like narnia

Untold stories of 2010

2010-12-29T22:21:00.000-08:00

West Point

I have a great respect for the patriotism of our military. That American Airlines commercial about uniformed service people boarding first makes me misty. That being said, if for some reason the draft was back and I was eligible I would move to Mexico. Draft Dodger all the way or at least maybe conscientious objector. It wasn't exactly my idea to trek out to West Point during my recent trip to New York but I really liked it more than i expected to.

Here are some fun pics...

Untold stories of 2010

2010-12-28T16:07:00.000-08:00

With all of this talk of the Rose Parade, I think i should share about the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

My father's brother and his family live in Connecticut, a mere train ride from NYC. We spent Thanksgiving there and without a doubt one of the highlights was being able to see the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade live in person. Of course, I am a bit of a parade junkie -- i watch it every year on TV religiously -- it was on my parade bucket list. Also on there, to be the Grand Marshall of the Rose Parade. Give me twenty years or so, right?

We got up fairly early, braved the train and the cold weather to Grand Central Station. We took a cab (mind you it was super cold for us Angelenos) to the corner of Central Park where we were able to see most of the balloons. I think we blended pretty well with the locals. To add a strange coincidence, the Purdue band marched in the parade which my father a very devoted and proud Purdue Alumni absolutely loved.

Here are some pics of more balloons and Central Park in fall for fun:

Super Size Me...

From the Happiest Place on Earth...

Me trying to be "artsy"...

And how could I not sneak a peek at the tree at Rockefeller Center???

untold stories of 2010

2010-12-27T08:54:00.000-08:00

As 2010 draws to a close, I realize I have shared very little about big pieces of the year. In particular, there has been very little mention of the amazing trips I have taken this year -- Indiana, Florida, Peru, Michigan and Connecticut/New York City. So in these remaining days, I will try to get every thing caught up.

Untold story #1, Michigan.

In October, I traveled to the Grand Rapids area for a conference. Having never been to Michigan, I did not know what to expect. But believe it or not, I absolutely loved Michigan. Mind you it wasn't January and it wasn't Detroit. But Grand Rapids and in particular the little city we were in Holland were, well, quite charming. Holland is the quintessential mid-western small town and frankly, it felt like I woke up in Mayberry circa 1955 (I never did see Opie, though). It didn't hurt that it was right on an inlet of Lake Michigan, had perhaps one of the most fabulous candy stores known to man and a great brewery.

But without question, the star(s) of the show of my week in Michigan were the LEAVES! Having grown up in Southern California where all my life I have heard about leaves changing colors in the fall, but never actually seen it, I was blown away by the majestic colors. I always thought these midwestern transplants who lament the loss of fall were belly-aching over nothing, but a week in mid-October in western Michigan has corrected the error of my ways. I am already trying to figure a way back there next fall -- any ideas?

Secret Santa

2010-12-13T17:25:00.000-08:00

As is the tradition in many workplaces, my work does a Secret Santa gift exchange every year. We don’t do it company wide but instead the fun is limited to our smaller – 15 or so – department and also limited to $15 per gift. A few weeks ago, when the particulars of the how, when, where and who of our exchange was going down, I shared with most of our team a very tongue-in-cheek gift I had in mind for one of our peers who was notably absent. It was affirmed by laughs. Two days later when it was time to draw, I shamelessly rigged my turn (of course I went first) to ensure I drew out this man’s name. Within a week, not only did most every know who I had, another person gave me a used version of the proposed gift to the collective chagrin of our team. Another “win” for the class clown alive and well in my soul.

But then another one of my co-workers – bless her heart – revealed that she prayed before her turn at the draw. Huh. A sharp contrast to my brazen attempts to work the system/showcase my subtle yet poignant wit (guilt trip starting now). But really – prayer over who she draws in the secret Santa? Is my faith so jaded (or maybe so grounded) that I think this level of spirituality seems so over the top? Does God really care who we pick in the office Secret Santa? It seems to me he has more important matters to consider like AIDS, global poverty, widespread economic failure, wars, cancer and the recent release of the entire collection of the Beattles music on iTunes than who I have to spend $15 dollars on.

College Game Day -- 10/30/2010

2010-10-30T08:00:00.001-07:00

South Carolina. Wisconsin. Missouri.

Three weeks in row, three undefeated number one teams have been dethroned by underdogs. Three weeks in a row, ESPN’s College Game Day has been there to tell the story. Today, College Game Day for the second time in their history broadcasted from the hallowed Coliseum giving the Trojans the hope of extending the three-week trend to four as they host the undefeated AP #1 Oregon Ducks.

It is no secret that USC has had a very disappointing off-season and on season. However, their two losses were for a combined total of THREE points. Yes, they have no hope of any kind of post season for years to come. They can expect all of their best players to announce their transfer in early 2011 (if not sooner). And perhaps worst of all, they are stuck with the captain of the Titanic as their coach until the sanctions end. However, tonight they have a chance to do something that speaks to why College Football is perhaps the true National Pastime.

All eyes will be on the torch and lets hope Traveler is all warmed up and ready to run tonight!!

Back to the Practice

2010-10-25T22:01:00.000-07:00

Tonight I went back to Yoga after a four month hiatus. Believe it or not from approximately mid April through mid June I was going to Yoga class two and even three times a week. For those of you following along at home, that time period corresponded to my intense weight loss/exercise campaign where I lost something like twenty-five pounds. Not only was I going to Yoga quasi religiously, I was counting calories like a crazed anorexic, drinking Slim Fast for 2/3 of my meals and power walking miles a day with two sets of arm weights and Shape Ups (I know, very, very dorky).

However, with the end of my contest, summer heat, the arrival of young Fisher and my trip to Peru, diet and exercise fell by the wayside. Of course, so did my weight loss and to date, I have gained back almost ten pounds of the weight I lost – what is that saying about two steps forward three steps back again? Perhaps because I have officially become middle-aged, tonight I found some sort of discipline to get back on the horse again, at least when it comes to Yoga.

One thing I learned, is purchased classes expire – so while although I had four of five classes paid for, after a few months they expire. SIGH. Embarrassing and shameful, I had to buy more classes in order to get back three of the expired five classes – some bargain, right? And the quaint, long-haired check in guy and my favorite Yoga teacher asked where I had been. I got a dog. I went to Peru. They didn’t judge, but I am sure they have heard lots of excuses before. I also think they have lots of regulars fall of the face of the earth never to be heard from again.

While I don’t anticipate graduating from the beginning class anytime soon, I am committing to the practice.

1975 – Volume VI Stanford University Cardinal

2010-10-09T10:31:00.000-07:00

October 9, 1975 Yoko Ono and John Lennon celebrate the birth of their only child Sean coincidentally on John’s 35th birthday. As the story goes, John became a househusband upon the Sean’s birth and stayed home with him until his tragic murder just five years later.

Today on Sean Lennon’s 35th birthday I hear he is hosting part of the celebrations of what would have been his father’s seventieth birthday. I would rather write about John Lennon than the sad state of affairs of the Captain of the Titanic’s sinking ship (aka Lane Kiffin’s USC Trojans). And so in honor of John Lennon’s 70th birthday and Sean Lennon’s 35th here goes:

Imagine there’s no NCAA sanctions
It’s easy if you try
No Reggie Bush debacle
He still has his prize
Imagine Pete Carroll
Still coaching the Trojans

Imagine no vacated wins
It isn’t hard to do
Still BCS champs in 2005
No post-season ban
Or scholarship penalties
Imagine heritage hall
Not shamed at all

You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday NCAA will come around
And USC glory will be restored

Imagine Lane Kiffin
I wonder if you can
Still coaching Tennessee
Icing kickers and sandbagging time outs
All he wanted
Imagine USC football
Not a sinking ship at all

You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday NCAA will come around
And USC glory will be restored

Fisher’s Convalescence

2010-10-05T21:25:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday, on the way home from Dog Obedience Class, my dog Fisher inadvertently leaned on the power window button, successfully unrolled the passenger side window in my Honda civic and jumped into traffic while at a stop sign no more than three blocks from my house. I got out of the car just in time to see him get hit by a white mini van unable to miss him as he ran through traffic. I scooped him up, covered in blood and feces, and thanks to the advice of an onlooker who saw the whole thing, took him to a local emergency animal hospital less than one block from my house that even though the vet told me later had been there for thirty-five years, prior to this event, was not, to me at least.

I handed Fisher off to them and to my horror, I sat on the very hard wooden bench only to hear him yelp and cry just a few rooms away. I was soberly asked if I was prepared to shoulder the financial burden of his care. At that point, I would have probably signed off my kidney and mortgage just for the hope of him making it. I was pretty sure he would die. I texted a friend the brief message – Fisher was hit by a car – and within fifteen minutes two of my closest friends were there with me in the waiting room.

Not long after, I was informed that Fisher had a fractured pelvis, which I was supposed to take as a comfort because surgery would be unlikely (so far). He was going to need 24-hour surveillance (observation) which included a trip to another hospital and a return to our neighborhood emergency center – in the meantime I needed to prepare for his convalescence and nursing (whatever that meant). True to her word, Fisher’s first vet who was nowhere near as handsome as his second released him to my care for the duration of his convalescence a mere 24 hours after his accident

Dog convalescence involves, at least for Fisher at this point, being confined to his crate for an estimated six to eight weeks. He has to take pain med every six hours and to date has not eliminated in a place other than his crate. He pants often, whimpers, cries and moves very little. When lifted he wails and fiercely struggles to the point of near hysteria. He cries through most of the night. Here and there, glimpses of his pre-accident self shine through – tail wagging, an unshakable love for avocadoes and the occasional characteristically pug head tilt.

I want to include this on my blog in the hopes of gaining some encouragement and acceptance for I have (and probably will for quite some time) blamed myself – if only I would have noticed him before he jumped out the window or for God’s sake have had the child lock on. Rationally, I know it was a freak accident that could have happened to anyone, but still I can’t help but shake my fists at the man upstairs for allowing free will to yield its ugly course in the life of my little dog. Maybe some good will come of this but right now, I just want to go back to the instant right before he jumped out the window and put the child lock on. Where is Michael J. Fox and that DeLorean when I need them?

1975 Volume V – The University of Washington Huskies

2010-10-02T12:12:00.000-07:00

Not long before Pete Carroll’s wife started babysitting the presumably stubborn and willful son (can you say terrible twos?) of Pete’s then colleague on the University of Arkansas’s coaching staff, Monte Kiffin, he read The Inner Game of Tennis (IGT) as part of his University of the Pacific graduate degree coursework. For the purposes of this blog, we will take the liberty of assuming that Pete read the book in 1975 smack in the middle of the book’s 1974 publication date and Carroll completing his degree; but if you want to take the mid-seventies flash back a step further, can’t you just picture him reading while listening to the his favorite band the Grateful Dead right after watching Johnny Wooden’s Bruins win the NCAA tournament for the zillionth consecutive time?

The philosophy outlined in IGT hinges upon “clearing the clutter in the interactions between your conscious and subconscious mind” enabled “through superior practice and a clear approach. Focus, clarity and belief in yourself are what allows you to express your ability without discursive thoughts and concerns.” Along with the Seattle Seahawk’s coach, LA Lakers’ skipper Phil Jackson also draws on the almost Zen like axioms of IGT. Carroll has also cited psychologists Abraham Maslow and Carl Jung, Buddhist mediation master Chögyam Trungpa, the Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia and of course, Johnny Wooden as influencing his coaching style/philosophy.

So tonight, as Pete Carroll prepares to face the St. Louis Rams, who like him, have a somewhat significant connection to Los Angeles, lets see if he can clear the clutter of his conscious and subconscious (whatever that means) and take no note of how the captain of the Titanic’s, who he no doubt pictures throwing a tantrum in a dirty diaper, Trojans faire against the University of Washington Huskies who just one year ago shamed the Zen out of him. Believe in yourself Pete.

100th Blog

2010-09-25T10:41:00.000-07:00

We interrupt our regularly schedule broadcast (1975 – Volume IV) to bring you this special centennial blog post:

Recently, my blog was flooded by hits from a total stranger on a post I had written well over a year ago (look up salsa lessons and you can read for yourself). The stranger accused me of being an Ugly American-type insensitive to other cultures. At first, this completely pissed me off and I sicked a few of my friends on her to defend my honor. I meant to rise above her petty accusations and stay out of the whole matter, but finally, I couldn’t resist and ended up responding in a note of sarcastic brilliance if I do say so myself.

But in the week or so I got my panties in a wad about this stranger’s opinion of me, I had forgotten some simple advice I often give to children who complain they have been called a name or been made fun of – “is it true?,” if the answer is no, than let them say what they want because you know they are wrong. This was certainly the case, what she said about me wasn’t true, yet I couldn’t let it rest until (if you read it you will see) the woman finally recounted that she in fact had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Finally, my “Joseph” moment!
Indeed, good came from what was meant to be harmful to me; I began to revisit why I began blogging in the first place which seems fitting to share in this my 100th post (who knew, right?).
I started blogging because I love to write. I might not be on the path to win the Pulitzer or even get published, but this simple little blog allows me some formality to hone my craft. Admittedly, there are typos, ill-constructed sentences, over reliance on parenthetical phrases and a whole host of other things that an editor would scoff at it, but I like to think, every once in while there might just be a good little nugget in there. A friend once told me a story about an amazing painter whose art was never discovered until she died – she had painted a lifetime of beautiful paintings for the sheer joy of painting. For the few stolen moments a week I find to work on my blog, I am a writer writing for the sheer joy of writing.

Community. In my first foray into blogging (some of you might remember) I discovered there is a community of bloggers out there who had I not put some of my thoughts out there, I might not have ever met. For the most part, with a few exceptions, I have never met this fellowship of bloggers, but many of them, I have come to consider as friends. On the flipside, there are real friends who I don’t get to see as much as I would like because of distance, busyness or my diet, but keeping up on their blogs makes me feel in touch with them.

Therapeutic. Writing about the hijinks and capers of my life has helped me make sense of them. And if you can believe it, I have a whole host of unfinished blogs out there – often trudging through the mediocre controversies/scandals that I probably opted not to “publish” for fear of getting fired from – but those are the blogs that have brought me much needed clarity. Maybe, someday, I will publish them…Along the same lines, I have written here and there about my passion for local at-risk children a topic that I ought to visit more.

There it is, in a brief and poorly constructed nutshell, as much of the why I can muster together before I must go clean out my garage, about my blogging motivation. Granted, I can use some polish, branding and some pointers on how to better use the edit functions of blogger, but in the end that isn’t really my point (now). I also probably won’t ever have more than a handful of followers (I love all nine of you) but that also isn’t really my point. Nor will I get discovered by the New York Times as I am quite sure they very often troll blogs as a means of finding new columnists. Oh well, I would settle for an appearance on the Daily Show or maybe even tickets.

Fight On and beat the Cougars!

1975 – Volume III The University Of Minnesota Golden Gophers

2010-09-18T10:47:00.001-07:00

In 1975, Ohio State’s Archie Griffin made history by becoming the only two-time winner of College Football’s prestigious Heisman Trophy. In both 1975 & 1974, he beat out USC players most notably Anthony Davis (can you imagine Anthony Davis not winning the Heisman?) in 1974 and Ricky Bell (can you think of any other USC player with the initials RB?) in 1975.

And while although the Captain of the Titanic was not old enough to remember these events, I have no doubt he has been closely reviewing Heisman History this week in the wake of #5’s historic decision. If the Heisman Trustees are cleaning house, I suggest they take a long look at another USC legend – OJ Simpson as the next winner to have to surrender his prize, but maybe Ron Goldman’s parents have grown attached to it by now.

Lets hope the PAC-10 does well against the Big Ten today – Fight On and Bear Down.

Please forgive my brevity I have scalloped potatoes and pork tenderloin on my mind.

1975 – Volume 2: The University of Virginia Cavaliers

2010-09-11T10:02:00.000-07:00

New Year’s Day 1975, the Year of the Rabbit, all eyes on Pasadena where the pride of Bishop Amat High School lead the USC Trojans to a victory over the Ohio State Buckeyes. The 18-17 win is considered by many to be one of the most exciting Rose Bowl Games in history. Twenty-Five points were scored in the fourth quarter including a Pat Haden pass for the game winning two-point conversion all the while, Trojan second half legend—Anthony Davis sat injured on the sidelines.

This was the third consecutive Rose Bowl match-up for the Buckeyes and the Trojans and while although there is a still a chance the NCAA might force the Trojans to vacate the win because God only knows what Reggie Bush’s step father was up to those days, the team finished ranked #1 by the UPI (Coaches Poll). However, their victory, in the absence of the controversy –ending, effective BCS system in determining only one National Champion, the Trojan’s shared the title with the University of Oklahoma (#1 by the AP).

Tonight, as the Captain of the Titanic and #10 take the field at the Coliseum; let’s hope they can learn from the 1974 Sooners who in spite of an NCAA ban went undefeated and were ranked #1 by the AP. which at this point is really all the Trojans can hope for. Fight On and beat the Cavaliers!!

