Blognuggets

Gyrating in Dirt

2009-02-06T18:20:00.000-08:00

After I spent about 15 minutes trying to get my pimpin' new loaner mountain bike into my car ...

...without removing any wheels (it's got a funky fork, so it's best not to mess with it) (oh, and it did not go willingly, but Jen, it went carefully, I swear! Success!), I headed to China Camp.

I was late!!!

Michael More was eating pasta in his car when I arrived. Looked, but didn't see a microwave. Hm. Wonder if he'd cooked it on the engine block. He's a plumbing contractor. But today, he generously took a break to show me how to shred.

Well, I'm currently unemployed, but he was really nice to agree to help me out (he had to show me how the shifters worked, that's what he was dealing with) so I paid him in home-baked chocolate chip cookies:

Michael immediately informed me that one of the cookies was broken:

So. Lesson 1: How to build a bike trail on protected land.

KIDDING!

First lesson was on gravel. He told me to take a tight turn. After I'd gone in a circle for a while, he asked me what was going on for me while I was turning. I told him I was really nauseated. And that to effect the turn, I'd steered the handlebars while trying to relax.

He told me that was exactly what he'd wanted to hear. I beamed! Because that's wrong, said he.

You steer with your eyes. Your head is a gyroscope. It stays level, always up, scanning where you want to go. Smoothly. Your body, and your bike, will follow. Don't get fixated on the trail.

So it was Bayview, to Oakridge, to Shoreline.

He was so right. I'd heard it before ("look where you're going, not where you are"), but I think the gyroscope concept made it happen for me. And using him for target practice (he stood in the turn, telling me to look at him while he walked through it, as I rode through it just behind him). And trusting that it would work. I fought hard with the urge to preview my impending death as I turned toward the embankment, but the gyroscope prevailed, and I made every last switchback. Every one. Even the hairpin turn on a descent at the end.

I did have to try a couple switchbacks more than once to get them without unclipping my foot from the pedal, or stopping. But he waited until I'd executed each one successfully. And he cheered me on the whole way.

Besides switchbacks, we did a little drop-off thingy, and we practiced some downhill technique. (weight over the back wheel, look up, feet at nine and three, front brake only, emergency exit off the back!). But the double black diamond downhill comes later. Brown sugar brownies for that one.

The only time I shrieked was when we collided at the beginning of the ride. So we got that out of the way early.

Funny thing is, he chatted me up during the really terrifying skinny-rocky-6"-wide-trail-on-edge-of-a-cliff parts ("Do you watch British TV shows?"), and then afterwards, he'd say, "I didn't want to tell you this, but only three people have ever made it through that section alive [high five]." And then he'd make a point to stop at random easy parts and say things like, "it's very important that you look out for this twig."

Whatever his technique, it works. What a phenomenal teacher.

Money for Nothin'/Eggs for Free

2009-02-05T10:02:00.000-08:00

The free Ikea Breakfast

Get 8 hours of sleep the night before and muster all strength.

Enter through the exit door (there will be soup kitchen-caliber lines at the front entrance, even on a weekday morning - consider the economy for chrissakes).

Deep breath. Push forward. Literally, if needed. Don't worry, it's Ikea. Brandish your free tape measure and mini pencil.

Don't take off your sunglasses (or put them on, if it's raining out). You'll come upon a large energy-efficient-flourescent-lightbulbly-lit area, filled beyond legal capacity, not only with brightly colored strewn-about chairs, and blindingly white tables, but also with aggressive primates. Focus on the primate in front of you, and guard your position in the Disneyland ride line that will take you to the free food.

Sweaty Line Cooks will hurl plates onto the counter. Be vigilant, these SLCs are about to get laid off, and there's no guardrail on the counter.

The Free Brekkie Challenge

This here is where you'll encounter your first major obstacle. It's after 10 am (Ikea opens at 10, hullo), and you haven't yet had your coffee, nor have you eaten. You're weak. You're stressed. You're humiliated to be eating alone at Ikea of all places, when all the other Ikea losers seem to have brought their unemployed buddies with them. And their 17 screaming kids. I think it's fair to say, without exaggeration, that you're under duress.

And SLCs will be yelling at the top of their lungs. At you. What about?

About what else you can get that isn't free.

A larger breakfast.
A cinnamon bun.

Ladies and gentlemen, that's why you brought your bright orange earplugs. The ones you might have worn to your Tuesday morning spin class, when every song had the work "fuck" in it, and the yoga teacher opened the door of the shared gym wall to ask the instructor to please turn down "America, Fuck Yeah" during shivasana. Take them out of each side pocket of your jeans (your "holsters") with each hand, make pistol discharge noises pointing first one, then the other, and stick them in your ears. You're now ready for the counter-attack.

The Counter-Attack

Every time one of the SLCs yells at you, yell back "WHÄT" even louder. Make sure there's an umlaut in your "WHÄT," for greater effect.

Since there's power in confusion, you might consider throwing out a random "PJÄTTERYD!!!" which is apparently an olive motif painting created by Peter Westrup (available in the self-serve section, dowstairs), but it's close to sounding like it could be a bowel disorder, which might shake them up long enough for you to make your escape.

The Coffee Challenge

The highest potential for great violence occurs here, so stop skimming and focus for just a second.

The coffee will be gone at 10:03, before you've made it through the food line. Just accept it as truth. Assume a strategic position near the creamer and wait. Look menacingly at the other coffee loving bastards and their idiot buddies, and know they don't stand a chance. You're from the east coast. Fight for position with the SLC bringing the coffee. Make sure she's the only one who gets through. You're gold, Jerry. Gold. Fill, cream, and run.

RUN! SAVE YOURSELF!

The Confession

I bought a cinnamon bun. It was only a dollar more.

A Viable Alternative

Anyway, you could do Trader Joe's instead. It's 3 blocks away, they open at 9, there's always coffee, and today there were banana waffles. The portions are tiny, but that's good for your waistline. And if you want to get fancy, you can time your arrival(s) at the demo counter to staff shift changes and whatnot, so no one really knows how many waffles and coffees you've had.

I was thinking about bringing my huge stainless steel Sigg thermos, filling up, and videotaping their reaction.

Hey, don't bite my moves.

Unbelievable

2008-10-21T16:22:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm hoping to do a marathon one day, but it sure as hell won't be the Nike.

Click ------> Nike.

Hey! Did you read about the Nike marathon yet?

Not that I could ever do one in even close to 3 hours, but still! Punishing the underdog?! The trophies are supposed to mean something! What good is a stupid first place trophy to a finisher who finished second? Kinda like having a crappy shoe just for the swoosh on it. Take them back, you morons, and distribute them justly!

Losers.

So...I've gotten cards (OK, "card"), visitors (Parents! Friends! Puppies!) (OK, "puppy"), home-made mac 'n cheese, all of which was so great and healing, and - bonus! - a paraffin wax spa hand treatment (I asked my fabulous physical therapist if I could get my hands dipped in the therapeutic wax dippy thing while I was there even though there's nothing wrong with my hands, and she was all "why not," and then my hands were silky smooth like butter), and my arm's getting better! And I got through my less-unbearably-silly-then-I-thought required spinning instructor training course, and I picked grapes in Healdsburg with a bunch of other people, to help out a friend with a winery! And my parents discovered a library down the street from my house, so I finally read T is for Trespass.

AND, my previous employer sent me a letter, saying they'd reconsidered the stoppage of benefits so soon after the layoff, so my health insurance is covered through the end of the year.

AND, turns out I'm not the only one beside myself about the construction craziness that's been going on in my building since July: my upstairs neighbor contacted all of us in the building to form a coalition to end it. He's an architect and he just informed me that the landlord had refused his help! Power to the people!

And that's my report.

Halves and Holes

2008-10-05T22:02:00.000-07:00

I did the San Jose Rock and Roll half-marathon today! Yay!

My time was super slow (2:10 ish); my goal while training was under 2 hours, but I've developed a heel spur, so I was really happy to finish. And lucky: my support team included a doctor, who diagnosed me, taped me, and brainstormed with me to come up with what ultimately worked: A strategically placed hole that we cut into the ineffective heel cup I'd bought, so that my weight didn't come down so hard on the bone spur. A bone spur doughnut! Effective combo with Judy's awesome (!!) taping job, it turned out, because I was able to run 13.1 miles, when I'd been unable to strike my heel against the ground without intense pain the night before.

Plus, a little help from Wendy, who cut my black toenail completely out of the same foot with a pair of clippers (ewww!). I've got some photos of that operation, but my camera was accidentally left with Wendy, so the visuals will have to wait. I know! I'm disappointed too!

So, I've been ordered to take 800 miligrams of ibuprofen for at least 3 days and stay off of it, and the timing's great because I'm having elbow surgery tomorrow morning (it's now or never - my health insurance coverage only lasts through October), and won't be allowed to work out for a week after that. And I'm sure I'll be taking some anti-inflammatories for the elbow. AND...I could ask for a cortisone shot in the heel while I'm out! But I doubt the hand surgeon would do it, and one invasive procedure at a time please! But maybe I'll mention it....

2008.

2008-09-24T16:07:00.000-07:00

So not the Year of Laura!

Laid off. One of over 100 positions eliminated.

*poof*

My True Calling

2008-09-23T18:24:00.000-07:00

My set list for this morning's spin class was nothing short of brilliant. I had to come up with music for the following:

10-minute warm-up
12 minutes medium endurance (approx 80-85% of HR max if you haven't had your lactate threshold test)
3-minute recovery
12 minutes medium endurance
3-minute recovery
5 x 30-second-all-out-sprints followed by 30-second recovery (OUCH!!!)
12 minutes medium endurance (what? no 3-minute recovery???)
3-minute cool-down

So I decided to make the first ME set all Tower of Power, all the time. Bring it back to Oaktown, baby. Then -

(and here's the brilliant part)

Then, for the first 3-minute recovery, I played this funkified version of the Sanford and Son theme song that had somehow ended up in my iTunes, not sure how, but I liked the transition, because it was still funk/horns and it happened to be the perfect length (3 minutes). And more to the point -

(and here's where I focus on the true brilliance without all the pre-brilliance build-up, or yapping, depending on how you look at it)

And more to the point, the next ME set, the one to which Sanford and Son was transitioning, was a set of Garbage. (The band "Garbage," that is. e.g. Stupid Girl. A great workout song, if you haven't already noticed).

Get it?!?!?!

Only one other person in my class did. Or maybe the rest of them were just preoccupied with the 5-minute sprint set to come, which was barfy indeed, especially the last 2 sprints. The sprint set was inspired by this past weekend's ride with Mel, who'd traded 30-second pulls with me until I thought I was going to die (in an intersection, too busy going into cardiac arrest to stop at a red light), and who then said what we'd just done would be great in a spin class.

This is all very timely (finding my true calling as a spin jockey, hullo?), because something HUGE is going down at work tomorrow, following a budget crisis meeting yesterday. All I know is that they're being very mysterious, and I have a meeting about who-knows-what with my supervisor at 11 am, which I was told I don't need to prepare for. I guess I'll find out then if I still have a job.

Demolition Derby

2008-09-22T12:02:00.001-07:00

My kitchen looks like this:My bathroom now looks better than this, but there is only 8 inches of space between the new low-flow toilet and the fancy not-quite-functional-yet sink. It's been 2 weeks now without a functional bathroom sink.....or door....So anyway, as you can tell from the photo, that's not much space. You're touching the toilet bowl with your legs as you bend (theoretically, so far) to wash your face. Which would necessitate a shower, because that's just gross.

Fortunately, I wasn't home much this weekend, so not much time to dwell on my dwelling. Spent Saturday morning cycling 53-ish miles to Danville Peets (where I just noticed an historical photo in the bathroom on this trip; apparently Peets is really old! I thought it was a fairly recent Starbucks offshoot!) and back with Mel on Saturday, including alternating 30-second sprint pulls to warm me up since the sun never came out. I came back and took a shower. Then, as I was heading out to crush grapes at Bobby's winery with some other grape-crushing civilians, I threw my towel over the curtain rod (the only place to hang things these days). I heard a loud pop, and experienced excruciating pain in my bad elbow, which I suddenly was unable to straighten too much without more excruciating pain. So I threw on an ice pack and gingerly drove my stick-shift over there all bent-elbowed, wondering whether I'd even be able to help much at the winery. When I got there, Bobby just had me pushing a button on the crusher dealio! And drinking wine! So it all worked out. And Mark gave me an elbow massage, which didn't solve the problem, but sure felt good.

And then, after Bobby treated us all to dinner at Fellini's, some of us headed to a party of a friend of one of the grape crushers. There was karaoke! Here I am doing a Janis impersonation. You can't see the open bottle of whiskey in this shot. Lots of musician-types were there, it turns out. I found out later in the evening that I had just sung back-up (99 Red Balloons) for a professional operah singer. She was young, and not at all fat! But there wasn't much vibrato going on there, so she must have been holding back.

Then Sunday, I had to do a long run on a wine headache. I got out later than I'd hoped, and it was a flat run instead of Chabot as I'd planned. But I got 'er done, all 10 miles, just in the nick of time (I saw a really bloody/violent miniature dog fight en route - it was one of the owners who was actually the bloody one, a Paris-type in a bikini who'd tried to separate the 2 locked dog jaws). Quick shower, and then took off with Aaron, who'd invited me to see the Chihuly blown glass exhibit at the de Young. Amazing eye candy. You've never seen anything like this. You'd better hurry up and get there, because next weekend is this exhibit's last. Buy tickets ahead; it sells out.

The most interesting thing about Chihuly? Saw a photo of him in the lobby. He's got an eye patch. An eye patch!

"Who better to fashion himself a glass eye?" you might wonder. And yet.

Just say no!

2008-09-14T21:31:00.000-07:00

I got my first cell phone in January, 1997. I'd just moved to Israel, and there was a waiting list for a land line. Cell carriers there only charged you for airtime on outgoing calls, not incoming calls (but man, did they charge you for outgoing calls...). When texting became available, probably within about a year or so, I discovered it was much cheaper than calling out (about 5 cents per, if that, and only for outgoing texts); within a short time, I was texting like a fiend. Everyone else was too. It made sense.

In the US, texts are often charged both at the sender and at the destination, but, unlike phone calls, texts cannot be rejected or dismissed. And when I signed up for cell service (with Cingular) here, I was getting lots of gibberish texts. And I was annoyed at the fact that I was paying for them (in principle!). So I had texting disabled. And they said, really? And I said, yeah really. And then I got more texts. So I called and said, no really disable it this time. And they said really? And I said yeah, really, and credit me my 20 cents, or whatever it was. And then I got some more texts. And I called and said, no, really really disable it this time. And they said, it's disabled. And I said, no it's not. And they said yes it is. And I said I just now got a text from the number blahblahblah. Can you see it? And they said no. And I said, well superduper disable it, and credit me for my however many cents. And they said they couldn't because there was no text. And so, when I got my bill (with a text message charge on it), I called them, and said, now do you see it? And they said yes, and credited me. And I told them to make sure there were detailed notes of all these conversations on my account. And then I got another text message some time later and another charge, and I called, and it was invisible, and then of course they billed me for it. And I called, and said to credit me $5 right this very minute for my trouble, because I'm tired of calling and I might switch to Verizon. So they did. And now it's been several months, text-free.

But I was recently dating someone, and somehow texting came up, and I mentioned that I didn't get texts and he said, Oh. I've texted you several times, and you never responded. And I was all, Oh! And you didn't think I was a total bitch for ignoring you? And he said, well I just figured you didn't feel like responding. And of course I started wondering who else thought I was ignoring them. I hate to think there's someone out there who'd see me as a "nonresponder," which I'm not! I hate people like that! And I mentioned my angst to my teammate Mel, who then told me she'd almost texted me the other day when she remembered that I didn't have text messaging from that time she texted me and I never responded and then she had to call me, and so she said, wouldn't it be funny if you could retroactively get all your texts and see what you've missed? And I was all, yeah after like the 20th text, they probably sent some really nasty ones.

I'm not ignoring you. And I implore you to join me. Boycott texts, dammit! Do you know what popularized them in the US?? American freaking Idol! Your cell carrier is totally sticking it to you.

From Washingtonpost.com, 9/9/08:

A key lawmaker and a consumer group are pressuring wireless carriers to explain why prices for text messages have doubled in the last three years as the technology has surged in popularity over the same period.

Sen. Herb Kohl (D-Wis.), chairman of the Judiciary Subcommittee, sent a letter earlier this week to the largest wireless carriers demanding answers for why they've raised their prices for individual text messages outside of flat-rate monthly data plans to 20 cents from 10 cents since 2005. The increases aren't justified, he said, given the lower operational costs to the carrier to send the short code messages.

"It appears that each of (the) companies has changed the price for text messaging at nearly the same time, with identical price increases," Kohl wrote in the letter. "This conduct is hardly consistent with the vigorous price competition we hope to see in a competitive marketplace."

Consumers Union sent letters to heads of the Senate Commerce Committee and Judiciary Subcommittee to investigate the texting price increases and whether they are the result of a consolidating industry and less competition.

The group said that 600 text messages contain less data than a 1 minute phone call. It said that at 20 cents a text message, wireless carriers would collect $120 for 600 messages.

