Always Going On Beyond

"No more masks!"

2011-12-12T16:00:00.000-08:00

This week on December 15th is the birthday of the late Muriel Rukeyser, who Adrienne Rich described as one of the 20th-century's greatest integrators of personal and social themes in poetry (from the Introduction to A Muriel Rukeyser Reader, Jan Heller Levi, ed., Norton, 1994). If she is not as well known to readers as that commendation ought to suggest, it may be partly because her work was not only controversial, inviting scathing hostility and huge appreciation during her lifetime, but also (as Rich points out) extremely difficult to categorize. I owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Meg Schoerke at San Francisco State University for my introduction to Rukeyser when I took her 20th-century American poets course in 1998. I owe another debt of gratitude to the universe for the excellent coincidence of later having Muriel's grandson Jacob Rukeyser as a law school classmate.

I have to forego my impulse to speak with formality to and of my elders (and to Jacob's, in this case) and give in to the deeper urge to just call her Muriel. I don't think this indulgence is unjustified. In the introduction to her Reader, editor Jan Heller Levi says everyone (with the exception of Levi herself) - friends, strangers, former students - called her Muriel. It is impossible to read Muriel's work and not be pulled into a kind of intimacy with her and her subjects. She insists. For example:

The Poem as Mask
by Muriel Rukeyser

Orpheus

When I wrote of the women in their dances and 
      wildness, it was a mask,
on their mountain, gold-hunting, singing, in orgy,
it was a mask; when I wrote of the god,
fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone
      down with song,
it was myself, split open, unable to speak, in exile from
      myself.
   
There is no mountain, there is no god, there is memory
of my torn life, myself split open in sleep, the rescued
      child
beside me among the doctors, and a word
of rescue from the great eyes.

No more masks! No more mythologies!

Now, for the first time, the god lifts his hand,
the fragments join in me with their own music.

So you get the idea, hopefully, of what I mean by 'insisting.'

Happy (what would be 98th) birthday, Muriel, with love and gratitude for your fearless, insistent voice.

no satisfaction.

2011-12-08T12:52:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I worry that my liberal cred is in jeopardy. Really. Let us count the ways:

I was at a Starbucks yesterday and they had a wreath on their community bulletin board, on which were hung tags with gift requests from needy children. The idea was you take a tag, buy the gift(s), bring it back, and volunteers wrap and deliver it on Santa's behalf.

I looked at some of the requests. Things that probably any American/Westernized kid would ask for given the opportunity to ask. Things they (and their parents, and their aunts and uncles) been successfully conditioned to want. I was about to write "I remember wanting" particular toys for Christmas but that would be a joke, I want things all the time. Getting can temporarily appease the wanting but it always comes back, as if it has a life of its own and has very little to do with the objects supposedly 'wanted.' So there's no past tense about it.

I'm sure that some of my Christmases growing up must have been more spartan than others; but I don't remember ever feeling or noticing that I was having a less-than-fabulous Christmas morning. I don't remember any years in which Santa hadn't obviously unloaded a bounty in our living room. Our Santa always had a practical streak too - our stockings always contained a new toothbrush, socks, and scotch tape along with a can of mandarin oranges, a can of black olives, an orange, an apple, and, of course, candy. They were like mini urban survival kits.

So what does it mean that I felt irritated and judgmental about the fact that the kids on the wreath were asking for 'luxury' items? Electronic gadgets, Wii games, all the related accoutrements? I, who grew up with plenty? I have enough trouble with the conservative attitude "I worked hard for everything I have, so everyone else should too," but the attitude "My parents worked hard to buy my toys and candy, yours should too" is even worse. WTF, Emily? I've read King Lear:

"O reason not the need! Our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous.
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's life is cheap as beast's."

I bet even the mean daughters of Lear would have at least let him keep his Wii gaming system; it's good exercise for the elderly. I'm trying to 'unwrap' my reaction, lest I be turned into a Newt.

Driving home last night I was too fidgety to listen to the jazz that plays on the NPR station after 7:00 p.m. Nor could I hang in with Jimmy Durante singing "Frosty the Snowman" with a kids' chorus for more than three minutes. The glaciers are melting faster than that, for hellsakes. I turned to "92.1 - CLASSIC HITS of the 60s, 70s, and 80s" and there was Mick.
When I'm driving in my car.
When I'm watching my TV.
I can't get no.
Even Mick was not satisfactory. I changed stations to "The EAGLE 96.9, Sacramento's Classic Rock!" - and there was Mick again.
Trailing himself by less than a minute. It's not that this phenomenon is terribly rare, nor is it surprising considering that one company owns most of the radio stations, but come to think of it, when is this song NOT playing in the background, somewhere? It is the multinational anthem.

I don't have the surplus funds to buy someone else's kid an iPod. In fact, I recently gave one away involuntarily when I left one of my truck doors unlocked overnight. But I have no right to condemn the earnest materialism of any American child. With few exceptions we are all convinced that we should have stuff, whether or not it is stuff we need or 'deserve.' We dream, hope, and pray for stuff even if we use St. Nicholas as an intermediary because we are reluctant to flat-out ask the Lord for a Mercedes Benz. O reason not the need.

May I discern my needs from my wants. May I cast the iPad from my own eye before presuming to removing the Nano from my neighbors. May we have a few quiet moments of peaceful enough already this season and share the surplus with someone else. <3

What happens next?

2011-12-06T00:14:00.000-08:00

For some time following my last post eight months ago, I meant to post my 50-mile playlist. But I never did. I have thought of reconfiguring this forum in various ways for various purposes and did not do that either. Do I want a consistent narrative thread? An underlying theme? A greater agenda? A semi-public diary? A window? An audience? I am looking for a point, but there are so many points. I have sung this Yusuf/Cat Stevens song I don't know how many times and I wonder if I've ever done what "I" say I'm doing when I sing it. I can't say for him whether it was just a pretty lyric or if he really did what he says he is doing in the song, either. What if listening to "The Wind" of your soul actually blows you away to a place where people think you have lost your mind? What if you are carried off by the wind to change your name and nobody recognizes you, and people speak of you as if you had died, and resent you for ceasing to give them what you gave them before and they want more of, as if it were a debt you had to pay to society all the rest of your days?

I talked to a Zen priest some months ago. I was not presenting myself that day in the kind of package I would have wanted to present to someone I'd never met, let alone a Zen priest. I was all over the place, running ahead and falling behind and explaining everything in the wrong order. I told her I wanted to go to seminary to be a Unitarian Universalist minister and she said 'do you believe in God?' and I was startled because that is not a question I expected a Zen priest to ask. She said 'how do you know you want to be a Unitarian minister. Maybe you want to be a Zen priest. You should sit with this for a year.'

I have thought about that meeting a lot. I didn't take the advice. I have a patience paradox - some difficult situations and people I can sit with for a long, long time. I ran for 11 hours and 14 minutes last April 9th and finished the course without even throwing up at the end. But ask me to sit on an impulse for more than a week and I am like the rich young man who went away sorrowing after Jesus told him all he needed to do to enter the kingdom of heaven was give away everything he had to the poor. What kind of messed up thing was that to say to a rich kid?

Dear God, please don't ask me to sit. Unless you have a cookie.

Maybe there is more to that story, though. The rich young man went away sad because he ostensibly was too attached to his wealth. But what if, later, he thought more about that advice he couldn't take, and the impulse that led him to ask in the first place returned, and his curiosity increased proportionately to a weariness of his burdensome status quo, and he started giving his wealth away, here and there...until eventually he could see through to the other side of it. And lo, the kingdom of heaven was at hand, not anywhere else. Not after graduation, not after parole, not after retirement, not after finding true love (in no particular order of importance).

Tomorrow's mantra

2011-04-08T16:10:00.000-07:00

Hello friends, it's been awhile. Is this the beginning of a renewed blogging habit? I don't know. Many good things have been/are afoot and I can't begin to summarize right now, but I wanted to say something on the eve of my attempt at the American River 50 Mile Endurance Run. If my phone battery holds out for the duration, I will have GPS tracking so anyone who enjoys watching grass grow can log in and see where my dot is somewhere between Sacramento State University and the city of Auburn. You can track me here at Runkeeper.com: http://runkeeper.com/user/emily2fish starting at 6:00 a.m. Pacific time, as long as the battery's charged and the creeks don't rise (the creeks have been a potential problem, actually - my 'drop bags' for stashing gear at the 26 and 40 mile points are going to have extra shoes and socks in them).

If things go remarkably, ideally, perfectly well, I might be able to finish in 11 hours. 10 hours 59 minutes is my 'dream' time. 10:59:59 or better would qualify me for other even more far-fetched adventures, should I ever choose to pursue them. But finishing in under 13 hours will be considered an official "finish" for this event and I would feel pretty darn good about an official finish.

I've been having kind of a rough 'head' day. This distance running thing (as with other endurance sports) is as much a head game as it is about legs moving and lungs delivering oxygen. So I'm not going to let my head get in the way of showing up. I just need to take one step, and then another, and another, and just keep taking them, for 10-13 hours or so. A wise man once said (to paraphrase) that endurance means not pulling up the flower to see how the roots are doing. Just let it keep growing and see what blooms eventually.

A similar concept is expressed in the Prajnaparamita (Perfect Wisdom) mantra - translations vary but the gist is "Gone, gone, gone beyond, always going on beyond, hail enlightenment!" The Sanskrit (though pronunciations tend to vary widely as well) sounds like "Gah-tay, gah-tay, pa ragahtay, parasahm gah tay, bo-dee swa-ha!"

Whatever your preferred mantra/invocation of endurance, you're invited to sing along at any point. My secret last-gasp endurance weapon in long runs and hard climbs on a bike is to sing all seven verses of "How Firm a Foundation." For one thing, it's got perfect cadence when you're trying to hang on but not going that fast any more. For another thing, there's all this stuff about fiery trials and deep waters and in every condition of sickness and health. For yet another, by the time you get through all the verses, you've covered some ground. And finally, the original version of the hymn as I learned it in childhood contained the words "You who unto Jesus, you who unto Jesus, you who unto Jesus for refuge have fled." Naturally it always sounded like "Yoohoo...Yoohoo...!" which is no doubt the reason why it was later changed. I still like saying "Yoohoo" unto Jesus though. I think He likes it too.

Aversion Happens

2010-12-09T18:12:00.000-08:00

While at Legal Services I got involved in an ongoing project to train other attorneys/advocates in "race-based" advocacy. If you are moved right now to gasp and exclaim that nothing should ever be "race-based" because we're seeking, or even that we already live in, a "colorblind" society where everyone has the same opportunities to succeed based on their personal merits alone, I'll ask you to as a favor to me to just accept, for the duration of your reading this post, that colorblindness is a pernicious lie with scientific research to prove it (if you believe that stuff they do at Harvard has credibility - you don't have to, but maybe just for this blog, accept that assertion too).

Of course there are all kinds of implicit, or unconscious biases, that are connected to other traits than race...gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, hairstyle, weight, height, disability, religion...and having any assortment of unconscious biases doesn't necessarily make one a bigot, because if it did, no non-bigots would exist. I would be willing to bet one million dollars on the fact that His Holiness the Dalai Lama has, with some frequency in his life, noticed the arising in his heart of aversion to a particular person or group of people, and furthermore, that at some time(s) in his life, he has failed, at least for awhile, to notice the arising of aversions. Go ask him, have him sign an affidavit, and send me a copy of it with your cashier's check.

I'm thinking of this right now because of the experience I just had in a sandwich shop. Well after the lunch rush, not that busy, there's a woman in an overcoat standing ahead of me either not yet decided on her order, or already being helped, because there is a young man behind the counter gesturing that he is ready to help someone, and she's not moving. I have a feeling of aversion to the young man. The boy. I don't like his scraggly mustache and slightly sunken cheeks. He doesn't look very smart. He looks like somebody who might look a little menacing if he were not wearing the shop uniform. I don't think about any of this at the time, I just feel it and go right on up to the counter and order as if everything is fine, because it is. I'm supposedly very polite and kindhearted, but I secretly react this way to people all the time. Another worker, a young woman, is assembling or prepping something or other. I feel less averse to her, she looks smarter and not menacing at all, though she's little scrawny and pretty in a very dull, conventional way that her coworker probably likes but I don't. So there's more aversion, though milder, and not then given any thought.

I've told the guy what I want, and he lopes off to get it, when suddenly the woman who had been standing in front of me pipes up. "Wasn't I next??" she demands. The guy is all flustered - "Oh - I'm sorry - I thought you'd already been helped - I thought she (the girl) was helping you." "No," she says. I gesture for her to please go ahead of me and for the crew to help her first. I notice she is engrossed with her Blackberry. AVERSION. This time, I notice that I'm having the aversion right away and set about to let go of it, while I wait for the girl to finish whatever she is doing since there are currently no other visible customers. I lean toward the other customer and say "I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize you hadn't been helped yet." She says "It's okay" without looking up from the Blackberry.

I repeat my order to the girl. I feel less averse to her then because she has a sweet smile, but she needs to speak up because I can barely hear her ask me "wuhdyoulikechipsoradrink?" Other customer is still at the counter, very focused on her Blackberry, thumbs a-flutter. Girl goes away and assembles my order. Yet a third worker is in charge of the register (confirming my feeling that the guy cannot be trusted to use it, and the girl is perhaps inadequately trained to do so - now is there some bias there, or what?). Other customer has already paid and gotten her food but she's still standing at the counter. I wonder what she's 'talking' about - it seems very, very serious. I think of many times that I have been or continue to be zoned out and in my own world in a public place, but I would never let my Blackberry come between me and my lunch.