9-11, nine years later...

2010-09-07T22:14:00.000-07:00

This Saturday, will mark the nine year anniversary of 9-11. It is unreal to me that 9-11, the world changing event that most of us punctuate our lives by on some level -- post 9-11 world/landscape -- is almost a decade removed from today. Weirder still, all children in elementary school today know no other world than the post 9-11 one; if you asked them where they were when 9-11 happened, they would have no answer because, well, they wouldn't have been born yet!

Bringing me to the point of this blog -- where were you when 9-11 happened? I have no doubt all of us have a very specific, detailed story to share, our generation's where were you when Kennedy was shot. If you have the time, interest, ability, share your story. Trust me, at some point on Saturday, you will tell your story. Why not get a dress rehearsal now?

Here is mine, which even if no one responds, I am glad to share...

I was living in Tucson but on the heels of moving to LA. I was packing a suitcase for a mid-morning flight from Tucson to Denver (where I would join my two oldest brothers) with a connection to Indianapolis for my Grandmother's funeral when the friend who was taking me to the airport called and insisted I TURN ON THE NEWS -- I tuned in just in time to see the second tower fall. She added with a bit of drama, "YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE TODAY." Of course she was right, but we wouldn't figure out until later all flights would be grounded for over a week. If right when the towers hit, my brothers and I would have gotten in a car and driven to Indianapolis, what my entire family did for my grandfather's funeral before I was born, we wouldn't have made it in time. Our relatives decided not to postpone the funeral as we were the only long-distance ones effected (or is it affected) by 9-11 finding subs for my brothers as paw bearers.

I am glad my grandmother never lived in a post-9-11 world even if it cost three of her grandchildren, who will live most of their lives in a post-9-11 world, from being at her funeral.

1975 – Volume I: The University of Hawaii Rainbows

2010-09-02T08:07:00.001-07:00

It is possible, you haven’t noticed that during this year’s off season, the USC’s football team got a new head coach. Maybe you were too preoccupied with the ending of “Lost,” saving loads of people in Haiti or like the poor Chilean miners, you were stuck in a mine for the better part of the last six months, any or all of which prevented you from noticing the untimely departure of Pete Carroll and the unlikely arrival of new head coach Lane Kiffin.

So now that you are up to speed, the horror of watching Lane Kiffin coach the Trojans won’t seem as jarring tonight in their first game against the Hawaii Rainbows (as an aside, I wish there was a legitmate way to include a reference to the double rainbow guy). That being said, I would like to forever refer to Lane Kiffin as the Captain of the Titanic whose real name was Edward John Smith but as no one would ever get that reference, the Captain of the Titanic will suffice. And if you can’t figure out why the Captain of the Titanic is a fitting nick name for Lane Kiffin, well than my weekly blog poking fun of him corresponding with each USC game, probably won’t be that interesting to you anyways.

There are lots of reasons why hiring the Captain of the Titanic was an ill-fated plan – his losing record as a head coach in both the Pros and most recently at the University of Tennessee, pending law suit(s) against him, a season’s worth of vacated wins or his brash and arrogant demeanor – to name a few, but I would like to focus on the Captain of the Titanic’s age. When the Captain of the Titanic took the head coach job at the Tennessee, he was 33 years old making him at the time the youngest active head coach in Division I Football. Now at a mature 35, he is no longer the youngest, Portland State’s 34 year-old Nigel Burton holds that distinction – but his youthfulness remains another category where he is close to the bottom.

This year, instead of writing about things I own that are actually older than USC’s quarterback, Matt Barkley, I will write about notable events that occurred in 1975 – the year the Captain of the Titanic was born. Most of the events I share (and I don’t have a very developed list, so if you have suggestions, I am all ears) will have relevance to USC and/or LA Sports but not necessarily. How could I not at some point talk about the end of the Vietnam War **spoiler alert**?

And as this is just an introduction, there will be no 1975 event to share this go around as I have already written way too much for my three readers to trudge through. One final thought about tonight’s game – Thursday night USC games make me nervous, we all remember the last Thursday night game that ended in a hot mess: September 25, 2008 – need I say more?

The Fall of Troy

2010-08-31T21:47:00.001-07:00

On the eve of the first of the sanction years, Trojans fans are forced to come to terms with the witch-hunt like process, I like to refer to as the “Fall of Troy.” Yes, friends, while although I have not taken the bait these last few absolutely dreadful months, I can no longer be silent on this entire matter for our team.

Item I – The Disassociated One

Never again, will #5’s jersey hang in the periscope end of the Coliseum (unfortunately #32 is still there). In fact, some where along the way in this process not nice men came in and stripped every memory of #5 from Heritage Hall. #5 also had to painfully surrender his Heisman – at least they can’t take away his Super Bowl ring, right? Knowing the NCAA, they might even find a basis to do that six years from now. Lets remember, at the center of this whole thing was the stepfather of a then teenager.

Item II – Vacated Losses

I remember spending a good portion of January 4th, 2005 huddled around a small TV set in a Point Loma University conference room watching my beloved USC Trojans beat the tar out of the Oklahoma Sooners becoming undisputed BCS Champions. Having split the National Title the year before, their very decisive win was the culmination of their apt 2004 theme – “leave no room for doubt.”

However, it seems as now, years later, the BCS and the NCAA have found room for doubt and in what is perhaps the most painful sting of the sanctions is the forced vacation of several wins, most notably the 2005 BCS Championship. There is talk that to add further insult to injury, it is possible, the BCS will crown the Oklahoma Sooners as their 2004 champs. Either way, vacated game or new champ, I will remember USC winning that is until the NCAA finds a way in another five years to wash every single USC fan’s memory of the win.

Item III – The Captain of the Titanic

I will focus more on the Captain of the Titanic on game day, but the unfortunate arrival of new head coach, Lane Kiffin really hurts. Or I should say, the flight of Pete Carroll (no one anywhere has forgotten how poorly Pete has done previously in the NFL) on the eve of the awful unfolding of layer upon layer of absurdity of sanctions might be the hardest to cope with. Never again, will Pete run out of the tunnel in Cardinal and Gold and to think, less than a week before the announcement, he was at the BCS Championship reliving memories of USC BCS games. Hold onto those, Pete as I think the NCAA is working to subpoena them right now.

Have I made my point? There are only so many synonyms for ridiculous and witch-hunt I can find, but that is what all of these sanctions are. The lost scholarships and the free ride for current players transfers are nails in the coffin. R.I.P. Troy, I look forward to your resurrection.

Child of Divorce

2010-08-30T21:33:00.001-07:00

My parents have been married for 47 years and while I suppose it is possible they could get divorced, I think it is highly unlikely. So why have I been feeling lately like a child whose parents are getting divorced?

This morning the most expensive divorce trial in California’s history began and its outcome will forever shape the landscape of the Dodger Organization. To date, Frank and Jamie McCourt have spent an estimated $20 Million dollars fighting over their most prized “shared” asset – ownership of the beloved Los Angeles Dodgers. If Mr. McCourt wins, he will remain the sole custodian of the team leaving Mrs. McCourt with only tens of millions of dollars instead of hundreds. On the flipside, if Mrs. McCourt wins, the team will be sold and she will walk away with half of the cash.

Since the McCourts bought the team in 2004, the organization has seen three different managers (we all like Joe, BTW), a revolving door of players (good luck in Chicago Manny), steady increases in ticket prices, crazy and unimaginable parking lot changes, all sorts of stadium renovations bringing much needed new seats and huge loses to the Dodgers’ foul territory, but still no World Series ring. Heck, I’d be happy with an NL Pennant. They have won their division two years in an a row, but in a city used to teams that are champions multiple years in a row often, division champs from one of the most storied franchises in baseball history, just isn’t good enough.

Reading...

2010-08-29T19:13:00.000-07:00

Last year, I read many books. In fact, for the three of you who know me in real life, you have probably caught me whiling away on a nice afternoon with book in one hand and a modest glass of pinot in the other. Or maybe you and I have talked about contemporary literature, Pulitzer winners and best sellers.

But lately, it seems like I have fallen out of love with reading – the truth is I have started more books this year than I have finished. Amazing books, books that have come highly recommended, books that won awards and been on the top of the best seller list forever but books I can’t seem to finish. I know who have I become – what happened to the voracious reader you fell in love with? Where is that lady?

There is a good chance my demise is directly related to TIVO, which, like the Minnesota Vikings, I have a love/hate dynamic with. Okay, I really hate the Vikings but love #4. But back to TIVO – I think it causing me to watch nine million times more TV than I used to and is singly responsible for my brain turning to mush. I hardly even do the crossword anymore – I know, who have I become? And of course, good writers are readers, so TIVO is also affecting (or is it effecting?) my blog. Perhaps more than the adage, you are what you I eat, I believe you are what you read.

So, to bring shame upon my household, here goes, my list of books I started reading this year but never finished.

The Sparrow

Vin Scully: Pull Up a Chair

The Idiot
//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Idiot

Desmond Tutu: Rabble Rouser for Peace

How to be your Dog’s Best Friend

Ordering your Private World

We Drink From Our Own Wells

Up this week – I know I am jinxing my self – being a child of divorce, the fall of troy and 1975.

This Time

2010-08-25T20:14:00.000-07:00

I know, you have been expecting this. It always comes to these sorts of inevitable posts where I beg for forgiveness – pleading that this time will be different.

This time I will keep my promise and blog on a more normal schedule. This time it won’t be weeks (or in some cases months) between posts. This time I won’t string you along saying things like more to come on (insert failed theme attempt here: ‘wring in Wednesday,’ ‘my trip to Peru,’ ‘my new dog Fisher,’ etc)… This time I won’t offer up some lame excuse like world travel, computer troubles or my personal favorite – GOOD OLD FASHION BUSY-NESS!! This time there won’t be a pathetic side bar on how much I despise being perpetually busy maybe adding something over the top in terms of harrowing-ness about how that being busy robs my soul. This time I won’t say something about how much I have missed blogging hoping you will ‘buy’ it and take me back.
Perhaps I am the Rodney Dangerfield of bloggers, but to my three readers out there (you know who you are), I am back.

Peru!

2010-08-03T22:51:00.001-07:00

So it turns out that I was blessed enough to spend the past two weeks in Peru. I will try to post more specifics on our time in country, but thought a quick picture would whet “your” appetites!!

Fisher

2010-07-05T19:54:00.000-07:00

About a month ago the beautiful Pug pictured above was found roaming the streets of the high desert. Victorville for those of you familiar with the high dessert. We will never know for how long, why or what his origins are. Perhaps he was a run away. Perhaps he was a cast off in a foreclosure. A Good Samaritan picked him up and delivered him to a friend he knew who had a sister who was very involved in rescuing dogs. The Good Samaritan and her sister, a woman named Donna, began their rescue magic. He was “fostered” in the sister’s house who got him micro chipped, neutered, cleaned up and checked out. One vet thought he was two years old, another said he was one year old.

Three weeks ago or so, they showcased the mysterious dog they called “Taz” at one of those parking lot adopt-a-pet shin digs in Orange County where my brother, who has a soft spot for pugs, found him. My brother was very taken in by the whole story and immediately called me saying this was my dog. I wasn’t sure, but went ahead with all of the paperwork. OK, somewhere along the line I got excited. The “foster” mom assured me he was good natured and didn’t cause any problems.

I officially adopted him the night after the LA Lakers won the finals and decided to name him Fisher, after Derek Fisher. While I am not a huge Laker fan, from what I know of Derek Fisher, he like my dog, has overcome amazing odds and time and time again has proven himself a resilient and admirable man. When he jumps or even acts surly in the least (which he doesn’t do often), I like to chide him that he isn’t named Kobe. He divides his time between rooting around in the back yard, napping or following me around.

The Biggest Loser

2010-06-30T22:41:00.001-07:00

Since January 1st, I have been actively trying to lose weight. I know many of you have had first hand knowledge of this process over the past six months; still I have refrained from blogging on it for fearing I would become Oprah about it. But that stops today as I am departing from the diet (for now at least) as I have officially lost 10% of my starting body weight on January 1st bringing my grand total to 19 pounds! If I flash back to my starting weight in October of 2009, I have lost 25 pounds, which as this blog is testimony to, I am very proud of.

How did I do it you ask? Well, I began with just straight up calorie counting ever decreasing my daily total, which for long stretches was 1,100/day. If you have never calorie counted, 1,100 is LOW and some debate if that is even healthy. Confession: for most of the year, I took the weekends off which was my saving grace. Mondays were often fraught with guilt, but I am sure I would’ve called the whole thing off in March had I not had that default.

Slowly, over time, I combined the calorie counting with exercising. And again, if you know me in real life (as opposed to blog life), you know I am not one to go to the gym but focused instead on power walking (I know, could I be more dorky). Gradually, I power walked longer and more often – at times 6-7 days a week. As well, I bought a pair of Shape-Ups (yes, I could be more dorky), which I think helped. Somewhere along the line I started wearing arm weights. I was even doing Yoga a few nights a week bringing me to a season of “two-a-days.”

Off an on for the last month, I went to SlimFast doing their 3-2-1 method. I should add there was a fairly consistent season where I was eating Special K for two meals a day. SlimFast was decent, but I will not miss them. There were two separate two-day periods where I ate only spinach, eggs and grapefruit juice. Not to go into too many unpleasant specifics, but this cleansed my system and wasn’t nearly as unbearable as I thought it would be.

All told, I will be shifting to maintenance through when I depart to Peru in mid-July. When I return, I will reassess my goals and decide if I want to go another round or not. One really big prompt was a six-month contest organized by my work, which because of I won $100 but today’s finale, felt really anti-climatic. I wasn’t in the winners’ group/click and was so far from their percentage loss (and also not really in their friend group) that I wasn’t in on the “celebrations.” Fair enough, $100 is $100 and 10% weight loss is 10% weight loss.

Sorry, no before and after shots – not my style.

Living from a tip jar...

2010-06-07T22:32:00.000-07:00

The Lakers (sigh)

2010-06-03T18:41:00.000-07:00

I have been hearing rumors that the local NBA team is in the Championships. Rumors confirmed by the timely appearance of those God awful Laker flags that seem as reliable in June as the blooming of the majestic Jacarandas. Both tend to be purple and only around for a few weeks.

The Lakers seem to make it this far every year and as much as I hate to admit it, are LA's most successful franchise. Remember USC is not a professional team. The Celtics might have the same title in bean town. Together the Lakers and the Celtics have won 32 championships more than half of the total 63 championships in NBA history. They have met 12 times in finals, the Lakers only winning a dismal three times. It is LA's turn, right?

But really, like the appearance of the ubiquitous Laker flags, there are a few things we can count on. The series will go seven games. I believe there is a network conspiracy to get as many broadcasts as possible (but that is a whole other blog entry). The Lakers will win -- after all they are due against the Celtics. Kobe will get the MVP. Phil Jackson will say something zen. Jack Nicholson will bring a woman young enough to be his daughter to a game. Maybe his grand daughter. People will mention the whole Magic Johnson/Larry Bird era -- perhaps the two will even make it to a game. (remember Magic made it to the Final Four?) A sidebar story on Luke Walton (the pride of the University of Arizona) and Bill Walton.

The one silver lining in all of this, we are that much closer to the end of the NBA for a blissful few months.

Mater Dolorosa

2010-06-01T22:50:00.000-07:00

Today I spent a good chunk of my day the Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center in Sierra Madre. One of the perks of my job is that I get to do these sorts of things every so often. One of the perks of my new house is that this amazing locale is walking distance from me!!

MLB & Memorial Day

2010-05-31T08:39:00.000-07:00

For the last few years, Major League Baseball has honored Memorial Day by having all teams wear either all red or blue hats. Today players all across the country will be wearing white hats to salute Veterans. There are two more times this season players will wear their white hats -- can anyone correctly indentify those occasions?

Our National Pastime

2010-05-27T08:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to my first baseball game of the season – I know it is almost June and not one outing to Chavez Ravine. Worse yet, remember how I was in Miami in April, do you know who else was in Miami at the exact time – my beloved LA Dodgers. I was dying that I didn’t make plans to see them beat the Marlins. But back to my second favorite team, or my favorite American League team, the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim who yesterday beat the Blue Jays in the ninth inning with Abreu’s walk-off single that even included a Rally Monkey sigting. What’s not to love about our National Pastime?

The Year of the Tiger

2010-05-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

2010 is the Year of the Tiger, and now as it is nearly half over, hasn’t it seemed to have been full of crazy, unimaginable and unlikely supernatural events? Earthquakes in Haiti, Chile, China, Turkey, Baja California, the Dominican Republic, Afghanistan, Papua New Guinea and just the other day, Peru? Plane crashes in Ethiopia, Libya, the one in Western Russia where the entire Polish cabinet and President died, India and Indonesia. Severe weather of all sorts – flooding in Brazil and Nashville, the road to Machu Picchu covered with mud, one of the worst winters on record for parts of the Eastern Seaboard and did I mention the Icelandic Volcano? The 2010 Winter Olympics start with the tragic death of a Georgian Luger – horrific images that remain all over the internet. Riots in Greece and Thailand and probably a whole lot of other places I can’t remember, Coal Mine explosion in West Virginia, foiled Times Square Bombing, British Election a mess and perhaps the worst oil spill in modern history?