"Does $120 for the equivalent of one minute of voice seem reasonable?" the group wrote in the letters. "Or do these usurious rates evidence an extraordinary amount of market power?"

Just how popular has texting become? CTIA released a study this week that showed the number of texts sent in June rose 10-fold to 75 billion messages from the same month three years ago.

Speaking volumes

2008-09-12T11:58:00.000-07:00

I spent this past Labor Day on a group ride. I figured it would be warm, and I was hungover from way too much Pinot at Frecky's wedding the day/night before, so I brought out the big guns for this one:

Two 24 oz. insulated Polar water bottles.

I got them at the start of summer, because they were on sale at pretty much every bike shop I entered. And because they now had all kinds of nifty colors. And mainly because of a haunting memory: I'd gone on a sweltering July 4 ride last summer (my first summer on a bike) with some other folks, and when we got to the top of Pinehurst, the guy with the insulated bottles still had an ice-cold beverage in his bottle cage. The rest of us had hot water. Except me. I had nothing left at all. And so he shared his ice-cold beverage with me. Yeah!

Before you go out and buy yourself an insulated Polar water bottle, I feel compelled to warn you about the "Insulated Bottle Jealousy" phenomenon. It's very real.

People will look you in the eye and ask you doubtfully whether they work. Then, when you tell them they do, the look of skepticism will deepen, and they will inform you that they are taking your brand new Black Sheep water bottle, the one with your name on it that you got for your Black Sheep Adventures trip, the one you were going to use to replace your "so 2007" Black Sheep water bottle from last year's trip, and they'll say it's because they lost theirs, and then they'll guck it all up and say the bottle cage did it and never give it back to you.

And some people will say, as they did on the ride this past Labor Day (after you killed both bottles in about 5 seconds because you were so dehydrated and asked the group oh so vulnerably for a re-fuelling stop at the next opportunity):

You know, it doesn't really hold 24 oz.

And you'll be alarmed, dismayed, and appalled.

It says 24 oz. right on the bottle! you'll shout. I'm alarmed! Dismayed! Appalled! They wouldn't lie right on the bottle!

There will be snickers. Some smartass will mention Atlanta (never mind). No one will believe in the fabulousness of your bottles.

And then you'll be glad you happened upon this post after your AA meeting, because you'll just send them this video:

*pause for "clean room" laboratory preparations, perfectly legal music download, and professional studio-editing of video production*

There's no place like home.

2008-09-11T20:54:00.000-07:00

Would you like to see my beautiful bathroom with no walls, sink, shower, or door?
I'm showering at the gym these days (which is fine, except that sometimes I work out twice a day, and sometimes I don't want to run near my gym).

Kitchen demolition is next. I don't think there's a kitchen at the gym, and anyway, kitchening at the gym wouldn't work. So this is all great for my self-pity party, except that both my apartment room-by-room demolitions (ongoing since about July 1) and my self-pity party are getting a little old. I only really have control over one of those. So I have a bike date on Saturday, and we'll see.

Funny that the Wizard of Oz came up recently (thank you Beth). Here's a picture of my Dorothy shoes. I bought them in June at a yard sale, and I've been hiding them away so all the contractors and subcontractors and plumbers and electricians and sheetrock workers stomping all over my apartment won't think I'm a total freak (my other shoes sit in my hallway, in plain sight, and they keep getting moved around to make way for more holes in walls and whatnot). They're brand new! I thought they'd be great for Halloween. Hopefully I'll get invited to some sort of Halloween dealio and I won't have to walk far, because these things hurt.

Before you ask...

2008-09-08T20:51:00.000-07:00

There's been a tragic accident, involving a tall building and a piano.And so I'm single ~~again~~ still.

Bring it.

Shy or Stupid

2008-09-07T10:46:00.000-07:00

Tropic Thunder: The funniest movie I've seen in a long time. And one of my spin songs from this past week was playing during the credits! Weird.

I had a great ride with Marty yesterday. I'd asked him if we could start late and do a chill ride, because I was feeling weak, and because the day was shaping up to be a scorcher.

Scorcher 6. This time it's different.

He said, "sure." So we met up at 10, cruised over to Cal Berkeley to watch the last of the tree sitters' shifts up in the last occupied tree, which was one of several that were finally being bulldozed right then and there, with the police out in force, after months and months of anti-tree-killing tree-sitting demonstrations (I can't believe I didn't bring my camera). And then we made a few false starts up into the hills (we were halfway up when we were turned around by the gatekeepers of some lab, where they were probably doing top-secret brain experiments on newly-flatlander-former-treesitters) and then tooled around a pretty seminary up in Tilden that Marty showed me, and then did the 3 Bears (hot!!!) and El Toyonal-Lomas Cantadas [El Toyonal, from Camino Pablo to Lomas Cantadas, 192 meters climbing in 2.3km distance. Lomas Cantadas from El Toyonal to Grizzly Peak, 152 meters climbing in 1.2km distance (total 344 meters climbing in 4.5 km). Steepest section, 15% consistent grade for about 1km], for a total of 50 miles. I've only done the El Toyonal route 3 times, each time on a different bike. First, as a brand newbie on Wendy's old steel too-big Marinoni in March or early April 2007 (Marty's a twisted, twisted man), then on my first bike a couple months later, and then on my new crash replacement bike over a year after that. My new bike seems to have liked it the least. My front wheel kept jumping off the road on the steepest portions, I'm sure because of the upright positioning (though I'd thought it was lower than my first bike). Got my already redlining heartrate going faster, just contemplating a wheelie up a steep hill, while clipped in.

And chill? Hm. Everything's relative. But truth be told, neither of us would have done it alone, and it was great to get a nice hard workout, we agreed. Plus, I'd gotten to sleep in a bit!

So during the ride, Marty reminded me of the time we'd first met. We'd all gone out for pizza at Lanesplitters after Mark's spin class. This was before I'd started cycling; Marty said I was super quiet in those days, kept to myself with my baseball cap covering 3/4 of my face at spin class, and he couldn't decide if that meant I was shy or stupid, and then he ultimately decided that it didn't really matter because I was pretty.

Does this guy know how to compliment a gal, or what?! And what depth of character! Joking aside, it did kinda scare me that shyness could be mistaken for stupidity, though I know outgoing people make a better first impression. Wait...we did agree it was shyness...?

Marty strongly recommended Tropic Thunder; he'd just seen it the night before. Scott was kind enough to indulge me. And now I must recommend it to you. Absolute, pure brilliance.

And now, an official 2008 Team Oakland photo, taken this morning, courtesy of Lauren's camera (I'd only managed to capture the gals with the green machine; it was early.):

"Have you eaten dinner tonight?"

2008-09-04T21:40:00.001-07:00

said the checkout girl at Trader Joe's.

I'd made it there at 8:45 pm, just in the nick of time, after spinning 910 calories out of my body. It was my only chance to go. I was trying to be good, you know, get things done.

Immediate salivation surge. "No" I said, rapt as she bagged my two boxes of mochi. I had just spun 910 calories out of my body, after all. I really did try my best. I knew I had lettuce and an heirloom tomato in the fridge, so I'd gotten the rest of the makings for salad! I got low fat yogurt!**

"Oh. What are you going to have?"

How could she be so cruel? "Whatever's closest to my mouth when I get home."

But then I thought about what I was trying to accomplish here, and, once home, I set about making a salad.

Is there anything in the world more tragic than an unopened bag of soupy, once premium baby greens, and a once-succulent $5 heirloom tomato from Whole Foods now rotting in a plastic baggie, after you've just gone salad accessory shopping?

It wasn't at all fabulous. But at least I didn't eat the mochi*.

*Update: I had some mochi. Stay away from the Green Tea flavor. I know it seems like a good idea. But just trust me.
**Update #2: So...turns out it's high fat yogurt. Oops.

---

My BFF finally made it to spin tonight, after a long hiatus. Yay!!! He made things interesting, like when he asked me conversationally if I was hydrating, while I was at threshold and trying to force out instructions without hurling. And like when we were about 8 minutes through our second hill drill (this one was 18 minutes long) and I let on that we still had about 10 minutes left, and he yelled

"WHAT?!"

in a knee-jerk reaction kind of way, like I was completely insane. And everyone looked up, like maybe they should re-consider the drill. I sensed a mutiny. Classic Larry. Don't know why I thought it was Dave who'd said it, but I was at threshold again, and trying really hard to remember what minute we were on and not hurl.

The jury's out on Cuban hip-hop for Slow Frequency Revolutions, but I had to try it.

Giving it time.

2008-08-24T22:01:00.000-07:00

Ran a 9-mile trail race yesterday. I got 5th out of 13 in my age group. Well it was really 6th, because Courtenay would have easily won our age group if she hadn't been so far off the front that she'd gotten lost, tacking on an additional 2.5 miles.

Solidly mediocre. That's OK, I'm still in the beginning stages of my running training plan, such as it is (I have no running training plan). Not that I'd be any better over time, but I did notice that if I'd been a year older, I'd have won the 40-49 age group. Heehee.

I stretched during the awards ceremony/raffles (I had my camera at the ready, but they didn't pronounce Courtenay the winner of her 11.5 mile race, because there wasn't supposed to be an 11.5 mile race, but I think they should have made one, retroactively), thinking how brilliant I was to do so, because I wouldn't be sore the next day. Then, I realized I was right near Target, so I decided to go pick up some stuff. I stopped at B Cubed* (next door) first, and sat on all 4 floor models of their massage chairs, rotating through for about an hour, staring into space and holding a pillow that I ended up not buying because I was way too relaxed to stand in line, and did I really need a stupid pillow? And then I ultimately decided to skip Target because did I really need to go to stupid Target?

I was terribly sore this morning when I hobbled out of bed (My quads! No fair, I stretched! My heel! My heel?? That's a new one.) to prepare for a ride arranged with Mel when she'd called me at midnight, after a drink-filled evening. But it turns out, you use different muscles to ride, so it was actually OK. You do use the same electrolytes though; my thirst was insatiable.

*Bed, Bath, and Beyond

wash me

2008-08-21T22:22:00.000-07:00

When I got home from work today, I was irritated to see a postcard stuck in my driver's side window. I hate it when people do that. I yanked it off the rubber dealio and headed for the trashcan, just inches away from me, and as I got ready to toss it in, I read it. DoneRight Auto Spa.

Looked around.

My car had been the only one accosted.

My headlights are quite yellow. Kinda like a blackish yellow, really. I actually thought the bulbs needed replacing the other day, but then I realized they're just that dirty.

I kept the card. Free pick up and delivery. I'm going to call them tomorrow (card says "call today" but they are not the boss of me).

IBSADD

2008-08-14T21:36:00.000-07:00

Listed in the DSM (Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders V -- currently in consultation, and not yet published, which is why you've never heard of it, doubters, and you know who you are!), it stands for Intervallic Black Sheep Adventurer Depressive Disorder. IBSADD is characterized by pervasive low mood, loss of interest/pleasure in the usual pleasurable activities, and an insatiable desire for powdered recovery drink stirred with a Nutter Butter ("Butter Nutter" if you're German), other people's french fries, and floppy hats. "Intervallic" because it persists strongly only in the period of time between two events:

1. The last Epic Black Sheep Adventure, which took place during the first week of August; and
2. The next Epic Black Sheep Adventure, to take place the first week of next August.

The interval stretches before me now at its longest. Too long to contemplate. Woe is me! I am consoled only by the fact that it will be shorter tomorrow, and even shorter the day after that. The pain will subside to a dull ache (assuming I don't asphyxiate on a Butter Nutter or that I haven't somehow misread the signs for a ruptured Appendix and end up dying on the way to the hospital or something). Anyway, this debilitating disorder is my excuse for not having posted about my trip until now.

Some Highlights

On the plane to Vegas, we got the Southwest flight attendant to do the safety demo with Courtenay's helmet on:Bryce was pretty damn cool...Riding through Zion National Park blew my mind...Hiking near sheer cliffs on the rest day, when I could hardly walk a straight line, was totally worth it...

...until I made it up past the switchbacks and got to the you'llneedtoholdontothesechainsforthispart section...At which point I was one of a very small number of the group who turned around.

I was not made to happily look over ledges. I get dizzy. Which is not good on ledges and such. Not good.

So anyway, there were spectacular storms with thunder and lightning, beautiful rainbows -- at one point leaving Marble Canyon, it was raining, yet sunny, so I said, "that means there must be a rainbow somewhere!' and Mark told us to turn around, and there it was. An entire rainbow. End to end. But of course my camera battery had died early that morning, so here:

And we drank lots of beer! In Utah! (Can't believe you were worried there'd be no beer.)
..hung out at the Grand Canyon's north rim on scary ledges and such, and then watched a storm roll in (afternoon storms are common this time of year, and they kept the unbearable heat out, which was great)...

And took turns getting our Floppy Hat portraits taken by esteemed photojournalist C. Redis (and whoever took her photo...maybe the bear?), who appears suggestively below in pink:

And I won all the week's races except for one (of which I won the first stage, it must be noted), excluding all the people who didn't count on any particular day, and including all the other people who didn't know/care that we were racing.

And then I got home and (depressedly) ran 10.5 miles the other day like it was nothing. Because we'd been cycling, hiking, and sleeping at 10,000 feet!

Vegas Bound!

2008-08-02T13:46:00.000-07:00

Well, actually Utah. Vi(v)a Las Vegas.

I'll be riding my bike to Bryce, Zion, and the north rim of the Grand Canyon with Black Sheep Adventures for a week! We were supposed to bike up to Oregon, but the California wildfires threw a pedal wrench into that plan. Anyway, it's like the bike. Something goes wrong, and somehow you end up with something better.

I've been wanting to see the canyons of Utah since Thelma and Louise came out, all those years ago....

It is going to be hot, hot, hot.

Pictures to come!

Still Sharp After All These Years

2008-07-24T20:38:00.000-07:00

*updated with a liger and some video on 7/25/08*

Back when I was 18 or something, I got a summer job selling Cutco cutlery. Yeah, I was hot stuff. I had to fight for this job. I remember there was some Vector Marketing "seminar" to be a Cutco salesperson, and my brother was going, so I went too. At the "seminar," they give the whole group the "spiel" with all the amazing knives and accessories, and then they tell you about all the self-made knife millionaires who've come through there, and then they call each of you into the manager's office for a one-on-one interview, where the manager asks you why you want the job and then tells you whether or not you've got "the stuff " needed to sell knives. So my brother goes in, and emerges later with a job offer. And I go in, and I'm told I'm not right for the position. Buh-bye.

Later, we're debriefing, and Bryan's all, "Yeah, he said I was in, but I told him I wasn't going to take it; I just couldn't see telling people they need knives to complete them." And I'm all, "Oh. Well I didn't get the job." So he says,"What happened? What did you say when he asked you why you wanted the job??" "I told him I needed the money." Bryan found this really funny. Way too funny for my taste anyway. Then he told me to go back to another seminar, and to say anything but that. So I went back, and made up some crap about how a sharp knife is the answer to the world's problems, blahblahblah, and I got the job.

So then I had to buy the demo set, to demo the stuff, and hopefully sell it, to everyone I knew. Which was, like, my parents (they actually bought the demo set and let me use it), my parents' friends, relatives, former teachers, my dentist's wife, my boyfriend's parents, their friends, etc. Talk about awkward. But I have to say, it was amazing how many people were sweet enough to sit through a demo. Though, I think I stood up my dentist's wife during a scheduled demo, and got a "talking to." I guess I wasn't used to making (and keeping) appointments at that age. A good life lesson. Now when I miss appointments, I make sure my mom doesn't find out about it.

During one demo, I was showing a neighborhood mom, whose daughter I'd babysat a few years before, how the slotted cutlery storage box could be turned upside down without the knives falling out (safety feature! This part of the demo comes right before the big finale, where you cut the penny in half with the Cutco scissors!). Well, of course all of the knives fell out, one right onto my foot, gashing the top of it nicely. As I bled on neighborhoodmom's living room floor, she called my mom to come get me. Then she examined it while we were waiting (she knew my mom because both were nurses at the same hospital): "Hm, looks like you need sutures." Hey, they were sharp knives, so it really was a successful demo, if you think about it. But she didn't buy anything. And I stopped flipping the holder thingy upside down after that.

Why do nurses always say "sutures" instead of "stitches?" Sounds so serious.

Waaaaaay back then I was with Steve. His poor mom sat through the demo and then bought some stuff. She was very nice to me. Well, Steve and I were actually together for over 5 years. One year, Steve's mom gave me the biggest Christmas present (Steve's brother was miffed). He and his wife Pam now live in Miami, FL (makes Baltimore feel less humid??), and just had a baby. Her name's Raina, and she's tres cute, and I'd like to bite her cheeks off.

I digress! Steve and Pam are back in Baltimore right now, visiting the folks like couples with new kids do, and I just got an email from him, entitled "20 year old cutco knives". Just this photo,
and the phrase "they still work pretty well!" I guess my legacy lives on. Yeah, that's right.

Did you know the handles are made from bowling ball material? Won't warp like wood. And the rivets are flush, so food won't get caught in the handle. Because how totally unsanitary would that be?!