I finally get my food, and my cup for the soda, and have paid for it, and who is now standing in front of the soda machine with her sandwich bag sitting patiently in front of the diet cola, but...yes. I walk over slowly so as not to cause alarm. I pretend to be interested in a freezer case full of ice cream (well, I didn't pretend, exactly). Then I decide I will just have to invade Text Lady's personal space to get my drink. I stand at one side of the fountain and reach out to fill my cup from a spigot at the other end, where she's standing. Unfortunately, she's standing right in front of the lids and straws. I walk around her and reach in, this time close enough to her person that she notices and says "Oh, pardon me" and steps aside. Still texting. While I'm getting my lid I am this close to saying, "That must be a really serious conversation you're having!" In my head I actually don't feel snarky about it - I would have meant it 90% sincerely, but she would probably only hear the 10% judgment/annoyance disguised as a joke - so I didn't say anything, and left her still typing away. I hope she was eventually able to eat. I hope she rode a bus to the sandwich place. But let she who is without sin cast the first stone.

It may have, in fact, been a really, really serious conversation. I visited a civil harassment restraining order court once and I learned a lot about the kinds of very serious conversations people have by text message, which the other person then saves on his/her phone and brings the phone to court to show the judge (who had to figure out how to use about four different models of phones that day) as evidence that Textor poses an imminent threat to the health and safety of Textee. But sandwich shop customer's conversation seemed way too long for that sort of abrupt content, and her affect was kind of blank. Just very focused.

I left out of this narrative mention of the races of the people involved. There were racial factors that I don't think played into my feelings of aversion at all, but definitely played into my ability to be conscious of the feelings when they arose. Does this conversation make you uncomfortable? If it did, when? Does my talking about my biases make you feel like it's safer to acknowledge yours, because you have them and we both know it, or are you thinking who the hell am I to say that, because you have absolute equanimity, you don't make unconscious judgments based on race, gender, scraggly mustaches, timid voices, and oblivious behavior? Are there some human traits/behaviors to which you feel justified in your aversion, to the extent you realize it's happening? Of course there are - endless legal and literal battles have been waged in the effort to justify aversions.

In "Wild Geese," a poem that has come to have the significance of scripture, or a prayer, or mantra for many people, including myself, Mary Oliver writes "Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine./ Meanwhile the world goes on." Since this post is almost done so it doesn't seem like too much more to ask, since you've made it this far, I'll ask one more favor: consider that there is link between our unexamined - not to mention our actively indulged/justified/exercised - aversions, and our despair. [Yes, of course I know there's a link between our greedy-grabby-clinginess and our suffering/despair, but sheesh, let's not go there now, okay?] "Whoever you are, no matter how lonely" -- typing the entire Declaration of Independence with your thumbs, word-by-word, from memory, while trying to order a sandwich; doing your best to hold down a job in a sandwich shop; distancing yourself from people by judging them based on their mustaches (how do I know, maybe his mustache is an immutable characteristic due to some kind of condition he suffers from) - whoever you are, "the world offers itself to your imagination." If you don't like what you see, imagine seeing it differently.

Time, shmime

2010-12-04T13:05:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since the last report here. November was a month of huge unrealistic goals, which as my massage therapist suggested, are a way to accomplish SOMETHING. Sort of like bargaining with yourself and asking for a lot more than you'll realistically ever get, except that instead of recognizing that, I just said sure okay why not! So have I been sitting an hour a day? Not even close. Did I write 50,000 words of a novel? Nope. Have I trained for a marathon? Yes, actually, pretty consistently, and the day of reckoning is here - allons enfants de la patrie, la jour de gloire est arrivée. I could go on anxiously and criticize my training as having been on the low-mileage end - but I've felt faster and stronger than ever so it's possible that I've done it right - and at any rate, it is what it is and tomorrow's time will tell.

Tomorrow's time will only tell if someone's calling out splits, though - because I decided at the beginning of November that I would run this marathon without a watch. I had a chance conversation with someone back in early October who told me that her best marathon time ever (and her best times were a lot faster than I'm ever likely to run) was when she ran without a watch.

I already run without headphones, but no watch?? Everybody lines up at the start with their fingers poised on the buttons of their fancy watches, some of which now talk to distant satellites and listen to your heartbeat and tell you how many calories you're burning and how fast you're going and where you're going and where you've been and how long it will take to get there. I thought that would all be good stuff to know. But there were/are a couple impediments to my investment in a Dick Tracy mini two-way wrist running coach: 1) I have teeny little wrists, and even most of the newer and smaller versions of the GPS watches won't cinch into a small enough circle to fit. I would need a wrist shim like you use for installing accessories on bicycle handlebars. If I'm going to spend $200-something on a wristwatch it better fit me. 2) Speaking of the $200-something, that's a lot of cash to spend on the delusion that having a watch will make me a better runner if the biggest challenge I face is getting out the door in the morning. If it came with a little shock collar that would go off if I weren't out the door by 6:30 a.m., maybe it would be worth it.

I had a reasonably priced Nike+ sportsband with a foot sensor last year, but it was hard to keep it properly calibrated, and it fed me lies about how far and fast I'd been going in my training and then dumped me hard when last year's marathon arrived. When the 'watch' part fell out of the wristband one day and got lost, I didn't replace it.

So I started thinking about the naked wrist idea. I first tried it out in a half marathon on Oct. 31. I ran as fast as I felt like I could. I listened to my legs, and my lungs, and thought about my feet turning over and my form and stride and foot strike on the ground. I had almost no idea what time it was during the hour and forty-five minutes it took me to finish, until I looked at the finish clock and was thrilled to see how well I'd done without having had much opportunity along the way to think about whether I was doing well according to any data from a wrist computer. Anyway, inevitably I'd hear other runners discussing split times and pace and how well their watches were telling them they were doing, so I had hints that I was moving along just fine even though there are times when it feels like the Holy Grail scene where John Cleese's Lancelot is on the far side of a field on a galloping horse and never ever gets closer to Swamp Castle until suddenly he's THERE. A-ha! Have at you!

(Come to think of it, that's pretty much what distance running feels like all the time.)

I don't wear headphones when I run (though sometimes I think it would be nice to have more control over what songs are playing in my head). This isn't due to any state of enlightenment I've achieved. I just have a very self-entertaining head. But time and pace, as reported by a watch, is something that runners (including me) tend to obsess about. I've noticed that obsessive thoughts have a weight and an energy demand - not to mention the physical exertion of looking at ones wrist probably a hundred times during a marathon - and the effort of sometimes pushing various buttons - so I'm experimenting with doing nothing but running while I run. When I find myself getting anxious about how much farther, how much farther, I try to let go of the distance and I imagine I'm running in one place, not going anywhere, just feeling how running feels, sometimes it's feeling good and sometimes not, but it's just my body doing work and all my brain needs to do is help it work as efficiently as it can, not get in the way.

Funny thing, the brain - right now it's putting butterflies in my stomach, it's dreaming of a PR, maybe even a Boston qualifying time, yet tomorrow I know for a fact it will turn on me and start wringing its little neuron hands and telling me this is too hard, ohmygosh, how can we go on, what if it all falls apart, what if we did all that work and still don't break 4 hours, we're not really bioengineered for efficient running, our feet do that funny sideways flip-thing and we look knock-kneed and dorky just like we did in junior high except now we're approaching middle-age and have compromised cartilage...why do we keep trying to do things that we're not really all that good at? To any or all of that monologue, I will just have to say "So what? Can the legs keep going? Yes. Pain level is not debilitating? No? Okay then. Pick it up and run." One-two one-two one-two one-two one-two.

In the 20-mile "Paul Reese Memorial Clarksburg Country Run" (I've since learned that the great Paul Reese was a 'buttonhole relative' once removed and I'll claim him any way I can) I did three weeks ago -- my last long training run -- somewhere nel mezzo del cammin de nostra vita I decided to try counting my steps for a mile. Can't vouch for accuracy -- I used my fingers to tick off what set of tens I was on -- but I counted about 1500 steps. If that's in the ballpark, it would put the whole marathon at just under 40,000 steps. Hmm, now I'm not sure why I wanted to know that. I think the point was supposed to be that even a big number is a finite number. Whatever I'm doing, there isn't any way to skip steps, they all have to be taken.

My novel didn't make it to 50,000 words in November, but we're still moving along with pen to paper, and all my interior monologue about writing is remarkably similar to that of running. In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott calls this monologue (in the writing context) "Radio Station KFKD." People who run with headphones or who employ other distractions are merely trying to drown it out. If I were to turn the headphones up loud enough to drown it out effectively, I would have permanent hearing damage, so it seems to work better if I can practice listening around it - whether to the voices of the Muse or the call of the wild - the wolf loping easily over miles and miles of wilderness, the polar bear swimming to -- arrrggghhh! can't think of that either. On the other hand, I do know for certain where I'll find my ice floe tomorrow - at 8th and Capitol - and I'll have ample time to see what time it is when I'm sprinting up the finish chute.

10,000 +/- BEAUTIFUL mistakes

2010-10-24T23:20:00.000-07:00

I'd initially started this post, getting so far as the title, after a conversation about not over-editing. The concept was to just type a post for all the world to read without deleting, revising, deleting, revising...on a sentence level. The typos I catch as I write I can't let go of. Other issues, maybe, okay. It is really hard to do this, in a private forum let alone this public one. But so far I've gotten through however many sentences this is without redoing any of them.

I need to sit a lot more. Or else change the title of the blog again, to something that doesn't imply a quantitative goal. A Zen truism(?) is that life is comprised of "ten thousand beautiful mistakes." I can't make that the title of my blog because the editors are saying probably ten thousand other blogs are already out there with that title. And I can't grind this post to a halt while I research that assertion. Another part of aforementioned conversation was a suggestion that writing could be, or what if it were, possibly at all, in a different universe, like running. I don't go back to re-run the same block over again if I didn't like how I just ran it. I just keep running, and go on to the next block, for better or worse. What if writing were like that.

I actually almost did have to re-run some blocks in San Francisco yesterday (was it only yesterday?) due to becoming slightly lost from my carefully mapped-out path that was intended to be a 14-mile loop of the outer Sunset, Golden Gate Park, the Presidio, and back on the Great Highway. My favorite quadrant(s) of the City or "the City" as they say around here. The foggy, tree-lined, oceanic side of town. Not always tree-lined but I can't go back and fix that sentence. Alas. Quite sandy and wind-swept in places. And rain-soaked, but not until this morning. My run Saturday morning was merely misty. As I was saying. All was well until I got to the Presidio where for a former military place you'd think they would mark their trails a lot better. And then leaving the Presidio I found a lovely dirt path alongside Lincoln, down which I veritably bounded and might have glided if I were a flying squirrel. ('Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat.' 'Again?') Sorry. Not editing overmuch doesn't have to mean stream of consciousness. But maybe for now it does. Anyway, to summarize, I had a tour of Baker Beach, some batteries (the kind that involve cannons), a golf course or two, and the VA Hospital. Some parts of San Francisco I'd never really seen. I asked somebody for a little help about the time I reached the VA to point me in the direction of the Great Highway/Point Lobos after which I needed only to run south as fast as I could go.

The other part of the problem was that I was supposed to have been somewhere already about the time that I got the directions for where to go before I could get to the place I was supposed to be. I'm always - no, I'm very often - late because my ability to estimate how long it takes to do a thing usually leaves all the editing process out. By that I mean all the blocks that have to be re-run, the wrong turns at Albuquerque, as Bugs Bunny used to say before he ended up somewhere in mythical Arabia or a bullring in Spain. In truth, I don't know what the reason is. The reasons. But I am sorry for the frustration this causes other people. The 'contrition verse' for which I will break the 'rule' of this post by stopping to look up to make sure I've got it right goes like this. More or less.

All my ancient twisted karma, from beginningless greed hate and delusion, born of body, speech and mind, I now confess openly and freely.

Greed, hate and delusion sound awful. Especially if they're beginningless. Twisted karma doesn't sound so good either. Especially with that possessive pronoun.

I don't know where exactly I'm going with this. It was an experiment. Does it make you uncomfortable? It's definitely making me uncomfortable. I just remembered that I wrote down another quote, though, on a scrap of paper, when I was not managing to maintain a high level of active social interaction in a group of very nice, thoughtful and witty people and so sat outside of the 'circle' and picked up a book, which was Thich Nat Hahn (further evidence that these people are very kind and thoughtful) and read these words:

"When you understand, you cannot help but love. You cannot get angry."

I've been stuck for about five minutes just reading that sentence and not knowing what else to say, or putting together all the things I do know into various formulations without trying to write them out so as not to break the rule about not revising this post. It's late, and the weekend with its times of engaging and times of separation or rather of engaging with other people and engaging with only myself; of knowing where the road was and not knowing; of exceeding expectations in delightful ways and of failing to meet them in unpleasant ways; is done. Tomorrow the clock starts over and a whole world of beautiful, beautiful butterfly-like mistakes will fly to their migratory tree in...I don't really know how to finish that metaphor. You get the picture. However difficult the understanding may be, however slow in coming, however late for the party, however off the pre-plotted course, however unexpectedly lovely and surprising, I see it is all I want. I want to understand completely and thereby love helplessly. That's all. Whether and whatever anybody else understands is their own deal. It's okay, actually, if this didn't make sense in places, because it doesn't have to. I'd like to tell you it won't always be this way, but I can't. Or, maybe I can - it will only be this way this time. I could re-run the block but my feet still wouldn't hit all the same places, and the sun will have shifted in the sky, and it will have begun to rain somewhere, and the overheard conversations will have different words, and I'll look up from my computer to see that the dog has moved from napping on the floor to napping on my bed with her head ON MY PILLOW. Oh will you ever be done with this, I imagine her saying, because dogs are an excuse to talk to yourself and/or to insert third opinions into conversations with other people but that is really a topic for some other time.

too tired to think of a title

2010-10-11T22:04:00.000-07:00

In lieu of striving for enlightenment I think I'll just work on staying awake for 30 minutes at a time. Not that easy. Through years of schooling, sitting in meetings, and now sitting zazen, I like to imagine that I've somehow developed the ability to play off my hypnagogic twitching as merely turning in my seat, adjusting my posture, nothing wrong here, you've got my full attentio... AAH!