And while although I am not someone inclined to subscribe to all of those Armageddon/Doomsday messages (If Raptured, this car will be unmanned), I can’t help but wonder (SATC), if maybe there is really something up this year? I know, human kind throughout history has always said things like this, also “kids these days,” “the world is going to hell in a hand basket” and so forth, but perhaps we are really standing on the brink of human history.

I remember on the Eve of the first Persian Gulf War thinking it was, as REM said, “The End of the World as We Know It,” only to have all of the fears fade away like the Iron Curtain. While I was more worried about not getting my driver’s license in 1991 than the total collapse of human history, Desert Storm thankfully ended with very little change in our global civilization. And then again in 1999 with all of the hype about Y2K, there was another wave of Doomsday talk that I never really bought into, laughing at all those who bought generators and stockpiled non-perishables. Still laughing.

Again, 9-11 brought on another strand of these sorts of ideas, but time has passed and so what if Osama Bin Laden is the Anti-Christ, he remains marooned in a cave in remote Afghanistan where he will likely live out most of his days. Maybe Barrack Obama is the Anti-Christ; perhaps the Pope or ever Scott Brown. Okay, not really Scott Brown but all of the Tea Party nonsense is another dynamic to the unfolding drama that is the Year of the Tiger thus far.

Bring on hurricane, fire season and perhaps worst of all the tenure of Lane Kiffin as USC’s head coach.

Let the Great World Spin

2010-05-16T15:30:00.000-07:00

“All of the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is.”

Aleksandar Hermon, The Lazarus Project.

This thought provoking quote begins Let the Great World Spin (LTGWS) by Colum McCann the lastest chapter in my book report entry.

LTGWS is a very charming story written seemingly as a nod to 9-11 if not the Trade Towers themselves. The novel hinges around Philippe Petit’s tightrope walk between the towers in August 1974 interestingly the eve of Richard Nixon’s resignation. The narrative bounces back and forth between a several different characters whose stories eventually converge which is kind of the point of the framing quote (I think?). An Irish Jesuit in love with a sultry Central American widow, his brother, the wife of a prominent judge dealing with their son’s recent death in Vietnam, a mother & daughter prostitute pair living in the projects, a misguided artist trying to find herself and a no-nonsense black child of the depression who defied the odds and becomes the story’s unlikely hero.
Having traveled to New York about a year ago, I felt an instant kinship with the setting. As well, the plot lines engaged several of my passions – theology, social justice and urban poverty. On the whole, a great read. And as a strange aside, I am currently reading another book where one of the main characters is a Jesuit Priest.

Elijah

2010-05-10T16:48:00.000-07:00

Please note: As to protect his privacy, Elijah is not the given name for the child being described…

Elijah is easily one of the most likeable third graders you will ever meet. Most days, at the tutoring program I lead, he is the first kid to arrive, eager to help, smiling, sunny and quick to give an update on all of the other kids who eventually make their way into the library. He is popular with classmates and tutors alike. Adding to his charm, he is a good four or five inches shorter than the class average; what he lacks in stature, he makes up for with charisma.

The other day, Elijah was absent and other kids had reports he was at school but left early. Later that week I asked him about his absence and told me his mom picked him up because she lost one of her jobs. He very proudly told me she still had her night job (whatever that is) but she won’t be a nurse (her day job?) anymore. He kept his smile up, but it seemed fairly obvious this wasn’t a good thing for his family.
As we starting working through the kids’ homework, I ended up working with Elijah. His main assignment was a page of converting; gallons to pints, pints to quarts, millimeters to meters, hectograms to grams and a bunch of information deep within the foggiest regions of my memory. We trudged along, but honestly I think I was making matters worse teaching him a method far different than the one his teacher had.

Somewhere in between the quarts, meters, cups, and decimeters, I noticed Elijah eyes’ were watering which surprised me as I have always known him to be a very well-adjusted nine-year-old. In fact, I asked him if he had allergies or if there was something in his eyes believing him not to be prone to crying. But, this only made dear Elijah cry worse, in the brave, strong trying not to cry way that only macho little boys can. With all of my heart, I wanted to cry alongside Elijah, but like him, knew I had to fight off the tears.

A Place Called French Lick..

2010-04-27T21:53:00.001-07:00

Believe it or not, I spent approximately 30 hours in a place called French Lick during my vacation. Our sojourn (okay, it wasn’t a sojourn at all I simply wanted to use that word) was at my mom’s prompting French Lick is a city out in the middle of nowhere and, as my truck driver cousin described, a pain in the a** to get to, who’s claim to fame is it is home to what was once the world’s largest free standing dome. All other things being equal, you’d probably see it too if you could and too boot Larry Bird is from there and it also boasts a huge casino.

Hoosier State

2010-04-26T22:00:00.000-07:00

I spent a chunk of my recent vacation in the birthplace of legendary coach, Johnny Wooden. Yes, it was final destination, Hall, Indiana for me for the better part of a week. No, I didn’t go to any kind of shrine, mainly because as far as know there is no such shrine, although as Johnny Wooden’s 100 hundredth birthday is less than six months away (10/14/2010), perhaps it is high time my cousins get started on that.

My time in Indiana confirmed a theory some of my dear friends have made fun of to no end about, but I am Hoosier. I don’t mean Hoosier in the sense of rooting for the University of Indiana or being really into the movie Hoosiers. Instead, to answer the question someone as American and cultureless as me must face in Los Angeles, arguably the most cosmopolitan city in the world, on a daily basis – what are you? In fact, if it was a choice on the census or other such times one is forced to declare their ethnicity, I would gladly mark the Hoosier box with certainly and pride. I can claim just as much of a connection to Indiana as my friends who were born here to parents from places like China, Korea, Mexico, the Philippines and the Netherlands and have never lived a day of their lives in those foreign lands.

Both of my parents grew up in rural Indiana and even though they moved to Los Angeles long before I was born, I still have more biological relatives in Indiana than I do in LA. And if things continue as they are heading, when I am old and outlast all of my immediate family members and have no one left to care for me, save for my Indiana family, I will inevitably have to pack my bags and return (even though I was never there in the first place) to the Hoosier state to live out my old age. Okay, perhaps I can be a tad less pessimistic.

But my time in Indiana confirmed I am blessed beyond measure to have a pretty amazing family. Yes, we have our moments and there are a fair share of quirks and geeks, but I am glad I got to see within a little over a week most of the people on the planet who share my DNA. Also, I learned Truck Stops don’t generally sell tomatoes in case you ever wondered.

Recent Travels

2010-04-19T18:39:00.000-07:00

This time I have a really good excuse for the delay in my posts, I have been on vacation for almost two weeks! My time away has given me much material, expect pictures and elaboration soon but here are some strange highlights in no particular order.

In the last two weeks I have seen most of my relatives including three brothers, two parents, one sister-in-law, four uncles, three aunts, four first cousins, three cousin-in-laws (is there such a thing?),eight second cousins and one second cousin once removed (I think).

In twelve days I have been in five states (okay, I never left the airport in Colorado or Georgia). I have slept in five beds including a twin-sized dinosaur bed that belongs to a six-year-old boy. I have seen giraffes, alligators, polar bears, bald eagles, scores of crazed college basketball fans and flamboyant older men clad in fluorescent Speedos (only in South Beach). I watched a little bit of a triathlon, saw the Duke Blue Devils win a national championship for the second time in my life, went to the last ever regular season game to be played in Amway Arena and somehow found time to go to a T-Ball practice.

I have flown three different airlines, took a taxi, driven in the back seat of a convertible without a seat belt, rode in an air boat through what I prefer to think was the Everglades instead some run of the mill swamp in central Florida and perhaps most memorably traveled through the bowels of Orlando on a broken down bus traveling at 10 miles per hour for well over an hour.

I lost $140 bucks playing blackjack in a place called French Lick, was exposed to chicken pox, was rained on, read a wonderful novel set in New York City, did the electric slide, had a mean rooster jump on me, was rained on, got a facial, unsuccessfully flew kites one of which got stuck in a tree, saw the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, eaves dropped on a phone conversation with my aunt and Kathy Lee Gifford, sized-up my sixty year-old cousin’s latest crush, put up a bouncy house, ate gazpacho, was rained on, carried around a box full of baby chicks for about an hour, and met the owner of the Orlando Magic. Who am I kidding; I have enough material for a short novel. My one regret is that I didn’t go swimming.

Jugglers, Lane Kiffin and other 34 year-olds

2010-03-29T21:19:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, I have been thinking a lot lately about Lane Kiffin. Worrying is more like it. At the same time, my unbearable busy-ness ensues without any kind of change in sight. Okay, maybe I am being dramatic in that I am soon going on vacation for two weeks, but still very busy. I did find some strange comfort today in venting with a few friends and co-workers who also feel like busy-ness is choking the life out of them. At least I am not alone. In the course of the conversation, the metaphor of juggling was used to describe our busy lives where it was set forth; no one notices all of the balls the juggler catches, just the ones he drops. Brilliant.

But back to Lane Kiffin – brash, 34-year-old newly hired head coach for my beloved USC Trojans football team. Sunday’s LA Times had a feature on him, chronicling his career, his feelings about being the head coach of one of the most storied teams in college football history and his untimely departure from Tennessee. Did you know the police had to guard his house for weeks because of the threats his family was getting when he took the USC job – crazy!?!

During Kiffin’s 2005 leadership of the USC’s offense, two plays were highlighted (USC fans know exactly where I am going): Matt Leinart's fourth-and-nine epic pass to Dwayne Jarrett at Notre Dame and LenDale White's ill-fated fourth-and-two run that Texas stuffed in the 2006 BCS title game. The fact most fans dwell on with the 2006 BCS loss was Reggie Bush on the sidelines watching LenDale White’s run. Don’t ever ask my dad about that.

But some wide facts about Kiffin’s 2005 leadership of the Trojans offense – they went undefeated in the regular season, winning most of their games by 17 points or more, are arguably one of the greatest teams of the history of college football and Mr. Bush won the Heisman Trophy. Not bad considering the man at the helm was then just 30 years old.

Of course, most people remember the ball he dropped – losing the BCS game while the Heisman Trophy winner sat on the sidelines, instead of all of the balls he caught. I am not sure about Lane Kiffin believing like most true USC fans he is in way over his head, but maybe, just maybe, the 34-year old could use less criticism and more hope. Tomorrow, practices begin, right?

Spring Forward

2010-03-20T11:20:00.001-07:00

One wonderful unintended consequence of last week’s spring forward was the sudden out of nowhere arrival of spring. Indeed, hasn’t it felt like all week spring is here even though it doesn’t officially start until tomorrow? All of this year’s rain, a sudden warm spell and more daylight together have transformed ugly barren trees to flower filled wonders before our eyes! Bring on the jacarandas. Perhaps this is what people who live in areas with bona fide seasons mean when they esteem the marvel of the changing of the seasons. Welcome spring and oh yeah, happy birthday to my oldest brother.

March Madness

2010-03-14T20:45:00.000-07:00

In 1985, the NCAA Men’s Division I Basketball Tournament had the very unlikely Final Four match up of three teams from the same conference – the Big East’s Villanova, Georgetown and St John’s. Eighth seed Villanova won out and to this day remain the lowest seed to ever win the tournament. However, lurking in the shadows of 1985’s big dance was the root of another NCAA tournament record that twenty-five years ago passed without very much thought or analysis by anyone.

Arizona Wildcat fans know where I am going with this. Indeed the then 10th seeded Wildcats first-round loss to Alabama began the longest string of tournament appearances in NCAA history which I am sad to say officially ended with their painful, predicted and deserved omission from today’s Selection Sunday announcement. The Wildcats are not the only traditional powerhouses not invited to the 2010 tourney; North Carolina (last year’s champ, right?), UCLA, Indiana and Connecticut will all be staying home this year.

In their quarter century of tournament play, the Wildcats have much to be proud of including four Final Four appearances (1988, 1994, 1997 & 2001) and one National Championship (1997) where they remain the only team in the history of the NCAA tournament to defeat three number one seeds in the same tournament (Kansas, North Carolina & Kentucky). And of course, they have the reputation for first round upset losses – Santa Clara and East Tennessee State immediately come to mind.
Yes, it just doesn’t seem like March Madness without the Arizona Wildcats and I dare say there is an entire generation whose lifespan has never known a NCAA bracket without my beloved Wildcats. I am officially in mourning.

Running to Stand Still

2010-03-13T11:32:00.000-08:00

I have been neglecting my blog for quite some time. I know, we have all been there and indeed I am putting that shameful take me back post I’ve done so many times in the past. Here is the laundry list of pathetic reasons to explain my absence.
Pathetic reason #1: Blogging has somehow begun to feel painfully narcissistic. I know, that is par for the course, but for about the past month or so, every post I begin to even think about feels whiny, self-indulgent, entirely void of substance and primarily designed to endear myself to all three of my readers. And perhaps that is the heart pathetic reason #1; I have been really discouraged by the lack of feedback and growth (popularity) of my blog. I know it is terrible to equate my self-worth with the amount of comments I receive on a given post, but it is what it is.

Pathetic reason #2: Computer trouble. Here and there my PC has been acting ambivalent most especially as it relates to my internet access. I know what you are thinking, I should have got a MAC, and you may well be right. Apples are on the horizon.

Pathetic reason #3: Lack of material. This is really a combo of pathetic reason #1 and the yet to be mentioned #4, but the truth is I haven’t felt like there is any material bubbling up from my soul these days. In fact, the only thing that seems to be bubbling up from my soul is, well, file that under TMI. I have a few crappy, unfinished posts I may or may not try to revive.

Pathetic reason #4: I have been unbearably busy. I hate being busy and I feel the shame/scorn of my friends out there who are able to mediate all of the forces that I am unable to do live a serene, free and examined life. I used to be able to do that, but 2010 has been plagued by personal, professional, family, social and all sorts of other crazy commitments that have seemed to suck the life out of me. This is not a pace that lends itself to blogging. This is a pace that lends itself to wrinkles, difficulty sleeping, letting people down, messy desks and messy houses, unreturned phone calls, loss of ground on the weight loss campaign and feeling like the worst version of myself. I long to be sequestered and/or quarantined until then, I run to stand still. I need to heed the wisdom of Alice and Wonderland, “don’t just do something, stand there.”

Pastors wives

2010-02-22T20:32:00.001-08:00

Recently I was at work, well, glamorous as it might sound, making copies, when one of my co-workers asked another co-worker and I about the definition of a religious term. Remember, for the purposes of this story, we all work for a church and we are all women. I gave my definition while the other co-worker gave an answer that varied greatly from mine. None of the three of us was anywhere near a computer so “googling it” was not an option. My co-worker found herself stuck – whose definition was she going to endorse?

She decided to go with the other woman’s answer because, and this is the part that almost breaks my heart, she is a pastor’s wife. And as a disclaimer, I don’t mean to poke fun at the pastor’s wife in this story because I am really quite fond of her, but really? Is this 2010 or 1950? I suppose in certain circles sleeping with a pastor really makes one more qualified to speak on religious terms than a graduate degree in theology.

My Life in France by Julia Child

2010-02-15T19:43:00.000-08:00

Taking a little break from my true love of fiction, I recently finished My Life in France by Juila Child. Like everyone else, I rediscovered Julia Child with the recent release of the movie “Julie & Julia.” I loved the movie very much as it combined many of my favorite things – cooking, blogging and misguided souls discovering their purpose in life later than most. I only wish I would have thought of the idea to cook through Child’s masterpiece, Mastering the Art of French Cooking and blog about it. Who knows, it could have been Jen & Julia.

My Life in France was on the whole a good book; engaging at times and slow at others, I mean really there is only so much you can read about butter. And I do really love butter. But a few things surprised me about Julia Child. For starters she was a wonderful writer. I believe big sections of the book were adaptations of her letters written to various people over the years. Secondly, she was thirty-four when she married which in 2010 isn’t exactly unheard of but in 1946 was almost scandalous no less to a man ten years her senior whom she had met while they both were in the O.S.S. serving in Asia during WWII. The last surprising thing and my biggest “take away” is that Julia Child did not start cooking until she was thirty-seven. Imagine such a delay in finding one’s true calling? There is hope for me yet.

I would be amiss to not mention Julia Child was born and raised in our own faire Pasadena. I need to follow the lead of so many of my fellow bloggers and visit her house. Maybe I could leave a stick of butter on the mail box like Amy Adams’ character did at the Smithsonian.

Next up, just in time for spring training, Vin Scully’s Pull Up a Chair.