In other news, my parents just went to Artscape (A Baltimore art festival) and sent me this figurine, made of railroad ties, that a local artist had made ("Roland Metal Art") and was selling there. Isn't it so cute?My dad put the "Death Ride survivor" sign on there.

And finally, my BFF emailed me a drawing of a liger today. Because you're never too busy to email someone a drawing of a liger. GOSH!And seriously finally, for real this time, I was referred to an upper extremities surgeon, who recommends surgery on my elbow. After I broke it, the tip of the olecranon fused quickly, but poorly, with the rest of the ulna, it turns out, leaving a gap in the bone on which ulnar nerve is sitting, causing irritation and numbness in my fingers, and limiting range of motion in my arm. But I'm going to try to fix it myself with better stretching and a new weight training program. To be continued!

And super duper duper finally, here's me practicing with my band, the Webster Street Miracles. We all work at an organization on Webster Street, and we get together once-yearly to perform on the annual summer cruise. It's very The Office. There were some shenanigans involving some band members performing without other band members at the annual Christmas party (perhaps you read about it in Rolling Stone?), but we managed to overcome the drama and bring it back together to rock everyone's face. Yeah!
Took me years to master the tambo. Now I just need to master the "brooding musician" camera pose. Found some wacky footage of last year's "big event":

Mosquitos, Hail, and Other Unexpecteds

2008-07-15T18:36:00.000-07:00

I expected to suffer. And I can "doom and gloom" with the best of them. I play movies of crashes in my head, and I'm always the star. I can't help myself. And yet.

I arrived at Kirkwood on Thursday evening to acclimate. 8700 feet! I was supposed to be there by the afternoon, but I puttered, and then I took 580 West up into Marin, when the directions actually had me going 580 East through Livermore. Screwed by autopilot yet again. I was told later that I shouldn't think of Tahoe as "north" but rather "east, oh and by the way, north." Noted for future trips.

My room was serene and quiet, and after losing the key between the front desk and the room, getting another key at the front desk, finding the original key in the pocket where I'd placed it so I wouldn't have to search for it, and hauling my bike, gear, cooler of food, and clothes up to the 3rd floor (oh my god the thin air!), I went to the rec center and soaked in the hot tub to loosen up my back/arm and catch my breath. I'd brought a bottle of Gatorade with me (altitude + hot tub = dehydration), but I'd forgotten to close the bottle top. It spilled all over my phone, which now randomly flashes the message, "enhancement not supported."

Marty called and he was coming in late. We met up the next morning, and hiked to the top of Kirkwood (Acclimate, acclimate! I know. It takes 2 weeks. But the psychological factors must not be underrated). It was a beautiful hike; wildflowers everywhere, and cool to see the same ski trails I'd snowboarded , now deserted and green. We were on the very run where I'd yelled to the chair lift guy, "PLEASE COULD YOU SLOW DOWN THE LIFT" so that I could dismount without falling off my board and onto my tailbone again. And he did. And I did, for the first time. And he'd given me a thumbs up.

Now, we stood at the top of a motionless chair lift and pondered life. Marty closed his eyes for a moment and meditated in the silence. I threw blades of grass at his head. Om.

I didn't really throw blades of grass at his head. But wouldn't that be funny?

Then we went to the expo and I got so much swag that I had to bum a plastic bag off a volunteer to carry it all. I love swag. Even really lame swag. We also registered for the ride there, and then went to Markleeville for lunch, where we ran into Kathryn, who was waiting for the tow truck to take her back to the top of Ebbetts pass where Bobby was waiting by their truck, which had died after they'd strayed off the beaten path looking for rocks. We had fun chatting and reapplying sunscreen and flexing our biceps until the tow truck arrived.

Marty and I decided not to join the group for dinner in Gardnerville, because it's an hour away from Kirkwood, and that's time that should be spent getting everything ready for the next day's adventure. Plus, I wanted to be asleep by 8, because I'd be getting up at 2:45, to be at the start and on my bike by 4:30, where we were meeting Tracy, who I'd convinced to do the ride at the last minute (you get in by lottery only, but there are always tickets to be found on craigslist), and who had resolved to do so despite catching some sort of stomach bug on Thursday (hard core!). So we ate at Kirkwood and set about preparing for the ride. Tires were pumped, bikes and bags were packed, and all I had to do was wake up, dress, eat and go.

Pasta at Bub's. In bed by 8. Awake an hour later. Huge party of what sounded like a gazillion people in the next room. Argh. Went over there twice to ask them to please shut up, but after the second time, I was furious and wired. I'd gotten this 3rd floor room with no elevator because it was supposed to be quiet! The entire rest of the complex was blanketed in darkness. Even the pub was quiet. Why me?! Et cetera.

After 3 hours of sleep total, my alarm woke me. I thought about blasting the TV for the neighbors. What's worse than a shrill I Love Lucy when you're trying to sleep? But I just couldn't. I had my coffee and tried to eat my oatmeal but it was disgusting at that hour so I only managed about half. Marty called to be sure I was awake. I slathered on the sunscreen (weird to do in the dark), donned my plastic shopping bags (I'd created plastic thermal underwear for warmth - thanks for the tip Anthony!!!), and then suited (kitted?) up. We met at our cars, and caravanned to Turtle Rock. There were quite a few vehicles on the same schedule, so it took longer than we expected and we were about 5 minutes late meeting Tracy, but when we rode up to the start, she was there! In the 2 minutes it took to ride to the start, my headlight had died (I hadn't used it in a year, and should have replaced the batteries). And it turned out that Tracy's taillight was out. So we rode with Marty in front, Tracy behind (for visibility ahead), and me last (for visibility behind). It was really scary, because the ride starts on a descent, and it was pitch black and I couldn't see shit. We floated down the hill and I prayed for no potholes. I have to say, I was toasty warm in my plastic underwear. Periodic roll call kept us together until it started getting light, which coincided with the beginning of the first climb (front side of Monitor pass). I balled up my plastic underwear and stuck it in my back jersey pocket.

We lost Marty immediately. He was going strong and there was no reason to hold him back. Then Tracy pulled me for a while, until she wanted to speed up and grab a wheel to get out of the wind. I decided to hang back, because I was feeling the altitude and didn't want to blow it early. I was making sure to keep my heart rate at ME for the most part, and I stopped to shove something in my mouth every hour on the way up. Eventually, I grabbed a nice slow-moving wheel and stayed there for the remainder of the climb. Slowwheel's buddy, fatcyclist.com, grabbed mine, and this is how it went for a while. They bantered, and I remained silent, conserving my energy, until slowwheel asked where I was from and then fatcyclist.com said, "you've got a skeeter on your leg." "Oh" said I. Fatcyclist.com started coming around me, I thought to pass, and suddenly, bam. He hurled his fist into my calf. I almost went down. He examined his fist and said, "yup - full of blood." Meanwhile, I was pondering the possibility of crashing out of the Death Ride on my first climb (going about 4.5 mph). This struck me as hilarious. It may have partly been the altitude. I would keep running into fatcyclist.com throughout the ride. he would say stuff like, "I knew I'd run into you again, Pigtails!" It's so weird to keep getting passed over and over by the same people, that you didn't realize you'd passed again.

So the front side of Monitor was otherwise uneventful, and after thanking slowwheel for pulling me to the top, I, staying true to my goal of not stopping at the tops of the passes, kept going over the summit and plunged down the back side. My computer registered 47.3 mph on the way down, which was good for me (you make up all your time on the descents, but I find them scary). When I stopped at the bottom, Tracy was there; we re-filled, grabbed bars and headed up the back side for pass #2 of 5 together. Himgan and some other Touchstoners blasted by us, accelerating up Monitor and looking fresh as daisies. Tracy herself was looking incredibly strong, and it was clear she was hanging back for me (there was a photo opportunity near the top), which was very nice of her.

And this is where the funniest part of the ride happened. There was a guy on the side of the road, fixing a flat. Tracy was up ahead a little bit, and there was a guy right in front of me, who said to the guy on the shoulder, "do you have everything you need?" which is what is always said by one cyclist who passes another on the shoulder when it appears they're having mechanical problems. Unwritten rule. Most people are well-prepared, and can say "yes." It's also an unwritten (and sometimes written, like on an organized ride) rule that you carry spare tubes, etc. with you. But this guy said, "uh, no, actually I don't." And the guy in front of me goes, "Oh. Well...I don't have anything. Sorry." And he kept going. Can a guy's back look sheepish? Because this guy's sure did. Since I’ve started cycling, I’ve always contemplated this scenario. It happened on the Death Ride!

So Shoulderguy needed a new tube, a C02 cartridge, and a C02 cartridge inflater, because his spare tube stem had broken off in his inflater! I had all 3. But then someone more experienced stopped too; I didn’t feel I had much time to spare, so I was happy to let him take over, and I took off after Tracy. We got our photo taken together climbing to the top, and headed over and down the front side. I passed by the infamous Pink Lady! And two passes in the bag. I saw Tracy briefly at the base of Ebbetts (the start of pass #3), but I told her to move on, and that was basically the last I saw of her. Remarkable really, given the stomach bug she’d caught on Thursday, that she was throwing it down. As opposed to up, I mean.

Well, I hate Ebbetts. It's the highest of all the peaks, so you get the thinnest air. And you have to hug the steepest part of the switchbacks on the right, what with the riders hurtling down the left side of the twisty, narrow road at 50 mph. View, shmiew. I’ll take Monitor over Ebbetts any day. But there I was. I decided to go slowly and steadily, and to try to keep my heart rate in medium endurance range. That, and the “Rolling Bones” riders toting the skeleton behind me, singing badly to their cheesy, loud, piped-in music, kept me going. The wildfire haze also kept most of the heat out, which was nice. I reached the top, declined a Red Vine (they always have Red Vines at the top of Ebbetts, but sadly I’m a Twizzlers gal), picked up my 3rd pass sticker, and headed down the back side. I heard Marty yell “LAURAAAAAA!” He was summiting the back side of Ebbetts, a full pass ahead of me, and man, was I envious. Further down, a blurry Tracy (was she smiling while climbing up that damn hill?! I really have to pop some Tums next time I do this, if I ever repeat it). And finally, I was at the bottom. My back was smarting on these descents. I simply couldn’t get any relief. Andrea was there (she was just ahead of me on most of the ride), and so was Melissa. They headed out as I re-filled my bottles and barely remembered to eat. This was where I started feeling broken down. For some reason, I thought I was way too close to the cut-off times, and that I’d never make it. Yet, there was nothing to do but move on, so I did. I was bonking and had to stop halfway up to eat some Fig Newtons. They did the trick, though, and I gained some speed and energy, and started feeling more optimistic. Suddenly I was at the top again, well short of the time I thought it would take (I think the descent just felt so endless that I thought the climb back up would be longer than it was). 4th pass down, and now, to lunch! Tried not to think about the fact that I still had 50 miles or so to go.

Saw Andrea, Melissa, and Bobby at lunch, but I didn’t dawdle. Bobby said we were fine, time-wise, but for some reason I wasn’t buying it. Plus, lunch was cold cuts. Yuck. I was back on my bike within 15 minutes, and latched onto every wheel I could on those rollers toward Turtle Rock (my god, the wind!), and finally into Woodfords rest stop. I was really dragging now, but so was the guy with whom I’d been trading pulls (Yeah, like I’d end a clause with a preposition. Please!), so it all worked out. We headed out of Woodfords together (I’d confirmed that we were at least 1.5 hours ahead of cutoff times, and would easily make it) and drafted to Pickets (itself a 7% grade – not fun), where, at about mile 100, I told my drafting buddy to move on because I needed a real rest. I sat, and gave myself a desperately-needed foot massage while watching storm clouds roll in. Now that I was stationary, I was cold. I started to shiver. Andrea showed up (weird - didn’t even know I’d passed her?), asked if I thought she’d regret stopping her ride here (Answer: You do not turn back from Pickets. Only 9 miles to the top of the 5th pass!), and laughed at the sight of me donning my plastic thermal underwear.

“Laura, what are you doing?”

“I’m freezing.”

“But, we’re going up (points up for emphasis).”

“But it’s going to rain (looks at storm clouds for emphasis).”

“It’s totally not going to rain.”

So I yanked my plastic bags off my chest and put them back in my pocket. Andrea moved on while I waited in line at the porta potty (normally I’d go elsewhere rather than bother with a line, but I needed to apply more chamois cream).

Then I was off for my last pass! Yeah! But I realized I hadn’t thought to eat anything at the rest stop. So I pulled over, pulled out a bar, sat on a rock, and ate. Bobby passed me and asked if all was OK (I smiled, secure in the knowledge that he was sincere). I said all was fine, and he moved on. And then I hopped back on my bike and took off. And it got super dark. And then the hail started. And then the pouring rain (which lasted for the rest of my ride up Carson). Truthfully, Andrea, the plastic bags wouldn't have helped in this downpour, as we both know. But: heehee! I wrapped my cell phone in the plastic bags, hoping the enhancement would be supported. And then the weird squeaking noise started emanating from my bike, which was worrisome, but not as worrisome as the car traffic, wetness, darkness, and lack of shoulder.

As a guy passed me, I asked him if my tail light was on. He said, “yep. what's that funny noise your bike's making?" And I said that I didn't know, that it had started with the rain. He said, "that could be your brake pads rubbing. Or your bottom bracket." I said "yikes" (searching my brain for the term "bottom bracket" and wondering how dangerous it was...). He said, "Ah, don't worry about it" and I couldn't worry about it anyway, because there were cars, there was a line of riders behind me, and there was no real shoulder to pull off to, only mud/gravel (I thought the noise was gravel grinding my chain). Finally there was a pull-off. I checked my wheel, and sure enough, the front right brake pad was hugging the wheel's rim! Who knows how long I had that extra resistance on the bike!!! Could have been the whole ride! I only found out when the rain made it squeak, and if the guy hadn't said anything, I'd never have known to adjust the brake pads (which took all of 2 seconds and felt better immediately)! He saw me at the top of the final pass, and asked me if the bike was still squeaking. I told him he'd made the correct diagnosis and that I'd survived the Death Ride with my brake pads rubbing the rim. He added, "in HAIL!" High five.

And there it is. 5 passes. Over 100 miles, and 15,000 feet of climbing. 13 hours. A whopping 6,618 calories.

What did I take away from this experience? Well, a long ride is nothing if not a great opportunity for contemplation, this was nothing, if not a long ride, and I am nothing if not an opportunist. Here it is folks:

1. It is truly amazing how much you can accomplish when you think you simply can’t accomplish more. And the elation, at overcoming that feeling of utter defeat, all on your own? Intense.

2. Replace your headlight batteries at least once a year, if you plan to use your headlight, and for the love of all that is holy, check your brake pads, you dumbass.

3. Please please stop with the white cycling shorts. Am I not suffering enough, on a 12% grade up Ebbetts, that I have to see your sweaty ass crack for an hour or more?

1st Place - Mt. Hamilton Century

2008-07-05T21:43:00.000-07:00

"What's the Mt. Hamilton Century," you ask? Why haven't you heard of it? And don't I mean "Mt. Hamilton Challenge?"

One question at a time please. I'm quite tired because I won.

Well, it took place today, Saturday July 5, 2008. You've never heard of it because their lame-ass marketing team sucks. And no, I don't mean the organized Mt. Hamilton Challenge, though this particular century is quite similar to the Challenge in that you have to bring, buy, steal, kill, or forage for your own food. Yet it is quite dissimilar in that there are no SAG wagons or first aid stations, and it is in fact entirely 100% unsupported, but only because one of the participants (Tracy, the second place finisher! Yay Tracy!) forgot her cell phone in the car, so that even though they were lucky enough to have an emergency private SAG wagon "Plan B" in place, it could never have been called into action, had it been needed. And it felt sorely needed by one participantwhoshallremainanonymous in particular at mile 60, when she was suddenly totally out of water and thought she was going to die of dehydration in the scorching dry valley heat before the f*cking Junction Cafe appeared on the horizon.

All's well that ends well. After 105.27 miles, 8000+ feet of climbing, 4610 calories, 3 PBJ sandwiches, 4 fig newtons, some pretzels, almonds, a mojo bar (yum! my new fave!), a snack pack of fritos (had to slam my body as hard as I could several times into the vending machine in the planetarium on the top of Mt. Hamilton immediately after climbing 4,000 feet in the mid-day heat to shake that one loose! It got stuck on the spiral thingy! I earned those f*cking fritos and they were good!) 3 bottles of gatorade, 1 bottle of water, 2 bottles of cytomax, 3 cokes, and a big gulp iced caramel latte (so much for the 4610 calories!), I reached the car first (in the interest of full disclosure, I may have told Tracy that I needed to reach the car first and she may have pulled practically to the end and then let me go in front of her). So I won. Despite realizing about a mile into the ride that I'd left both of my water bottles in the car, and having to turn back and get them. (Here's the Bikely.com route; it says 95 miles, but we changed it a bit at the end after talking with a pair of riders that we kept running into.)

Thanks to Tracy for doing all the research, all the driving, and the lion's share of the pulling. And for almost having a Plan B, which was more than I'd come up with.