If the title "Buddha" or "Bodhi" means "Awakened One," does it mean permanently awakened, or intermittently awakened? How do you say "Frequently Startled Awake One" in Sanskrit? Maybe the more often I doze off, the more awakenings I will accumulate, ergo the more Buddha-like I'll be. Even as we speak. I dozed off right in the middle of that sentence. Can you feel the enlightenment just zzzzz. Huh?

Ripley Roshi

2010-09-26T20:32:00.000-07:00

(Shown here in one variation of her "reclining Buddha" pose.)

I've generally preferred sitting at hours when Ripley is asleep in her house, but Day 2 of the sitting experiment occurred on a "furlough Friday" and I had an early morning class at the gym, so I ended up sitting plumb in the middle of the day. Ripley is an avid power-napper throughout the day, but when the sun is up she's likely at any moment to spring wide awake ready to protect the herds from invading Normans, or the Hound of the Baskervilles, or Luftwaffe, or the UPS guy.

Frankly my head was a mess most of last week. Buzzing like a hive of worker bees about to go on strike. Making up imaginary versions of real people and rehearsing endless arguments with them, and arguing about arguments. This happens to me, to some degree, about once a month. This last lunar revolution, though...holy hormones batman (so THAT'S why sitting on Monday was fun, and sitting on Thursday, not so much.)

As I tried to sit on Friday, the head dialogues sometimes degenerated into random word generation, and from there into a sort of word mush - like the noise of a lot of people talking mostly unintelligibly in another room.

It's easy to get quite put out with oneself, and ones noisy, messy, annoying head, under these circumstances. And Ripley seemed to think it was noisy too, because every thirty seconds she had to stand at attention and bark, at the door, at me, at the cat, a butterfly flapping its wings in Ecuador...whatever. I thought, ah Ripley, I wish she'd stop barking, but it's what she does. I'd say 'Tssst!' to her and she would stop for a minute, and I would go back to obsessing about how annoying the inside of my head was. Then she grabbed one of her toys, came over to where I was sitting , and started pushing it at me - right in the gut, since I was sitting on the floor. Nudge. Look for reaction. Nudge. Look for reaction. Nudge. This struck me as quite funny all of a sudden. I took the toy from her and scratched her head and rubbed her velvety ears. She stretched herself out against my knees and laid down. Reclining Buddha (at least the smile, if not quite the same arrangement of limbs).

It's easy to muster lovingkindness for my barking dog, she's so cute and furry. Maybe I could have a little more compassion for my barking head. Ripley Roshi also gave me a koan to work with - "how much IS that doggie in the window, arf arf?"

"Well the first days are the hardest days, don't you worry any more...."

2010-09-23T17:13:00.000-07:00

I love the song "Uncle John's Band," especially after years of singing it in harmony with my sisters and friends. But the opening admonitions are a puzzle. The next line seems intended as an explanation of the first: "...'cause when life looks like easy street there is danger at your door."

So the message here is that the way things appear, and the way they are, are most probably not the same; i.e., don't worry about apparent difficulty, and don't assume that easy street, though perhaps well-lit, is in a safe neighborhood.

One other question before laying the Dead to rest - so the first days are the hardest days, but does it work the other way? Are the hardest days the first days? First days of something we weren't aware of having begun?

Okay. The whole reason I got on the "first day" subject and went off into a song lyric tangent, as is my wont, is that last Monday I wrote my name on a sign-up sheet saying that I was going to "sit" (meaning practice zazen) for 100 hours in 100 days. And (this) morning and the evening (will be) the first day, and it was hard. If I had shown up as I did last Monday at the local Sangha after months of not showing up, and had a "sitting" experience then like the one this morning, I would have thought "okay, I've completely forgotten how to sit and should warm up gradually before I do anything crazy and pull a brain muscle." But no. It was all serene and lovely and I had such nice realizations about the relationship between breathing and metta. So when the group discussed a plan to commit to sit 100 hours in 100 days, I was all, like, sure dude, why not?

Actually, I was not "all like" that. The 100-hour commitment seemed like one of those things that part of you knows will be so helpful and good for you to do, but that, given a chance, your mind will talk you out of, because it is a threat to your mind's sense of immense self-importance and authority. So I listened to other people talk about how they felt about the idea of sitting so much and tried not to think about how I felt or didn't feel about it. For one thing, trying to do anything worthwhile on a consistent basis because I feel like it has never worked out very well. But sitting happened to 'feel' very worthwhile and good that night, so I drove the car off the lot, and this morning, Day 1, which coincidentally is three days after I metaphorically bought this vehicle, it started making all these funny noises.

So I'll be sitting with that. The first days are the hardest days. Don't worry. It's not what it looks like.

Summertime...and the livin' is easy if you're a dog

2010-07-01T22:21:00.000-07:00

I spent the past weekend in Chico for the last big home improvement push before my condo went on the market - a push that succeeded despite my starting out with nary a grasp of how much work would actually be involved, thanks to the huge generous efforts of friends and family and hired help. Thanks Heather, thanks Mom and Dad, thanks Amanda for the early start on the painting, thanks Oscar and Angel for showing up for a good day's work. But I have to also thank these dogs for making sure that Heather and I got out in the morning to enjoy the park. Here are Mica and Ripley swimming and splashing in Little Chico Creek.

Water dogs from Emily Fisher on Vimeo.

Hello? Still there?

2010-06-11T19:35:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile. I have so many good things to report, so many thank you notes to write, so many NorCal AIDS Challenge registration sites to prepare for 2011 - well, only one, actually, but still. Rather than back up and try to cover everything I think I ought just to start with the lately in hopes of sometime winding my way back to the early.

So here's to lately. Getting my Chico condo ready to put on the market. Wish I'd taken a truly 'BEFORE' before photo, before the dark brown cabinets were painted in contemporary "Delta Sandbar" and the ailing split-pea soup-green countertops were pried up (and the chipped porcelain sink unhooked). I didn't think that far ahead though...in fact I'd changed my mind about three times in one day about what to do with the countertops. Did I dare try taking them apart? Using a power saw? Messing with plumbing? And what to do about the top of the backsplash (where there used to be a custom-shaped sort of narrow laminate bar top in the same baby poop color as the rest of the countertops)?

I've made so many trips to Lowe's in the last few weeks that I know my way around the store better than some of the employees. Good to have a Memorial Day weekend is a great time to buy stuff too, and Black and Decker jigsaws were on sale, so I was all set. I remembered the adage "Measure twice, cut once" but it sounds a lot easier than it was. Jigsaws are for cutting curvy lines. Maybe next Memorial Day I'll go back for a circular saw. Still, I don't think I made glaring mistakes that would still be visible when it was all done. I was encouraged by how it sure enough looked like a countertop and a sink when I fit the pieces together.

Many hours and a few more Lowe's trips later...tile all set...plumbing / disposal / dishwasher works...there's still one slow leak in the cold water connection under the sink, but I'm hopeful that it will respond to additional muttering, tinkering, and plumber's putty, before I have to give up and call a real plumber. A few finishing touches and my first major DIY home improvement project will be done, thanks to the painting help from my awesome housemate Amanda. Next on the list: the bathroom. It was done in the same exciting 1970s color scheme so I can provide photo evidence of why these upgrades will hopefully result in increased marketability in 2010.

The Hills were Alive...

2010-04-29T23:36:00.000-07:00

...with the sound of cycling cleats awkwardly clopping and scraping their way up the baking asphalt. Baking enough for late April in Napa County, at least. This notoriously hard climb, Oakville "18%" Grade, had cooked our collective geese and decked our halls. I asked the two serious-looking, club-kit-clad women trudging ahead of me if I could "draft" and the one in front of me said 'sure, hop on my wheel.' Ha ha ha. Cyclist humor. Even funnier was that this climb was "timed" to give us the sensation of what it's like to ride in the real "Tour of California," just like Lance and Levi except for the walking part. The celebrity male pro, George Hincapie (who is famous for previously being on Lance's team and has a line of cycling clothing), having led off our ride from Davis, CA at 7:30 a.m., scooted up Oakville Grade probably a mere three hours or so before my attempt for the summit. I like to think that maybe he at least he had to stand in the saddle and grunt or swear a little bit. It is supposed to be the toughest climb in the Napa Valley.

As we reached the crest of the hill I saw the "Climb Finish" sign, and the sensors that you're supposed to ride over to register your climbing time and get your "King of the Mountains" points for being so fast. I quickly climbed back on my bike and surged forward across the sensors, shaving off a good 20 seconds from my hike, and letting out a joyful Whoop! A rider I'd seen periodically earlier in the ride sat with several others by the side of the road next to their bikes, trying to recover. She must have missed something because she muttered "wow...good job..." and sunk lower into what appeared to be a dark afternoon of the soul. Maybe she was congratulating me on my cheerful countenance.

Once we were over Oakville, the next climb up Trinity Road was long and winding but completely in the shade. Shout out to the guy who was having a bit of trouble dragging his a** up the lovely shady road and tacked back and forth, back and forth, right into my considerably more direct path. Thanks for making me stop for a minute after you forced me to ride off into the shoulder - it was just the little rest I needed.

On the downhill side of Trinity Road I had to stop again (deliberately, of my own free will) to let my wheels cool off. I hate it when the brakes start to make that melting noise. I guess the idea is not to have to use them quite so much, but my already keen self-preservation instinct has been reinforced occasionally by the results of others' apparent lack of any. Still, descending is a skill to develop, just like knitting or Sudoku puzzles.

And suddenly, 113 miles and nine and a half hours after leaving Davis, I flew down the blissfully flat streets of Santa Rosa to the finish line. I was almost too tired to eat my "free" burrito post-ride dinner. All that chewing. My friend Lisa loaded my bike into her truck and was patient with my surly mumbling throughout the rest of the evening as she drove me back to Sacramento. Special thanks to Heather of the a.m. crew, too, for being patient with the anxious muttering and rocking and rummaging through bags. It's just better for everyone if I stay on my bike. The befores-and-afters are the really hard parts.

Next Voyage of the Kon-Tiki

2010-03-23T07:58:00.000-07:00

Construction is nearing completion on this amazing feat of Scandinavian engineering, made possible through the generous assistance of my 'sponsors' and several hours of labor donated by my friend Lisa who put the frame together. Here you see I have completed one half of the support slats, a model otherwise known as the "Sultan Laxeby" (I prefer to call it the Kon-Tiki). Please note that each one of those pieces of wood, and each plastic connector, and each slider that adjusts the stiffness of certain sections (center of the photo) was disconnected from its neighbors when it arrived. Actually the plastic connectors are joined in sets of 3, so that helped. While not quite ready for full launch, I was able to sleep on this half with my Therma-Rest air mattress last night and found it significantly more comfortable than the floor. A truly good night's sleep is visible from the deck.

Kind friends all gather 'round

2010-02-25T22:51:00.000-08:00

This photo was taken a few years back (a few more than I think I want to calculate, perhaps) of my friends Lisa (left) and Denise (right). I believe this is Zabriskie Point in Death Valley. One of the things I've always loved about this photo, besides the friends in the foreground, the clouds in the background, and the chipmunk poised to attack Lisa, is that for whatever reason it seems that Denise wasn't looking at the camera. Smiling and posed for the picture, but just a little bit in a different reality. The camera didn't lie.

Denise was a therapist and, from what I know and observed about her, spent much of her life studying traditions and practices of spiritual healing. I once watched her interact with people in a workshop she directed - she had an obvious gift, and I mean that in the best sense of our shared religious heritage - a spiritual gift of healing. Sometimes a wounded healer, but one who persevered in the difficult work of self-understanding right down to the wire.

I didn't get to see her often enough but oh boy, did we all have some fun adventures - canoeing down the Green River, music festivals, great meals, "camping" in comfort and style (generally holed up in a well-stocked trailer), biking, singing...I got the feeling that Denise wasn't halfway about anything. She had a pretty much full-tilt approach to life. I am deeply grateful she was my friend, and I'll miss her. Next week I'll get to sing some songs she requested at her memorial celebration. Kate Wolf and k.d. lang.

I also learned during my last visit that Denise had for the last few(?) years been practicing Tibetan Buddhism. We talked about the refuge of our respective sanghas. So I'll send something from the Bardo Thötröl into the ether. If she doesn't need it I'm sure she'll pass it on to somebody who does.

O daughter of noble family, listen without distraction.

Now when the bardo of dharmata dawns upon me,
I will abandon all thoughts of fear and terror,
I will recognize whatever appears as my projection
and know it to be a vision of the bardo;
now that I have reached this crucial point,
I will not fear the peaceful and wrathful ones, my own projections.

...

May I know all the sounds as my own sound,
may I know all the lights as my own light,
may I know all the rays as my own ray.
May I spontaneously know the bardo as myself,
may I attain the realms of the three kayas.

[Homage to the Three Treasures]

what's going on?

2010-02-11T21:47:00.000-08:00

A lot. I moved, partially. I said goodbye to some wonderful coworkers & friends at LSNC, who sent me off with lots of warm wishes and cake, and started a new job with the State of California. And what a State it is. I learned that my visit to an ailing friend at Christmastime was the last time I would get to see her, at least in this go 'round, but I had the honor of taking her song requests first.

I have a dog at my feet and a cat nibbling his kibble, and tomorrow is Furlough Friday, and I have a long interesting to-do list that includes tax return preparation and a long-awaited fundraising appeal for this year's NorCal AIDS Challenge - which is going to be a record-breaking milestone event for lots of reasons, not least of which my PARENTS are coming! My dad is riding his BIKE for 300 MILES! He's 62 going on 40 though so it's okay. My mom is going to be my right-hand co-pilot in the crew truck I'll be driving. I'm thrilled they are coming and Team Fisher is going to kick butt, especially if you, dear reader, sponsor us. My parents are already way ahead on their fundraising though, so go ahead and just donate to my page, right here. :) It all supports Sacramento / North Valley HIV/AIDS services. In my last two years participating in this event my eyes have really been opened to crucial these community services are - lives are getting turned around for the better - hence my desire to drive a truck around the valley from 5 am to about 5 pm for three days in May (day four is a little shorter, thankfully).

alleluia, alleluia, amen

2010-01-20T22:56:00.000-08:00

I woke up hearing this on the radio while I was still in bed. The last segment of the woman sitting singing under a tree was my favorite. There is great comfort in singing to oneself, and comfort to others.

