Sarah Palin and all other quitters...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.