This was also the day after July 4, when I rode 50+ miles and did 5,453 feet of climbing (here's the Bikely.com profile), and then went to a BBQ with Scott, who got scolded for spending the whole time inside the house, which he only did to keep me company while I was stretching and resting my sore back, and then I had to go to sleep at 9 pm instead of seeing fireworks, or getting a drink at the tiki bar. Sorry Scott. Winner/loser. 2 sides of the same coin.

And now, finally, I rest. Nothing strenuous until the Death Ride.

Repetitive Stress

2008-06-30T20:22:00.000-07:00

Marty had been kind enough to invite me out for some epic Death Ride prep a few Saturdays back, but I'd already signed up for Pescadero on that day. So when he suggested Mt. Diablo hill repeats for this past Saturday, exactly 2 weeks before the ride, I jumped at the chance. He's a seasoned distance cyclist (about a million successful Death Rides, Terrible Twos, Paris Brest Parises, etc.), so I knew this was all part of his finely tuned scientific training plan.

A couple riders passed us, going up the Walnut Creek side the first time, and after glancing at Marty's Death Ride 2001 jersey (which did not match his 2000 headband), one of them asked him if he was going to earn the jersey again this year. Marty said "naaah" with faux nonchalance (parlez vous francais?), and then asked them if they were training for it. They said that they were, and that this was their last big training ride before the big event. So Marty asked with faux nonchalance when the actual ride was, and they said it was on the 12th. And then, as they continued upwards and out of earshot, Marty looked at me with a freaked out expression and said, "Wow. That's soon." And that's how I found out Marty's nonchalance hadn't been entirely faux; rather, it was born of ignorance (naiveté?).

Merde.

So much for scientific. Actually, the whole exchange was a bit bizarre, on a couple different levels, because (a) the ride was 2 whole weeks away and even I know that only an idiot would taper that early; and (b) Marty had made a room reservation for the weekend of the ride as recently as the 19th, and he'd emailed me immediately thereafter, urging me to do the same before things filled up. So it couldn't have snuck up on him. But Marty also just had dental surgery, and teeth are connected to all sorts of important things that you wouldn't think they're connected to. Like bloodstreams to vital organs. This is why people with unexplainable maladies sometimes get asked, "have you had any dental work lately?" by medical diagnosticians. Could be a clot on the pons. Or an artificial tooth implant that had traveled through a larger artery and landed precariously on his parietal lobe. Or is memory associated with the temporal lobe? I forget. Whatever! Poor Marty.

Tracy joined us as well. She's not doing the Death Ride, but she's training for this year's Black Sheep Adventure! She was waiting for us at the wrong church, but she and Marty saw each other as we drove by around 9:35 (only 5 minutes late, even though I'd gotten lost twice driving the 2 miles from my house to Marty's!), so we got ourselves together at a very leisurely pace, and finally took off together (probably around 10:15?). We'd all decided to ignore the health advisory to stay indoors (1400 wildfires burning in the Bay Area, and counting).

Of the three of us, I definitely suffered most. The first time up was fine, but the descent was painful (not a good sign - it's important to be able to recover on a Death Ride descent; they're loooong). When I got back on my bike after the ranger station the second time up, things got exponentially harder, and hotter (a temperature inversion; Tracy had noticed, and was explaining how a temperature inversion works, but I was having trouble focusing, so please don't quiz me). The steep grade at the tippy top sucked. I bought a coke at the museum shop/lookout, and the ranger congratulated me. But I told her congratulations were not yet in order; we had to do it again. So we descended back into Danville. The descent felt endless. The final climb was OK at first, because I was moving pretty slowly, but my back was throbbing by the time I'd made it to the ranger's station. While stopped there (about 2/3 of the way up from the Danville side) I had tried to convince Marty to commit to 4 climbs total, because I felt I needed to know that I could. He was having none of it. He said we should do it three times, build on that over the next week of training, then rest. What he said made sense, though he could have been talking out of his toothy cerebellum or something. Anyway, when I glanced at my watch it was nearly 4pm and we still had about an hour to the top by Tracy's estimate. At the top, the parking lot was deserted, and it was hot. None of us had brought sunscreen with us, and I'd only remembered to slather my face in the car before we left, not my body. It was 5:05. The shop had closed while we were chatting at the water fountain, so no coke. Ah well. Back to Walnut Creek! I glanced at the horizon several times on that last descent, willing the valley to come closer, and eventually it arrived and I found Marty's car, 70 miles, 11,400 feet of climbing, and close to 8 hours after I'd left it. Marty drove us in a couple circles looking for Jamba Juice, which, when we ultimately found it, had morphed into a different smoothie establishment. Tracy and I wanted savory anyway (we'd been devouring Gu and Clif bars all day), so we left Marty to his smoothie and went next door to the burrito joint. Hit the spot. Once sated, we headed home, and after a shower, I headed to Jessnmel's to watch billions of Arrested Development (recently discovered, and perhaps the funniest show ever!!!) episodes while stretching on my yoga mat in their living room. Ahhhhh.

Hobbled over to Eden for a bike re-fit on Sunday. Rick swapped out my stem yet again for one with a steeper angle, assured me it didn't look ridiculous and that it was safe, and adjusted the seat and handlebars, all for more upright positioning. he also mentioned that my choice of Death Ride gearing was a bit surprising. Ack. Well, I don't have a triple, and that part's not changing....

Respectfully Submitted...

2008-06-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

...to someecards.com for consideration (under "APOLOGY" or perhaps "SOMEWHAT TOPICAL"), in response to a wacky San Francisco Chronicle article...NEWSFLASH!!! I had an elbow breakthrough this week. I've been tres, tres depressed because I haven't recovered full range of motion, and it's been quite tender on the bike, enough to make me reconsider the Death Ride which has been a major goal of mine for months. So, after being totally down in the dumps to the point of whining ad nauseum to Mom The Nurse, she strongly suggested:

a. Going to sleep early every night (completely irrelevant, but she saw an opening to give motherly advice and somehow worked it in);
b. Contributing more of my salary to my 403b (ditto); and
c. 2 Naproxen, once a day, for 3 days, to break the pain cycle.

I don't generally take pain meds, but I was desperate, so I tried it. Lo and behold, today (Naproxen Day Two) at PT I was almost able to get the arm straight! At 7:30 in the morning, when I'm least flexible! I started the session at -10 degrees instead of the usual -20, and went down from there. My therapist told me it was our most successful session yet, and to keep doing what I'm doing. But I think I'm going to stop at Day 3. Unless anyone out there has an extra liver.

Also taught my first spin class Thursday night. I forgot a few things, like making sure everyone was on the same page as far as resistance on the wheel, and explaining the "lingo." Oh, and one of the veteran spinners told me the tempo of my music was much too fast when we were grinding up some huge hill I'd manufactured. Whatever: The bottom line here is that I burned 920 calories in an hour!!!!

Illegals and Other Hiccups

2008-06-15T10:56:00.000-07:00

I awoke yesterday morning at 5:30, and walked into the living room, where I slammed into a scent wall of Febreze "spring and renewal" fabric refresher (I had chosen sleep over laundry the night before). I checked my kit, and it was dry (whew - I'd superstaurated it with the spraybottle less than 6 hours before), though I'd stop short of "renewed."

I paused for a moment to feel sorry for my friend Shmel, who would be doing almost all the day's driving across the Bay to/from Pescadero.

After dressing and packing up (no time for brekkie), I got into my car, which promptly took 580 westward on autopilot. I really need to get that fixed, because Shmel lives east of me. Stupid, dumbass car.

I got off the freeway and tried to figure out how to fix my car's mistake on the roads, rather than turning around and getting back on the freeway going east, because I guess at 6 am on a Saturday morning, high on Febreze, I think I'm some sort of bigshot. A mistake, it became clear. I found my way back to 580 amd called Shmel to (1) tell her I'd be a teeny bit late, and (2) ask her again for directions, just in case, because I'd left them at home (bigshot). Shmel was plussed (i.e. "the opposite of nonplussed"), as always. "Calm and encouraging" is how I'd describe Shmel in pretty much any given stressful situation, and this one was no different. Upon arrival, I got all my crap, plus the trainer I'd arranged/driven to borrow at the last minute the night before, and we stuck it all in/on Shmel's car. Then Shmel drove us to Peets as a favor to me (brekkie!). She waited in the car.

Needless to say, a spillage situation had just occurred at Peets when I walked in. The yellow caution sign was coming out, floors were being mopped, drinks were being re-made, and the wait was excruciating.

I eventually got my breakfast (fat-free apricot vegan scone, because despite the unappetizing description, they're surprisingly really yummy, and big-gulp iced caramel latte) and hopped into the car briefly pondering what my bladder etc. situation would be when we got to the start, and the fact that I had on bib shorts (you can't just drop trow; you need to take off your top first). I let those thoughts go as Shmel handed me the mapquest directions and we took off, commencing girl-talk as we headed toward the race.

If you want to get super duper technical about it, I guess I was the navigator, because I was sitting in the seat often occupied by the navigator (when there is one), and I happened to be holding the directions.

We missed the San Mateo Bridge entirely. We then saw some Dumbarton Bridge signs, but kept going (with my strong encouragement, because I was pretty sure the San Mateo Bridge comes after the Dumbarton). It was getting late.

Once we hit Mountain View, Shmel realized we'd gone way too far down 880, and she turned off on 237 in a panic, and then 101, while I scrambled to figure out how to get to 84. I was getting nauseated because I had to look backwards to grab the map, and find my glasses. The signage sucked and we ended up on some street that wasn't 84. After a u-turn at the "no u-turns" sign (interesting that they had a sign in place for that!) and vehement denunciation of the inadequate signage situation, we ended up on 84, which had *gasp* stoplights! We didn't have time for stoplights! And we were behind dilapidated trucks full of leafblowers!

Leafblowers are the bane of Shmel's existence, and she has plenty to say about them. Unfortunately, she made me promise not to tell anyone what she said on this particular morning. Anyway, that's not the focus here. The focus here is another Shmel commentary, as she was noticing the time (it was slipping away and we had many miles of twisty road ahead of us) and was starting to unravel:

"We're behind another truck of f*cking illegals!!!"

Immediately, she felt terribly, and said she had nothing against them...

"But they drive f*cking two miles per hour because they don't want to get pulled over, and I CAN'T DEAL! I have a f*cking race!!!"

I think it's OK that I'm recounting this part, because (a) she didn't specifically tell me not to, and (b) I changed her name.

And of course we both had to go to the bathroom, and that always gets worse when you're stopped at a red light, we noticed. Well, unbelievably, we got there in the nick of time (the first heat rode by us as we were parking and everyone was looking at us incredulously as we careened on twisty roads to the start as late as we could possibly be - it was obvious we were trying to get to the race in time; we had bikes on the roof), and I (totally stressed out at this point and severely car-sick to boot) ran to use the nature facilities as Shmel got naked and changed next to the car and then spilled Hammer Gel all over herself and the trunk and used my bottle of water to get unsticky, and then we biked over to registration to get our numbers pinned, and so much for the trainers we'd brought! No time for a warm-up! Fortunately, things were running late so we had a moment to compose ourselves as they were starting the other groups (female 3s,/4s/masters went last, yay!). And then we were off.

I was off the back immediately. The pace was just too fast to sustain. 2 others were behind me, and one passed me (I never saw the second again; I assumed she dropped out). I ended up passing her back, later (I'd offered to work together to get up Stage Road, but she didn't take me up on it, so I drafted, and I think she must have bonked). And then I passed someone else on lap 2, but I think she was a master's racer, so I may have finished last in the 3s/4s group (of those who finished).

The feed zone was interesting. Both bottle cages on my bike were in use, yet they offered to pass me a full bottle as I was riding by! And I was thinking "where the hell am I going to put a 3rd bottle?!" so I didn't grab it. Then on lap 2, I stopped (because I really needed water; I was out), to ask how it was done, and the guy pointed to a bin full of used water bottles and said I toss one out and take the new, full one. And I looked at him. And he said, "Oh. You want to keep your water bottles." And I said yes (they have sentimental value!). And he said, "Well that's a first." And he poured the water out of the new, full water bottle, and into mine. And I was on my way.

As anticipated, it was a pretty ride, and I'm glad to have gotten my feet wet. Next time I'll bring my crappiest water bottles. And I won't get totally lost riding those last few miles from the finish (at the top of the hill) back to the start, which prompted a panicked "I don't know where the hell I am!" call to Shmel, and required her to come pick me up.

Pesca-what?

2008-06-13T20:44:00.000-07:00

I'm racing tomorrow - Pescadero. It's my first real road race (accidental entry, then 10 miles, then accidental exit doesn't count). I hear it's not flat. And I'm at the worst part of my cycle right now and my back hurts particularly badly this month. And I now have an ulnar nerve "bruise" (this was the doctor's diagnosis when I called him in a panic 2 days after Tuesday's "aggressive" PT session, because ever since then it's felt a bit like I just hit my funny bone, pretty much constantly, and gets worse during stretching exercises, and I simply haven't been able to wear my nighttime splint for the pain, and my ring and pinky fingers still haven't regained full sensation. And I just now realized my kit's dirty, and the laundry machine is in use (surprise!) and it's almost 9 pm and I have to get up at 5:30 am.

So yeah, everything's coming together.

OK, it's actually not all bad. I got my 12x25 cassette (which came standard on the new bike) switched out for the 12x27 from my old bike, at a moment's notice less than half an hour before my bike shop closed, despite the fact that the shop was having some huge sale and was chock full of people. So now I have an extra gear (I'm going to need it). And a teammate of mine left a trainer on his front porch for me to grab so that I could get in a nice warm-up tomorrow morning.

Rats. I just realized that's two fewer excuses I have for a DFL finish. That's OK...I've heard it's a pretty ride. And I'm going to a BBQ in Half Moon Bay after! Yay!

Weeeee!

2008-06-03T22:57:00.000-07:00

I LOVE MY NEW BIKE!

It's a pound lighter than my old one, for some reason. I think it's the wheels, which are skinnier. Skinny wheels can be a teeny bit scary.

So the inaugural ride was Saturday, or "Touchstone-and-related" day! Went up Tunnel to Grizzly, down South Park and Wildcat Canyon, across the 3 Bears, and back up Wildcat after lunch in Orinda, and then up South Park (ugh - but this kind of stuff happens when you're with Marty...at least it wasn't El Toyonal, which also tends to happen when you're with Marty). The elbow did OK!

Sunday was TO-and-related-women day! Up Tunnel to Skyline, down Redwood, pause for fun kit photo opportunity (thanks Lauren! Gosh, who's the dork wearing the visor?), and up Pinehurst (while passing I think 3 unicycling women who were coming down Pinehurst) . By the end of this ride (actually, more like by the beginning), my bike was feeling heavyheavyheavy, and my back was killing me even more than my elbow, so I turned toward home at the top (I believe that's the first time I've left before the end of a Mel ride!) and heeded my teammates' recommendations: called Rick at Eden for a fitting as soon as I got home. He hooked me up! Saw me that day despite his no-weekend-fittings rule, spent almost 2 hours with me, had me on and off the trainer for a gazillion adjustments including shoe cleats, swapped out my stem for a better one at no charge, and threw in a TO discount. And he told me I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, who I later learned was a Jew from Philly! Well no wonder! They were together 7 years. I asked him what happened, and he said everything was great as long as he did everything she said. Well no wonder!

Can't wait to test out the fit on a long ride. If I can manage a long ride. I've been feeling like a zombie for two days. Unbelievable.

In other news, I went to the orthopod for a follow-up on the old elbow today. He's concerned that I still can't get full extension (I'm at about -12 degrees after the physical therapist has been tugging on it for 20 minutes). Apparently, the bone fragments calcify, and this may cause rubbing/friction which limits range of motion. He said therapy needs to be more aggressive at this point. So I punched him with that arm. Haha! No, actually, it means I need to force it. So the tension is going up a notch on the Dynasplint tonight, and I'll see if I can sleep through the pain. No problem! I laugh at pain! Except when I'm crying...

Got My Splotch Back

2008-05-27T21:12:00.000-07:00

It's all because of the return of the splotch, I'm certain! Bette, I may have been a bit hard on you....

1. There is a plethora of new men in my life, even though of course nothing's going anywhere. One guy even left me a voicemail, saying, "I don't know what you've done in the past couple weeks, but you really look good. I mean really." I saved that one in the archives. Then I pondered the implication that I'd obviously looked like a total dog (or at least nothing special) to this guy, what, only two weeks ago?! I erased the stupid voicemail.

2. *name redacted* called me to tell me that my other, temporary new bike was ready! She'd toiled away on a weekend morning with it, and then when I got there, she dangled a piece of heavy metal (which looked suspiciously like a piece of pipe that had come off of the underside of her kitchen sink, which really made me want to turn her kitchen sink on, just to see what would happen, but it may have actually been a bike stem or something, which just goes to show you how much I know about bike parts and kitchen sinks) from my knee by a string, in a very scientific manner, during an incredibly scientific bike fitting, performed in her living room and lasting approximately 5 minutes because I was worried about intruding while she was getting ready for her frate*.

*A frate may or may not be a "friend situation" that may or may not become a "date situation," depending on the intent of the parties and who's reading this and whether or not it's a secret. And if it's a secret, then I meant to say that she was getting ready to ship something abroad, and I simply misspelled "freight."