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

2010-01-11T20:12:00.000-08:00

Kato has packed himself and he's ready to go. I told him it was a little early though - and anyway I'd originally planned to put books in that box. He's still got at least a couple weeks before he has to endure 90 minutes or so in a car. On Thursday I was offered, and accepted, a job down in Sacramento with the Department of Community Services and Development. Feels like it will be a really good step. Also a really big one. Stay tuned.

What you don't want to hear at the start of a spinning class

2009-12-15T20:16:00.000-08:00

Particularly when you haven't been to a spinning class, or on any sort of bike ride at all, in a couple months, you don't want to hear the instructor say, gleefully, before class, "I just signed up for the Death Ride! I'm so excited! It'll be my third time!"

Actually I don't think her spinning class would have been all that hard for somebody who's already been to it a couple times. Spinning is very adjustable to wherever you're at in your bike-fitness, and however hard you want to / are able to push it, but I was having trouble adjusting my workout to a low enough level that I could keep doing it for an hour. The secret is to start from a low enough amount of resistance that you can actually keep pedaling when told "Give me a quarter turn! Okay, give me another quarter turn!" etc. etc. Maybe I'm still tired from the marathon. And maybe it might have had something to do with having eaten a whole loaf of bread in three days (homemade by yours truly, and almost perfect, but for letting it rise in the pan too long, which I think was the cause of the big hole in the middle when it baked - I should have just filled the hole with jam or Nutella or something), along with several bowls of turkey soup made from my FIRST ever wildly successful turkey roasting experience (prompted by an office party last Friday).

I'm just glad I made it to the class and didn't have to wake up at 4:30 a.m. to do it. This class was at a very reasonable hour, 5:30 p.m. And the instructor turned on an extra fan and pointed it toward me when she observed that I was trying to fan myself with a towel.

I asked her about her Death Ride experiences after class. She said the first time she "only" finished four of the five mountain passes in the ride, and she was determined to do it again the next year and finish the whole thing, "hell or highwater." Those were pretty much the available options, since it started raining on them after they ditched their rain gear just before pass #5. But she did it, and now she's doing it again. Some people don't have a lick of sense. It's a relief sometimes not to feel compelled to try to do certain things (like the Death Ride). At least not in 2010. Mercifully, registration is already full.

Go as easy as you can

2009-12-09T22:16:00.000-08:00

They weren't kidding about the cold. With all the people crowded together at the start though, it wasn't too bad. It took me at least two or three minutes just to get to the starting line, a situation that would have caused me more frustration if I'd been closer to my wishful-thinking pace. Here's the news footage of everyone taking off. The beginning, at least for us middle-of-the-pack folks, is a pretty amazing collective sea of humanity experience. Then the honeymoon thrill of togetherness wears off and everybody has to go meet his or her own giant, some giants being more friendly than others, but still giants.

Yes, I managed to thwart the obvious efforts of the sport photography folks trying to prevent surreptitious downloading of the proofs of their pictures. Sorry about that. But now their watermark can enjoy free advertising on my blog, so that should be worth a little something. When you care enough to make your race photos outrageously expensive, I recommend them.

Views of the finish. I had a good sprint up that stretch of Capitol Ave to the finish line, never mind that maybe 800 yards before that I was walking. Walking as briskly as I could. An old Jennifer Stone saying came to mind - "Go easy, and if you can't go easy, go as easy as you can." This was a 'running theme' of my marathon though I didn't really plan it to be. I held back in the first half, which is probably why I got all the way into the low 20's before things got really, really hard and I started saying things like "Hey, I never have to do this again, so just enjoy this while it lasts. Don't be in such a rush to get it over with!" and also a 'thank you, thank you' mantra. Meaning thank you for my life, thank you for being able to run (and walk). Thank you thank you thank you.

So during and immediately after the marathon, and as recently as yesterday, I was indeed thinking how nice it will be to get back on my bike, do less painful kinds of exercise, etc. And I will. I need time to recover and regroup, and time for my feet to forgive me. I don't know if the marathon is really 'my distance,' as much as I may wish it to be, or if it was just that my training was too thin, or that I've still got the dregs of a cold, or all of the above. But I'm already feeling less averse to the idea of more running than I felt on Sunday when I could barely walk and pretty much just sat on H's sofa moaning for advil and cookies.

p.s. - I think my Nike+ wristband thing has been telling me sweet little lies about how far and how fast I've been running. Either that or I actually managed to run a marathon that was two miles longer than everyone elses on the same course. Time to recalibrate.

Around the corner

2009-12-02T21:45:00.000-08:00

Well, Sunday is the big marathon day. My training wasn't exactly everything I'd hoped to accomplish, but it never really is. I've definitely been taking it easy the last couple weeks, partly due to getting a cold immediately after the 20-mile run I did two weeks ago and partly due to sitting around eating delicious cake and pie and fantastic curry sausage stuffing all the blessed Thanksgiving weekend.

I see that my big 1.8 mile run this morning wasn't enough to make my little Nike cartoon person start jumping hurdles again...but Sunday will put the life back into her. (Almost) all downhill. Just have to keep a cool head, think about people who have suffered or are suffering way more than I will be and have no choice in the matter, keep on truckin', and not be too attached to the outcome. How glorious to be able to stand and walk, let alone run. How lovely to wake up at 4:30 a.m. to catch a 5:15 bus to the 7:00 a.m. start. (Choice in the matter, choice in the matter. Yes. I signed up for this.)

Liberty and justice for all

2009-11-23T12:45:00.000-08:00

This story is a few weeks old but I only just encountered it this morning. Kids like Will and my nephews and no doubt others you know who are such incredibly smart, perceptive and compassionate people give me hope for the future of our country and the world. Hopefully the conditions causing Will's objection to the wording of the Pledge will be remedied. Hopefully we won't have to wait for him to be appointed to the United States Supreme Court first.

At seventeen, you learn the truth

2009-11-11T16:16:00.000-08:00

This video makes me cry. Sometimes people are so terribly dear, hobbling valiantly along, while other people cheer and ring cowbells, for no logical reason, they're all just compelled to do it. Though I did just get back from a 17-mile training run, and a client recently told me that running makes your brain release its own personal stash of cannabinoids. Or something like that, he didn't really go into the neurochemistry of it. No wonder I have so many brilliant ideas while I'm running and can't remember them later. So it's possible that I'm high. But you still just have to love people to bits sometimes. My favorite is the older gent with the dark green shirt and light green shorts (or was it the other way around?) He's really booking along. At some point the person shooting the video says the runners going by are looking to finish in 4 hours. That made me cry too. That'll be me in LESS THAN FOUR WEEKS. Dude. What? I'm hungry.

A truth universally acknowledged

2009-11-02T20:36:00.000-08:00

No better prequel to a month of novel writing than to be a great Character for Halloween. Thanks to "Time Traveler Costumes" here in town I was able to hire most of the key articles, but some were already in my possession. In the course of the Holiday weekend, I:

gave flowers to an elegant Lady
was delivered from peril by a young Scholar
attended a Country Ball
was asked if the Sideburns were "real or fake"
became Famous somewhere in China
wrote about 1300 Words
ran 18 Miles (in two days)
ate no small Quantity of Candy

In all, an excellent weekend.

eat and / or be eaten

2009-10-25T22:17:00.000-07:00

This is a wonderful concept of broad application - nature and the food chain; a zombie attack; and if, say, Jonah of Biblical fame had enjoyed sushi. Unfortunately for the 'big fish' [NOT a whale, they always insisted in Sunday School, because as we all know, whales have TEENY TINY throat openings by which they filter their krill, so a whale could not have possibly swallowed Jonah, and it's very important to apply Occam's Razor-sharp rational thought processes to Bible stories because so many readers of the Bible have a seriously impaired grasp of metaphor. In fact, Jonah made his home in the abdomen of an Ichthyosaur like the 40-foot long fossil in Nevada, off I-50 - the "Loneliest Road in America." I've been wanting to go see for a long time. Oh - but that can't be, I just read on Wikipedia that the Ichthyosaurus was not actually a fish. If God had wanted the story to say that Jonah was gulped down whole by a giant marine reptile, that's what it would have said. Never mind.]

As I was saying, unfortunately for the big fish Jonah was indigestible and caused it acute gastric distress.

I still love this fish story though. I've acted it out now and again...the longer you avoid things you really have to do, the more your life conspires to make you do them, to a degree that can feel a little dark and cramped. I've evaded / avoided / excused myself from some work it seems I really need to do, for whatever reason. So now I find myself single with a social life consisting primarily of a dog, a cat, Facebook, some emails, and a phone call now and then, and I'm totally frigging broke, and the market for jobs that might help that problem is a bit...tight, let's say.

National Novel Writing Month begins in one week. I've never wanted so much to avoid doing something I so much want to do. Because because because because because. I have no narrative! I have no outline! I don't know who the people are! Don't you have to know these things? What if I manage to write every day for 30 days, and end up with random pieces of 30 different stories? What if I lose all control over the process and become really deranged, like Colonel Kurtz in "Apocalypse Now?" Or the guy from "The Wall" who smashes everything in the hotel room and spells words on the carpet with the fragments?

Okay, it probably won't be quite that bad. The worst I can imagine is that I might be driven to holler and cuss. This is the girl who, in high school, was too self-conscious even to yell during football games. I've come a long way. Trust me on that one.

"NaNoWriMo," if I manage to participate, will not fix anything, but it would be a reasonable use of the opportunities currently presented. I don't know about Jonah but I do love sushi. How do you eat a very big fish? One slice at a time, with wasabi. Doesn't get any fresher than this.

Greased Lightnin'

2009-10-20T11:09:00.000-07:00

I decided to take Ripley on the 3-mile jogging loop this morning, so we could both get our exercise in. When Rip decides she wants to go in a particular direction, she can go very fast, but we don't always agree about the direction. When this happens it gives the appearance that I'm strangling my poor little dog by selfishly trying to run with her dragging behind when her stubby legs can't keep up with me. Ha. So with that in mind I don't generally expect our runs together to break any speed records. When I'm on the path in the park I tend to keep her on a leash because she hasn't quite learned to move aside for bicycles - actually she seems inclined to deliberately obstruct them, if it's up to her. For running I use a leash that clips to my waist, for better balance. And sometimes a pull into town.

This morning there was a little bit of disagreement, early in the run, due to some interesting activity happening on the path behind us. Ripley doesn't like having other dogs behind her, must be a herding thing. But then she decided that her interests lay ahead and took off. She was pulling me along at probably at least a 7:30 / mile clip for a good hundred yards or so, then we finally slowed down a little. Finished 3 miles in 26:53, averaging an 8:52 / mile pace. Not bad for a short dog!

That's right.

2009-10-15T22:27:00.000-07:00

So many books, so much time

2009-10-12T15:50:00.000-07:00

My Zen teacher / friend Lin Jensen is giving a talk and reading from his books next Saturday. It just occurred to me that although I'm familiar with selections from his books, because he shares from them occasionally in his weekly talks at the Chico Zen Sangha (which meets upstairs at Trinity United Methodist Church every Wednesday night, a true interfaith experience), I've not yet read any of them all the way through. I'm such a fan of Lin and his writing, and the Sangha has been so helpful for me, that this seems a rather glaring omission. I guess it's time to go pay my fines at the library and work on remedying this lapse. I have an old pattern of going to the library, getting very excited about several books that I'm sure will be utterly life-changing or will prop up my literary ego in some way, bringing them home, reading parts of some of them (maybe) and keeping them until they're all overdue. Still, it's much cheaper to do this at a library than at a bookstore. I think I owe the Butte County Library about $5.00 right now.

Audio books have helped a lot. I churn through those pretty fast. Our local library has a limited selection of books on CD, but when I discovered Audible.com it broadened the horizons enormously. Unfortunately Lin's books haven't made it to Audible yet. I'll have to sit down and read, and not try to do two or three things at once. Psh. It's a buddhist conspiracy.

Payin' the cost to be the boss

2009-10-04T23:00:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting on the couch at my friend Lisa's house with an ice pack on my knee(s) (sounds like a song, doesn't it?) but I just looked up the results from the "H.O.T. Half," (Hooker Oak Trail Half Marathon) that I ran this morning in Upper Bidwell Park - a gorgeous day, cool enough that I never got too uncomfortable in my long sleeve shirt. I say "ran," but that included some brisk hiking up steep parts of the trail, mincing down steep parts of the trail, and a lot of hopping around between rocks. There was also one point in the middle when I stopped for a few seconds because I felt like I was going to barf. I didn't. Just needed to stop for a second, apparently.

Anyway, I looked up the race results a little while ago only to discover that I took 1st in my division! I guess I should have stuck around for the awards ceremony. Good thing I'm still in my 30's, the competition among 40 - 49-year-olds was a little stiffer. Something to look forward to. I think somebody was taking official race photos so I hope there might be something to post later...it was so beautiful in the park, but it was no barefoot stroll. Knowing I'd be spending a few hours driving later in the day I took advantage of the free sports chiropractic / massage they offered after the race. I see that this (professional help) is something that needs to be a regular component of my training program. He fixed my sore lower back right up and showed me how to work on my very tight iliotibial (I.T.) bands with a foam roller. "Foam" implies something much softer than this felt. I did this for awhile, determined not to give up any more information than my name, rank and serial number.

