up gorp that had spent the entire day in someone's pocket, yet was strangely yummy!

10. The morning after she and Jerry were seen cooing to a bear cub without worrying about a silly thing like its mother possibly being nearby (I may have panicked slightly), Courtenay The Uberrunner ran 18 miles up Ebbetts pass. At altitude, and in the dark, stopping only to write "go fatass" with a rock, her thoughtful prose totally lost on Wendy, who simply didn't see it. Anyway, Grizzly Woman's legs took her where cold hard impenetrable steel could not (her bike had finally sputtered and died on the previous ride -- oh, and it might have been aluminum). She was mauled at the top by a cattleguard.

11. By the end of the ride, I was able to ride no-hands just like Himgan! I haven't been able to do that since I was a kid. Next, I shall learn how to strip off my arm warmers at the same time, like Himgan! Eventually, I shall bring a novel (Breaking Away?) and read it aloud to the group while riding 24 mph against a headwind in the flats. Baby steps.

12. The support van totally broke down in the middle of some highway on the last day while we were cycling, so a bunch of us cyclists were corralled (marooned?) at a dinky store in rural Dinkville for a few hours after 50 miles of what was supposed to be the week's longest ride, while the Head Counselor scrambled to get the van back and salvage the day. Yes! This is in the highlights section! Turns out, we had done all of the day's (substantial!) climbing by the time we hit the store, so the ride was effectively over anyway and we didn't have to feel robbed. There was much Mexican beer and rejoicing. Chris, who looks really hot both with and without my lipstick on, led the drinking games. I did not cheat. And I recall being really good at Hearts. Oh and there was arm wrestling!! We cyclists live in the mind. We are sophistoclists.

The HC eventually got the van back, assisted by Mike the CIT (promotion!) and Sarah. A bee had gotten into the air filter and disabled the entire vehicle! Hah! I find this particularly interesting, because on my very first ride (March 17, 2007), I was stung on the tongue by a bee during what I considered at the time to be a rather terrifying descent (I think I was doing, like, 18 mph?). Meddling bees!

OK, so I can only think of one lowlight in the entire trip: It ended.

I'm tres depressed.