The bike disintegrated like a mummy from the last Indiana Jones movie, 25 yards into my ride home. Kidding! Here's a shot of my temporary new pimpin' cross-turned-road bike, safe and sound:
And then Cyclesportsmechanicguy safety-checked it for me on the spot, made some teeny tiny tweaks and pronounced it a safe and cool ride, and then refused to let me pay him (I made sure to take my helmet off)! One word: S p l o t c h

3. My brand new crash replacement bike has arrived!!!! And it's not even June yet! The shop called today to tell me it's built and ready, and if I want to bring in my pedals, they'll put them on, and also my special cassette that I purchased for my original bike. How did they even know about mysplotch!? That part's a mystery, even to me.

-topic change-

The local NPR station had one of their painful pledge drives recently, but the one cool thing about it was that they were advertising this one gift in particular that I'd never heard of, and that I immediately saw was perfect for my parents, who aren't getting any younger, and also indirectly perfect for me (the one who is totally stressed about this whole "old" thing and having to put my parents in a home pretty much any day now):

http://www.positscience.com/products/

Cognition-enhancing software! Well of course you practically have to donate a kidney to NPR to get that gift, so I just emailed the link to my dad (who'd called me on my birthday and started rambling on and on about some guy I didn't know that he hasn't seen in 20 years, until finally I had to remind him that I was at work, hullo!), but I didn't hear back, so I'm pretty sure he didn't buy it. Actually, I'm a little worried that he's forgotten how to check his email or use the mouse. Then, I tested my mom's cognition, by asking her in the most subtle way whether she knew the meaning of "exsufflicate" ("sesquipedalian" is one of her favorite words). She didn't (major red flag!). But then I received an email from her:

Empty, frivolous. Huh! It wasn't in the dictionary but I Googled it, so don't send me a cognition program...

PS: Before I sent this, I looked it up again in Google and that time I couldn't find it (am i in the twilight zone?)

Hm. Not exactly reassuring.

Not the most mundane week...

2008-05-18T18:25:00.000-07:00

1. I turned thirty-*unintelligible*.

2. At my birthday party, I received a marriage proposal, from not one person, but two people, both of whom I adore ("Will you marry us?"). I said yes.

3. This morning, I managed to turn what I'd thought would be a flat 8-mile run (that I was worried about being able to finish) into a 9-mile run on rollers, without hating life. In fact, it felt fantastic. But I'm glad I grabbed that extra Gu when we started. Paradise Loop: It's not just for cyclists anymore. Then: brunch at Sam's! I ordered Eggs Benedict. I've never ordered Eggs Benedict before! It was fluffy and amazing. I couldn't believe how amazing. Wendy said, "Of course it's amazing. It's Eggs Benedict. I'd have ordered it myself...if it weren't such a dietary disaster." Doh. And on the way to the car, Judy informed Marc and me that there is, in fact, no protein in beer. Which makes it difficult to rank as the world's best post-workout recovery drink. Said we, "But are you sure?"

4. Beth began turning her cross bike into a road bike for me to use while I await my new one (the latest: first week of June). Maybe I'll actually ride this month after all!

My New Bike

2008-05-11T12:03:00.000-07:00

The 2008 TCR c w! Total out-of-pocket cost: $100. Giant came through, and so did my insurance. Yay! Next weekend is my last one off the bike, and I start PT this week, so I hope the bike's ready soon! I have to start training for the Death Ride!

I hope it goes better than last year...

After watching Wendy capture "top female finisher" (and 3rd overall) in the 6-hour Lake Merritt ultra marathon yesterday, and watching Marc capture 8th overall (in his first ultra!), and scoring yet another awesome Patagonia capilene PCTR race shirt (thanks Wendy!!!), and seeing all the yummy food put out for the runners at rest stops (pizza!), I've decided to seriously consider a marathon in December (and ultimately an ultra before I turn 40). Wendy says I have to focus on either cycling or running at the higher levels (you can only go so far without the specificity training), so this should be interesting.

First, we'll see how the 8 miles goes next Sunday, out in Tiburon with a couple wacky ultra runners (I'm off the bike, anyway). Then, the true test will be striking some sort of balance between the cycling and running, so that I can manage one or two personal records in both.

Say it isn't so!

2008-05-01T22:06:00.000-07:00

It took a couple weeks to get strong enough to take my bike to the shop after my crash. I got the news on Tuesday: Nicked frame and bent front fork. Under Giant's crash replacement program, they'll switch out my women's 2007 OCRC small frame and front fork with the men's TCR Advanced extra-small frame and fork (for $1440), but they won't switch them out with my exact bike's parts, because they don't have any. In the alternative, I can get the extra-small men's 2005 OCRC frame and fork for $765.

Hm. Carbon technology is so new as it is. Dunno if I should go back in time 2 whole years. And the TCR frame has a totally different geometry. Plus, the men's extra-small top tubes are actually a centimeter longer than the women's small.

I'm waiting to hear back on whether any of the bike damage is covered under my renters' insurance. They didn't sound optimistic, but I can't help thinking that it's a good sign they haven't called me back yet (I know: I'm setting myself up for disappointment).

I only broke my elbow! It didn't even require surgery! I was out of the cast after a week! My bike shouldn't be totalled. And I keep thinking that if I had just let it languish on the side of the road a little longer instead of busting my ass to find it with my already busted elbow, it might have been stolen. That's covered.

Aaaaaargh!

Well, I'm improving quickly. So quickly, in fact, that sometimes I forget my elbow's broken. I'll do things, like lean on something when I'm getting up, or straighten my arm without thinking, or turn a doorknob at normal speed, and I'll suddenly be reminded. But that's cool, because it means I'm healing, and besides, the yelps garner sympathy.

I hadn't anticipated not being able to floss, or put my hair back in a ponytail for over 2 weeks. What a pain. Random women in the gym locker room were very helpful with the hair, but I thought it would be awkward to ask them to hold one end of the floss. Sometimes stuff flies out, you know. Anyway, I can do all that now. Ponytail procedures are still painful, but less so every day.

I also have absolutely no tricep in my right arm. I try to flex with all my might, and there's nothing there. Amazing how quickly it goes. And how much you use your elbow when you flex your tricep.

NZ Trip Photos!

2008-04-18T22:48:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Queenstown (NZ's "adventure capital") in the afternoon. It was drizzling, but sunny, and I saw a rainbow as the plane taxied in. Serious jet lag. Ralph was waiting for me, holding a sign with my name. He took me for coffee at the Queenstown airport, which helped, and he built my bike for me in the parking lot. I rode it around for a minute to test my seat height/handlebars, etc. and promptly got a flat. Leave it to me! Then we went to the famous bungee bridge and stood on it right at the platform, watching the jumpers take off. I was unable to summon the courage/energy to jump. It didn't even occur to me to take pictures. I was in a fog. Ralph took me to the motel, and it was, well...suite. Full kitchen, living room, jet tub, lake view, in-room washer and dryer, even! He made me promise not to take a nap before dinner, because he said I wouldn't be able to rouse myself. He told me to take a walk around the downtown area instead. So I did. I tried out my new camera:

I was starving. But while I was strolling around, I realized I'd forgotten my wallet in my room. I started heading back, and realized I had no idea where "back" was. My room key didn't say the name of the motel. I didn't have Ralph's cell number (and I didn't have a cell phone to call with, anyway). I think the jet lag/"driving on the wrong side" combo was really disorienting. I totally panicked, and walked around for at least an hour in all directions until I found my way back. Whew! Ralph gave me his business card after that.

Cycling Tour

Day 1: 50 miles (our shortest but "steepest single ascent" day). After 10 hours of sleep and an early breakfast homemade by Axel, I rolled over this nice bridge and out of Queenstown...

...heading for the switchbacks of the Crown Range. As Axel (our "German living in NZ" guide) rode up the mountain with me, he said, "this is going to be somewhat similar to Mt. Diablo" (the Crown Range was about 3,000 feet of climbing over about 11k, and was steepest closer to the top), which was surprising to hear on the other side of the world. He told me he'd done Mt. Diablo several times during a visit with his uncle, who lives here in the East Bay. I took this shot from the top (the lake that you see set way down in between the hills is Queenstown, our starting point):

Then we descended into Wanaka:

Day 2: We rode out of Wanaka and headed to the rainforest and the west coast (Haast). It was over 92 miles, and 1,380 meters (4,500 feet) of climbing. The pace was fast as hell too (for no reason in particular), so I was dying by the end.

Day 2 was also the day that David (from London) got hit by a car. It was a deliberate hit and run. I was riding a bit behind him at the time, so I almost bit it too. The car was honking at us while approaching us from behind. Then the car slowed next to us and continued next to David (I assumed to ask for directions, but I guess he was just annoyed at us for taking up too much road). David said, "Isn't the road big enough?" To which the guy responded by gunning it, pulling in front of David, and then slamming on his brakes. David had no time to brake; he hit the car and crumpled to the ground. His bike was jacked, as was his knee. And I just stood there like an idiot asking him if he was OK over and over instead of capturing the guy's plate # with my camera! I had barely managed to avoid hitting David (I ran off the road into the grass to avoid a collision) and was in complete shock. Anyway, the guy was still sitting there in his car where he'd stopped, like he wanted to get out and fight. David thought he then heard the woman in the car tell the driver to keep going; they took off. The police were called (Barry, from NZ, followed up in every town from there to the end of the tour - there were very few turnoffs from our route, so they had to be there somewhere), but they were never found. David managed to fix his bike and continue, but his knee bothered him for the rest of the trip. Pretty extreme, but I did find that the roads are generally inhospitable to road cyclists there compared to here (NZ motor vehicles, and in particular the bazillion double-trailer trucks that passed me, mostly ignored the "share the road" signs, and there was rarely any shoulder to speak of). Then again, a teammate of mine suffered a similar assault in the East Bay hills recently, during a group ride...

Day 3: We rode out of Haast and continued up the west coast for another 90+ miles...

...to the Fox and Franz Joseph glaciers.

You have to click on the glacier photo to get a good perspective on its size. There's a tiny red dot in the middle, at the bottom, on the flat land below the glacier. That's a person. Of course, glaciers are receding in general, world-wide. But this one has been advancing in recent years. I dunno why, something to do with the freeze/thaw cycle and the layers.

Day 4: REST DAY! Which is a good thing, because I was totally wiped out. I walked around the sleepy town of Franz Joseph, found an Internet shop where I caught up on some email, and took a 3-hour nap in the middle of the day (even though I'd been getting 8 solid hours of sleep per night!). That night, we had a bbq on the motel's grill, my favorite dinner yet (the minted lamb at Speight's Ale House in Wanaka was a close second).

Axel's an incredible cook. He made breakfast for us every morning in his room (NZ motels have full kitchens in the rooms).

So lets see, that's French press coffee, eggs, fresh fruit salad, homemade porridge, juice, bread/jam/honey, and yes, that's a champagne bottle. There were some pancakes too. He also made the food for our lunch stops, and it was awesome.

Day 5: After breakfast in Franz Joseph, we rolled out, continuing up the coastal road for another 89-mile ride up the west coast, this time to Hokitika. On the way, we stopped at the "Bushmans Centre" for a taste of the "deep south," NZ-style. We were on South Island, after all.

Yup, they sold minced possum pies (meat pies are a staple of the NZ diet, though not necessarily possum). New Zealanders hate possums, because they're ecologically destructive. Possums can eat a whole forest of native NZ trees in one winter (they are not native to NZ). We stopped here for a bite (no possum pie for me), and to tour the museum and watch Pete's homemade hunting movie (mainly videos of guys jumping out of helicopters to tackle deer -- it was pretty funny when they missed).

A random observation: New Zealanders are flummoxed by the apostrophe. They leave it out when it should be there (see sign above), and vice versa (e.g.: "We have great mince pie's!"). I saw this everywhere I went, on both the north and south islands.

Hey! Are you in the market for a possum wedding dress?

OK, that's a little too "Flintsones." But lots of wool NZ clothing is actually made of a merino wool/possum fur mix. That pretty much ruled out a lot of pretty gloves/hats/scarves that I'd otherwise have considered great gifts for certain people back home. I just didn't know how they'd react, so I didn't go there. But it's too bad, because they were nice. Stop being such an irresponsible vegetarian, and save the forests, for crying out loud! Wilmaaaa!

Where was I? Oh yeah.We got to stay in our own beach-front cottages in Hokitika!
I took a photo of the sunset from my balcony.

And here I am, having a terrible time, as we made our way to dinner along the beach. The cost of almost all meals was included in the tour, except my first dinner in Queenstown, and lunch/dinner in Franz Joseph on our rest day. Generally, we'd go to a restaurant for dinner, and we could order anything on the menu. So I tried lots of stuff. In Hokitika, I had oysters. They were delicious.

Day 6: We continued up the coastal road toward Westport, on this 86.5 mile day. I ate a quick breakfast and took off early with Barry, because I was feeling tired and needed a jump on the day. He let me draft, and we made steady progress. David and Ralph only caught us after my spectacular fall. Yeah. We were coming up on yet another (of about a gazillion so far) narrow one-lane bridge. Only...this one doubles as an operational railroad trestle. Are you a civil engineer? Are you looking to move to NZ? I'm sure you'd have no trouble finding work.

The scene:
As you can see, the tracks run parallel to traffic on the road. We had to get left (you ride/drive on the left side in NZ) to wait our turn on the bridge. And I was saying to Barry, "after we cross, I want to stop and take a picture.." and I wasn't paying close enough attention as I crossed the tracks (because I was running my mouth), and my wheel got stuck, and I went down. Hard. The weird part is that I really hurt my heel (?!) of all things, and even though I skidded on my backside and got a huge bruise and road rash underneath my Team Oakland Shorts , there wasn't a single rip! After the pain passed and I stopped screaming/asking Barry several times if my bike was OK (I really was lying on the ground on my back, screaming - I thought I'd broken my tailbone - and Barry was waving all the cars through; "she's fine, she's fine, go ahead..." - he's a mental hospital nurse), I asked Barry to check if my ass was hanging out, and he assured me that my shorts were intact. Amazing. He made some minor bike adjustments for me and it was ready to go. Also amazing. Then Ralph and David showed up, and Barry told them they should have been there 3 minutes ago for the "show" (apparently I'd just expanded his international cursing vocabulary, though I don't know what I said). Then Ralph said, "But Laura! Didn't you see the sign?!" And I'm all, "what sign?" So he went back a few meters with my camera and took a picture of it:

Doh. Fortunately my injuries were in places that didn't bother me while I was cycling, so I was able to continue with almost no pain. Which was cool, because the coastal road got absolutely breathtaking.

We stopped at Pancake Rocks for lunch:

Day 7: We left the coast and headed eastward to St. Arnaud, on our final day before the race! This was a 100-mile day (maybe not the smartest training strategy to do a century the day before a race? On top of close to 2 centuries on the preceding days?); we would follow the Buller River...

...from the Tasman Sea, along the Buller Gorge, all the way to its source (Lake Rotoiti). Axel and I were the only ones who completed it; at one point, the van passed us, and Axel started laughing: "Look! Everyone's in the van!"

It was a really hairy ride that day; lots of dangerous curves, double trailer trucks, speeding motor cars, and no shoulder. There was even a sharp one-lane blind curve, on a cliff, with one of those round driveway mirrors staked into the ground so you can see if there's any oncoming traffic - in the middle of the highway with no warning! I pulled over to eat a bar because I'd noticed an approaching speeding sport utility vehicle and it made me nervous. It passed me and careened full-speed around that corner. I didn't even see that mirror, or know that corner lay ahead, until after I finished the bar and got to it on my bike. I wonder if I'd be dead right now if I hadn't stopped? Creepy thought. Almost everyone had close calls that day, not just me. I was right behind Axel when I watched a double trailer truck pass him with only centimeters to spare (at this point, I was starting to pull off into the gravel/grass whenever I heard one approaching; they don't slow down, and they don't move over! And the wind tunnel effect makes you feel really unstable as they go by. It's terrifying!). I screamed. I'm amazed Axel was able to hold his line (especially because he told me later that he heard me screaming, and he felt how close the truck was). He tried to sprint ahead and get the plate number, but he was unable to. The van came by and Axel sent it after the truck too, but it was gone. I saw it happen because Axel let me draft behind him for the entire last 60k of the ride. I was really dragging, and wondering how I was going to race the next day. He insisted on a detour to the lake (requiring another climb!) before we got to the motel, because he said I'd never see it otherwise.