The little Nike cartoon in the sidebar is reporting that my run was 14.6 miles, not 13.1. Maybe that's due to all the rock hopping and weaving around, and the hiking up and the tiny steps down. Or maybe it just gives me bonus points for trail running. So much more fun than the boring old road, so much more demanding of focus. I still had a soundtrack in my head though. Early in the run when I was feeling quite energized and hot to attack it was Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries...later it was the climactic passages of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, though I couldn't tell if I was feeling Russian or French. Later still it was Pink Floyd's "Run Like Hell." Maybe my brain thought singing songs from "The Wall" would help me avoid hitting it.

"She was the single artificer of the world in which she sang"

2009-10-03T17:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the birthday of Wallace Stevens, one of my all-time favorite poets, who happened to have been a lawyer, and subsequently vice-president of an insurance company, and whose life was "quiet and uneventful" according to poets.org. And to be fair, he does sound a bit like you'd expect an insurance lawyer to sound when he reads, but The Idea of Order at Key West is not something you can skim quickly and hope to get, so the pace is probably helpful. It has unfolded for me over a period of almost 20 years. There are still things in it that I can't quite get my head around - they make sense on a level that I don't know how to explain, and the language is stunning, as if events are happening in a world that resembles ours but isn't, quite. Maybe getting ones head around it is not so important.

I can't think of Wallace Stevens without feeling gratitude for the person who really introduced me to him and who gave me the volume I have of his collected works, probably circa 1991 or thereabouts...can't remember for sure. Thanks, Laurie.

Stream of consciousness be dammed

2009-09-24T09:45:00.001-07:00

I was going to call it 'train of thought derailed' but it wasn't really a train, just a series of things going through my head as I walked Ripley this morning, which came to a screeching halt when I got stuck on not being able to remember the name "Elizabeth Taylor." The process of getting there was so odd, though, that I am compelled to write it down.

It began when I saw someone walking one of those Portuguese water dogs, or a dog that looked a lot like one of those dogs. That made me think of Bo, the Presidential dog. Bo Obama. That naturally led me to start singing "The Name Game" in my head, because obviously it's easier to say "Bobama" than Bo Obama. The Name Game lasted for quite awhile as I ran through everybody's name I could think of, including a few repeat rounds of Ripley Ripley Bo Bipley, Banana Fana Fo Fipley, Me My Mo Mipley, Ripley! Then I began speculating about whether my littler nephews (or even the not-so-little nephews) would find the name game quite entertaining and I imagined demonstrating it for them next time I see them. Then I imagined, for heightened nephew (and self) entertainment value, that it would be good to add a special dance that is danced for any particular person's name. I thought about some potentially very silly dances. Then I imagined telling them it would be "their own interpretive dance."

Then, naturally, the line "If I can't dance my own interpretive dance, I won't dance at all" came to mind, from the film "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" I thought about what a depressing movie that was, with the couple going down into the depths of mental cruelty to each other, and how I probably wouldn't want to ever watch it again. Then it happened: I couldn't remember the name of the lead actress. Despite running through several of her best known films, i.e. International Velvet, Cleopatra, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and so on. The name 'Elizabeth' was coming but the only last name that came up with it was Montgomery, and of course I knew that was definitely wrong -- "Bewitched" was my favorite of all the syndicated re-run shows though I was never able to grasp what Samantha saw in Darren - either of the Darrens. Anyway.

The other name that kept coming up was Joan Collins and I knew that was wrong too. Elizabeth. Elizabeth. Overdressed lady in a wheelchair, friend of Michael Jackson...a thing like this can drive you insane. It went on for at least five minutes. Then, suddenly, I got it. Taylor! HUGE sigh of relief. Stream free to flow again.

I'd better start doing more crossword puzzles, or something. It could be a long next 50 years. I can see myself parked in a hallway, singing the theme song to "Bewitched." Or perhaps playing the name game with everybody who walks by and dancing my own interpretive dance. Worse things could happen.

One more song...

2009-09-20T14:22:00.000-07:00

loathsome earworms, karma, etc.

2009-09-20T10:58:00.000-07:00

Who knows how or when these things get into our heads, but heading out for a run this morning my internal stereo was plagued by a certain perennial patriotic country/pop song I dare not name, for fear of infecting my readers' heads with it as well. I am happy to report that I was able to get rid of it by substitution with the classic, stirring, patriotic "Wasn't That a Time" - originally by the Weavers but I'm very fond of the PP&M version. No video but you can listen to it here. So - if you ever are suffering from the earworm to which I'm trying not to refer, know that there is a cure.

So I watched the BYU - Florida State game yesterday. It was on the Versus channel, my favorite cable channel EVER (and one of the few I get with basic cable). I have a little bit of ambivalence toward BYU but I really wanted them to win one for the Mountain West. Or at least not be smeared all over the field. Which they were, pretty much. Things might have gone better if they hadn't had such a spirit of generosity with the football. Reflecting on the game while running this morning, though, it occurred to me that the 'Noles are sort of like the Utes of Florida. That makes the crushing loss not seem so bad.

But oh, the glum faces in the stadium. Why did BYU lose so badly?

They were completely outplayed. But apart from that, the question raises a serious and pervasive spiritual fallacy. That suffering or loss is ever something inflicted by God as a punishment for sin (at worst), or as some kind of deliberate 'teaching moment' if you can't see why you / someone else would 'deserve' what happened. Conversely, that everything good and desirable that a person might want or enjoy is assigned as a reward for personal righteousness. Gain or loss is neither a blessing nor a curse, it is a situation arising from the continuous playing out of cause and effect. I'm a heretic (if you hadn't already noticed) but I just don't believe that God is the great Skinner Box operator in the sky, or a micromanager of the universe so as to interfere with the system of cause and effect, as much as we might sometimes wish for interference. But I do believe in the blessing of gratitude and acceptance. That is probably the only thing we ever really need and lack, and it's the only blessing I can think of that isn't a little bit mixed.

Mary Travers 1936 - 2009

2009-09-17T09:38:00.000-07:00

"'It's not your duty to finish the task, it is your duty not to neglect it.' If war and hunger and racism were easy things to get rid of, I would assume we would have gotten rid of them already." - Mary Travers, 1993

Thanks

2009-09-07T20:12:00.000-07:00

Having just a little trouble coming back mentally from happy-birthday-holiday-weekend-land so it's a good time to express gratefulness to my parents for providing me with 1) a birthday, 2) a world-class location in which to have celebrated it sharing the weekend with good friends, and 3) a brand new car!

Just kidding about #3. Ha ha.

I did get a parent-sponsored new fridge for my birthday though, which I very greatly appreciate, as I learned awhile back that fridges are more essential than cars. I already have a vehicle that runs perfectly well but my old fridge was circa 1990--doesn't seem like it should be that long ago, but it is, considering other events that took place that year. The gentlemen that came to pry it out and haul it down the stairs commented that it seemed the kitchen, and perhaps the entire building, had been constructed around it.

You can always decide to bike, walk, bus, or stay home, but there is really no alternative means of keeping ice cream frozen.

Speaking of my truck, my friends washed it for me as a surprise birthday treat (I'm going with that over the 'in pity and disgust' option). Thanks!

Also, Heather cooked the best veggie enchiladas ever and made sure there was cake and reminders every quarter hour on Sunday that it was my birthday. At my age one begins to need prompts, or so she said. Thanks!

Juniper Lake 2009

2009-08-21T20:37:00.000-07:00

Arrived Wednesday afternoon and we got comfortable. Note that Ripley's whites are mostly still white.

Checking the park's website before this trip I learned that the trail to Lassen Peak was closed due to a terrible accident on July 30. A 9-year-old boy hiking with his family was sitting on a rock wall along upper part of the trail when it collapsed, and he was killed in the rock fall. I have thought a lot about that over the last few days, watching the sunset behind Lassen Peak.

Ripley voted on which bed she thought looked more comfortable. As the calm assertive pack leader, however, I have veto power. Sort of.

I borrowed a kayak from one of my coworkers and launched it onto the lake Thursday morning. The wind had already come up a little bit. First thing in the morning, Juniper is glassy-smooth.

I reminded myself that kayaking on a lake is supposed to be a relaxing, meditative activity while I was paddling for the opposite shore of the lake as fast as I could. Because it's easier to relax and meditate after you've worn yourself out in a frenzy of purposeless activity.

There is a lot of dust and dirt in the Juniper Lake campground but there is less than before we arrived, since my dog soaked up about half of it. Whites not so white any more.

Thursday afternoon after a little nap I hiked up to the latest in my collection of Lassen lakes - but this view is overlooking Juniper.

About 400' up and 3/4 of a mile from Juniper Lake Campground is lovely little Crystal Lake. I had a much needed swim - Ripley thought I smelled too bad and was threatening not to sleep in the tent if I didn't clean up. Hmm. Didn't play that one too well, did I? The swim was delightful, though, until I started thinking about Grendel and Lord of the Rings and what dreadful things that might live down at the bottoms of small mountain lakes. I laughed at myself for being so silly as I got out and my heart rate returned to normal. From the exercise.

This morning I took the kayak out on Juniper again, hoping to catch the earlier morning still water time. Didn't quite catch it - had a nice relaxing meditative hike with Ripley (dogs are good for that kind of thing, as is hiking while carrying a travel mug) - but close enough. The water is different colors in different spots on the lake, depending on depth, but here it was a sort of Caribbean tropical blue-green and I could see all the way to the bottom, maybe 20 - 30 feet.

I couldn't take a picture of this but last night I stood by the lake and could see stars reflected in it. That light traveled all that way just to bounce off some little lake in the mountains. At least I saw it. Another year when I camped there I talked to a guy who took his kayak out at night and said he saw the stars in the water, and it felt like he was drifting in space. I would like to try that some other time when I have a buddy along, preferably one who can yell 'Polo!' when I yell 'Marco!' Nothing against Ripley. [She claims she was just warming up my space for me, she never intended to sleep there - but then she fell asleep. I'll have to remember that one in case I ever need to use it.]

3:59 in '09: A New Hope

2009-08-04T22:08:00.000-07:00

Emily (not shown in photo) is pleased to announce that she is coming out of retirement and intends to participate in the 2009 California International Marathon in Sacramento on December 6. The 2006 CIM was the last time I put myself through that - came close to my goal of a sub 4-hour race but didn't quite get there. Overran the first 13.1 miles and had a split time of 1:45 - burned up in the second half and finished in 4:03 . Three years, major knee surgery, and lots of bicycling later, not to mention some other pretty dramatic life changes, I think I'm ready for a do-over. Anyway, now I've signed up and active.com says they don't do refunds. I need to work on getting my right leg more flexible and aligned properly - it doesn't swing the same as the left. Maybe never did but now it's worse.

This presents endless opportunities for planning stuff on calendars. I will be posting updates of the week's plan to invite public accountability into the process (to the extent that anybody cares - they probably shouldn't).

Climbed a mountain and turned around

2009-07-18T18:19:00.000-07:00

Start of the trail up Mt. Lassen
Wildflowers everywhere. And mobs? swarms? flocks? of butterflies, even up at 10,500'.

Pristine, icy Lake Helen far below. I touched the water there once on another trip and it felt colder than the snow from which it had melted. A swimming pool for a higher order of beings, perhaps.

Since this hat was the replacement for one that got stolen on an Amtrak to Salt Lake a few years ago, I was not about to risk it being blown away into the void. Chin strap - check.
There is always room at the top, if not solitude.

Near the crater at the top were a lot of these lumpy boulders that looked like they were warm when they landed, like great big cookies shot out of the oven (though the cookie-shooter is a hard to find optional feature on most kitchen ovens). To use the scientific terminology.
Mt. Shasta through the haze, over the rim of the Lassen crater. It looks like it's the only thing left in the world from this perspective.

The whole hike, including the pause at the top to send some text messages and update my Facebook status, took three hours. It's a steady climb up for 2.5 miles but not technical and all ages of people were moving up or down the trail. Sneaking off during the week sometime would likely offer more of a serene hiking experience, but on the other hand, one can't help but be glad that people are out showing their kids what the world looks like from the top of a mountain. And a volcano to boot.

Red River Valley

2009-07-12T09:43:00.000-07:00

After about 20 years of playing the guitar without really knowing what notes were in the C or G or Dm7 or F# chords I was playing, as all along I've been playing by ear and using chord charts and reading tabs, I am at last learning to read standard notation for guitar. It's really not too hard so far to pick it up because I can read music, just never learned how to translate notes on a staff to places on guitar strings. I don't know why it took so long to get around to it. A client who plays classical guitar loaned me an old copy of "Mel Bay's Modern Guitar Method Grade 1" to get started and also recommended the "Carcassi Guitar Method" published by Carl Fischer, which I just ordered on Amazon. The latter looks like something that could take awhile to grow into. Meanwhile I can work on When the Saints Go Marchin' In and Aura Lee and 'From this val-ley you say you are lea-ving...'

Memory Bike Lane

2009-07-04T10:02:00.000-07:00

I've been doing more thinking about riding than actually riding lately, though hoping that between the Tour de France (Go Levi!!) and what I hope will be a series of awesome photo-rich recaps of this year's NCAC (no pressure, Heather), I'll get motivated again. Highly recommend having a look at Heather's recap of Day 1 here or with the link over the sidebar...maybe you'll get motivated too.

Wagons East

2009-06-22T21:15:00.001-07:00

My alarm is set for 4:30 a.m., can't say if that means I'll be waking up at exactly that time or not (could be earlier in the antici...pation, or could be later, but hopefully around that time) to finish loading up the truck, including the talented Miss Ripley, and head to UT for a couple days to visit my people. As I have not yet updated all of 'my people' as to this plan, some of you may read this and wonder if I'm trying to sneak in and out of the state without so much as a let's-have-lunch or other appropriate refreshments. My plans were a little wobbly until nearly the last minute but I hope we can meet up sometime during my 48-hour or so visit. And have appropriate refreshments. That aren't too hard to chew...the left side of my mouth is still full of stitches and plumber's putty. Feel free to call and entertain me while I'm driving tomorrow, if I don't call you first.

I probably really should be at work this week. But the highway and my hours and hours of Dickens' Bleak House on mp3 are calling. And my people.

First step, shut eye.