“Sitting through” Sermons

2010-02-13T12:18:00.000-08:00

Recently, I heard a story about a youth pastor telling a group of students that the last thing they need is to “sit through” another sermon. This immediately struck me as funny, clearly the aim of the story teller. But the more we joked about it, I couldn’t help but find truth in the sentiment that may or may not have been poor judgment in sharing to teenagers under the guise of spiritual formation. Alas, I have “sat through” many, many sermons in my life, some great, some breathtaking, some formative, some challenging, some inspiring and some, well, awful. For the record, at present, I “sit through” many an eloquent, intellectual and finely-polished sermon administered with a fair dose of charisma. What is that adage about not biting the hand that feeds you?

But alas back to the pastor’s seemingly counter-pastoral instruction, indeed I wonder if our contemporary construct of church has put too much emphasis on sermons? Is this some vestige of modernism we can’t seem to shed? I suppose this argument could be made for the whole of our higher education system as there is very little difference between a lecture and a sermon if you really think about. Perhaps pre-literate cultures required oral traditions for the masses to understand the basic tenets of Christianity, but I wonder if we post-moderns might be better inspired by a different means other than the traditional sermon? Or to throw in a dash of Rob Bell, are we simply preaching the wrong kinds of sermons?

And/or how much of the actual goals of discipleship can be learned through a one-sided forum like a sermon? Isn’t applying scripture to our lives best accomplished through didactics with other Christ followers or through acts of obedience and service to others? Add on the layer, was Christianity ever intended to be head knowledge? Instead aren’t we told to live out our beliefs as they form the foundation for our lives (okay that is the Jen Hicks paraphrase of the Sermon on the Mt.)?

Ash Wednesday

2010-02-10T19:18:00.000-08:00

Just under the wire, what can I say, I have been super busy with life, work, fighting off a cold, planning a trip to Peru and other misadventures that I simply forgot this morning.

But without further adieu, here is this week’s question:

How will you observe Lent?

Next Wednesday is Ash Wednesday marking the start of Lent. Some traditions put a significant emphasis on this six week period before Easter while others do very little. I know I am on the far end of the spectrum where we do nothing to anticipate Easter, so perhaps I am curious what others do.

Yertle the Turtle

2010-02-08T20:46:00.000-08:00

The other day I read Dr. Seuss’ Yertle the Turtle with an eight-year-old. Yertle the Turtle tells the story of a tyrannical turtle king who humiliates his subjects by having them form a stack of turtles to serve as his throne. The turtles comply, first a stack of ten, then bigger, bigger and in classic Seuss style the stack grows to an alleged multiple hundreds allowing Yertle to be king of ever more things. Finally, however, one meager turtle, Mack, complains. He is at the bottom of the stack – he has been there the whole time, he is hungry, tired and imaginably uncomfortable. Yertle will not budge and instead calls for more turtles so he can be king over even the moon. Finally, Mack at the bottom of the stack, well, burps causing the pile of turtles to topple.

I first heard the story of Yertle the Turtle at a chapel at Fuller. The speaker, whose name escapes me, called Seuss by his given name, Theodore Geisel prefacing him as a great theologian known for tackling injustice, the frailties of human leaders, the lure of power and, well, you get the point. Eventually, he revealed Geisel as Seuss and simply read Yertle the Turtle. Years later, I think the brilliance of this simple lesson on leadership and theology still rings true.

Meanwhile, for a variety of reasons not the least of which is my recent admission to a leadership institute, I have been wrestling with what it means to be a Godly leader. And smack in my face, Yertle the Turtle teaches me more than the volumes of Bill Hybels type literature I’ve been wading through. Indeed, the answer to the question – ‘what is the best book on leadership you’ve read?’ will now and forever be Yertle the Turtle.

And double meanwhile, especially as my turtle kingdom is quite small, I long to find leaders who unlike Yertle care about those they lead not lumping them together like lemmings whose sole value is at most to bring them ever so higher. Remember, the more turtles in the stack, the more power for Yertle. Yertle was unfazed by Mack’s honest complaints – hunger, exhaustion, discomfort as they no doubt interfered with his power grab. Something I know quite well, is bad leaders don’t like the Mack types whom I happen to love!

Dead Batteries

2010-02-03T22:00:00.000-08:00

The other day my car battery died. While this is not that monumentous and really not all that surprising considering it was the factory issue battery, the scenario created a funny little slice of my life I imagine/hope my loyal readers will, well, get a kick out of. To set the scene it is important to know it was a rainy day and after finishing dinner with friends, I stopped by Star Video (a local wonderful video store) where after much perusing I opted to rent the most recent version of “Pride and Prejudice.” What can I say; I was in the mood for 18th century England.
I left the shop, only to discover my car wouldn’t start. I was able to discern in my limited expertise of things automotive that the problem was related to the battery. I tried to call my friends, but as I have figured out with the intersection of Washington & Allen before, to no avail as it is a dead zone (try very hard to not script a cell phone commercial). Because I frequent the video store, I am pretty chummy with the staff there so I re-entered to ask if I could use their phone. I know, very 1996 of me.

They happily consented but insisted only 626 numbers. I first called Triple A only to find out that my policy had lapsed. Well can I just pay the fee? No, the membership office is closed for the night. Remember it is raining. Okay, I call one of my friends. Ordinarily, I tend towards calling the friend or person I was most recently with but in this case, Stacy has an out of area number. In fact, a great number of my friends had to immediately be eliminated by virtue of their area codes. I called two different friends with the right area codes only to be screened. Of course, they didn’t recognize the Star Video Number and opted to screen. I would have done the same thing if I were in their shoes. Finally, I got a hold of Sharon and Cole who were so curious as to why Star Video would be calling they couldn’t resist answering. Thank God.

So the twenty-first century lesson when it comes to cell phones is that they have some draw backs. For starters, dead zones. But also, because we all have grown so accustomed to programming in our friends and screening unknown numbers, there will be times when getting a hold of a friend will be tricky. We didn’t have either of these problems in 1996 did we when screening was at best a luxury? But the last weird thing and I think most of us have to admit when push comes to shove, we like to have a phone number that pays homage to our former lives before moving to the 626. Proudly, we hold onto those out of area area codes as markers of our more exotic heritage beyond the San Gabriel Valley. Except of course for me who has only ever had one cell phone number and it was issued in the San Gabriel Valley as a 626 number. Rue the day when I have to change it.

Ironically, a truth I have observed over the years of having car break downs is that passerbys will often give you their two cents. Sometimes, the advice they give is out of nowhere and you know in your gut you should just smile politely and ignore it. But there are other times, when you know in your knower that they are right and honest and possibly angels sent to help damsels in distress. That was the case with my battery as my loyal friend tried with no luck to jump it, just as we had given up and were unhooking the cables and calling it dead, a warm-hearted passerby claiming to have been a mechanic for thirty years insisted on giving it a try. And just as I have seen in many other instances like this, he was able to get the car on the road again.

Ring in Wednesday – February 3, 2010

2010-02-03T07:52:00.001-08:00

Simple, straightforward, the question you’ve been asked all week –

Who do you think is going to win the Super Bowl?

The Minnesota Vikings

2010-01-28T18:45:00.000-08:00

This weekend for the first and last time in my life I rooted for the Minnesota Vikings. Even before I discovered Brett Favre with the rest of America in the early nineties, I knew the Vikings were absolutely cursed. It is worse than the old “always a bridesmaid, never a bride” syndrome – it is a deep seated doom. They are the Boston Red Sox (pre whatever year that was the finally won the World Series) and the Chicago Cubs rolled into one. I believe it is quite possible that some Norse God hexed them to the miserable experience their franchise has endured over the years.

But this year, along with many, many other Brett devotees, I was faced with an ethical dilemma – could I root against Brett Favre? Could I indeed place my hopes in the hands of a team I have for so long considered cursed? So I, like many other Brett lovers, threw caution to the wind and embraced the purple. Just like two years ago when the Packers, at the time lead by Brett Favre, came so close to beating the NY Giants, I so wanted to see Brett go to the Super Bowl one last time.

Of course, the nearly three hours I rooted for the Minnesota Vikings were three of the most regrettable hours of my life. I perhaps ought to take some solace that now when someone asks me, as they often do, what is the biggest regret of my life, I will finally have a good answer. I am also revisiting the plan of creating a 12-step program specifically designed for the special needs of Minnesota Vikings fans that I have long toyed with. To add insult to injury, I believe this might finally be Brett Favre’s retirement.

Ring in Wednesday, Apple’s new tablet

2010-01-27T09:13:00.000-08:00

Today, Apple (a company I just bought stock in) will release its tablet device amid much speculation from all sorts of consumers and analysts. Apple will jump into the market that has previously been dominated by Amazon & Kindle presumably offering a sexier, souped up device merging the seamless simplicity of both the iPod and iPhone and decimating our need to ever have paper books again. This tablet is said to be generating more attention than Moses’ ten commandments, leading me to this week’s question,

what will the new apple tablet device be called?

If you are betting sort, you can put your money where your mouth is at the Irish website offering ibets: http://www.paddypower.com/bet

Some of the favorites are: iSlate, iPad, iPaper, iPage, iRead.

The Help, 1.19.10

2010-01-21T22:40:00.000-08:00

This year, I am going to merge my love for reading with blogging by posting a BRIEF report on each book I finish throughout the year. Not meant to be material suitable for the New York Times book review, but hopefully something above a mere reading log entry. Also, this might serve as a bit of a decoy to the fact I joined the little club where they send you free books so long as you post reviews of them in your blog. This is not one of those entries, but believe me friends it is coming and I am quite sure you will know the books I was given as they are far from my normal preferred genre of fiction.

Okay, enough of an intro, on to The Help. I loved The Help – partly because I was able to imagine the thick southern dialect dripping off the characters mouths throughout the whole story and also the history major in me was enthralled with a different understanding of the Civil Rights Era. To backtrack, The Help is set in Mississippi in the sixties bouncing between two African-American maids and one recently graduated from college, white, rich, unmarried aspiring writer. As an aside, isn’t it funny how many main characters are aspiring writers? I suppose we do indeed write what we know.

The Help isn’t classic literature but the story is quite engaging and enjoyable. I found an honesty as all of the characters wrestled with class, race and the changing times (there is even anachronistic quote of Bob Dylan). Throughout the story, the love between African-American domestic and white young child resonated so deeply it made me (almost) wish I had been raised by doting, no-nonsense black nanny instead of my biological mother. Okay, not really, but just for a second I wondered what that would be like and for those of you who know my mother, please don’t tell her I said that. I think The Help would make an outstanding movie which is admittedly a terrible barometer of a book’s quality, but true nonetheless.

Ring in Wednesday – 1.20.2010

2010-01-20T07:58:00.000-08:00

Today is our one year anniversary with Barack – do you think he will remember? Of course he will, yes, I am sure by days’ end there will be a dozen roses waiting for us all simply signed “Here’s to seven more, B.” And while although I am tempted to ask some of the more obvious questions for our forum today – what are his greatest accomplishments, what are his greatest failures, what ranking do you give him or any of the other “comprehensive” reviews we will no doubt be flooded by today from all corners of the news media, but I instead will ask a different question.

Let’s go back to inauguration day, I had a French toast & coffee viewing party with friends where we watched every single moment of all of the festivities including Aretha Franklin’s crazy hat, John Roberts’ blooper on the oath of office, George & Laura riding off in a helicopter and who could forget Dick Cheney in a wheelchair (what are you doing moving boxes anyways?)? Like you, I know I got carried away and perhaps even enthralled by watching the festivities and there were a few things that really caught my interest.

I know most of us pay much attention to Mr. Obama being the first African-American President, but I wonder if we lose sight of the fact that he is also the first President who grew up in Hawaii? Obama’s Hawaiian heritage was showcased during the President’s Home State Ball, which I don’t remember being the least bit interested in when it was a Texan on Arkansasan shindig (really how much honky tonk and barbeque can we stand?), but leis, Jack Johnson and luau faire made me want to plan my own Presidential Home State Ball which brings me to my question, what would your Presidential Home State Ball be like? And/or how would you celebrate your home state throughout your Inauguration?

Ring in Wednesday

2010-01-13T08:00:00.001-08:00

Last night, for the first time in my life, I watched an entire episode of “American Idol.” Over the years, I had seen bits and pieces – enough to know I like Simon – but never from start to finish. I don’t think I will keep up with the show, maybe jump back in towards the end of the season simply because it involves too much TV watching. But as I watched last night, I could help but wonder (CB) – why do we love reality TV so much these days? Bringing me to my Ring in Wednesday question – “Why is reality TV so popular?”

Johnny Wooden & Tommy Lasorda

2010-01-11T22:05:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, I had a chance to meet Pete Carroll. I was leading a group of at-risk children on a tour of USC and one of our campus hosts had an in with him. I am pretty sure it meant more to me than it did to the kids who described as “some white guy.” But we didn’t exchange contact info and the clandestine meeting, which many of my friends have heard me exaggerate, really was little more than 10 minutes and I was part of a group tour.

Then why am I so upset about his departure?

I started asking this question when my brother called me at work Friday with the scoop – he knew I would be upset. My dad knew I would be upset. Most of my friends knew I would be upset. Why do I have such an emotional attachment to man who by all technical definitions of the word is a stranger?

Is there something bigger than Pete Carroll’s departure to be written about? It is my dysfunctional attachment to sports celebrities (everyone has heard me go on and on about Brett Favre) or is a larger issue with the changing face of sports? What happened to the days of John Wooden(or Johnny Wooden as he was known in my house growing up) when a coach built a dynasty and saw it through?

Johnny Wooden is said to attend as many UCLA home games as his health will allow for Pete’s sake (no pun intended) a team he hasn’t coached in nearly four decades! That is loyalty, that is devotion, that is a bygone era. He didn’t leave in the middle of the unmatchable streak of National Championships to coach the Lakers lured by a higher paycheck. I don’t doubt he might have at times wanted to, but he was faithful to a setting that suited him well.

Or consider another L.A. Sports Personality – Tommy Lasorda. He goes to many, many Dodger games. Moreover, last year during the playoffs he was acting like a freaking cheerleader – out of his seat, jumping around, waving a towel all in a clear effort to rally the fans because he himself is a fan. I highly doubt Pete Carroll will be singing “Fight On!” clad in cardinal and gold in fifteen years. I know your counter is that in the case of Tommy Lasorda he remains an employee of the LA Dodgers, but still, I think paycheck aside, he is very invested in the team he not only played all of his games with but one he helped earn its last championship ring.

But bigger than sports trends, do the untimely and painful departures of guys like Pete Carroll remind of us a profound shift in our culture? Have we become transient consumers not unlike Pete Carroll prone to flee when the going gets tough (NCAA violations, a terrible season, players leaving early, etc) and frankly a better offer is on the table? And so maybe we hope for those moments when he had success at USC that he, Pete Carroll would be better than us, the exception to the rule the noble one who boldly and nobly stands face to face with all that is bad in our culture and draws a line in the sand instead of well, cashing out for a bigger paycheck and less hassle?

Somber Reflection on Events to come…

2010-01-10T22:45:00.000-08:00

Dear friends, the time has come. I can no longer postpone dealing with the pain. I can no longer pretend there is not an elephant following me around to every room of every single place I go to. This most awful of awful of situations will not be made better by not looking it square in the eyes and calling it what it is. Terrible. Ridiculously terrible.

Pete Carroll will likely announce his regrettable decision to take a job coaching the Seattle Seahawks in the morning. Burn down Athens; bomb the harbor, pillage Rome, siege the city – whatever metaphor people use to describe devastating and irreversible turns of events that bring ends to empires. The Trojans’ glory suffered terrible blows this year, but this, dear friends is the end. And to think, coach Carroll knew Thursday night of the tragedy about to befall our beloved Trojans when he eloquently, coolly and perhaps a bit smugly commentated the BCS game.

This might be worse than Brett Favre becoming a Viking. Good Lord, do I now have to be a Seahawks fan? I think I might have to call in sick to work tomorrow.

Ring in Wednesday

2010-01-06T10:18:00.000-08:00

A leaf I am aiming to turn over in 2010 is to blog more often. I know you have heard it from me before and there were seasons when I posted a blog daily but alas I have not kept the pace I would like. So one action step to my resolution is initiating a theme day once a week which some of my fellow bloggers have modeled so well. I got a decent response from “Older than Matt Barkley” but as the Trojans are hibernating until August, I need a new angle that will endure for the entirety of 2010. Who knows, if it goes well, maybe beyond.

So with no more fanfare, let me introduce “Ring in Wednesday.” Every Wednesday, starting today, I will ask a question which I am hoping my readers will “Ring in” on; if that makes sense. Questions will be eclectic, I imagine some will be soul searching, some will be controversial and others might be local tips. Above all, I am open for suggestions. At the end of “Ring in Wednesday” I will post my answer. Resolved, I will also try to post early on Wednesday so as to make the most of those prime AM hours I have seen so many of my fellow bloggers using.