The next day, I crashed and broke my right olecranon. Yeah, I didn't know what that was either. It's an elbow. I was doing the Grape Ride (100k). I thought it would be a great way to see NZ wine country, and we happened to be ending the tour nearby. But when I originally entered, I thought it would be like the Grizzly Peak Century (since it was called a "ride"). Fully supported with rest stops, etc. It turned out to be a race. No rest stops. I started out with a pretty fast group, in a rotating double paceline. I'd never done one of these before and had no idea how. But I figured it out and took my pulls. We were passing people right and left. But 10 miles in, I had been working hard and I really needed to drink. I was afraid to take my hands off the handlebars in such a fast, tight group, so I slowed and let a gap form. I guess the gap wasn't big enough. I was putting my bottle back in its cage when the group slowed and suddenly I was on someone's wheel again. I grabbed my left brake, pressed too hard, lurched, wobbled, hit the guy beside me, wobbled some more, and went down. So did he, but he was OK. He helped me to the side so no one would run me over, and he got my bike too. I kept telling him to go, because I felt bad, but he insisted on staying until a race marshal arrived on a motorcycle. I was bleeding quite a bit from my elbow and knee, but I could move them, so my main concern was the couple times I remember my head hitting the ground, and the headache. But I wasn't knocked out, so I figured I was OK. The marshal couldn't get my jacket off to look at my arm (it felt like she was pulling the skin off), so she suggested I shouldn't continue, and called for an ambulance. An ambulance support vehicle came; it was a sport utility vehicle. I was wondering how we'd fit my bike in there, to get back to the start, where the medical staff was waiting (obviously, I was not thinking clearly). The ambulance support guy suggested he patch me up with gauze so I could continue. The race marshal suggested he call the actual ambulance. He did, and I was taken to the ER in a real live ambulance ("we don't take bikes")! I had to share with another guy who was already in it, and who appeared to have similar injuries. Anyway, I was ambivalent. My poor bike was left at the scene, I didn't have insurance coverage for emergency care, we seemed to be heading out of town (this was confirmed when I asked - only one ER was open, and it was in a different town), and I didn't know how I'd get in touch with Axel, who would be taking me to the ferry (which would take me to my brother in the north island that night). Well, the EMT assured me that all was covered by the government ACC (whatever that stands for - yay socialized healthcare!), and the other casualty let me use his phone once we got to the ER (fortunately I had Ralph's business card on my person!). And I counted my blessings when I saw the guy they brought in after us. That guy was a bloody, moaning mess, poor thing. Head injury. The doctor felt my elbow (she was examining the cut, which wouldn't stop bleeding) and told the nurse to call radiology, because she felt a "palpable loose body." I was x-ray'd and it was broken. The cut was dressed, and then the nurse said, "I"m going to hurt you now." He bent my arm into a right angle to position it for the cast. I concentrated on not kicking him in the nuts, and I was successful. After a couple hours, more than a couple phone calls, and a bit of a wild goose chase to find my bike, it all worked out. I was in too much pain to enjoy the ferry, but I made it to my brother's, where I was glad to get 4 days of recovery before I had to cram my sore self onto a full, 11-hour flight.

Going For Broke

2008-04-12T18:00:00.000-07:00

Broke my right arm in a crash yesterday, on my last day cycling in NZ (would you believe I entered a road race?).

Makes typing difficult. Actually, it's making everything difficult, I'm slowly discovering.

Ugh.

Well, it's been an unbelievable ride. More to come, including photos, when I'm able.

Kia Ora, Laura

2008-04-03T11:41:00.000-07:00

I made it to Aukland! So did my bike, which is a relief. My brother always seems to have a lost luggage situation with his NZ flights. And how much would that suck, to have your bike lost by the airline on your way to a bike tour?!

So here I am, living in the future (it's April 4th here) at a free Internet station, waiting for my domestic flight to Queenstown to board.

My observations so far:

Female Air New Zealand flight attendants are tres fashionable and appear to be required to wear french knot hairstyles, like in the olden days. They do not wear tan shorts and button-down oxford shirts like on Southwest. They also smile quite a bit. But don't be fooled: They are not particularly accommodating when you ask for your own row so that you can properly recline during the flight in the standard to which you are accustomed. Probably because they already know that not being able to properly recline is the standard to which you are accustomed. But I took half a valium (thanks Paula!) and discovered a couple of new sleeping positions. I didn't know valium heightened one's creativity. Yay, drugs!
Customs agents find brand spanking new passports confusing. I was interrogated upon entry, and the agent eventually told me this was why. Good thing I was well-documented with a printed tour itinerary.
Cyclists at the airport were totally digging on my Iron Case bike box (thanks Lawrence!). One cyclist guy actually had his Orbea packed in a cardboard box! For shame!
Non-cyclists were totally fascinated by the bike case. I was being asked right and left what was in it. I told one lady that it contained my Barbie collection. She looked at me funny. Maybe they don't have Barbies in NZ?
They have Dunkin Donuts here. How did Dunkin Donuts totally skip the west coast and make it here?!
Larry! You were right!! The toilet really does flush counter-clockwise. I thought that was a myth.

Welp, I'm totally bogarting the Internet, so I'll leave it there. Onwards and upwards.I finally purchased a digital camera, right before I left for the airport. If I can figure out how it works, I shall eventually post some photos.

Passport debacle?

2008-04-02T10:27:00.000-07:00

Huh? I don't know anything about any passport debacle. All I know is, my new passport's good for 10 years. So I'm cleared for takeoff to New Zealand.

Except that my bike case sure seems heavier than the 70 lbs. limit....

Ah well. I can think of bigger hurdles.

Hopefully I'll be able to blog a bit during my trip. I'm not sure the Interweb goes that far.

Weeeeeeeeee!!!

Circles and Arrows!

2008-04-01T13:52:00.000-07:00

Turns out, I wasn't totally sucking at goldsprints. At least not when we'd completed about 70% of the 20-25 seconds or so of pure agony. I was solidly in second! I discovered this from a photo taken during my race. The red arrow below points to the evidence: The horizontal red line represents my progress. There's a pie chart too, for those who prefer pies. Green Line Chick (to my left as I was racing) was just super fast, so I thought I had to be dead last. Maybe, if I'd looked at the computer screen (there was one in front of the bikes too), I'd have been more motivated to catch Green Line Chick?

Nah. I was dying. In fact, I think I hit the lactic acid wall just after this photo was taken. I just remember that suddenly my legs completely stopped cooperating with my brain, which was screaming "Faster dumbass! Faster!"Here's a photo of Lauren's hair. She'd put it up so she wouldn't puke on it during her race. Cute and tactical at the same time.
And below is Carol; I'd snapped this one just as she started going all out at the end of her race (!). She's blurry because she's flailing around. Raw power! The red arrow shows her progress on the pie chart (she's represented by the red line). She almost caught the leaders. Click the picture to see it better. Click it now! Then hit the back button. No! Don't close the picture, hit the back button. Gosh! Mainly, I just love drawing circles and arrows on images in SnagIt. SnagIt is tres fun.

OK, enough of that. Here's Beth in green, holding the grand prize. It's not exactly a carbon spork, but it's the thought that counts. Way to go Beth!

The Big Event

2008-03-29T10:08:00.000-07:00

Me! Racing! Goldsprints! Sports Basement! Tonight!
I'm told I might hurl. Beer chugging is involved, but I'm a bit fuzzy on where/how that fits in with the sprinting. I think the chugging immediately precedes the sprinting.

***Post-race update***

Guess who totally sucks at goldsprints and probably got the slowest time in the history of the event, without ever having chugged any beer?! Me! But my teammates Lauren and Carol were awesome (Carol almost came from behind for a win).

And Beth won the whole thing!!! In a Team Oakland kit! Time to join TO, Beth!

I was going to go as an alternate/cheerleader for Team Oakland, but ended up riding for Mel, who'd come down with the flu. So the masses don't know my real name, which is cool considering my performance. But poor Mel! Anyway, as I was tightening the toe cages as much as possible and raising, lowering, raising, lowering, raising, lowering the seat (I was a little nervous), the head guy was all, "You're not Mel!" And I'm all, "I know!" And he's all, "Where's MEL?!" and I'm all, "She's SICK!" And he's all, "BULLSHIT!" like I was some sort of ringer, which was hilarious, because Mel could sprint circles around me, but I was briefly flattered. He was just pretending to be mean, anyway. Earlier he'd seen me stuffing toilet paper in my ears and covering them with my fingers because the music was so loud, so he came up to me and said, "Would you like some earplugs? I know we have some around here somewhere, I'll go find you some." And sure enough, he did, even though he was quite busy with his event and whatnot.

Awwwwwwwww...

2008-03-22T20:46:00.000-07:00

This week, for the first time in Tax Return Filing Me history, I filed my returns without:

a. calling my dad several times, often at odd east coast hours, in a complete panic about some random Turbo Tax question I can't answer;
b. yelling at him for not being able to answer the question to my satisfaction either;
c. yelling at him some more for being so blase ("it doesn't matter Laura, you can't be taxed on IRA contributions, so it really shouldn't be asking you that") when his only daughter is surely going to be hauled away for tax evasion ("well it is asking me that, so it must have a reason");
d. yelling at him some more for making no attempt to quell my rising panic by at least feigning some sort of tax intelligence ("well, I don't know what that reason could be...."); and finally,
e. yelling at him some more ("I'm not doing my taxes at the LAST MINUTE!!!") just because he happens to be on the phone while I hear mom yelling in the background to everyone but no one in particular, "why does she always wait until the LAST MINUTE?!"

I even held it together when my e-filing was rejected by the IRS, despite the fact that my mom did use the rejection (when I oh so calmly called for advice) as a last-ditch opportunity:

"Oh. You're going on a ride? I'll have dad call you back later. But what I want to know is: Why do you always wait until the last minute?"

Dammit. So close.

So...after everything was all filed and accepted (the Turbo Tax Customer Servicette helped me figure out that I'd put my name in wrong, with my last name in the "first name" field, and vice versa -- I didn't yell at her either), I called my dad:

"Hal, I just want to bring it to your attention that for the first year since you stopped doing my taxes for me, I filed them without yelling at you a single time."

"Oh. Well I don't mind if you yell at me, if that means you'll call me more often. I like talking to you."

Mel and I did the zoo loop today. Short (~35 miles) so we picked up the pace. It was really pretty out -- everything is still green. Then we went to Dolores Park for a BBQ with some San Franciscans, and it was beautiful there too. Tomorrow I'm going to try some painful hill repeats with Beth, who embarks on such sufferfests regularly, so as to increase the girth of her "quaddies." Oh dear.

<3

2008-03-19T00:09:00.000-07:00

"<3" is a sideways heart. Tilt your head to the right. See?

Apparently, all the kids today use it. In fact, sometimes they say "I 'less than three' you" as a long-hand version of "I 'heart' you" which is now a totally passe way of saying "I love you" in shorthand.

E.g.: I "less than three" tonight's yoga instructor. I hadn't been to a yoga class in months, but was recently re-inspired to do what I can to stop feeling like I've been run over by a truck. Twice. At the beginning of class, the yogini asked how everyone was doing, and everyone was silent (Hullo! She's asking what everyone wants to work on! Am I the only one with Truck Syndrome? Do you people do anything besides yoga?). I took the opportunity to let her know that I was quite sore and tight from cycling, and she proceeded to focus quite a bit on hip flexors, just for moi.

I start an 8-day cycling tour in New Zealand 2 weeks from today. I'm going to see how many yoga classes I can take between now and then. Weeee...

Ikea Backwards

2008-03-12T23:11:00.000-07:00

Soooo...my last post prompted a call from mom.

"You're not drinking too much, are you?"

"No mom. I average maybe one a week."

"Really?!"

"Yes."

But I did the math, and from last Wednesday to today, it was 4 drinks. Sorry mom. I think all those lines of coke are clouding my short-term memory. I had a mimosa at brunch on Sunday, a plum wine at dinner on Monday, and two somethingorothers at the tiki bar in Alameda this evening. None of those was even a beer! But all were delicious.

So, Larry (my BFF) is now an official Oaktowner. And where's a consumer to go immediately after a move but Ikea?! After parking in the 5-minute loading zone by the exit, we went in the out door and shopped backwards for at least an hour, probably more, traveling deeper and deeper into Ikea's innards, as I wondered if we'd ever make it out alive. Ikea's a scary place. Larry bought a lamp (I think the model was called "Dim" or something) and a furniture dealio for his kitchen, and a giant shoe horn. I picked things up here and there and stuck them in the cart (e.g. a mesh frying pan cover thingy to prevent oil splatter, a chair cushion, and almost a scale), but eventually put them back because I didn't need them (or because Larry said the scale didn't look very accurate). And I contemplated the shoe horn: If you really need a shoe horn, aren't your shoes just too damned small?! And I admired all the men with crew cuts. And Larry decided that East Bay women are hotter than South Bay women. And I was all, "duh." And while Larry perused the catalog at the catalog station (complete with pencils and disposable measuring tapes), a kid walked up to the measuring tapes and took one. And I said, "That will be one dollar." And the kid didn't even give me a dollar, the little brat!

Then, after we contributed to the jobless rate (per Larry) by checking out our own items, we went outside, and the "security truck" was there, all ablaze, and I got scared that Larry had been towed from the 5-minute zone (especially because the backwards approach had been my idea), but alas, his car was right where we left it. Phew!

Then we went to see In Bruges (the "s" is silent!), because Bruges is one of my favorite cities ever; it's very romantic, and there's lots of amazing beer. I really enjoyed the movie. I've never seen anything so un-PC.

I did a 7.5ish mile run in the Berkeley hills on Sunday, and once again, my calves were hating me. But then: mimosa and breakfast at Marc's! Yay! Then I threw a baby shower for Marla, whom I've known since I was 11, and even though babies, and hosting, and girly events aren't generally my thing, I'm ecstatic to report that it went fabulously, and Marla enjoyed herself, so I was happy.

On Monday, I spent $42 on sushi at Sushi Village after spinning for over 2 hours. Ugh! To make matters worse, they weren't very friendly to us. And to top it all off, I was unable to twist the cherry stem (from the cherry that was in my plum wine) into a pretzel with my tongue. And then I led a couple of innocent victims all over creation, on foot, to find Townhouse, which had just stopped serving by the time we found it. Oops.

On Tuesday, I span. Spinned. Spun. And then I had etouffee and steamed crawdads, New Orleans style, at Sharon's. The food was amazing (it kinda reminded me of the Maryland crab scene, and I got all nostalgic). And I met Sharon's brother (he made the amazing etouffee), and saw photos of young Sharon, which was trippy. She was so cute!

This evening, after I got spanked, I met friends for drinks as "Straight Hair Laura" at Forbidden Island, a tiki bar in Alameda, a city described to me this evening as "an Island off the coast of Oakland"! Great spin. And I met another woman with an Israeli mom, and we totally related on the whole "American Jewish" v. "secular Israeli Jewish" dichotomy. I.e. do you pronounce Hebrew words the way the should be pronounced? With an Israeli accent? Or do you pronounce it the mangled "Engbrew" way? If I do the former, people think I'm putting on airs. If I do the latter, a certain Israeli gets annoyed. And what is this whole "woo-woo" reform movement? Secular Israelis rarely go to services, but when they do, they pick the orthodox ones, if only because the pain/boredom/ridiculousness of it helps them remember why they're not into religion.

The evening was educational as well. Jessica explained the terms "dirty sanchez," "dutch oven," and "rusty trombone." You don't want to know.

Tipsy!

2008-03-04T20:18:00.000-08:00

Go to Cesar, on Piedmont Avenue, in Oakland.

Order either the:

a. Sangria; or
b. Hemingway in Mexico (don't worry if it's not on the drinks menu; you can get it anyway).

You will not be disappointed.

Let's give it up for the letter "V".

2008-03-02T22:26:00.000-08:00

I'm no vegetarian, let alone a vegan. But some co-workers turned me onto the Breakroom, a teeny vegan spot in downtown Oakland, and I've become an addict. The hearty bagel is killer, and the potato skin sandwich really grows on you if you give it time (you must approach it with no preconceived notions). They won't take your order if you're on your cell phone. There's a sign that says so.

But what's funny is that I've been turned onto another vegan spot: the Manzanita Cafe on Adeline. So after I met up with Carol, Morgan, Beth, and Alicia for intervals and speed drills at the Port of Oakland on Thursday night,Carol, Beth and I rode to Manzanita and chowed down, vegan- style. How healthy is that?! There's basically only one meal; you can get the whole thing, or smaller versions of it. And you can bring your bike inside!

Track clinic #2 for me at Hellyer Velodrome on Saturday! That's a grimace, not a smile. We did more races, like "Italian pursuit", where your team of 6 (?) pacelines to catch the team that starts on the opposite side of the track. Everyone does a lap at the front (you get to retire after your lap at the front). But you're sprinting the whole race, so the people in the back of the paceline are sprinting for longer. Of course, I was in back (why did the other girl get to start at the front?). I was gasping "gap!" pretty much the entire time, to get my team to slow down so I could draft behind the guy in front of me. I was dying, especially after speed drills on Thursday at the port, and speed drills in Friday's spin class. Not the best training strategy, I guess. But one more Saturday clinic, and I'm eligible to race at the track! Then again, I'd need to go buy a track bike to race, and I was thinking my next bike would be a cross bike (in cyclocross, they race for beer!). Dilemma!