New parts

2009-06-20T18:05:00.000-07:00

Smiling for the camera after my surgery yesterday. The installation of the secret data transmitter was successful and I should now be able to start podcasting and making calls by clicking my teeth together three times.

A list, at least

2009-06-16T21:56:00.000-07:00

of everything I can remember having thought about for posting topics in the last two weeks:

My parents' 38th [corrected from original post] wedding anniversary was May 28th. No small feat.
My weekend with the Buddhist monks up at Shasta Abbey and remarkably being able to fall asleep before 9 p.m. Without pharmaceutical help. Oh the impermanence.
My first practice criterium. Bicycle race! Bicycle race!
Tried to take a video of Ripley playing with her vegetables before eating them up but waited until too late in the day, she was worn out and just laid down on the rug and ate the broccoli without throwing it in the air and snorting and barking at it first. I'll try again.
My first big Costco shopping experience for the company picnic. The photo of my cart full of five dozen hotdog buns for five dozen hotdogs, similar quantity of hamburgers / veggie burgers and buns, a flat of tomatoes, a 15# bag of onions, two bags of charcoal, a case of diet Coke and Shasta soda (incidentally not available at Shasta Abbey, in case you wondered) etc etc turned out blurry but I might try to post it later anyway. I realized why the original plan had been for TWO people to do the shopping. It was probably a job for two shopping carts.
Getting to work by 8:30 or earlier EVERY day last week and this week so far, and cleaning my house, and digging out my office. My boss wonders what happened at the Abbey.

Catching up

2009-06-01T20:37:00.000-07:00

Most of the month of May seems to have escaped discussion so far, which is too bad because really quite a lot happened. Those highly detailed and photo-filled posts about the Unknown Coast took up a lot of blogging energy. Unfortunately I didn't have my phone set up to send posts by text (or audio) during the NorCal AIDS Challenge mid-month - of course I would only have sent text messages while I was not operating a motor vehicle, which actually wouldn't have left much time to send them - but at least there would have been some updates.

It was an awesome, inspiring event, made no less inspiring (maybe more so, actually) by the fact that I was on the support crew instead of on a bike this year. The reference to Kansas in my last post was made with certain stretches of the NCAC route in mind. There is a beauty to wide open farmland that is enhanced by air conditioning.

[Here's Jen, one of the strong and lovely NCAC riders pointing out a sign atop Table Mountain.]

I really enjoyed my task on the crew and took it maybe a little more seriously than was necessary - which made it kind of funny when on the morning of Day #4, when I was all exercised by the need to leave extra early ahead of the first group of riders, and I'd checked with my route-marking co-pilot the night before to make sure she'd be ready to go on time (which she was), I lost my keys and spent an extra 15 - 20 minutes looking for them while co-pilot good-naturedly helped me retrace my steps from the night before. Pride goeth before lost keys. They were right where I'd left them so I wouldn't lose them, I just forgot I'd put them there. Keys notwithstanding, though, no riders got lost, so I reckon we did a good job.

When the day's work was done and people started settling in to their tents for the evening I got to put on my troubadour hat (metaphorically...though I guess the hat in this picture could be a troubadour hat...why not?). I'm glad people enjoyed it because to a large extent I think it serves a similar function for me as purring does for cats.

Special thanks to the people who took these photos, which I stole from their Facebook pages because I failed to take any of my own.

Previously, on (the) Lost (Coast)...

2009-05-20T20:54:00.000-07:00

Where was I? Oh yeah. Suddenly, it appeared. Here it is again in case you forgot.

"It" being the Wall, of course. I need to come up with a Homeric-ish trope for it -- 'the fearful quad-destroying path' or something to that effect. Open to suggestions.

When I saw it I understood that my concerns had not been unfounded, though I was so tired of riding up the beach in the headwind that I was glad for something different (theoretically) and also to have reached what felt like the dramatic peak of the whole ride. As I approached I thought it would be good to call on the goddess of the Wall that I would be allowed to humbly pass over it. It seemed like such a route must surely have its own local minor deity. There was a little rest station set up at the foot of the hill and I watched people straggle up, start tacking back and forth, back and forth, and (frequently) stop and start hiking. How far would I be able to get? The steep part seemed to have sub-sections, a little warm up at the beginning before it launched straight up into space and then 'relaxed' into a almost-straight-up section before turning the corner and becoming just a regular steady climb of a mere 8 - 10% grade instead of 18 - 20%.

I slurped down some "CHOCOLATE OUTRAGE" flavored Gu, containing caffeine for that extra bit of outrageousness, mustered my valor, and set out. I knew right away that I had a limited number of pedal strokes I'd be able to manage before reaching what the weight training community calls 'muscle failure.' I didn't think to count though. I stood up in the saddle and began tacking back and forth across the road, slowly, like most everybody else, wondering if the shallower plane I achieved thereby was worth the extra distance. Every time I changed directions I felt a little surge of panic and increasing doubt about whether I could keep going.

If you click on the photo above it will open up in a much larger version where you can easily make out the four little people winding their way up (plus a fifth person starting out near the bottom). Note that the person nearest the top is walking. Approximately where you see the third person down from the top is as far as I got before I jumped off my bike with very wobbly legs and shaky arms, and hiked from there to the first level place after I turned the corner. The steeper a hill, the more upper body strength required to give you enough resistance to keep pedaling. At least that's the theory I just made up and it sounds like it ought to be true, considering how fast my arms got tired.

Here I am after hitting the Wall.

While I was hiking, some grizzled ol' hardcore cyclist feller rode by and made a comment all of which I couldn't quite hear, to the effect of "[blah blah blah]...females doing this, you should feel very proud of your achievement." I thought despite the gender reference it was meant to be sincerely complimentary and encouraging. When I got back on my bike after my refreshing hike I passed him and didn't see him again for the rest of the ride. I hope he felt proud of his achievement too.

After the Wall and the after-wall there was a lovely plunge downhill (the Unknown Coast can't seem to get downhill without plunging) into a beautiful little valley, before starting to climb again into the second to last phase of the ride known as "the Endless Hill." As opposed to the all the other hills which I guess are not considered "endless." One thing I frequently tell myself about hills, though, is that they always end somewhere. Early in this climb I felt totally out of steam and had to hike for maybe half a mile. I think this is where I really hit the physical / mental 'wall.' I thought about that "100-Mile Finisher" patch and it seemed like very inadequate motivation. I could just come back and try again next year. I was more than nine hours into the ride, including lunch and rest stops, and it seemed like that was way too long, Auntie M had probably stopped wondering what had happened to me by then (in reality it was the opposite, I just have to work in those Wizard of Oz references whenever possible).

Once you start walking, it's hard to know when you're ready to start riding again, but I finally reached a place where the road flattened out a little bit and I thought, okay, let's give it another go. Amazingly I felt so much better. I got into a steady pace and (as far as I can remember) didn't really have any trouble with the rest of that climb, most of which was still ahead of me at that point. I heard somebody tell another cyclist about the 'false summit,' warning him not to let it break his heart, so I was steeled against heartbreak when I got there and then had to start climbing again.

Mile 92
It was late enough in the afternoon by the time I reached the final rest station, mile 92, that the Humboldt Fog was coming back. A very friendly young man with an assortment of musical instruments sat in the back of his van, and pointed out that along with the sliced oranges (yes!) he also had sandwiches (no!) but didn't think anybody wanted them at that point - not anything wrong with the sandwiches, but my tummy was feeling a bit outraged by then. He also bore glad tidings that we were basically done climbing once we rounded the next bend.

He was right. The Endless Hill ended and the final phase, another plunge down Wildcat Road into Ferndale, began. I let out a "I'm getting my 100-mile Finisher Patch" whoop and took the plunge.
There's no place like home.

I want another patch next year. Both my Aunt Merilyn and my Aunt Sylvia's driveways up there in Humboldt County are very like a Wall in miniature; I figure I could train by riding back and forth between their houses. Oh - and don't forget to go back and click on the photos. The bigger size really starts to capture a bit of how stunning the scenery was. Makes other places seem, well, kind of like Kansas.

Ready to Roll

2009-05-12T23:13:00.000-07:00

In all my carrying on about Tour of the Unknown Coast, I haven't mentioned that the NorCal AIDS Challenge starts Thursday. I will probably have to wake up around 4:00 am...or so...I think...maybe just a little after that...to get my wagon together and drive up to the starting point by Folsom Lake. Then my route-marking co-pilot (who I've not met in person yet) and I will take off and start putting our brightly colored signs pointing out each and every place where two roads may diverge in a yellow wood (or an almond orchard, or a rice field) and it would make some considerable difference, if not all, should a rider take the road less traveled, in this case.

Heather posted a link to this news video from last night about NCAC on her blog, but I wanted to see if I could get the video to work here. Such nice looking people on this ride. Good thing they did the interviews before rather than after, I don't know that my heat rash and bruises last year would have had quite the same visual appeal.

Tour of the Unknown Coast, part 2 (the middle part)

2009-05-11T22:08:00.000-07:00

At the brief stop in Honeydew, one of the other riders mentioned that lunch was only nine miles up the road, at A.W. Way County Memorial Park, and there was one more hill between us and it. I'm not sure which one was the one she meant. In studyin' up on the ride, I was so preoccupied with the big hills that I forgot to notice how not flat most of the rest of the ride was. The stretch through Avenue of the Giants to the foot of Panther Gap was mostly flat. The stretch right along the beach leading up to the infamous Wall was flat in a cruel joke sort of way...so windy I had to shift into my biggest gear to keep crawling along at 7 miles an hour. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Lunch featured more tasty sandwiches and even more choices than at the rest stop, plus homemade vegetable soup, and the usual cookies and chips and Gu and powdered sports drink mix. The mechanic fixed my front derailleur. I probably stayed at the lunch stop longer than I would have if not left to my own 'fuffeling,' as it has been called (though I haven't decided how to spell it).

Refueled, I got on the road again uphill and down, roughly following the Mattole River. Seemed paradoxical that the river could flow downhill all the way to the sea but we had to keep riding up.

Reached the town of Petrolia and felt reassured by this sign that I'd been somewhere and I was going somewhere. Only 30 miles to go.

Apparently in Petrolia they have their own language, called Hamburgese, as demonstrated by the sign below.

I'm not sure if the position of the sconce on the wall is meant to serve as an apostrophe, which of course would dramatically change the meaning. Hamburgese has a limited syntax, but with many possible meanings dependent on context. If I hadn't stayed so long at the lunch stop, perhaps I could have studied this further. Aunt Merilyn, who is very knowledgeable about local history and lore, told me later that the Petrolia Store (which either serves plural hamburgers, or is owned by a burger) is also the unofficial seismograph for earthquake activity to which this area is prone. When there's an earthquake, word goes out, "How much damage at the Petrolia store?" whereby the locals can estimate the magnitude of the quake well ahead of the USGS.

More unnamed roller coaster hills. Roller coaster in relation to the big ones, but some about the size of Steiger / Cantelow / Monticello Dam in Winters where we've done a lot of riding. I began to worry that I wasn't going to feel very rested up and ready by the time I got to the Wall. I thought about the Wall all the time. As one might infer from previous blog posts, I thought about it all the time before the ride too. I still wasn't ready for it.

At around 75 miles, we crested whatever poor nameless hill and got our first view of the ocean. I shall name it Hill Where You First See the Ocean. I'm sure there's a language that could say that very succinctly. In Hamburgese, for example, it's probably just a picture of two hamburgers, one being the hill and the other, the ocean.

As I hinted earlier, my dream of a flat restful ride 6 miles along the beach was blown away. A small group of riders were far enough ahead that I couldn't catch up to benefit from their windbreak. Definitely an advantage to riding with some friends even if you're not trying to go all that fast. Taking turns drafting and pulling means less work for everybody.

Then at 79 - 80 miles it appeared.

I just now realized what lovely wildflowers are lining the road.

California's toughest century? (part 1)

2009-05-10T21:55:00.000-07:00

In honor of Mothers' Day, to test the genes for perseverance I like to think I inherited, and in pilgrimage to the area where she grew up, I finished the 100 mile Tour of the Unknown Coast on Saturday. I rode my bike at least 98.5 - 99 of those miles, and hiked a little bit on the hill they call the Wall. More about that later. Here we are heading out of the town of Ferndale, the dairy heartland of Humboldt County (the cows there really do look pretty happy).

Doesn't take long in these parts to get out of town. Here we're taking the back road to Rio Dell. I got to an intersection that can be clearly viewed from my Aunt Merilyn's front porch up on the hill and I waved vigorously but found out later she had gone back to bed. She said she thought about the likelihood that I would wave when I passed, though. Good enough.

Here stopped at the first rest stop near Weott and Humboldt Redwoods State Park. "Avenue of the Giants" country. I like wearing my sushi jersey because I'm shy, and it entertains people and encourages them to talk to me. Though mostly only about sushi and jerseys.
I was pleased with the sandwich choices. Plentiful. I had a tasty little tofu sandwich at this rest stop (from the vegan box) in order to make sure that they saw people eating them. You don't have to be vegan to appreciate having a choice other than lunchmeat or PBJ. Though I like those too.

From the first rest stop we headed further south, where, on not too steep a hill, my chain fell off when I shifted in to my front 'granny gear' chain ring. In the past when this happens it usually results in falling over because I can't get my feet unclipped before I lose all momentum. (Spinning your feet around and around when the chain isn't attached doesn't help at all, but it's hard to stop yourself from doing it.) Happy to report that I did NOT fall over this time, nor the next time about 30 miles down the road, and the mechanic at the lunch stop adjusted it for me so no dropped chains. Good thing, if it had happened on some of those hills, I would definitely have met the asphalt.
Turning west onto Mattole Road (almost rhymes with pothole road) I was glad for the pothole-dodging practice I've had in my training rides. After rattling along for several miles we came to another little rest stop and I topped off my bottles and put on sunscreen, since the morning fog had burned off. I admired this gentleman's mustache and his hat.