So this inaugural “Ring in Wednesday” the question I’d like to throw out there is – What was the best Movie of 2009? Let the fun begin?

loss

2010-01-04T21:31:00.000-08:00

Last week, a man I grew up with killed himself. Out of respect for the unimaginable pain those closest to him are wading through, I have very little to say save for today look deeper into the eyes of those around you for unseen demons they might be wrestling.

A Year in Pages

2009-12-28T23:46:00.000-08:00

At the start of 2009 I tried my very best to read American Pastoral but never finished. I carried it around to places, got affirmation from hip people (as an aside, I recently learned from a twelve year-old that hip people don’t say hip) but one hundred pages into it, I just couldn’t do it. But I was able to knock off the list below (including a few others I never finished) with stars (five being best…

American Pastoral (never finished)

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, two stars

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress (I was in a Chinese phase), four and half stars

Rain of Gold, four and three quarters stars

White Oleander, four and half stars

Ham on Rye,(not by choice, it was a book club selection)negative sixteen stars

Wonder Boys, three stars

Hope’s Boy, three stars

The Same Kind of Different as Me, three and half stars

A Love Undetected (never finished…)

The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love, four and half stars

Losing my Religion, three and half stars

About a Boy, three and quarter stars

Jayber Crow, four stars

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, five stars

The Unlikely Disciple, three stars

The Time Traveler’s Wife, three and half stars

The White Tiger, three and a quarter stars

Olive Kitteridge, four stars

Homeland (never finished…)

Wishing and Hoping, in process…

Next year, I’ll read more and I’ll keep you guys posted as I go along.

kaiser

2009-12-24T09:52:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I had a doctor’s appointment at the Sunset location of Kaiser. Not to be derailed by a much needed rant about HMO’s and the fate of health care – I’ll save that for Senators Boxer and Feinstein – another topic. If you have never been to the Sunset Kaiser, holding my tongue, it is a several city blocks wide/long dizzying maze of health care where even my brief description leaves me frustrated, overwhelmed and feeling so much like a meaningless cog in some gianormous corporate machine. Don’t even get me started on the parking garage.

Yesterday, through some stroke of a miracle, I was able to find my way into the right building and the right elevator a bit ahead of schedule for my 9:45 appointment. Entering the elevator with me was what appeared to be a young family – mom, dad and two children pushed in one of those strollers that seems designed for off-roading. The father looked familiar, but at 9:15, without make-up and on our way to the doctor, it felt too much to strike up a conversation. The family seemed a bit somber and faintly mentioned something about staying there through lunch. I got off before them and probably halfway through my doctor’s visit, I placed the man – he used to work with a friend of mine and is still involved in a program that I network with from time to time.

On my way out, I entered the same elevator realizing that there was only one floor above the one I was on and it had only one listing – Oncology. My heart sank. Some member of this precious gap ad family was dealing with cancer and on Christmas Eve Eve of all days. Maybe they are alone in this difficult season and maybe I completely misinterpreted the whole scenario. It is Kaiser after all, and like me they might have been in the wrong building – I pray. But maybe I am right, and they are sitting home now agonizing over some dreadful news that will forever punctuate their family’s story. Please think of them and others who during this holiday season have little to celebrate.

BCS Tickets

2009-12-04T22:18:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow morning, I will join the throngs of Pasadena residents clamoring for a shot at BCS tickets. Yes, of course, our Trojans will be lucky to get invited to the Emerald Bowl and watching them defeat, of all teams, my Arizona Wildcats later in the afternoon at the Coliseum is salt in the wounds of a dreadful, dreadful season. However, for us Pasadena a resident, one of our strange perks is the shot at purchasing tickets to the annual Rose Bowl game which every five years (including 2010) hosts the BCS Game. Call me greedy, call me desperately in “need” of a new couch but my entire reason to buy tickets is for the shot to resell them for more than face value. So my friends, Older Than Matt Barkley will return later on a game day morning that doesn’t involve me showing up at 7am anywhere.

Older than Matt Barkley, Part IV

2009-11-28T11:40:00.000-08:00

I believed this little bear hadn’t survived the years of moving – but alas, I found him this morning! Indeed, what you are looking at is a tiny stuffed Bruin strung up on a noose. We bought him from a Coliseum bootlegger (we’ve all done it) in the late eighties making him significantly older than our dear QB. Today, he will return to the Coliseum where he hasn’t been in well over ten years – I know, what kind of USC fan am I? Interestingly, in 1994 he made the front page of the Arizona Star and was the key ingredient to sneaking in three college basketball fanatics into McKale Center for a sold-out matchup between an Arizona team that would go on to make the Final Four (losing to Bill Clinton’s Razorbacks) and the first year of the O’Bannon brothers tenure as Bruins.

Here’s to hoping his magic is back today for USC, God knows they need it. Also, as I have said before, and perhaps I am one of the only USC fans who feels this way, but Norm Chow, please come home, all is forgiven.

Punctuation Marks

2009-11-18T19:26:00.000-08:00

This is the last week of the after-school program I coordinate until late January. We have opted to take the entire stretch between Thanksgiving and Christmas off, which for us adults will be here and gone before we know it, but for elementary school students will seem like an eternity. All week, we have been giving out prizes and certificates – in part to honor the kids’ participation – but also to offer these wee ones closure. Maybe the gesture is simple and for many of the children somewhat obligatory, in my experience, there is something to be said for offering a space to recognize the end of a season – not matter how small or brief.

As I left this afternoon, it occurred to me that amidst this small turn of a page, tomorrow is my last session with my therapist. I know, it is kind of weird to own in this small venue of mine that indeed I have been seeing a therapist for just shy of three years, but there it is – out there. And over the course of our therapeutic relationship, I have certainly grown, feel more comfortable in my own skin and have been generally grateful for the experience. At the same time, recently the whole endeavor, and I am not sure why, has struck me self-indulgent and most sessions I arrive feeling like I have absolutely nothing to talk about. We have, as I believe they say in the business, plateau-ed.

Maybe it was the sixty certificates I handed out this week, but driving home tonight, I decided to get my therapist a parting gift, which according to two of my friends who are therapists, is not that unusual. I bought a copy of Wally Lamb’s I Know This Much Is True, which happens to be perhaps my favorite book of all time and features a plot line revolving around a therapeutic relationship. It seems apt and good way to punctuate this end.

Dodging Bullets

2009-11-17T22:03:00.000-08:00

Today I needed to have five separate conversations where the basic gist was, “I think this thing I did might have irritated or straight up pissed you off, so let’s talk about it.” Two conversations were pieces of cake – neither person was at all mad. Good, chalk it up to better to err on the side of caution. One conversation was fairly easy, ill-timed, but the person was indeed not mad at me and appreciated me taking the initiative to air any grievance. One conversation never occurred, which I trust means all is calm on the western front but the fireworks of the last conversation, makes me believe it quite possible I am destined to never do anything again without pissing off large groups of people, and, at this point, it wouldn’t surprise me if that fifth person who the jury is still out on is planting a car bomb in my car as we speak (phew, my car is parked in the garage).

I know, I am being dramatic and over-reacting, but we’ve all been there, right? I know life is lived in relationships, but after a day like today where I am feeling so much like a bull in a china cabinet relationally, I can help but wonder if I’d be better off living the rest of my life like Tom Hanks’ character in the movie Cast Away. I know, I wouldn’t last a day and I probably would kill Wilson – but I am feeling like such a relational failure. And regrettably the tragedy of this whole unfortunate misunderstanding, which I imagine is very often the case for so many of my fellow bulls (living in china cabinets that is), is that I didn’t mean to do any of it. The “it” just sort of unfolded and in my heart of hearts I wish I could just take a relational mulligan.

For the firework conversation, the sober-minded person with exactly five psychology classes under my proverbial belt, would like to rest in the assumption conflict/anger is very often-misplaced and wrongly allocated. I hope the ire I received today stemmed from some larger pain in this person’s life. Or at the very least, it is easier to think that then to sit in the very uncomfortable tension of the possibility that I indeed may in fact be a terrible, barbarian of a person incapable of relational success or anything remotely close to sensitivity.

And maybe the worst part of all of this conflict is that they all happened at church. Church is supposed to be a place of handshakes, hot chocolate and warm fuzzies – not a place where you routinely dodge bullets. Or is it? Maybe dodging bullets is an exaggeration, but I wonder if there are others out there who find this endeavor of the Christian journey together difficult, fraught with conflict and something, many days, leaving you wanting to cash in your proverbial chips on. Tomorrow, I hope I will wake up renewed and ready to mend, but for tonight, I need to go into the cave.

Older than Matt Barkley, part III

2009-11-14T09:06:00.000-08:00

Up early on a Saturday morning, primping for my tailgate party and finishing Older than Matt Barkley: part III just under the wire. Here goes, and yes I know the Mexican blanket doesn’t at all match my room.

In the summer of 1974, my family and another family drove from sunny Los Angeles to Mexico City. My entire family missed Nixon’s resignation because they were amidst this crazy caravan trek, the stories of which have become family legends at this point. In the end, missing watching Nixon’s speech with all of America was a small price to pay for the epic cross-continent vacation. I was not there, nor was my counterpart, the youngest son of the other family, who turns 35 this March (so if you do the math he was kind of there, and had his parents not “decided” to have one more kid, who knows, maybe my parents wouldn’t have either).

But somewhere along the way, my mother purchased this bright (bordering obnoxious) Mexican blanket. I stole it about five or six years ago, and while although these types of blankets are easy to come by, I maintain that they don’t make ‘em like they did in the mid-seventies (which is true of a lot of things). I use it seasonally. In my old apartment, our entire place was just so ugly, that it didn’t really matter the blanket was so off. Now that I am starting to nest and care very much about how my house looks, I am beginning to wonder if I should move on from this old blanket I love so much. But for our purposes today, it well makes the cut of being Older than Matt Barkley – FIGHT ON and beat the Cardinal.

To get a dog or not…

2009-11-12T18:46:00.000-08:00

This weekend, I was lucky enough to dog sit for my friend’s precious one-year old lab mix, Ashwa. Ashwa was a wonderful house guest and if I could figure out a way to do so without getting caught, I would dog-nap her. During her stay, among other things, we were able to visit the dog park on Orange Grove, pictured above, which was also an absolute delight.

But this jaunt into dog sitting has got my juices flowing about getting a dog. I have been a dog lover from as long as I can remember. Growing up, we always had all sorts of dogs. During my long, painfully long, stint as an apartment liver, I always told myself, as soon as I get a home, I will get a dog. And now here I am, new house but no dog (mind you it has been less than a month).

Let’s open up the conversation about the pros and cons of dog ownership – all serving as a divergence to a dismal update on my lack of any new developments with my JCrew model-esque teacher crush that I have to date still not had an actual conversation with (what is my problem??). Back to the dog question.

Pros. A dog would offer protection, companionship and a bona fide reason to hang out at the dog park on a regular basis. The idea of rescuing a dog appeals to me very much but I can hardly look at the humane society web site because the thought of those dogs getting euthanized breaks my heart.

Cons. A dog requires a lot of attention, routine and availability. Would the dog get lonely while I was slaving away at work? An adult dog might be better-adjusted – but what if it had a bad habit like urinating on my beige carpet? A dog also could prove to be expensive – what if I need to take it to the vet and how much are these congs everyone rants and raves about?

Breed. I had a very good experience with the mixed breed and I’ve only heard good things about labs. I need a dog with shorter hair because of my allergies to that end; I can officially eliminate German Shepherds. I don’t want a yelper but I also don’t want a huge dog. I like pugs, but they are super expensive and I’ve believe they have respiratory problems.

Final verdict? My inclination is towards a chocolate lab mix around a year old. Anyone know of one up for adoption?

Older than Matt Barkley, Part II

2009-11-07T09:24:00.000-08:00

In high school, I worked as a hostess at the Olive Garden – Hospitaliano was our motto. As it happened then, not sure if Olive Garden still has this policy, we host staff were required to serve as doormen/people which for me, as a gregarious sixteen year old, was a good fit. Except for the weather and that year, as I am told is the case this year, was an El Nino. So there I was, rushing out the door to make my shift at the OG when I needed a jacket. Why I didn’t grab a jacket of my own, I don’t know, but I stopped at the closet in the entry way of my parents house and grabbed my dad’s caramel-colored corduroy lined with chocolate brown faux fur which much to the chagrin of my father has been mine ever since.

I have it on good authority my father has not been able to fit into this jacket since he stopped smoking in 1984, so it wasn’t much of a loss for him. I believe this jacket was purchased at JC Penny’s in the mid-seventies, making it a good fifteen years older than our beloved QB. I don’t wear it as much as I used to, but without fail every time I do, I get many, many compliments. In fact, over the years, I have had more than one person offer to buy it right off my back – can you believe it?

And so today, as the Trojans take on the Sun Devils, not to be confused with the devil incarnate and recent World Series Winners who’s MVP instead of Matsui ought to have been cold, hard cash, Fight On and let’s win out our games. Emerald Bowl, here we come!

PS: Don’t you just love my new patio furniture? I heart Craig’s List.

Older than Matt Barkley Part I

2009-10-31T14:29:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me earlier this season that USC’s new (future Heisman) QB was born in 1990. As is the case for many of us out there, I remember 1990 well. Matt Barkley being such a youngin’ makes me feel painfully old. To this end, I have decided for the duration of USC season, around each game I will do a post featuring an item I own or have in my possession that is indeed older than Matt Barkley.

Item #1 Older Than Matt Barkley, my couch. Yes, ladies and gentlemen the tactfully covered couch featured above is approximately 25 years old. My parents bought it at then Price Club circa 1985 giving me a good five year cushion on number 7.

Fight on tonight and let’s break our three year losing streak in Oregon.

U2 360

2009-10-26T19:28:00.000-07:00

Last night, along with tens of thousands of other devotees, in what is estimated to be the largest crowd in the history of the Rose Bowl, I saw U2’s 360 show. Apologies for the lack of pictures, I’ll post when my home life is a bit more settled and I have wireless at home. But a few quick thoughts on 360 during this jaunt to the local Bean Town for blissful wireless access…

Despite knowing all the words to all of the songs on Joshua Tree, Rattle & Hum and Achung Baby, I figured out mid-week, that Achtung Baby was the most recent U2 album I owned. And the use of word recent if probably far from appropriate as I estimate I purchased it in 1992 when I wore a size six. Sunday in a reprieve from unpacking and the joys of being a home owner (I already have two things that aren’t working right, BTW), I bought U2’s Best of 1990-2000 (I think) and quickly got caught up.

It is funny, because I never stopped loving U2, maybe we were just on a bit of a break. Seeing U2 perform many of my faves in a spectacle of multi-media extravaganza unrivaled in contemporary music/concert going, well, we are back on. By the way, through discreet eavesdropping, I just “learned” that the giant, round/sphere screen took 100 eighteen wheelers to transport. I don’t have any eloquent bow to tie up this post with, but I am for one glad I was able to be part of history last night at the Rose Bowl, the icing on the cake was it prevented me from seeing the devil incarnate clinch the American League Pennant.

The Rocking Horse Mug

2009-10-20T22:55:00.001-07:00

The hope of a freeway series is fading – instead it looks the World Series will be a matchup between the Phillies and the Devil Incarnate.

By week’s end, I will have turned a year older (gulp), moved into a home I own, seen the devil incarnate play in Anaheim (and game 7 at Chavez Ravine if there is one or homecoming for the Trojans) and my first ever U2 concert. But back to packing, cleaning, sorting organizing, making lists, agonizing over appliances and all of the craziness of moving. I am very grateful for PTOs and having negotiated three weeks of vacation.

I have lived in no fewer than eleven different places with fifteen different people (plus nine months with my parents in my mid-twenties) in the last sixteen years. In that time I have lived in dorms, crappy apartments, townhouses, houses, guest houses, gated communities, and more crappy apartments in four different cities in two different states.

All of that ends Thursday when I move into a home I own.

As the gypsy/bohemian chapter of my life comes to a close, I am grasping to make sense of this wonderful and unexpected turn of a page. Sifting through the unbelievable amount of possessions I have, I came across this rocking horse mug pictured above. I believe he (the rocking horse mug) was given to me at a Christmas party in either 1993 or 1994 having come wrapped in red cellophane and filled with hot chocolate mix. I don’t know how or why he made the cut; with each of the previous moves I certainly purged many, many items as I am doing this time around. Perhaps I kept him all of this time because I so love the friends who gave him (the rocking horse mug) to me who now live five states away. Perhaps it reminds me of childhood and my penchant for rocking and carousel horses. Whatever the case, he (the rocking horse mug) now lives in my new house cleaned and stored with all of his friends, the other coffee mugs of course. He will continue, as he has for the better part of fifteen years, to bear witness to my life.