Sean came down to the track with Mel and me, to cheer us on, and he was wearing a jacket with interesting random "fashion patches" of velcro on the front of it. And nothing screams "functional clothing" like velcro (or a cyclist, waking suddenly from a nightmare about some ride gone awry). Here's what happened:After all that sprinting, I was going to take a nap to prepare for today's ride. But instead, I stayed late at Marla and Eric's, playing Settlers of Catan with them and Dan, and drinking lots of wine. My legs were totally shot this morning. We were headed to LiVermore (OK, that's not really a "V" word, but it's the best I can do) for a 60 mile ride on Mines road. It was the very same ride I did with Jen, my first ride ever (last March, in fact), the one where I got stung by a bee on the tongue because I was terrified of the descents and forgot to close my mouth. I had not been back since. But I eventually warmed up, got an 8-minute lead on Himgan (he'd waited at the top of a big hill for Andrea, Becky, and Fred), who gave chase. He was unable to catch me until we'd reached the flats at the end of the ride. Yay! I ache. I feel like I need another day to recover....

Laura the Dualist

2008-02-21T19:20:00.000-08:00

My brother is a real live published poet. He's won international writing competitions, and he's been flown to Australia to receive awards. He's got a book deal. He is this battered cyclist's conduit to Homer's nous, to the realm of the intellect.

He recently emailed me a haiku. Someone had sent it to him, and he thought of me:

Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator

Of course he thought of me! It's only the best haiku ever!

I shared it with my BFF, who responded in kind:

I am writing you
tainted beef recall haiku
veggie up suckas

(he followed that with a New York Times editorial, "The Biggest Beef Recall Ever")

Okiedoke. Glad that "being mental" stuff is out of the way. Time to hit the gym!

To Hell(yer) and Back (Plus 150 Miles)

2008-02-18T20:21:00.000-08:00

Finally got my pedals off my bike (with the help of a bike mechanic, his rubber mallet, and some tenacity). Those suckers were tight.

Here I am (far left, holding rented track bike) with Mel and Annabell. Mel's my riding partner, and Annabell (far right) is a fantastic track racer and clinic instructor who sold me her Team Oakland race kit (the one I'm wearing in the photo) for $30 and a $5 Starbucks gift card (she'd moved to the South Bay and joined a closer team). Very nice of her.And here I am below (blue jacket), during the track clinic (this particular lesson appears to be covering how to stick out your boobs):I was surprised to note that the track bike actually fit me well; for a rental, it felt comfortable (except that like all track bikes, it was a single speed with no brakes, which I found tres emotionally uncomfortable, especially riding in pacelines, on this weird slope thing). Not like at the Oakland Ice Center, where the rental skates' blades are so dull that it's like wearing tennis shoes on the ice (no grab - very dangerous BTW, and you can forget about practicing your triple lutz, although it's great training for broomball). The saddle did move from side to side like it was going to almost fall off a couple times though, despite my most diligent attempts to tighten it. That was pretty disconcerting while reaching for brakes that didn't exist. Eventually I did get used to moving up the slope toward the rail to slow down, and the track became a little less scary and even got a little bit fun.

While getting my stuff ready for Sunday's 60 mile ride (I'd spent an hour trying to screw the right pedal into the left crank arm, remembering about the reverse threading, but forgetting to look for the "L" on the pedal, and very nearly stripping the threads entirely) to Danville Peets via Tunnel/Pinehurst/St. Mary's, I realized that I'd forgotten/left my cycling shoes (and shoe covers, for warmth) at the track (an hour away). And it wasn't like I didn't have plenty of time to remember them while Mel's dead battery was getting a jump in the parking lot (Mel's boyfriend Sean, who'd taken the above photos -- thanks Sean! -- had accidentally left the lights on when we'd parked). But fortunately Sean was going back to the track the next day for some sprinting drills (sprinting at the track is his thing - he pukes over the rail a lot, which I admire; I simply lack the discipline to push it to the puking point on a regular basis). So while Mel and Paul and I were finishing our really fun ride (I'd made do with my spin shoes and toe covers -- they only cover half the shoe, but it wasn't that cold), Sean was bringing my shoes to me! I rode home with them in my back pockets (the cycling attire "back pocket" is an amazing thing, especially if you're wearing Sugoi, in my opinion).

OK, so Sunday was fabulous (despite the fact that a certain individual had invited me to join her for Sunday's Pine Flat race, totally out of the blue, by which I was flattered to the nth degree, and subsequently completely devastated when she totally flaked on me; flaking is really mean and she is no longer my hero, and I'm sure this all stems from the fact that I articulated a purely aesthetic preference against tattoos, and I only went into detail because I felt backed into a corner, and why the hell do I have to like someone's tattoos? Was I consulted on this art project? Is beauty not completely subjective? Can't the person who got the tattoo like it enough for both of us? And what the f*ck kind of question is "why don't you want/have a tattoo?")

Sunday was made more fabulous by an evening out at a microbrewery called 21st Amendment, with a guy called Scott, drinking a beer called Golden Doom, during a month called "Strong Beer Month". It had over 8% alcohol, and the waitress gigglingly stamped my "strong beer month" card several times at my request, even though I'd only had one beer (if you fill the card by trying all the strong beers by the end of the month, you get a commemorative glass).

I BARTed back into the city in the early morning Monday (work holiday), to meet up with Mel and Sean. We rode over the Golden Gate bridge to Sausalito, to catch the start of the Tour of California, a pro road race (last year's Tour de France's first and third place finishers were there, and in fact the third place guy is a local). It was really cool. Then we headed out to Nicasio and Pt. Reyes Station for my second Marin ride ever, and a total of 90 miles for the day! I was freezing almost the entire time, so I was hammering to raise my core body temperature. Mel bonked. One of the most flattering moments of Cycling Me history to date!

A Positive Spin

2008-02-12T21:59:00.000-08:00

Tonight I burned 1,158 calories in 1.5 hours of spin. That's a new record for Cycling Me. When I started spinning in March/April of 2006, I could burn 1,300 calories on a good day, but as I got conditioned to spinning, and then started riding outside, the numbers started dwindling. Now I'm lucky to break 1,000. I knew it was going to be a good one today though, because MarkTheSpinInstructor's music was awesome, and I was maintaining a heart rate of 170. That's over 92% of my HR max, and, according to my lactate threshold test results is one beat above my climbing anaerobic threshold (AT2) range, which itself is higher than flat anaerobic threshold (AT1) due to greater muscle recruitment. I must have hella free radicals in my body right now.

Fortunately, I'd pre-prepared and packed (with ice) a chocolate milk so that I could have it within 30 minutes of the class; it came in quite handy, and I'm tres impressed with myself, especially since it enabled me to take advantage of the legal diet loophole that allows me to consume traditional chocolate milk (i.e. that which contains refined sugar) as a post-workout recovery drink only, and at no other time. I am a Chocolate Milk Strategist.

About the diet: My mom's a ~~certifiable~~ certified diabetes educator, so I know a bit about food and diets. Here's an example of mom recounting a conversation with a newly-diagnosed diabetic patient at the office:

Mom: So tell me what you eat every day.
Patient: Not much. A piece of toast in the morning. A banana.
Mom: Well that's obviously not all you eat. You're fat.

Well you can't expect a diabetes nurse to sugar coat things. And I've gotten off track. The point is: I know it's of very little consequence whether something is sweetened by refined sugar, brown sugar, unrefined brown sugar, honey, or maple syrup. It's all 15 calories per teaspoon, and the reality is that it all makes you fat. However...it's a great way of limiting consumption. Instead of coke, I'll drink diet cancer in a can. Instead of eating the freshly baked banana bread that Harriet brought into work yesterday, I'll crankily eat my stupid f*cking salad. Instead of drinking 4 chocolate milks a day, I'll strategically consume one, at a time when it is most likely to be optimally metabolized and not stick to my fat ass. So this just might work. I'm a little concerned about the baby shower I'm throwing for Marla, though. Chocolate has been established as a major theme on the Evite. Ah well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

A Good Weekend

2008-02-10T21:08:00.000-08:00

It started off poorly. I couldn't get my dumb pedals off my dumb bike on Friday night, even with my nifty new pedal wrench. And I needed them to head down to a track clinic super early the next morning at the Hellyer Velodrome (you can rent a track bike, but it's BYOP). And of course I waited until the last minute, after all the bike shops had closed. On top of that I was feeling particularly flu-ish (I'd gotten sick again that week! Second time this season!). And I was supposed to give Carol a ride. And then Mel called: "Where are you guys?!" Ugh.

I just chilled out on Saturday, had a nice nap, did some very light lifting at the gym, basked in the absolutely beautiful day, and then headed to the laundramat so I could do my 3 loads of laundry all at once. I saw the bike shop guy there! When I expressed my pedal frustration, he got all excited that I was going to try the track (his discipline!), and he told me to just bring my bike in and he'd have my pedals off in a jiffy. Hopefully he can show me how to do it myself, because I can't have an un-road-ride-able road bike! GOSH!

Then I had sushi with Marlic and Scott. Scott says it's "strong beer month" at 21st Amendment and Magnolia (2 microbreweries) in the city! I love it! He's agreed to go back with me next weekend so I can check it out. Thanks Scott! And Eric lent me a jump drive with a couple albums on it, because I was complaining about my old/stale music collection. So now I have the latest Spoon album (can we still say "album"?) on my ipod, and some Iron & Wine. Thanks Eric!

This morning, I did the Touchstone Runners group run in the Berkeley hills. I haven't been running lately, and my calves were hating me for the first 30 minutes (all uphill to Tilden park), but it eventually leveled off/went downhill for the second half of the run. It was beautiful, and the company was great. AND, we saw Markham as he passed us on his bike, and then we saw Fred and Becky as they rode by on their bikes! Wendy yelled at them to join us for breakfast (eggs/homefries) after our run, so they went home, showered, and showed up with just-baked scones that Becky had just thrown together! The best part? They contained maple syrup instead of refined sugar. Hah! And they were phenomenal (must've been the five sticks of butter).

"You Should Like Chickens"

2008-02-08T19:19:00.000-08:00

I don't know how it happened. The conversation started innocently enough over gumbo. I had a coke in my hand at the beginning, but by the night's end, I was drinking diet coke.

I hate diet soda. It makes me thirsty. Of this I was reminded.

Pat and I decided we would be a lot faster on our bikes if we were 15 lbs lighter, 2 months from now. She's going to stop having margaritas every night, and I'm going to stop consuming refined sugar (my main dietary vice), except during very strenuous exercise (to prevent bonking), and possibly up to 30 minutes following (like a post-workout recovery chocolate milk), and maybe also when my moon is in Venus. We're going to check in weekly on our progress. It'll be an interesting experiment (kinda like the time I turned into a never-sated fat vegetarian one year - I fell off the wagon on Thanksgiving).

Technically, ketchup is in the "don't" column. Oh god. I found some refined-sugar-free tahini cookies at Arizmendi though, so things aren't looking totally hopeless.

OK, moving on to livestock. I'm helping my BFF find an apartment in the East Bay. One of my favorite things, like, EVAR, is to search for East Bay apartments on Craigslist. I'm really good at it. I can help you too. It's a gift.

Here's one I found today. I had to send it to BFF because it made me laugh:

$1400 north berkeley 1 bedroom cottage COMING SOON (berkeley north / hills)

One bedroom apartment in beautiful area of North Berkeley
Near gourmet ghetto, shop, transportation,
Free standing unit, not attached to any other unit
Quite private
Ideal for students, couples
One year lease
Beautiful chickens in property- you should like chickens
Available March 1st
No pets, no exception please do not ask
No smoking please
Drop me a line

To me it reads "If you don't like chickens..well...you really should."

Bagel Versus Hole

2008-02-01T20:18:00.000-08:00

My BFF emailed this to me today, sans explanation:Originally, I'd interpreted the illustration as a graphical representation of BFF's dating philosophy, because it followed a conversation about a guy from cyberspace who'd expressed interest in me (and with whom I was keen on finding fault). The last time we'd had a similar conversation, BFF told me to keep my eye on the bagel, not on the hole.

But I've been informed that I'd misunderstood (I had to totally re-write this post! I was being too hard on the guy in cyberspace anyway. 6'2"/190 lbs is not necessarily ectomorphic.), and that the diagram was in fact a direct response to my "Elmo Doesn't Know" (a video making its way around YouTube right now) reaction. BFF had enjoyed the video, and he'd sent me the link.

My reaction was, "cut the chick out of the background". Apparently that was the wrong reaction, but she looks totally bored:

Lost & Found/Life in my Camaro

2008-01-30T23:02:00.000-08:00

My Earing
I lost one of my favorites a couple weeks ago. Today, when I came home from work, it was sitting on the ledge outside my apartment building by the mailboxes. Someone must have seen it on the ground and placed it there so I'd see it. As I reunited it with its lonely twin, I imagined the two were all giggly and happy to have found each other, but I couldn't actually hear any of the rejoicing, probably because the earings are so small that they giggle at too high a frequency for the human ear (though they dangle from it just fine).

My Good Friend Margaret
...moved from Rockridge back to Knoxville, Tennessee over a couple years ago now. Wow. I can't believe it's been that long. Her husband still has some business ties here, and she let me know that she was coming into San Francisco for a whrlwind trip. The conversation as we were firming up plans to meet for a drink:

Margaret: So where are you living now?
Me: I'm living in Lake Merritt.
Margaret: What? You're living in your Camaro? What are you talking about, man? You don't even have a Camaro. And now you're living in your car? You're a lawyer!

It was great to see her.

Wendy's Gloves
Thought I'd left them on the bar at Trader Vic's last night (I was using them to hold my cold beer), so I went back there tonight after my massage and had them search high and low; turns out Wendy had gotten them back from me somehow (I don't remember handing them to her, only putting them down to eat my ahi tuna/mercury/oil spill sandwich). They say mercury affects brain function....

My Hiking Poles
...are back in my possession, but actually, they were never really lost (though honestly I thought they'd come back to me mangled beyond repair, if at all). I'd lent them to Beckythewonderaccupressurist for her hike up Mt Kilimanjaro over New Years, on the condition that she get a photo of them on the mountain. Becky did in fact summit (she only puked on the way down) and she assures me a photo was taken (hopefully not at that moment).

UPDATE:

She took that shot for me! Thanks Becky! Her 15-hour round-trip climb (a charity mission) raised money, as well as 11 tons of medical supplies and humanitarian aid, all of which went to Africa. Oh, and the climbers went up western breach, the most challenging route up the mountain, which had just opened after having been closed for 2 years due to fatalities. Yikes!

The Switch

2008-01-22T22:23:00.000-08:00

I haven't been able to write anything lately because my computer is on the opposite side of the room from the air vent, where I've been spending all my time after getting my first PG&E bill following The Switch from puny space heater (which I'd been spending all my time sitting as close to as possible, switching positions every now and then) to central heat (which I'd been putting off using, knowing all too well how quickly things would spiral out of control). You see, I have central heat abuse issues. It all goes back to when I was a child.

Mom, I'm cold.
PUT ON A SWEATER.
But I can see my breath.
STOP BREATHING.

Plus, there's the issue of the leather couch. But, in the aftermath of The Bill, I've turned down the heat to a level requiring me to wear lots (i.e. more than one) of layers of clothing, and I still have cold feet, unless I'm (a.) wearing my down booties which are all the way down the cold hallway in my bedroom, or (b.) stationed right in front of the air vent, covering it with my feet.

So I'll quickly summarize the week's happenings:
1. I gave a branding presentation at work. I was tres nervous but it went really well. Yay!
2. I found out that my BFF got the job! He's moving to the East Bay! Yay!
3. I had a great ride (fruitstand) on Saturday but I didn't race on Sunday despite getting up early and riding to BART in the freezing cold, because when BART arrived in Fremont (right on time for a change), it had just rained, and the roads were drenched, and I was scared to race on a wet road, and plus it was even more freezing than when I left Oakland, even though Fremont is practically in Southern California! And by the time I got back, I'd missed the Touchstone Runners group run that I actually could have made it to if I hadn't wasted my time BARTing to rainy Fremont. But I went to brunch at Marc's after, which was fun, even though Courtenay wasn't there and she was supposed to be, and I informed Marc and Anita that I'm moving into their house because it's really amazing and I love it (they have leather couches, but I wasn't cold).
4. I saw another tearjerker movie (The Savages) with my BFF, aka movie husband, who says I always drag him to tearjerkers and he ends up watching me cry. Which I found very interesting. Why do I always want to see sad movies? His theory was that I need a release because I'm such a happy person. And he assured me that my nose does not have a bump on it like Laura Linney's and that, in addition, it has a nice ski jump on the end of it. I really liked both of these things that he said, even if he was just saying them because I'd just cried for 2 hours. I lent him my premium copy of Everything is Illuminated.
5. I returned all my David Foster Wallace books to the library, pretty much unread. I'd started The Broom of the System, and it wasn't bad,but suddenly the books were due the next day when I would be at work/unable to return them, and it was a holiday so I couldn't renew them because the library was closed! So I shoved them in the return box. I'll have to get them out again this weekend and actually read them instead of watching TV which happens to be quite viewable from the floor in front of the air vent.
6. I did weights yesterday after a hiatus, and suffered an excruciating pain in my bad knee doing a squat (which of course reminded me why I never ever do squats), which was terrifying because you never know with that bad knee, but it's fine now. I only realized this morning that I also apparently really jacked up my shoulder yesterday too.

OK. My feet are freezing, so that about sums it up. Except that I'd like to mention that I can't wait to see Get Smart when it comes out (definitely not a tearjerker).