Around Mile 40-something came the first big climb of the ride, Panther Gap, with wooded switchbacks climbing steadily for about 2,500 feet. I had agreed with myself ahead of time that it was okay to stop wherever / whenever I wanted to, whether to take pictures or rest. Early in the Panther Gap climb I stopped at a different sort of rest stop -- didn't stay, though.

During my 'attack' of Panther Gap I caught up with a couple women who appeared to be in their late 40s. One had Markleeville Death Ride "Five Pass Finisher" jersey. Jerseys are good conversation starters. I asked her how this ride compares to that one and she said "Oh, this is much easier." The Death Ride is in the Sierras, 129 miles and 15,000+ feet of climbing depending on how much of it you can finish. I'm not (yet) tempted by it. They asked me what my hardest ride had been and I said "This one." They asked how many times I'd done it and I said "Just this time." One of them kindly said, "You're a strong rider, you'll do fine." I made that my mantra for the rest of the ride. I am a strong rider, I'll do fine. I am a strong rider, I'll do fine.

Summit of Panther Gap!

Here I am with the sign marking the top. It's good to be king.

The view as I started the descent down the west side of Panther Gap was lovely. The west side of the hill is much more steep and twisty than was the ascent up the east side, making one both grateful and fearful to ride down it. Earlier a helicopter had flown over, and it turned out it was to pick up a cyclist who had wiped out on one of curves. Everyone knew where the spot was because of the great big red splotch on the road. Reportedly he suffered a broken arm and cuts to his forehead, hence the splotch, but it looked worse than it was. By the time I passed that spot all I saw was the splotch. It was not a good place to try to stop for a picture.

At the foot of the treacherous Panther Gap descent was the quaint and curious forgotten town(?) of Honeydew. They have a cute little store and some large pickup trucks there. Not sure what goes on in Honeydew but I think something does.

To be continued...

A couple more photos from the soggy ride

2009-05-04T18:32:00.000-07:00

Heather and I smiling at the deceptively not-rainy start, and Vincent, my Bodhisattva (or patron saint, whichever tradition you fancy) of Bicycle Tires.

(Thanks, Mindy, for the pics.)

Singing in the rain

2009-05-02T22:24:00.000-07:00

(Photo courtesy HMR)

Gave the Wine Country Century a go in Santa Rosa today. It was probably the worst ride I've ever had, period, if the criteria are feeling good while riding and going the distance I set out to go. I was in denial about the weather from the start. I was dressed for moderate wind and cold but I didn't consider how I'd feel if / when I got completely soaked. The times that I ride to work in the rain (which are few), I make quite a point of putting on my rainpants and a jacket. To go a distance of just over a mile. Today, when rain seemed fairly likely, I wore my long sleeves and knee warmers and wind vest. Intending to go a distance of 100 miles. Something's wrong with this picture.

On the other hand, if it's feeling appreciative for good friends and kind people who volunteer to change your tire(s) when flat, even though you are capable of doing it yourself (assuming you're not shivering too much to grasp a tire lever), who try to hug you warm while somebody changes your tire, and who drive out in their truck to rescue you at mile 44 or so when you finally decide you've had enough--if these things are the criteria for a good ride, then this ride was the best ever.

Another note to self - the fancy CO2 tire inflating cartridge I've been riding around with for a year (without any flats) appears to be missing a part and didn't work. It's probably a good idea to test these things out before you need them.

I'll be all the more prepared next week. Rain or shine. I sound like I have a good attitude, and it has improved a bit over the last several hours, but I'm still working on it. They say if you keep smiling when you're in a bad mood eventually your head will catch up with your face. The same goes for singing in the rain. Neil Diamond and Brandi Carlile at the top of my lungs. It helps up to a point, anyway.

Happy Birthday Ripley!

2009-04-25T21:48:00.000-07:00

She's asleep right now and not available for comment, but she's asleep because she had such a good day running around in the park and swimming in the creek with her cousin Sydney (a mini Aussie shepherd who lives in Santa Rosa). Tomorrow will involve more of the same, no doubt.

The next really really big thing

2009-04-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

This Chico News & Review article set me off on a long flight of fancy last night...hopefully not just fanciful, though. These Chico 50-somethings rode their bikes from Chico to the coast via Forest Highway 7 through the Mendocino National Forest. Since I moved to Chico I have had many flights of fancy about doing that very ride, finding that Northwest Passage if you will, but last summer the flight of fancy was somewhat weighted down by the experience of actually trying to drive the route in my truck. Beautiful, largely uninhabited country. Lots of trees. 60 miles of gravel and dirt road "maintained" by the Forest Service on whatever budget they had left for such things last year, and a 6000' elevation gain. I thought, over the hours and hours it took to drive it, well, maybe this isn't really a doable thing. But then these people (Bob and Christina Aranguren) went and did it. One of my favorite quotes from the article:

After not seeing a single human being for a day and a half, the Arangurens walked into the little store at Eel River Station and asked, “Do you get any cyclists in here?” They indicated the summit now behind them.

“No, nobody does that,” the store clerk replied.

“Then we told her, ‘We just did,’ ” said Christina. “She looked at us like we were aliens.”

I emailed the reporter and asked her to forward my contact information to the Arangurens. Apparently they're planning to do it AGAIN, and this time two other couples are joining them. Their route to the coast took them through Laytonville and over Branscomb Road. This summer may be too soon for me to plan this and get my very eager potential touring buddy Tim and his new Surly Long Haul Trucker trained up for that climb, but maybe I could at least set up a little lemonade stand for the riders as they go by the homestead near the coast.

Nothing to worry about here.

2009-04-22T06:30:00.000-07:00

The elevation profile for Tour of the Unknown Coast. It's just like life with its little ups and downs. Or bipolar extremes. Whichever.

Worried? Me?

2009-04-21T12:27:00.000-07:00

I never worry about anything. This video of the second half of the Tour of the Unknown Coast lacks sound so you can't hear the screams.

When we were cruising down the other side of the Cantelow hill near Winters on Sunday, Heather said "I'm scared for your ride," referring to the T.U.C. Then the wind in my ears going downhill got too loud for me to hear anything she said. Actually it was hard to hear what she was saying on the flat stretches too. I think my ears might be due for another powerwashing. Conversations on the road sounded something like this:

H: "Wuhhh wuh wuhh wuh."
E: "What?"
H: "I said wuhh wuh whuh wuh."
E: "What was that?"

I need one of those two-way helmet radios that motorcycle riders use.

We were both (not so) fresh from having ridden 100 miles the day before. My ride was considerably flatter so I had to pretend to have a sore knee to justify not being able to keep up with her for the last ten miles.

Recovery tips

2009-04-21T09:30:00.000-07:00

Photo I found of North Butte of the Sutter Buttes. The Buttes still have their green springtime coat, though not for long -- it was in the upper 80s on Saturday. The north side is my favorite -- with the jagged green mountain, rice fields and dense orchards, it looks like I imagine Thailand or Vietnam (and the few times I've seen this view have been on a bicycle, which enhances the feeling of being in a different country).

I have a deal with myself that I can go to In 'n Out (my favorite hamburger chain) on days when I ride my bike more than 30 miles. It used to be 20 but that seems too cheap. I could carry on about In 'n Out right now and this would become even more of an In 'n Out ad, which is not really my point. Suffice to say that on Saturday after my 102-mile Bike Around the Buttes, I went to In 'n Out and for the first time tried their "Double - Double" (2 meat patties x 2 cheese slices) with the secret off-menu code words for sauteed onions and extra sauce, a.k.a. "animal style." Delicious. That was after the bowls of baked beans and potato salad they had at the finish in the little town of Sutter that hosts the event. When I rode in some folks were discussing what they might do to spruce things up next year and considering the bold step of having a massage therapist onsite for the riders. Sutter is basically the Preston, ID of California, only a little smaller and less famous. The folks are very friendly and put on a fun ride though, with aid stations staffed by the VFW and the Moose and Elks or maybe they were the Eagles...I can't remember.

At mile 101 of the Saturday ride I started having some pain in my left knee, which got somewhat worse on Sunday during the 42-mile ride in Winters. I have two weeks before the next 100-miler to rest up. I'll do the R.I.C.E. regimen for a few days but I hope to be at In-N-Out again before that.

(Hmm. I thought the "I" in RICE stood for "Ibuprofen" and the "C" stood for "Cold," but apparently this is not the generally accepted meaning. It could also mean "In-N-Out" and "Coca-Cola.")

To be continued...

Balmy weather

2009-04-17T21:42:00.000-07:00

I've heard Target carries Bag Balm but it's way over on the other side of town. So far I've been to a Walgreens, two Safeways, a RiteAid, and an outdoor / bike shop, no luck. Turns out I probably should have just gone to the Feed & Seed store instead. I forgot that the product was named for what it was originally intended to do as opposed to its 'off-label' uses. I learned during the NCAC ride last year that it works ten times better for long hours in the saddle than any of those fancy creams they sell in bike shops and (if I could find some) costs about half as much. It is petroleum-based, though, and therefore probably doesn't decrease our dependence on foreign oil. If I were riding my bike 150 miles this weekend to go somewhere I actually needed to go, that would more than make up for a few dollops of petroleum jelly. But I'm not. Bright and early driving down to the Sutter Buttes in the morning to Bike Around them (the Buttes).

I'll be thinking of my sisters who have been training so hard for the Salt Lake City half marathon which is also tomorrow. I think Bag Balm probably works on feet too. It is a miraculous substance.

Milestone

2009-04-16T21:32:00.000-07:00

I'm sure that some members of my family have experienced this dozens of times and it's no big deal, but it was technically a first for me -- somebody at a public meeting (which was being recorded for rebroadcast on the local TV channel) said the reason I disagreed with him was because I am a 'socialist.'

While there were a number of points on which we disagreed, and even more on which I'm sure we would disagree if we only had more time to explore the full scope of our disagreement, the particular topic was affordable housing development policy. Note that this is a "citizens' advisory committee" established to provide input to the Planning Commission and Board of Supervisors regarding our county's General Plan update. As far as I can tell based on appearances, everyone on the committee is indeed a citizen and his or her ancestors may even have arrived on the Mayflower, unless some undocumented Canadians snuck in to mooch off the free pizza that the county provides at the meetings. That's actually why I joined the committee, which only proves I'm a socialist because I support this government pizza entitlement.

Apart from, or rather concurrently with, my socialism and the pizza, I'm really there because of my job, and the lack of any low income / non-white citizens on the citizens' advisory committee. I don't think that's any fault of the county; I think it might have more to do with not having any childcare, or not having a car, or at least not one that runs, or not speaking English very well, or being too ill and confused, or just not thinking anyone will listen to you because historically nobody has. Or maybe being too tired.

It's part of my job to advocate for policies that will result in production of affordable housing. One such policy is 'inclusionary housing.' I'm tired of giving my speech about it so I won't right now; suffice to say that some people think it's part of a communist plot to make the system of personal merit and responsibility irrelevant to ones opportunity for decent shelter. The man who called me out on my socialism had posed the very interesting and provocative question, "Is everyone entitled to a house?"

I tried to answer using my secret ninja moves from the government. I said, "Everyone is entitled to have the opportunity for housing and it's up to the individual to decide what he or she will do with the opportunity." Straight out of the Little Red Book. He went on to say how he worked all his life, etc. etc., it's the American dream, etc., arbeit macht frei, etc. etc., everyone starts out in life with the same opportunity...Oops. Maybe I totally misunderstood him, and he meant every white male business owner starts out in life with the same opportunity...but I interjected there, and said "That's where we disagree" and then he said "That's because you're a socialist."

So there you have it. I can hardly wait to go to work tomorrow and tell everyone.

He didn't really speak German. I made that part up. But if I'm a socialist that would make him a fascist. And here we are both on the same committee, eating pizza. It's a great country.

'The Wall' isn't all that, but all that IS all that.

2009-04-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

At least not all that compared to other climbs in the Unknown Coast ride that you don't hear about as much. Panther Gap Ridge is, by some reports, 6.8 miles of a 7% grade. The Wall is only one mile of whatever that silly 18% - 22% business is. Might blink and miss it. Though it looks like the Wall is there to protect the next big hill from invading hordes. As soon as you drop over the wall, there's a much bigger if less severely steep hill. And that big hill is at the very end of the ride.

I plotted the whole ride on Bikely just so I could get a better picture of what to expect.

I think the key here will be to ride in super energy saver mode. No displays of machisma, no hurry or unnecessary effort, no pedaling downhill, plenty of stretching at rest stops, plenty of Gu or Clif Shot, plenty of fluid...as Jennifer Stone used to say on her program "Stone's Throw" on KPFA when I listened in Berkeley / SF, "Go easy, and if you can't go easy, go as easy as you can."

making the grade

2009-04-12T18:34:00.000-07:00

I rode a section of Calistoga Road out of Santa Rosa last year that scared me. It was steep and windy (i.e. twisty, not breezy) and I didn't know how long it would last or if I would be able to last that long. Friday I was driving down it and saw a sign that said 11% GRADE.

I thought about the ride I'm doing on May 9 (Tour of the Unknown Coast). Everybody talks about the dreaded "Wall" at mile 80-something, reportedly a grade of 18 - 22%. I began to feel really unprepared for something like this, though there are steep pitches here and there that don't have handy signs to tell you how steep they are, so it's possible I've done little pieces of hills that were that steep. I had some climbing planned for the Yountville ride on Saturday: Yountville / Pope Valley - Ink Grade Loop
But I needed more. Lisa talked me out of doing Calistoga Rd again (it's steep, windy, narrow, and has not much shoulder) by offering intriguing alternatives, a strategy that works well on dogs too. They said they would meet me in Dillon Beach so I did this route one-way (and I was very, very done when I got to Dillon Beach). Made it up the big hills (maybe some 18% bits in them? If I did the math right) but on the last small hill my legs couldn't take any more lactic acid and I had to walk for awhile. Santa Rosa to Dillon Beach
Here's a photo I found of some crazy person riding Coleman Valley Rd. from the opposite direction I took. Hard to say if it's better or worse that way, I just didn't think coming down it that I'd want to be going up.
Incredibly beautiful views and scenery. Paid my first visit to the little town of Occidental, which seems to be a place you have to want to go quite deliberately because it isn't really on the way to anything (but the next lovely, windy stretch of forest road).