Manny Ramirez, a freeway series and domestic violence

2009-10-16T10:35:00.000-07:00

As a much needed diversion from boxes, researching appliances and trolling Craig’s list, today I will be at Chavez Ravine for a game that hopefully goes better than last night’s. And hopefully better than the NLCS game I went to in 2008. With all of this talk of a freeway series looming, I suppose we ought to worry about winning the pennant first.

I was, as probably many other Dodger fans were, ecstatic when Manny Ramirez hit a homerun last night – perhaps the slump is finally over? I can’t help but wonder every time Manny is up to bat if my feeling is at all similar to what women in abusive relationships feel right before their partner’s come home. (I know I just lost most of my readers right there.) This feeling is amplified at the stadium – Mannywood in our line of sight, #99 jerseys are everywhere and the ubiquitous dred lock wigs – but as he heads to the plate, I know I feel a twinge of, “this time it is going to be different,” and instead of striking out, the Manny we fell in love with last season, pre-suspension, will, well return. How we all loved saying and celebrating Manny being Manny last year. Today, I hope instead of striking out, Manny doesn’t let us down and things continue to be different.

Don’t think I am not also very aware that our Trojans are in South Bend gearing up to beat the Irish. And will Obama hang with W this weekend? It is the most wonderful time of year, indeed.

Chaos

2009-10-14T22:05:00.000-07:00

Today is the last day before the chaos begins. I am moving in exactly one week and tonight instead of packing like a mad fool (or at the very least organizing/pre-packing) I am instead, for one last night savoring my dear little apartment. Never again will it be as it is now – my feeble attempts at décor and organization will all begin to unravel within 24 hours. Soon my life will be flooded with boxes and the pursuit of boxes, packing tape, markers, incomprehensible disarray and the looming hope/fear of will I in fact get all of my deposit back. But for the time being, I will try to ponder the four (or has it been five?) years I have lived in this little apartment as they are slowing drawing to a close.

In the time (four/five years) I have lived in this crappy two bedroom two bath apartment (praise God my apartment living days are nearly over) many crazy things have happened. I have changed roommates, marrying one off (so-to speak), I have changed jobs (but that topic has been really over done on my blog), I have changed computers, I have changed phones about eighteen times finally landing on an iPhone, I have changed presidents – but really so has everyone, right, and well those are about all of the notable changes I can think of. Oh yeah, and I am finally on a diet after all of this moaning about pants not fitting I have finally decided to make a change and to date I have lost 3 pounds (OK, 2.5 but 3 sounds so much better).

What is it about moving that brings on such nostalgia? I believe I am one especially prone to be overly nostalgic – friends have heard me say at casual gatherings things like “we will never all be together again.” And maybe this particular move as it is not only a huge milestone – for the love I am buying a house – but it coincides with my birthday, which there again is always an occasion I tend to fret over for weeks prior – has upped my schmaltzy factor.

I wish I had some eloquent and elaborate direction for this blog, I don’t. On the ride home I agonized over blog topics wanting so much to keep my posting consistent but hedging off the chaos was the best I could do. I thought about a blog on Manny Ramirez but the right words just couldn’t seem to come (maybe tomorrow in anticipation of going to game 2 of the NLCS). I thought blogging about a Michael Scott-esque antidote that happened at work yesterday but decided it is too risky as, well, too many of my readers would quickly know exactly who I was talking about. I thought about blogging on Jesus’ 33 years on earth but figured I could do it next week. I thought about blogging about the communities, small group and videos but decided I didn’t have the moral fortitude to go there, perhaps in November. And, TK, I also thought about blogging on the museum of miniatures but as that would be such a short post, I figured I could squeeze that in over my lunch break one day when I am totally out of material. And so this entry will end, I will try to pick up some of the loose ends I always seem to leave when I feel inspired.

Smiles

2009-10-08T17:47:00.000-07:00

A lot of days I think I am the least professional person in the history of the world, generally terrible at my job, in a nut shell a failure – well, if you read my blog you’ve heard my excessive self-deprecation theme. But today was not one of those days. Allow me to share a delightful tidbit from my work day.

So there I was juggling my normal balls of tutoring precocious eight-year olds, encouraging volunteers, building relationships with teachers and school staff (as a side note today that included buying a popsicle from the JCREW model-esque teacher some of the moms call Mr. Hot) and generally putting out fires during program when the cutest thing happened. This is just our second week of tutoring and in that time I’ve begun to banter a bit with one particular boy who for our purposes (because his name is so unusual) I will refer to as Andre (not to be confused with our own Andre Ethier).

Andre has the kind of smile that lights up a room. The banter between us has to do with me going on and on about how great his smile is. Trust me, if you met Andre, you couldn’t help but also notice his contagious smile. The banter makes him smile more sort of fuel for my fire in terms of teasing. Today after having come from an ad hoc meeting with his teacher, I said to Andre something along the lines – “I don’t see how anyone can pay attention to anything in your class when you are smiling.” To which Andre replied, and this is the part that made me a bit misty, “I only smile when I come here.”

Maybe I won’t make a million dollars, and more than likely I won’t get a promotion anytime in the next decade, but I believe I will sleep better knowing, even for the briefest of instances, I made Andre smile.

The big news is…

2009-09-30T23:13:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, with no further adieus, the big news is, cue drum roll, I bought a house! And not just any house, it was the earlier described avocado house. Through twists and turns, it looks as though I will be moving in by the month’s end, around the time of my upcoming birthday. No doubt this milestone will be a topic of many, many blogs.

Immediately I am painfully aware that homeowners ought to have buckets. What I mean by that and/or where I am going with the bucket line is there are a lot of little to medium size items (for example buckets) that you just have to have when you own a house. In an apartment they are impractical and unnecessary, but in a house, well, you have to have a bucket. You never know when you will wash your car, pick avocados, need to wash out something – you get the point. With all of these little looming things on the horizon, I am starting to feel like any left over money I have will be spent on buckets and so forth.

And still no NL West Champs.

Magic Number: 2!

2009-09-26T23:32:00.001-07:00

2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2! 2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2! 2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2! Of course, my excitement with 2 revolves around the Dodger’s magic number as of approximately nine o’clock PST. One Dodger win + one Rocky loss opens the door to the possibility of clinching the NL West tomorrow if today’s trend of Dodger win/Rocky loss continues. Indeed, it is the most wonderful time of the year! Keep an eye on those box scores, and no, this is not my good news, stay tuned.

Travels

2009-09-26T11:00:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I flew into Denver, Colorado just in time to see my beloved Trojans fall to last year’s winless Washington Huskies. Gone are any BCS hopes USC might have had in a way all too familiar to the last few seasons. But otherwise, my time there was amazing! Including a visit to the biggest REI Store I have ever seen, much good beer, Jason Mraz @ Red Rocks, quality time with friends, two wonderful days in Boulder and a comprehensive training to coordinate a mentoring program that I am completely excited about it. Big news around the corner ladies and gentlemen – stay tuned!

David and Goliath

2009-09-18T21:43:00.000-07:00

Tonight I am packing for yet another trip to Colorado. I should be excited – and I suppose there are pieces of this trip I am looking forward to Jason Mraz at Red Rocks, catching up with dear friends, and being trained to lead a mentoring program that I think is amazing – I am sort of tired of traveling. I never thought I would get to this point and I suppose it doesn’t help that very recently I traveled to the Rocky Mountain State, but I am dragging my feet in packing.

I am also totally worried our beloved Trojans might lose tomorrow. I know the Huskies are a nothing team, but wasn’t it about this time last year they were able to beat Ohio State only to fall to Oregon State? Please never schedule a Thursday game again Mike Garrett (or whoever decides these matters). But consider our past few regular season losses – obviously Oregon State ’08, Stanford ’07 and Oregon State again in ’06 and lastly and perhaps most painfully UCLA ’06. Rankings or not, USC has a Goliath complex and we all know how that story ends.

And of all people, I believe Steve Sarkisian (who I was happy to see go last year) would love to beat his former boss tomorrow. He knows this team; he knows these players and this win would make his season. All other eyes might be on the swamp or such places but I hope Goliath keeps an eye out for small boys with slingshots (aka Steve Sarkisian’s Washington Huskies).

Central Park

2009-09-17T22:44:00.000-07:00

One theme (for me at least) of The fab four take Manhattan was to attempt to have a non-tourist bona fide New Yorker experience. And save for visiting Times Square and Rockefeller Center, catching a Broadway Show and taking pictures on the Subway (which I just learned is one of the most vulnerable targets to the ever looming threat of terrorists attacks – guess we were really rolling the dice on that) I think we did just that.

High on the list of the “we’re not tourists week” was the glorious Saturday we spent in Central Park. The magnitude of the park was more than I expected. It was bustling with people but still did not seem crowded. I loved that there seemed to be all walks of life there – races, ages, socioeconomic class (OK, I couldn’t really tell that, but in My Saturday Afternoon in Central Park it would be so) and a healthy showing of pets. On a side note, I was very surprised the number of New Yorkers with dogs which as much as I love dogs; it does seem like a difficult place to be a dog owner.

But back to the park, how do I even begin to explain the street performers? Remind me to do a whole separate blog on them; I have a good Rob Bell idea. And the make-shift roller rink that included guy thigh and dancing – I would never have imagined. The grandeur of the views – absolutely amazing. The water? I had no idea. The architecture – splendid.

The best Southern California Summer Saturday equivalent I can think of is perhaps a jaunt to the beach but minus the crowds, lifeguards and herculean task of parking. Or maybe five free slightly less manicured/beautiful Huntington Gardens rolled into one.

New York, New York!

2009-09-13T22:28:00.000-07:00

Please play Frank Sinatra while viewing this post. But I was spiraling the other night, all is fixed and things are looking up. More to come up our fabulous time in NYC, but some previews.

The death of my computer and other dreadful developments

2009-09-10T19:55:00.000-07:00

After more than an hour and a half on the phone with tech support, it appears as though very little hope remains। I was directed to back-up all of my files, but even that is not working। BLAST! My Indian call center rep who I spent all of this frantic time with, is going to call back any minute and my only response will be – I couldn’t do it. I have left THREE frantic messages with tech savvy friends, but apparently Thursday 7:30 is a tough time.

This comes on the heels of a visit to the pharmacy to pick up (remind me to blog about the averted skin cancer scare that preempted the meds) what I thought would be a routine prescription that cost me nearly $300!!! What the heck? Bring on universal health care, my taxes are already unbearably high.

This comes on the heels of (okay, I might be using “on the heels” of loosely) paying over $1000 in TRAFFIC VIOLATIONS. Yes, you read that right, and yes I have a pending court date where it is quite possible not only will my license suspended but there will be more fines. And to boot, the state of California recently informed me I didn’t pay enough and there is an over due balance for my 2008 return.

When will this end? I think the only hope I can safely cling to at this point is the RAPTURE.

The fabulous four take Manhattan

2009-09-09T22:39:00.000-07:00

Move over Muppets, a new foursome has taken over Manhattan। I will post more thoroughly when I solve my computer problems (maybe I should have bought a Mac after all, urgh!), but from 8/31-YESTERDAY (I know you are all jealous) I was in New York City with three of my closest friends on the planet। We had adventures of all sorts, some of which I will post but my apologies for the gap in posts। More to come, more to come indeed. And no new house, but my avocado house still hasn’t sold – pray friends, pray

Golden, Colorado

2009-08-29T13:28:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week, I spent two days in Denver – which for good reason has been dubbed the Napa Valley of Beer. Included on our itinerary was a stop in Golden to, among other things, tour the Coors Brewery. For those who have completed this tour, your highlight might have been the three free beers at the end, and not that I minded those, I found Adolph Coors’ story to be very inspiring.

Coors, orphaned at a young age, learned to brew beer during his apprenticeship in his native Prussia in the 19th century. He stowed away on a ship to America in order to evade conscription – indeed our hero was a draft-dodger. Over time, he eventually made it out west working along the way as a brick-layer, fireman, a foreman at a brewery and finally in Denver as an owner of a bottle making plant – indeed our hero pulled himself up by his own bootstraps.

Coors might have made a great living and still have been an immigrant success story had he swallowed his dream of establishing his own brewery and just been a bottle maker. However, while running a successful bottle-making plant, Coors devoted a day a week to fulfilling his dream by (drum role please) relentlessly looking for the perfect spot and conditions to do just that. Of course, he did just that in Golden, Colorado and the rest is history.
So for anyone out there who has a dream, be it beer making, folk singing or novel writing, take it from Adolph Coors that it is never too late and no obstacles are insurmountable to fulfill that dream. My only caution is to avoid windows in Virginia Beach hotel rooms

वही इस माय टाइटल ट्रांस्लातेद इन्तो हिन्दी?

2009-08-27T22:19:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend I made my first official bid on a house. I tried very hard to be sober minded about the whole endeavor – telling both my parents and the realtor that I hadn’t formed an emotional attachment to the property (even though it had!) because after all as scores of friends have shared, it often takes many, many offers for one to work. And indeed those of scores of friends were right, my offer got turned down.

And so, my modest, humble, yellow three bedroom house with an avocado tree in the backyard close enough to literally throw a rock to the house of some of my best friends and an address that would keep me in Pasadena but VERY close to Sierra Madre will be lived in by someone other than me.

UNTIL, my realtor emailed me that the offer didn’t close! Alas, there is hope. I am still not packing my bags or prepping to make the gallons of guacamole that will inevitably manifest themselves with all of the avocados at my disposal, but the plot thickens.

Eeyore's Hope

2009-08-18T22:49:00.000-07:00

I haven’t blogged in quite awhile. I don’t know if it is the heat, Brett Favre becoming a Viking, my dad’s recent 70^th birthday, house hunting (that is right, despite all odds, home ownership is on the horizon), writer’s block, the countdown to my upcoming vacation to the big apple, my semi-monthly episode of malaise/mind-numbing cynicism or that the sky is falling – maybe my friends are right, I am Eeyore! Whatever the case maybe, I’ve decided to get back on the proverbial horse again. So, here goes.

Lately most of my professional life has revolved around organizing a backpack drive for at-risk kids in an under-resourced school district. (Social Justice speak for needy/underprivileged poor kids) This endeavor is not dissimilar to other projects I have participated in both as a volunteer and a community leader working in skid row. Not to be too theological or over-spiritualize, but my experience has been that these kinds of things require much prayer and a lot of shots in the dark/knocking on doors yet tend to work out in the end.

But backpack drive 2009 has really gotten me down as of yet. I suppose it might be because I am (too oversimplify things greatly) on the other side this time where collaboration has proven easier said than done. It was much easier to be the novelty on the outside representing homeless kids instead of the person a cubicle over who fill in the blank. And maybe if I was honest, five days before the deadline of these sorts of endeavors I tend to have these sorts of episodes, Brett Favre notwithstanding.

Tonight, though something that restored my faith in humanity and sincere Christ-following transpired. My co-worker invited me to share with a group he leads about the drive and then he would send them out to shop for backpacks and school supplies. He gave a very appropriate lesson pointing to kingdom models of stewards and investment. I gave some woefully inadequate descriptives and elaborations clouded by stage-fright (even though, I tend to be pretty good in front of crowds) before the crowd was dismissed to their charge. After, I mingled awkwardly, catching up with old friends but more than anything worrying that I had royally blew the whole assignment.

Amid this mild dose of self-pity, I was approached by a TOTAL STRANGER who wanted to basically give me a check instead of buy backpacks. We talked for awhile before he handed me a folded up check. I left shortly after, detouring at the grocery store where in the parking lot I unfolded the check more to remember the guy’s name than anything else only to discover that the amount was in quadruple digits! I was shocked. I thought maybe a few hundred at best; mind you I had never met this person, but four digits? Because we didn’t know each other, I really believe this man acted out of his honest belief and application of the brief teaching my co-worker shared. His generosity and humility reminded me there are people out there who simply follow Christ.

Sarah Palin and all other quitters...

2009-07-26T22:00:00.000-07:00

Today marks the last day of Sarah Palin’s term as governor of Alaska and as the torch is passed to her lieutenant governor, I can’t help but wonder a few things about untimely resignation.

For starters, her announcement came precisely in the middle of the MJ death extravaganza, on the eve of the fourth of July and most notably, twelve hours into John Stewart’s vacation – a very deliberate day for a somewhat controversial subject to fly under the proverbial radar.

Secondly, (borrowing much material from John Stewart) while although her announcement was steeped in odd metaphors, to date she has given no specific explanation for leaving office with more than a year remaining in her term. Yes, she has said it is “out of the box,” “unconventional,” likened herself to a driving point guard and, perhaps most aptly, her desire to distinguish herself from a dead fish going with the flow. Don’t we all want to do that, really?

But beneath all of her bizarre explanations (or lack thereof), the fact of the matter is Sarah Palin is quitting. Indeed, our maverick former VP candidate is joining the ranks of disgruntled employees everywhere by saying, albeit publically, take this job and shove it. And in case you ever miss that, when someone quits a job to do NOTHING, as Ms. Palin has done, something is up. They might also, although probably with more eloquence and tact than the ex-Governor has, skirt the issue of the real reason for departures. Keep an eye out for those who do not wish to distinguish themselves from dead fish and simply go along with the flow.