NewZworthy?

2008-01-14T19:51:00.000-08:00

I survived my first crit!
The weather was nice, so I think there were more than 20 of us? Apparently there were 2 crashes among the cat 4 women, but I only found out after it was all over (and I understand that they were minor). One of them hit a road dot, which sounds kinda funny, I guess, until it happens to you.

Here are a couple I'm-so-happy-not-to-be-dead post-crit photos:

I'm sitting next to Karla in the first one. Her race wasn't until later, with the pro men. Damn.

In the second photo, I'm between Carol and Mel. Carol (left) took almost all the photos, and got up early to BART/ride to the race with me, which was so cool, because I was tres nervous. Mel's my mentor.

Team Oakland, out in force at the Early Birds:
There was obviously a conversation going on here; I was off in lala land:

Beth (bottom left) races track down in San Jose at the Hellyer Velodrome. She says it's really fun. I'm going to do some Saturday clinics there in February.

What I learned on race day:

1. Helmet visors are totally uncool, and everyone agreed. Sean held onto mine (see bottom left) during my race, then thought he'd lost it, but then it somehow materialized when he flung it at me right before his race. It was great to be reunited. I laughed, I cried. He also held onto my bike bag for me, because, I was told, you don't want anything on your bike that can come off in a race. Thanks Sean!

2. Pull less/draft more. Here I am, out in front, learning the foregoing. But it just feels so much safer in front! Look! I'm smiling! For a few minutes, anyway...

3. Don't try to sprint for an entire half lap to the finish just because the pack is going excruciatingly slowly and it feels safer at the front. I don't have a photo for this one, but imagine the above, only I wasn't out in front when it mattered, and I wasn't smiling.

4. My HR max is actually 3 beats higher than previously thought (see #3).

5. Don't trust Mel's definition of a post-crit "cool down ride". Here I am, learning lesson #5 on Mount Motherfucker:

And here I am blogging about my race, during my race (lap 3).

Kidding! Hullo, I'm not that fast. Actually, during the race sign-in, I was informed that I'd screwed up when I applied online for a racing license (in that I never scrolled down to the way bottom and clicked the microscopic "purchase" button), so the bell-lap announcer guy let me sign into my email, find my password, and finish the online application process on his laptop right before the race instead of doing it by mail (takes much longer to get your card, he said)! How cool is that?! I had the time to do so, because I'd already missed the pre-race clinic (huge delay on BART), so while everyone else was mentally and physically preparing for their first race ever, getting pointers and familiarizing themselves with the course, I was squinting at microscopic letters in bright sunlight on a tiny LCD screen, blind as a bat without my glasses, hoping I hadn't checked the "pro" box. I panicked briefly when I got home and saw that I'm registered for cyclocross, but apparently that's all bundled up with road and track, and I'm good to go.

We rode home from Fremont at breakneck speed (I thought, anyway) through the glass strewn streets of Hayward/San Leandro/East Oakland. No I'm-so-happy-not-to-be-dead photos representing that experience, but I've never been so happy to see Lake Merritt.

Holy crap I'm going to New Zealand!
I leave in a couple months. I'll spend 8 days cycling with a group from Queenstown to the top of the South Island, and then I'll head to the North Island and hang out with brother Bryan, sister-in-law Nancy and niece Abby. Bryan's been there for 4 years, and he's talking about moving back to the US, so it's time. Plus, he'll be on sabbatical. Ah, Bryan, if only you were a cyclist!

Here's the cycling plan:

Day 1: cycle 77 km Queenstown to Wanaka
Day 2: cycle 145 km Wanaka to Haast
Day 3: cycle 142 km Haast to Franz Josef
Day 4: free day in Franz Josef
Day 5: cycle 134 km Franz Josef to Hokitika
Day 6: cycle 140 km Hokitika to Westport
Day 7: cycle 158 km Westport to St. Arnaud
Day 8: cycle 120 km St. Arnaud to Picton

That's a lot of kms. And I don't even know how hilly it will be. But hey, the weather is predictable...in that it's completely unpredictable....

E*Ville

2008-01-07T22:41:00.000-08:00

Went to a movie with my Movie Husband yesterday at Bay Street.

We'd planned to meet up an hour early so that we could hang out, but you know how these things go. By the time we actually met up, we only had about 20 minutes before the movie, and we had to make a stop at Sephora, downstairs, because MH's hands were chapped, and he needed to moisturize. It's very bright at Sephora. I'm pretty sure you can damage your retinas if you stay there for too long. At the very least, you can see all your clogged pores as you walk by the mirror (I try to avoid the mirrors, but they're everywhere). So what with the movie, the blindness, and the blackheads, we had a few reasons to:

Get in;
get slathered;
and get out.

I made a beeline for the saleslady, who was giving some woman a makeover:

"Where's the man lotion?" said I.

There was laughter, so I joined in. MH said, "She's spunky, isn't she? She's my wife." It took me a moment to realize we were both talking about semen (my participation was involuntary). Saleslady totally never got it. Makeover lady had really wide eyes, but I think that's because things were beginning to go dark (macular degeneration - God knows how long she'd been in there, but whatever, I'm sure there was a creme for that in aisle 5). Saleslady pointed us in two opposite directions (lots of lightbulbs and mirrors in between). The manly stuff was over there, but the gender-neutrally-packaged stuff was over here! UGH! MH picked up a gazillion bottles, and at my urging, eventually pumped some random goop onto his hands (I'm 99% certain it was face cream). And off we went to the movie.

We saw Juno. It was excellent, honest to blog! The protagonist (Juno) has a hamburger phone. No need to get vegangelical: it was plastic. Oh, and when we were in line getting a drink for MH, I noticed a cute guy in line ahead of us. And then MH noticed the cute woman that Cute Guy was with, and decided that we could split them up, and I could have Cute Guy, and he could have Cute Woman. But then MH noticed Cute Woman's high-heeled fur-lined boots, and asked me if she looked like a hooker! And I'm all, "What?!" ( "yousoundlikeatotalmisogynist" tone) and then he's all, "What what?! That's not necessarily a bad thing. Hookers are attractive. They have to be. That's how they make money."

Way to spin it, counselor....

T is for Tryagainlater

2008-01-01T19:24:00.000-08:00

I finished Everything is Illuminated. It made me laugh, it made me cry. It also made me tres confused at times, I have to admit, due to all the time shifts. It's about a young American Jewish guy who goes on a quest in the Ukraine to find the woman who saved his grandfather from the Nazis. In one of my favorite passages in the book, he's explaining to his young (not Jewish) Ukrainian tour guide what a shtetl is:

"A shtetl is like a village."
"Why don't you merely dub it a village?"
"It's a Jewish word."
"A Jewish word?"
"Yiddish. Like schmuck."
"What does it mean schmuck?"
"Someone who does something that you don't agree with is a schmuck."
"Teach me another."
"Putz."
"What does that mean?"
"It's like schmuck."
"Teach me another."
"Shmendrick."
What does that mean?"
"It's also like schmuck."
"Do you know any words that are not like schmuck?"
"Everything I can think of is basically schmuck. The Eskimos have four hundred words for snow, and the Jews have four hundred for schmuck."

So anyway, I'd recommend it. But now I can't see the movie. The movie always sucks after you've read the book. Yes, it does. Name one exception.

I got three David Foster Wallace books out of the library, which pretty much exhausted the David Foster Wallace collection in Alameda County. One of them was *gasp* "upstairs. I usually don't venture out of "Fiction", which is downstairs. I'd been contemplating putting Nikolai Gogol on the reading list too, based on recent events that have come to pass, but it's all getting way too literature-y for me. WHERE DOES IT END?! I haven't read any of the cerebral stuff yet. I think my eyes have gotten bigger than my brain, as the expression goes. But, for now, my decision's been made for me: The book I really wanted at the library, Sue Grafton's latest, has generated a waitlist 41-people long. That's no exaggeration! I need to move to a county that either reads less in general or enjoys "Literature" over "Fiction".

My first bike race was supposed to be this coming Sunday. I even have my race kit. But conditions will be less than optimal. Severe storm warnings (Thursday, Friday, and Sunday), and people tend to crash in crits as it is. Plus, I'm only now coming back from some horrible head plague that's been going around, that lasted days, that filled my head with so much pressure I thought my eyeballs were going to explode, and that did not respond whatsoever to Afrin, by which Mom The Nurse swears. She kept telling me I must be doing it wrong. How hard can it be to take Afrin?! Maybe I should practice with other snortable drugs. Or maybe I should try snorting Smarties candies. Someone once told me they snorted ground-up Smarties when they were sick (makes for a much more enjoyable post nasal drip). I can't remember who it was. Anyway, I think I almost died in my sleep several times over. I kept waking with a start, feeling suffocated. And I haven't exercised in a week. That's 47 decades in "sedentary human" years. So it looks like I'll have to sit this crit out, if it happens at all. Which means I'll have to summon all that courage again! Woe is me!

Woe is me P.S.: I spent exactly 1.5 hours socializing on New Year's Eve before coming home exhausted and head-plaguey at 7:30 pm to watch The Nanny Damned Lame-Ass Diaries.

Home for the Holidays. Sortof.

2007-12-26T20:36:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-12-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-12-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-12-05T13:37:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-12-04T22:37:00.000-08:00

...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.

2007-11-28T21:25:00.001-08:00

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!

2007-11-17T22:50:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-16T22:02:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-11-11T18:57:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-07T23:23:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-06T21:55:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-03T22:54:00.000-07:00

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?!

2007-10-30T21:22:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-29T18:27:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-10-22T17:53:00.001-07:00

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)

2007-10-14T17:06:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-10-10T22:43:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-10-04T18:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-03T23:13:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-27T20:44:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-09-23T14:08:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-19T23:04:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-12T19:03:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-05T22:51:00.000-07:00

My cornrows...

...this sundae...

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

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

My First Screenplay

2007-09-02T00:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-26T22:41:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-16T22:34:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-14T22:00:00.000-07:00

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.

I heart my upstairs neighbor!

2007-08-03T22:30:00.000-07:00

Bad neighbor situations suck. I know, because I've had my share. I had this neighbor, when I lived abroad, who'd decided to go out one night and leave her new yappy dog at home. Of course it barked incessantly until she came home. I lay in wait! When she returned (at 4 am on a weeknight), I ran to her door. When I told her that the dog had been yapping since she left, she looked at me, and said,

"What am I supposed to do, stay home every night?"

This entire conversation happened in a foreign language. Have you ever tried speaking coherently in a foreign language while livid? I'd say it's pretty high on the list of extremely challenging cognitive endeavors. I'm pretty sure I just stood there blinking for a while before switching to some colorful English.

So I won't bore you with my many other "bad neighbor" stories. Instead I'll bore you with my "best neighbor" story! Yay! We'll call her "X." I told X that I could hear her walking above me at 5:30am every morning, and she figured out it was her loud shoes, immediately switching to softer soles. I noticed a mysterious vibration in one corner of my bedroom over the last few nights; together we discovered that it was her oscillating fan, and she turned it off. Every time she sees me, she asks with genuine concern about the noise situation!

Now I feel really badly about having asked her to close the doors more gently...because further investigation has revealed that the door slammer is my downstairs neighbor, whom we'll call "Y."

Wow, X must be miserable. Whatever it is that she's calling me in her blog, I'm sure it has an "!" and a "#" in it.

Getting It Off My Chest

2007-07-30T19:59:00.000-07:00

I've been a busy little consumer bee over the last several days. Here are some things and places worth noting, categorized for your convenience:

Foods | Beverages
-Vegetable Masala Burgers* from Trader Joe's. Phenomenal. Thanks for the tip, mom.
-Heirloom tomatoes* from the farmer's market
-Synergy organic & raw Kambucha mushroom drink* from Berkeley Bowl or Whole Foods - there is something magical in this drink! But just the pink flavor. The "reds" (raspberry, cranberry) will do in a pinch. The others? Tres scary.

*I am not a vegetarian!

Sundress Shops
-Juniper Tree. Lake Merritt, not Berkeley. Amazing prices for really cute and quirky apparel.

Massages
-Becky the Wonderaccupressurist. Relief! The chiropractor had treated me on multiple occasions, resulting in a serious, debilitating, and most likely inoperable medical condition that I have taken the liberty of coining "jacked-itis." Look out JAMA. Unfortunately, I was back-jacked two days before the athletic endeavor for which preemptive treatment was sought, and I wasn't back-Becked until a week after. It was a long week.

Punctuation (not actually consumer-related, but I thought I'd throw it in):
-The Vertical Slash, if that's what it's called (see "Foods..." heading, supra). But the semicolon still holds a special place in my heart.

Cycling Clothing that Isn't Quite Right, For Cheap
-If you have emaciated wrists, size five feet that are improperly labeled a size seven, and you happen to share common ancestry with a marsupial thereby eliminating the need for functional pocketry, the Pearl Izumi Outlet (Vacaville) has a huge selection just for you, AND it's conveniently located on the drive home from the Death Ride! No. I didn't do all 5 passes (why does that always have to be the first question?). But I'll have you know that I had 3 passes in the bag by 11:30am and I could have done the 4th. I just accidentally managed to miss the entire backside of the mountain that the 4th was on. The shortest pass of all. A mere 10 miles and 2,000 feet of climbing total, out of 129 miles and 15,000 feet. I still did over a century! But there it is. There's always 2008.

And this brings me to another Death Ride mishap or two...

So I'm cycling along, after having completed my first 2 passes well ahead of cut-off times, and my bib number is flapping around on my back. It's flapping because the guy who'd helped me re-pin it to my back at the summit of my last mountain pass had done a poor job. And the reason I needed help re-pinning it to my back was that I'd incorrectly pinned my number to my chest that morning. I went up a mountain like that! Twice! Mortification! Anyway, the reason why I needed to fix it ASAP is because every time you complete a pass, you ride by some guy who affixes a sticker to your bib (which is normally on your back) to show you did it. But these guys were totally freaked out about how to place the sticker on my chest. It's like your worst prom moment, over and over. And it pained me. Literally. Some guy had to slam his thumb into my chest as I rode by! Anyway, fast forward to present tense. So I'm riding, my number is flapping, in poorly re-pinned fashion, on my back, and I'm wondering how I'm going to do 3 more passes when my back is absolutely on fire (see chiropractor comment above), and just then the Cutest Cyclist Ever rides by me.

CCE: Hey, I just wanna let you know that you're down to two safety pins.

Idiot Girl, Suddenly All Smiley, And About To Start Flirting: Thanks!

CCE: Oh, and you have a bug in your teeth.

Yeah. But things turn around a bit shortly thereafter. I stop at the aid station at the base of pass #3 and ask for ibuprofen. They say they're not allowed to dispense medication. But then the lady sidles over to me and whispers, "I've got some Tylenol in my bag if you really need it." I must look pretty pathetic. But I need something stronger. So I thank her anyway for her kindness, and limp over to the next rider I see, an Oakland Yellowjacket, and I ask him if he happens to have any. He looks at me and says, "will 800 milligrams do?" Angels sing, clouds part, and I gingerly pick out of his Ziploc baggie the biggest horse pill of happiness I've ever seen. Oh, but then that's when I proceed to mess up on the course.

OK, back to the bib misplacement. I roll into the finish 13 hours after the start, immediately running into Marty, the seasoned cyclist that I'd started the ride with at 4:45am in the pitch black of pre-dawn morning. Of course I'd assumed he hadn't noticed my faux pas because it was so dark when we started! So I start telling him the story, and he's all, "oh I knew it was on wrong. I didn't want to say anything." Thank you, CCE, wherever you are. Now at least one or two of my ride photos might be bugtooth and bib-misplacement free...

Mental post-its don't work

2007-07-28T19:42:00.000-07:00

Yay! A blog!

Steve's birthday is tomorrow. Before his birthday last year, I kept reminding myself to call, and then of course I missed the 'actual' day. So I called him a day early this year, just in case, while I was thinking of it. I know. Not the same. Oh: Steve's my friend from Baltimore. But he and his wife Pam moved to Miami in July. On purpose.

Anyway, whilst we're on the subject of brilliant ideas, I got my hair corn row-ed yesterday during lunch, right across the street from work! I'm going on a week-long cycling trip next weekend, and I thought it would be a great way to prevent helmet-head. Because, hullo, it's important to have perfect hair around a bunch of other cyclists who have helmet-head. So I was running around gathering my stuff together for my morning ride, and I was late to meet the group, and I went to slap my helmet onto my now-helmet-head-proofed-self, and:

My helmet wouldn't fit over my head.

Apparently, the addition of the

a. braids;
b. rubber bands at crown of head; and
c. sundry head coverings placed strategically to prevent scalp burn

(all factors completely beyond my control) had converged to enlarge my head's circumference beyond helmet capacity. So I shoved my head into my helmet as best I could, and started my ride with an excruciating headache. Which only got worse, together with my vision, as I began to sweat, rivers of the sunscreen that I'd slathered all over my forehead (because my forehead's been looking kind of wrinkled to me) flowing directly into the delta that is my eyes. Wait: Do rivers flow to or from deltas?

Me, taking a helmet break:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7616589@N06/932066120/in/set-72157601064849835/