Best of luck, Sarah Palin and all others who refuse to go with the flow.

Ray and the Bowl

2009-07-13T22:49:00.001-07:00

Delayed by mourning of the untimely death of Jacko, the return of Manny and swarms of bees…

I first met Ray when my crazy friend Mike gave our other friend Sharon a burnt CD with the words “Shelter,” “Ray” and a bunch of letters that didn’t quite amount to LaMontagne. I ended up stealing the burnt CD because I couldn’t get enough of it – and if you have listened to Ray LaMontagne, you understand – until I finally did the right thing and bought one so Ray could get the royalties I had long cheated him out of.

Ray and I have been together ever since. Last night I was finally able to see him in concert at what might be one of LA’s finest venues the Hollywood Bowl. Wine, mangoes, chocolates, hummus and an array of Trader Joe’s cuisine shared with friends made for a truly amazing evening.

Ray, I last night discovered after some friendly banter back and forth with friends ending with our new imperative – Google it! – is a married father of two who does not live in LA (we were all wrong) but on a farm in Maine. But more compelling than our errors about Ray’s personal life is the true story (according to Wikipedia, mind you http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ray_LaMontagne) of the beginnings of his musical career. It seems that our somewhat younger but equally New Englander Walt Whitman, quit his job at a shoe factory after hearing a Stephen Stills (at 4 a.m. mind you!) to become a singer-songwriter. Very boldly, very brazenly and in a way that ought to be heralded as a torch to any and all of us in the throes of a quarter-life crisis he quite literally took this job and shoved it. On behalf of Ray fans everywhere, we are the better for his chutzpah.

The Fourth of July

2009-07-01T22:50:00.001-07:00

I love the Fourth of July. Not because I am particularly patriotic. Not because of any affinity to fireworks. Not because of all of the watermelon. Not because of Martina McBride’s “Independence Day.” Basically, not because of any of the reasons one might associate with the holiday. Instead, it comes from a subconscious internalized freedom (not political freedom) to celebrate the holiday any way I want. Other holidays, Christmas most notably, come with expectations both familial and cultural. Not only do all of our families expect certain things to happen in a certain order on Christmas – Madison Avenue expects our lives to be Norman Rockwell paintings for the entire month of December. Depressed people commit suicide over the holidays for a reason. And not usually, do you worry about the rise of suicides coinciding with the Fourth of July. Plus, the weather is a lot nicer in July than December.

John & Kate + 8 and Iran's Fate

2009-06-28T10:14:00.000-07:00

Today I am trying to join bloggers all over to promote the cause of Iran. However, I am pretty sure most American’s know more about the state of John and Kate and their failing marriage than the real life events unfolding in Iran. Moreover, those who might have been lining up to protest at the Federal Building in Westwood are, I fear, being overshadowed by the mourners in Encino at the Jackson compound.

Is this a reflection of our bubble gum culture’s demise or our just general apathy about the global cause? Aren’t we the country’s whose roots and heritage come from revolution, overthrowing tyranny and establishing democracy? How did we get to the place where we care more about the stars of a reality show than democracy being thwarted by a tyrannical dictator who may or may not have nuclear weapons pointed at us?

Give me liberty or give me more reality TV shows?

lucky's IPA festival

2009-06-27T12:38:00.001-07:00

I love Sierra Madre. This is no secret, despite the birds that frequent TOPT, despite the unruly kids who often over run Bean Town, despite the lack of affordable housing – Sierra Madre is an absolute treat. High on my list of attractions is Lucky Baldwin’s – much better than the Old Town location, no weird smell, no difficulty finding parking, no wobbly stairs, no terrible bathroom and quirky bartenders who remember you – it is the quintessential neighborhood bar perhaps the San Gabriel Valley’s own version of Cheers.

Over extending its’ schedule through the 27^th is Lucky’s IPA festival where if you buy a glass you can get refills for as low as $3 a glass throughout the duration of the festival. Their 60+ tap list features some true faves – Pliny the Elder, Ruination, Firestone’s Union Jack, Lagunitas, Hop Ottin’ and of course a Craftsman IPA. A non-IPA notable, Firestone’s Honey Blonde sold at the festival rate.

What is an IPA you ask?

An IPA, Indian Pale Ale (not to be confused with the International Phonetic Alphabet), is according to beertown.org is “the prototypical hoppy ale,” “deceptive pale, golden ale” and “most tip the scales at 6% alcohol b volume.” What is not to like – right? Take a break from the non-stop coverage of MJ mourning and join the celebration before it ends Sunday. This is truly as the LA Times describes it IPA mania. Enjoy dear friends, enjoy often. Paired with a French Dip, the IPA list is not to be missed.

Note: another piece of evidence typing the scales in favor of the Sierra Madre location’s supremacy to the Old Town location – if you forget your glass, in Sierra Madre they will more than likely give you the benefit of the doubt. This is not the case in Old Town, where a bartender who I have never seen before shamed me and charged me the higher rate. Blast.

Cats and Fish

2009-06-25T22:16:00.000-07:00

I have heard an awful lot about the untimely death of Michael Jackson -- may I offer a lighter note?

I am sure somewhere in the annals of the internet there must be posts and/or musings about this deep philosophical question I’d like to revisit. I know I am not the first person to have wondered about it and Lord knows my friends are sick and tired of me asking it – but here goes.

We all know how cats love fish, right? A stroll down the cat food aisle will affirm this as I imagine it will very likely be stocked with many cans of fish flavored kitty food. But we all also know how cats hate water, right? Picture yourself at one of your cat loving friends homes – what do they do to “punish” kitty? Use a spray bottle filled with water to squirt kitty into line. Or in my case, my brothers threw my poor cat into the pool.

My question, one that haunts me in the middle of the night, is how can this be? Why do cats hate water but love fish? Cats are undoubtedly predators, but I’ve never seen one hunt a fish. Bears yes, dogs yes, ducks, yes, pelicans, yes –but cats don’t even go near the water. Why do they like fish? Is it that they, like so many of us, want what they can’t have?

I know some have offered theories that not all cats hate water, but I for one have never, ever seen a cat that doesn’t. Doesn’t it seem reasonable from a sort of biological standpoint that with this seemingly universal built in aversion to water – they wouldn’t have a pallet for fish? Is this some weird quirk of domesticating cats? Maybe wild cats either also hate water but don’t like fish or like water and hence have a taste for fish.

I don’t get it.

Update on Clown School

2009-06-24T22:35:00.000-07:00

Last week I wrote about “clown school” – a quick update:

Something very remarkable happened at our last installment of clown school. We brought pizza and sodas for the boys but right before we were to eat our slices, the boy who is the most devious of the bunch asked if he could say grace for the meal. In the whole of our time with these boys we have talked very little if at all about our faith though our understanding of who Christ is, be it often unrefined and at times misguided, is and has been our whole motivation to volunteer at an under-resourced school. We were happy for the boy to say grace and the other boys also somewhat excitedly consented to it.

If ever there was a time in my life I wish I had a voice recorder, I wished I had one that day to record his prayer. He rattled off a brief list of very standard pre-meal prayer material but ended by thanking God for me and the other woman who has faithfully co-lead clown school for the last few months calling us his most favorite staff. Maybe we didn’t turn this clown into a saint or do much measurable “good” at the school as a whole, but even for the briefest of windows, I am proud to have mattered to this young child.

The next time I am plagued by self-doubt or find myself in the midst of yet another quarter-life crisis, I’d play his prayer to remind me of something I can be proud of. And I believe it is very likely, I will not ever be applauded for my role in creating a school-based ministry churches all of the country learn from, but I can take pride in the theology lesson I learned in clown-school.

Coming soon – Lucky’s IPA festival, cats and fish and superman.

cyber-church

2009-06-18T21:45:00.000-07:00

The other day I was sick and stayed home from church. I stumbled onto the crazy Christian network and after watching a bit of the crackpot preacher’s latest dose of crazy, I thought I ought to stream live the morning service of my own church – after all it is 2009, right? Sure enough, I caught most of the service including a baptism, the offering mediation and of course the sermon. Did I mention the Doobie Brothers song?

I can’t decide, though if this phenomenon – streaming of church services – is a good or bad thing? Not meaning to bite the hand that feeds me, I hope a healthy dialogue on 21^st century church/spirituality might ensue. Certainly, for those out there unable to make it to church – because of injury or distance or what have you, there is a benefit for cyber-church, right? But I can’t help but wonder what difference it makes if one ever shows up to the actual building or not if I can “be” there in my PJs lounging on the couch? Or, in the fashion of a consumer, why wouldn’t I opt to stream the most popular sermon/church out there even if the physical church is a world away? Could I actually be a cyber member of a congregation a world away in effect?

On an unrelated note, why would I subscribe to my own church’s sermon podcast through iTunes when I could hear the sermon from the horse’s mouth every Sunday (so-to-speak)?

Earlier in the week, I hung out with a friend who’s church couldn’t be more different than mine. Every time we hang out, we manage to delve into a friendly banter on our own understanding of ecclesiology. We both affirmed church ought to be more like singing karaoke than attending a rock concert. (Neither one of us came up with this but we couldn’t remember where we had heard the metaphor) But to elaborate, church ought to be a setting where, like singing karaoke, everyone there is expected to participate and very little prep is needed. In fact the most meaningful material often comes from those who have absolutely no formal voice training but because of their sheer vulnerability inspire. On the other hand, a rock concert, save for the benefit of my ticket revenue, the show is not really at all affected by me in the audience. Sure I might sing along, cheer or even goes as far as holding up a lighter; but I’m never really a part of the show in the same way as the performer is a part of the show.

Be honest, would you rather go to karaoke church or rock concert church?

Jacaranda trees…

2009-06-15T22:46:00.001-07:00

In an effort to get on board with the Pasadena blogging community, I decided to post about jacaranda trees.

For most of my life, I wrote off the jacaranda trees because of their mess. Our neighbor’s tree spilled over into our pool area leaving those charming little lavender flowers all over everything. If any of you have romanticized ideals about these trees, talk to someone who has one in their front yard. However, maybe it is time I reconsidered these bizarre and wonderful little pieces of natural quirk.

Driving around town today, the curious beauty of these crazy pastel purple trees was unavoidable. Are they straight out of Thomas Kincaid painting or more apt to be part of an acclaimed landscape artist’s work fit to be hung in a museum?

Laker hater?

2009-06-14T20:29:00.000-07:00

I don’t like the LA Lakers. I know for my fellow Angelinos out there, this will be ire invoking. For my family, simply hasn’t come to terms with it – the elephant in the room. I wonder if this is what gay people who “come out” only to have their loved one still set them up with members of the opposite sex.

My dad in particular will often ask me if I watched the game even despite us having the talk about my Laker preference. My oldest brother gave me a Laker tee-shirt to commemorate their 2001 championship in what I think was his attempt to change my mind about the Lakers. It didn’t.

I grew up in a sports family. Our family’s routine often revolved around sports. Monday night football meant dinner during half-time. Of course, the NFL was just as much of Thanksgiving fixture at our house as turkey and stuffing. I swam with Vin Scully and Orel Hershiser in the summers. Well it felt like that because my dad was always listening to the Dodger game on his cordless AM radio poolside. You get the point.

For the most part, I have followed suit in my devotion to sports – I love the Dodgers, the USC Trojans and March Madness. I deviated a bit by becoming a fan of the Green Bay Packers but at least I know they will never move to another city. However, I never really got on board when it came to becoming a fan of the Lakers.

And so tonight as the Lakers clinched the championship, I am glad the NBA season is over. I am glad the finals have not stretched any longer than the eight months it already is. I am glad the sports pages will no longer be plastered with pictures of Phil Jackson and Kobe Bryant. And most of all I am glad the Laker flags will go back into the closets of Laker fans hopeful to soon be replaced by either USC flags or Dodger flags.

Clown School...

2009-06-11T22:54:00.000-07:00

About three or four months ago, while on a site visit with the principal of the after-school program I started around that same time, I was interrupted by a very disgruntled fifth grade teacher. She had a list of names and was insistent that the collective fifth grade teaching staff could no longer tolerate these “clowns.” Mind you, I was trying very hard to mind my own business however the principal said something to the effect, well you want to help kids around here – why don’t you take these kids for an hour or so each week. Okay. Send in the clowns.

And so my journey into what I have affectionately come to call, “clown school” began. Every Friday since March, a volunteer in my program and myself have hung out with these nine very endearing and at times quite maddening fifth grade boys. We have played games, wiped tears, nearly had to break up a fight or two, laughed a lot, sent kids to time out, put together puzzles, wrote letters to ourselves and in a nutshell fallen in love with these ragtag bunch of knuckleheads. Some of the kids in the group have witnessed domestic violence, others are in foster care, others haven’t seen their biological parents in years and still some have no apparent “cause” factor for their “clowning” other than general rowdiness.

I finally broke my very strong no self-disclosure policy with the kids and told them a bit of my story. The truth is when I was in fifth grade, if our school had a “clown school,” I have absolutely no doubt I would have been in it. In fifth grade I successfully locked my teacher out of the classroom. I organized many of my classmates into an official we hate the teacher club – complete with meetings and members and the whole shebang. On another occasion, I spat in the teacher’s coffee. Gross, I know. Things got to be so bad that at one point the teacher hit me. Finally, one day late in the school year, I walked up to our classroom with all of my classmates thinking everything was normal to find my desk and all of my belongings outside the door. The teacher sternly told me I simply wasn’t in her class any more. I spent the rest of the day in the principal’s office. The next day, sure enough, I was placed in the other fifth grade class for the rest of the year relatively problem free.

In my professional experience I have thought often about divine retribution. In particular, I have had a number of run-ins with fifth graders over the years but I can’t think of one, even in the “clown school” bunch that was as much of a pain in the ass as me. Hands down, “clown school” has been the best part of my new job. Most days I come out of “clown school” thinking I have the best job in the world. Tomorrow will be our last meeting, here’s to “clown school.”

Baseball Coaches

2009-06-09T22:42:00.000-07:00

Okay, yesterday’s post was painfully long. Thank you for those of you who hung in there but I resolve to next time divide such a verbose piece. I am kicking around an idea about Superman that will likely be a multiple post piece to spare you all from reading more than 500 words.

So onto tonight’s brief thought, earlier tonight my roommate coaxed me into switching over from the Dodger’s game to the Laker game (and of course, as I hate the Lakers and have been a bad luck charm for years, they lost). But I couldn’t help but be reminded of a profound difference between Baseball and all other sports – namely revolving around the attire of the coaches.

Consider Phil Jackson (and all other NBA coaches), he is manicured, polished clad in a sophisticated suit a generally fitting ensemble for a middle-aged, professional. Now consider our beloved Joe Torre – Dodger Team jacket and, this is the part I most disagree with, the very same type of pants the players themselves wear. Are they officially called sliding pants? I mean really, Joe are you going to be sliding into home any time soon? And pity, pity, pity those members of the coaching staff who shop in the big and tall stores.

I get that baseball coaches, in certain instances take the field (namely base coaches) so it might be necessary for them to wear cleats. And I also concede, they don’t need to go as far as Phil Jackson. Perhaps something more along the lines of what football coaches wear might be more suitable? Khaki pants and a team shirt, jacket or hybrid of the two?

Dutch bingo, Rob Bell's cousin & Fergie

2009-06-08T23:24:00.000-07:00

Last Friday was Rob Bell’s Cousin’s birthday. I know, like me, you might feel like a bit of a smo for not remembering to call or to offer at the very least a cursory Facebook happy birthday message. Or, in the event that you either (A) have no idea who Rob Bell is or (B) – the more palatable/realistic of the two options for me as it is unimaginable that there are those out there who don’t know who Rob Bell is – did not realize it was indeed his cousin’s birthday, allow me to explain my connection. And that is really what this whole blog entry today is about – connections.

So my very dear friend, Sharon, went to college (insert name of small, Midwestern Christian liberal arts school here as I somehow suspect all of Rob Bell’s cousins went to this specific strand of higher learning institutions) with a red-headed woman named Heather who married a tall, witty man named Bruce who is, indeed, the aforementioned cousin of Rob Bell. This fact was brought to my attention when at Sharon’s wedding Heather was given the charge of doing my hair. Okay – the fact might have come up some other times but it was a very awkward non-sequitur when the much obliging Heather was curling iron in hand, as it were, fixing my terribly unruly hair. I could think of no appropriate response to the lead in, “you know Heather is married to Rob Bell’s cousin.”

Heather, who I think possibly might get this type of introduction more often than not as Rob Bell has somewhat of a cult following in Christian intellectual circles (and yes, if you couldn’t have already surmised, I am in that cult), quickly and naturally lead our conversation into more organic territory – most notably how she as recent transplant to Dallas, Texas, has gained quite a bit of experience into curling iron tricks. So much for a liberal arts education, right?

Of course, Sharon shared this unusual piece of Heather’s story (not sure she lists married to Rob Bell’s cousin on her résumé), in the hopes of Heather and I forging a deeper bond than the, in this case, hair styling might otherwise lend. Her heart was in the right place, and without question I did find Heather – and Bruce by extension – to be a dear woman who, connection to Rob Bell aside, I would be proud to call a friend. I admit, having a close friend recognize and build a link on my behalf based entirely on my esteem for Rob Bell, was a bit of a wake-up call that my regard for Rob Bell might have floated a bit too close to the creepy region/zone. Now, it seems whenever the topic of Bruce or Heather comes up, as it did last week on Bruce’s birthday, Sharon will make a funny reference to him being Rob Bell’s cousin.

Now onto what this has to do with Dutch Bingo. Another friend, who is of Dutch ancestry originally hailing, like Rob Bell, from western Michigan, told me about something she and her family members refer to as Dutch Bingo. Apparently the Dutch world is very small and interconnected and as such, often people in that world who don’t already know one another will, upon a meeting, embark on an ad hoc round of Dutch Bingo where they each, through their network of connections, will figure out a mutual connection. Somewhat akin to Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon. I am told most will be able to find a bingo within minutes. I suppose the point of the game, much like with Sharon and Rob Bell’s cousin, is to transform what would otherwise be a mere acquaintance, into a deeper, richer connection leading to friendship.

Today, I unknowingly played my own particular strand of Dutch Bingo, including a co-worker and among other people Fergie (aka Stacy Ferguson). I work with maybe forty other people many of whom, even four months into the gig, I must confess, I don’t know very well. One of those casual acquaintances today shared his wife was a teacher. This was very interesting to me, and got more interesting when it turned out she teaches in the very same school district of the town I grew up in. This is not that unusual as we work maybe three towns over from my home town but what was unusual was my co-worker’s wife is also from the same small town (more aptly described as an unincorporated area of LA County).

I had a pretty good sense my co-worker was about my same age and could pretty safely place his wife in this bracket. When I figured out she was from the same town as me, I made a joke about her knowing Fergie. Indeed, she and Fergie grew up together. Still no bingo, as I am not nor have I ever been friends with Fergie, but it was a funny coincidence. Then he asked me if I knew Bonnie Wilson. No bells ring, but I keep kicking the ball around in my head until it dawns on me (later confirmed by a text to a childhood friend) – Mrs. Wilson, my well-meaning and eccentric junior high science teacher who on the first day of seventh grade, upon reading the roll, kicked me out for no other reason than being my brother’s sister. Bonnie Wilson is now my co-worker’s wife’s boss as well as having been my junior high science teacher years ago a connection no less strange as being married to Rob Bell’s cousin. Today the world was made a wee bit smaller.

Taking a Stand

2009-06-01T20:35:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I met a dear friend at “The Only Place in Town” in Sierra Madre to eat lunch. While we were well on our way to while away the afternoon, our serenity was painfully disrupted by a man carrying a large white pet bird (cockatiel?). If you know me, you know that just the mere casual onset of such a pair is enough to make me a wee bit uncomfortable (okay maybe enough to push my friends into the path of the beast preserving my own safety). I lost control however, when the man and his very offensive pet stopped at “The Only Place in Town” and were seated at the all too close next table. I insisted on us moving to the extreme end of the patio but still was unable to reclaim my enjoyment of the atmosphere and company.

While paying at the register, I shared somewhat emphatically with the restaurant’s staff my frustration at the entire situation. The staff of the “The Only Place in Town” understood and expressed their shared annoyance with this very unusual man who is a frequent customer and regular around town in Sierra Madre. They described his treatment of the bird as being very bizarre over and above the strangeness of bringing a bona-fide exotic pet to a place where some might have trouble with even a more conventional pet’s patronage.

To make matters worse, the next day while dining at an open air restaurant in Seal Beach, much to my horror, another large white pet bird arrived. Fortunately, this foul creature was not as close as its Sierra Madre counterpart, but his owner curiously left him on a news paper stand to roam about at will. In fact, the bird was single-handedly (clawedly?) causing quite a scene – squawking and generally moving about – in a venue I think it would be safe to say passer bys would not normally expect to see such a bird. This dreadful bird was left on his makeshift perch for well over an hour another damning entry onto my ledger of the general mental health of bird owners.

Dogs are one thing, and while although I love dogs, I do understand the discomfort some might feel when they are paraded through restaurants and other public places. However, we must draw the line at allowing birds to be allowed in public places. They are not normal pets to take on walks or just generally to be brought out and about. I completely disagree with them as pets but respect others habit but prefer to not ever visit their homes and believe they ought to remain in their cages. And in an era when so few people will take a stand on anything, I believe the no pet birds in public places is a noble line in the sand I invite you to make for yourself.

The blahs..

2009-05-31T21:30:00.000-07:00

It has been nearly two months since I have posted. I have meant to – and yes, I know you have heard that before. I wish I had some amazingly dramatic reason for my silence but unfortunately it is some intersection of laziness and the blahs. I had a few ideas, even took pictures to go with them but never completed the blog. Now, I am so embarrassed as they are both very dated, I have decided to just table them. Perhaps analyzing the blahs or the larger reason behind them might be more interesting.

Is it my “new” job which is really not so new anymore? Probably. I feel like a cog in a big machine – nameless, faceless, meaningless and tragically replaceable. I know I ought to just swallow my pride and recognize that is just the way it is but that is easier said than done. And a healthy part of professional life is realizing there is no such thing as a perfect job, you just have to figure out how many imperfections you can put up with and still remain sane. I might be well advised to get a plaque of the serenity prayer and put it on my desk. Or if I had any courage at all “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.”

Is it how fat I have gotten? Okay, again an exaggeration but I have certainly changed shape as evidence by many of my pants not fitting. I’d like to think my hips have spread but as I have not birthed four kids, I am not sure I can claim that with any truth. I know I need to cut out the sweets and work to make better choices but propelling toward plus sizes is not making the blahs any less distant. Yes, I said plus sizes.

Is it this barrage of kids who used to be in my youth group adding me on Facebook? I ought to be glad to catch up with people from a different era of my life but at the end of the day; these particular blasts from the pasts make me feel dreadfully old. The case of one in particular who is on the brink of turning 30 made me soberly acknowledge that even the 3-0 milestone is not really mine anymore. Or adding to the getting older theme, Jay Leno’s last episode. I never really consistently followed the show, but it was always sort of in the background and now that he has turned the mantle over to young Conan (who is 46, BTW) it shocks me the whole business is over. It seems like he barely just started – SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO. Yes, I am getting older.

Is it June gloom? No, I may be the one person in LA who loves, loves, loves June gloom. It is like the weather gives us a brief respite knowing we are not quite ready for summer. We can’t handle the heat the entire day and it is an absolute blessing to have cool mornings and evenings. But, indeed, I am going to try for whatever it is worth to blog more consistently if you (my blog followers) will have me back? Perhaps, if for no other reason than to combat this most current installment of the blahs, I will blog again!

irresponsibility...

2009-03-24T21:50:00.000-07:00

I hate to check the mail. Perhaps I am reacting to a previous roommate who compulsively checked the mail but the fact of the matter is that I am doing a good job if I think to check it twice a month. Obviously, if there is a check pending, I will check the mail more often but when I believe all I will find is bills than it tends to be less often. Yesterday my roommate accomplished the chore after what we both think might have been close to a month of not one check. Our mailman must hate us. But upon checking the mail, along with many overdue bills I found that my car insurance had been canceled on (wait for it) MARCH 10^TH. Yes, for two full weeks I have been driving around town with absolutely no coverage. So this morning, first thing, I called my insurance people to see what could be done to make things right. I didn’t even attempt to explain why I had neglected to pay my premium which was overdue weeks ago. I spent most of the day faxing over forms, taking pictures and touching base with my agent/new best friend, Tammy who didn’t judge me, she simply said, these things happen.

I could learn a lot from Tammy. And yes, my there was very little way I could keep this debacle from my co-workers ultimately ruining any notion they might have had that I was remotely close to a responsible person. There is really no good reason for a lapse of coverage and seeing as to prior to this I hadn’t the foggiest idea of where the fax machine even was at my work, I couldn’t really keep the whole process secret as much as might have like to. Worse yet, my roommate discovered there was a warrant out for her due to an unpaid traffic violation.

graffiti

2009-03-23T20:21:00.000-07:00

March 23, 2009

Tonight while I was bemoaning the lack of good material for my blog I noticed, at a red light on a 210 overpass the following statement graffitied in bright pink “it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.” – Antoine de Saint Exupery. Through a quick Google search I discovered this is a quote from The Little Prince slightly misrepresented. (You can see clearly only with your heart. What is truly important is invisible to the eyes.) This seemed poetic, poignant and somewhat ironic. Here, amid the gray dinge of a freeway overpass a bold statement about beauty being undetectable by the human eye – well why go to the trouble of writing it brightly in graffiti? Even funnier, I do believe the graffiti will be removed by the week’s end sort of proving the point of the quote. Not all beauty is visual and written in a place so ugly, what does it matter? At least, it is thought provoking and poignant. This is a nice break from the genre of graffiti that is a bunch of letters only significant to other taggers.

Recycling

2009-03-19T19:02:00.000-07:00

Confession tonight I threw most of my recycling in the regular garbage. I am not proud. Quite the opposite and even the act of writing this blog is rooted in the vain hope of atoning for my sin. I feel like I just outted the Easter Bunny. My roommate and I recycle or more accurately I, save for tonight, throw my recyclables into a series of bags she takes to the recycling center which I am told is in Monrovia. We give the valuable items to our friend.

The trouble area, and 100% of what I threw away tonight, is newspaper. Somewhat ironic in this era when newspapers are on the verge of collapse, my kitchen shelving unit was equally on the verge of collapse due to the weight of all of my newspapers. Yes, I am one of the three people that still subscribe to the nearly defunct LA Times, but the wretched newspapers, who I regard with the disdain of a scorned lover, have no place to go but to become unsightly fodder in our terribly uncreative recycling scheme. I know most people have one of those green bins they can put all of their recycle items into that goes out with their non-recycling but because my landlord is one of the thriftiest people I have ever met; our complex is sans green bin. Oh, how I wish we had a green bin.

But what choice is to be made? I have no garage to let the items be sorted properly; instead they bring such clutter to my already small with a capital (S) kitchen. And tonight it got to the point I was so embarrassed and somewhat afraid they might be posing a fire hazard, I decided I couldn’t handle it anymore. And so, I am sorry to admit despite saving them for months, I just single-handed ruined the environment by throwing away recyclable items.

soul crushing

2009-03-17T08:55:00.000-07:00

Note: picture above is the Miami sky line.

Over the weekend I watched a lot of TV. Ordinarily, said with a high dose of self-righteousness, I try not to watch TV (except for the love of my life John Stewart). However, Friday I called in sick to work due to a terrible but thankfully brief bout with the flu – the kind where you can’t even stand. When I am sick, or I should say that sick, mostly all I do is watch TV and try to sleep. And of course, Sunday there is DH and “Brothers and Sisters” both of which have been really good lately. (Okay, I also watched DWTS).

Through the course of all of the TV watching, the phrase “soul-crushing” kept ringing in my ears. I think it was either a commercial or an advertisement for some new show about working in an office. And now that I am working in a office – it got me thinking about the whole concept.

Don’t get me wrong, if “soul-crushing” was Detroit my new job would be Miami. It is going exceedingly well. But what I think might be “soul-crushing,” for me is working in general. It is getting in the way of my art, my passion all that is life-giving for me. Case in point this blog which I have terribly neglected. Part of why I started my first blog was more than just a pet project but rather a strategic way to really work on becoming a writer. Now that I have a full-time gig, the desire to write hasn’t faded but most days I am out of energy to work towards it.

I’ve heard it said do what you love and you will never work a day in your life but like true love, I wonder how many people ever indeed find that kind of fulfillment. Is earning a paycheck just a means to an end? There is a scene from a movie; I think it might have been “City Slickers” where a character talks about people spending most of their lives tied up in knots only to untie them on vacation. I don’t want my life to be that; I don’t want to live from vacation to vacation or weekend to weekend. Alas, I must conclude as I have to get to the office.

cozumel..

2009-03-10T09:59:00.000-07:00

yes, I was in Mexico for a bit and will hang that as my most recent excuse for the lack of posts...but here are some pics:

salsa lessons

2009-03-07T14:11:00.000-08:00

I know I am slow in my blogging these days...

While in Cozumel last week, Mexico my friend and I stumbled upon a beach front bar offering Salsa Lessons and live music. In truth, we came in for a drink and the hopes of finding out where there might be fun things happening in a city so foreign to us. Imagine our surprise when an amiable local invited us to join in a Salsa lesson she was beginning momentarily. We asked two questions – (A) Did it matter we were two women without male partners? and (B) Was it free? She answered, at least in what I understood, no to lack of partners and yes to it being free (gratis).

We happily joined the ten or so others – a hodgepodge of expats, locals working in the tourist industry and friends of the establishment. I must digress while my friend is an above average dancer having taken many dance classes in her day; I am not one to flourish in structured dance lessons. In fact, when we signed up for ballroom dance classes a while back I, without exaggeration, got kicked out on the behest of another student and the teacher. This is not to say I am not a good dancer, in fact I routinely get compliments on my dance ability when in a free form setting.

After the dance lesson was over, we returned to our original table and it was clear to me I was no closer to mastering Salsa than before the class started but was happy to have joined in meeting some interesting friends. We were looking forward to the band that was to arrive shortly. We ordered another round of drinks trying to absorb the last night of our fun-filled vacation when our teacher stopped over to our table to demand our payment for the class.

Of course the conversation started out nicely – but quickly got uncomfortable. We never agreed to pay for Salsa lessons and understood the lesson to be free. She insisted she told us no such thing and we needed to fork over the fee for the class like the rest of the students. A man wearing all white and filled to the brim with Machismo we understood to be the owner came over to help rectify the misunderstanding. Yes, indeed we needed to pay our fee for the class we took he confirmed. We got our bill for our drinks deciding to just leave frustrated at the whole misunderstanding but confident we ought to stand our ground.

Without exaggeration, the owner followed us up the walkway, blocking our exit and at one point grabbing my arm as to prevent me from going any further. My friend was outraged – she got into more of a direct conflict the owner offering an ultimatum – what are you going to do, call the cops? she asked. Yes, he pulled out his cell phone and called someone he obviously seemed to know all the while remaining in a position that effectively blocked us from exiting.

Around this time, one of the other class members an ex-pat who sold time shares came over and we updated him on the whole scene. The teacher and the owner had pulled the same stunt on the entire class and even though we stuck to our guns his entire group had begrudgingly paid the fees. In truth, I think he was envious/proud of us for having such resolve and took it upon himself to be our agent a fire further fueled when I told him the owner had grabbed my arm. As all but one of his group members left, he confronted the owner claiming he knew the other silent and absent owner. The owner who was obviously just as stubborn as us was unchanged by our ex-pat agent friend’s passion.

Sure enough the Mexican police, who I have lived most of my life fearing, dropped by and long before either my friend or I, the alleged criminals in this situation could speak to any of them both our ex-pat agent and the owner spoke at great lengths with them. In fact, we were so irritated at the lack of access to the police we decided to go over and plead our case in so doing, the owner again blocked us a pivotal moment demonstrating how we had been held hostage the entire time.

After much going back and forth, the police finally freed us to go. The first moral of the story – if you are ever in Cozumel, don’t take salsa lessons at Lapalapita. The second moral of the story – stick to your guns no matter what.

Date Night

2009-02-18T21:46:00.000-08:00

Some years ago, a few friends and I began a tradition we affectionately have come to refer to as “Date Night.” It started in grad school when three of us had standing plans after class throughout one term. From there it sort of emerged somewhat coincidentally into an institution we all plan our respective weeks around. Over the years we have taken on new members beyond the original three. For the most part, there are consistently four of us who I like to picture as the characters from Sex and the City (although we don’t fit the archetypes of the characters well). Whereas those girls have their weekly brunch, we have date night.

We have seen one another through break-ups, parents’ illnesses, new jobs, old jobs, old boyfriends resurfacing, new boyfriends evolving, weddings, marriages, bridesmaid dresses, crazy co-workers, crazy diets (namely the lemon juice, cayenne pepper and maple syrup one), milestone birthdays, internet dating, home ownership, career changes, completed doctorates, therapists, licensing, credentialing, generalized angst, siblings who home school, siblings in jail, siblings who were teenager mothers, siblings who iron their underpants, book clubs, bare minerals make-up, enmeshed family systems, great roommates, terrible roommates, yoga, eccentric parents, international travel and, if it hasn’t been made clear enough through the previous assortment of the sum total of our friendship meant to evoke both humor and the tenderness of our relationship, life in general.

Tonight was the latest installment of date night – Thai food in Sierra Madre. I have left-overs and the glow of knowing I found true love in life.