I also learned a very valuable cycling lesson. Before I left, I decided to enclose everything that would be in my back jersey pockets in ziploc bags. In the past I've apologetically handed the clerk at some gas station mart a warm soggy dollar bill, gingerly offering it by its corner. I had my wallet and cellphone in one baggy and all my snacks (including my chocolate marshmallow egg that the easter bunny brought) in another baggy. At one pit stop I leaned over and my whole *sealed* baggy of precious food fell out, landing with a splash, right into the bowl. Yes, that sort of bowl. I fished it out, rinsed it off thoroughly and as discretely as possible, and carried on with all my Clif Bars and marshmallow egg undefiled. Carry on then.

*&$%@ Zephyrus with his swete brethe

2009-04-04T12:49:00.000-07:00

I doubt that the pilgrims to Canterbury rode bicycles in a headwind. I don't know if their faith would have survived the experience.

Or maybe it would have. Maybe my problem is the absence of a hooly blissful martyr for to seke as the purpose of riding my bike. Riding is excellent for its own sake, though, and for testing ones fortitude, prowesse and hardynesse. And if the wind doesn't start blowing against you until you're 20 - 30 miles into a 40 - 50 mile ride, then there's nothing for it but to keep riding that day, and think better of doing so the following day, as I did when we were at the coast a week and a half ago (so long, already?)

I looked at the calendar last Friday and realized that my Tour of the Unknown Coast ride was five weeks away. As Chaucer would say (if he were trying to watch his language), Hooly Cowe.

Craving and suffering

2009-03-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

In my Zen Sangha (it's a word that means a community of some sort) the teacher has recently been going over some of the basics. We started on the Third Noble Truth last week. I'm still working on mastery of the Second Noble Truth and getting pretty good at it. Today, for example, I thought I might die of wanting a new bicycle. But yesterday I felt almost the same way about wanting a new car, and last week I was practically bedridden with longing for a new computer, and the week before I was desperate for an electric guitar amp. Those are just (some of) the cravings to which I'm willing to publicly confess. I'm not going to talk about how many (boxes of) girl scout cookies I've eaten in the last couple weeks, for example. At least I can afford to buy a few (boxes of) girl scout cookies even though the price has gone up 228% since I sold them. (There's a story problem waiting to happen.)

And lest anyone doubt my mastery of wanting things, I am able to sustain any number of my cravings simultaneously. Like juggling bowling pins that stay up even when I'm not really trying to juggle them. I think I'm just about at the peak of my craving powers.

The discussion of the Third Noble Truth didn't go completely over my head, though. The teacher said all you have to do to stop suffering is stop craving. If you don't like what you're doing, just stop doing it. Anything that you can willingly start doing, you can willingly stop. Psh. Easy for him to say, Mr. Zen teacher smarty pants. Though he said that recently he really really wanted a new bike, too, and a 20-something year old body to go with it as opposed to the second-hand cruiser and the 70-something year old body he's got. He saw a college boy riding by on some little number with a carbon-fiber frame and felt a terrible pang. In a moment like that you can't really feel how fine a thing it is that you are able to ride around town on a bicycle of any description, or that your computer still sort of works and perhaps you can borrow one that works better, or that your current vehicle runs fine and you can drive it when you don't really feel like riding whatever bicycle(s) you have. I think it's easier to focus on things that seem to be lacking. I have so much stuff already that it would be too overwhelming if I were to focus on all of it instead.

"Support and Gear"

2009-03-23T20:45:00.000-07:00

In my practice runs as a new crew member for the 2009 NorCal AIDS Challenge this weekend I learned the meaning of some cycling terminology I had long misunderstood. In long rides where there's a vehicle following along to help you if you need a ride up the hill or a new tube or packet of Gu, or help of whatever sort, that vehicle is commonly known as a "sag wagon." I always took it quite literally and thought it was the car that picked you up if you were 'sagging' too much in your cycling and needed a bit of propping up. But I learned on Saturday that it actually stands for "Support And Gear." On my way to being a very knowledgeable and helpful crew member.

Tomorrow night I'm taking a CPR class. Hopefully no one will be 'sagging' THAT much, but it seems like a useful skill to have regardless, and the class is being offered at the community center next door to my complex so I thought if I'm going out to get my mail I might as well get certified in CPR.

Special thanks to people who have already contributed to the ride...if you haven't yet taken that opportunity, it's easy and fun! Just click here!

When all else fails, make a list (or maybe a basket?)

2009-03-18T21:57:00.000-07:00

I know that some people look to my blog for updates about / from me since I can be a bit underachieving in the phone-dialing department...maybe other communications departments as well. Don't worry, it's not just you, I'm behind on everything except taking the dog outside for her nighttime potty break. So there's something. And I was just telling somebody that no matter what else I have to do, I always take time to stare aimlessly into space. I should start putting that on my to-do list. I no longer have the advantage of being able to write a list and then lose it, since I started using Google Tasks. If you're unfamiliar with G-Tasks, it's a feature you can set up with your gmail account that allows you to make endless lists that you can never misplace, and when you finish something it puts a satisfying little check in the box next to the item and draws a line through it. Not only that but it lets you look up what you checked off going back for at least a month or so, after you've already cleared the 'done' items from your slate.

In terms of providing update, I haven't figured out whether that is one of the express purposes of this blog or just incidental to it. If it's the former, I'm not doing a very good job. But either way, since I would like to offer those who care some glimpse into current events beyond riddling Facebook status updates (and acknowledging that some who care are trying to give Facebook and the like a wide berth), and in homage to an ancestor whose diaries I was peeking at a few days ago, here's a recap of the week so far:

Sunday 15 March Bewared the ides. Woke 5:30 without the alarm and walked Ripley in the dark. Planned to ride around 7 or 8 or whenever it seemed less dark and cold. Tried to install new bike computer for next 3 - 4 hours, no success. All dressed up to ride, rode to bike shop for a cheap computer I could have the shop install. After 2 more hrs. they had me ready to roll out the door but their new computer didn't work either. Tried 2 more times, each time it seemed they would hope I would just not notice it still didn't work and go away. Finally decided to let them keep their computer and traded it for a new helmet. Very grumpy by then, whole morning felt wasted. Went home and sulked and then did laundry and took Ripley for a long run in the park. Felt better. Monday 16 March Went to work. Called to apologize to somebody for taking so long to finish their project, person was very kind and appreciative of help however glacial its pace (that expression might not work any more, what with the glaciers melting so fast). Didn't go to the gym after work as I planned. Played "Farm Town" on Facebook (don't ask me what the point of that is, no doubt there are less benign ways to completely waste time) in between reading paragraphs of a chapter on California housing element law and inclusionary zoning ordinances in anticipation of my speech to City Council the following night. Tuesday 17 March. Winced, but not visibly, when girl at front desk of the gym said "Top o' the mornin' to ya!" She said this to each and every person that came into the gym. I wonder if it was her idea or her boss's. Sat in the spa to warm up and then swam (outdoor pool) almost 20 minutes. Got to work, had a meeting, a staff birthday lunch, and the city council meeting. City council meeting was 3.5 hours long. But it was going well, so a coworker and I stuck it out. Got home and couldn't sleep for awhile. Wednesday 18 March Ran most of 3 miles with Ripley, walked some. Drove with her out to Elk Creek to visit the Native American cultural day at the elementary school. Some of the parents from the Tribe invited me.

That's as far as we get tonight. Falling asleep.

Christopher Smart (1722 - 1771)

2009-03-05T23:20:00.000-08:00

For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry (excerpt, Jubilate Agno)

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

Christopher Smart

[Thanks M.A. for sharing this!]

To Market

2009-02-28T12:07:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since I went to the Saturday farmer's market here in Chico. I'd forgotten what a cool place it is, especially heading into Spring. I was overwhelmed by all the flowers and winter / spring greens, and the plant starts for gardens, and people, talking, buying, selling, playing music -- a young woman (these days when I say that, it means somebody who I'm probably actually thinking of as a 'girl,' i.e. under 30, whether I'm supposed to or not) played her guitar and had a notebook paper sign on her open guitar case that said "ORIGINAL SONGS." I was full of admiration and a bit of envy, whether I liked her songs or not she'd written them, and that's something...how many times have I talked about doing exactly what she was doing but never done it, and to have all her own original songs, too. Girls these days.

It didn't occur to me to take a photo while I was there. Too bad. I found a robust looking potted rosemary plant, though, for Heather's garden. She's been looking for one for awhile. I hadn't set out looking for one, but after I found it, I looked all over the rest of the market, and it was the only rosemary.

And now for something completely different.

2009-02-24T22:36:00.000-08:00

The one on the right looks a lot like my girl Ripley. If only I could take her with me to the gym.

Toxicomments

2009-02-24T18:05:00.000-08:00

It's like feeling compelled to keep touching a hot stove. No, it's more like ordering a combo plate of assorted deep-fried appetizers with a side of ranch dressing at some restaurant where the fryer oil has traveled south for the winter, knowing that you'll regret it, and of course you do. Yet awhile later you go back and order it again, hoping maybe the result will be different. Not that I've ever done that, it's just a metaphor. That old saying about doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.

I love news via internet. I read print newspapers if they're lying around, but most of my news is online. Sometime last summer, though, I started reading the comments posted to various articles a lot more often. They are to public discourse as Taco Bell is to Mexican food but that doesn't help me at all (in either case). I know that the ability to post comments to online newspaper articles is not breaking news in itself. It's just taken awhile for me to start noticing them, and how asinine, ignorant, infuriating and reeking with meanspiritedness they are.

I don't mind a little snarkiness if it's clever. But people just aren't, terribly, most of the time. I don't know if the freedom of anonymity gives people license to say all the nasty things they really feel but wouldn't dare say publicly otherwise, or if sounding worse than the Grinch who Stole Christmas (or, more likely in this case, the Grinch who Accused Others of Stealing Christmas,) to see how many of your fellow citizens' buttons you can push is just part of the game. Maybe both. There is none of the weeding and editing that would normally occur in a "letter to the editor" either, as demonstrated by the following non sequitur gem in response to a Sac Bee article last week about Prop 8:

There is as much science in Expelled as thier is in the atheistic fundamenatlist fantacisim that labeles itself as science when it comes to the totally unproven T H E O R Y of eveloution.

If you chose to belive in that worthless pile of trash feel free. There are many scientist who don't believe it because of its lack of creduilaltiy and why do may believe in it? It lets them off the hook, because there is no higher authority if we all came form the ooze. So we can do whateve we want with no consequence.

Glad to see how much you hate churches and want them out of our life entirely. I guess your next step is to revoke the Freedom of Relgiogn and throw every Christian into pristion.

[Drat...however did s/he guess our next step? Foiled again!] I have a soft spot for the author of this; the comment was so recently come from a sort of verbal ooze itself that I was able to laugh and step away from the browser when I read it. Plus, as I discovered just now when I looked up the article link again, all the comments, nasty or nice, are dumped into the ether after a few days never to be seen again. Yes folks, this grotesque primordial comment specimen has been preserved in its glory and posted here on One Cheese Sandwich to amaze and horrify! Unique on the World Wide Web! Stay behind the red rope, no shoving! Only $0.02 to have a good look!

Yet too much of the time I keep reading the damn comments, and they're not even stupidly funny, and my blood pressure rises (good thing it has a pretty low starting point) and too often I waste a good 60 words engaging in completely pointless argument, and I don't feel all that much better after I do it. I wish I could permanently block myself from all comments on all the news websites I regularly visit. Like an ignition lock device in a car, or like the Taco Bell that was two blocks from my office that just up and closed a couple months ago. (No more jalapeno chicken melts...like a volcano in my tummy!) I don't want to know what people are thinking and feeling because it makes me feel like most everybody is dumb and hateful except for me and my little circle of friends and family. That's not a helpful approach to the world, whether it's true or not. I will refrain from expressing what I perceive as a big imbalance in the number of excessively vitriolic comments from one "side" of the sociopolitical spectrum vs. the other because no doubt my own filters and biases are at work. But I do perceive it.

My last comment on the subject of online news article comments is that they prove Yeats was right. The best lack conviction and the worst are full of passion without mercy. Little did he know he was describing the difference, generally, between Democrats and Republicans.

Spoonfuls of sugar

2009-02-19T17:01:00.000-08:00

I've had this impending phone call to an angry client (and his angry wife) hanging over my head for awhile. Knowing they were angry with me, and that there was some legitimate if not exactly rational basis, I've been reluctant to call them back so that they could tell me how angry they were.

I had a little surge of feeling successful about my work this week and maybe that propped me up to just call them and get it over with.

So I did, and the wife told me I should be ashamed of myself because I'm supposed to be helping people like them, and that I should just "forget it!" (as if the chance to work with them was a cherished dream I'd been harboring for months). I didn't try to defend myself to her, but I'll say for the record that I ALWAYS give people my card when I meet with them and I implore them, if you don't hear back for awhile and you want to know what's going on, PLEASE call me (because I reckon there're 'bout a hunnerd'r so of y'all and only one of me). Did they ever call during the long period before they called my boss to say what a deadbeat I was? No. Did they fall into the paper abyss? Yes.

Zen Buddhism incorporates a sort of 'repentance' principle:

All the ancient twisted karma,
from beginningless greed, hatred, and ignorance,
born of my body, mouth, and thought,
I now confess openly and fully.

I don't claim to get that completely. I think it means that I'm human and some occurrence of error is utterly unavoidable, and it's best to freely acknowledge it when it occurs and fix it if it's reasonably fixable, but nothing / no one happens in a vacuum, and it's just as unhelpful to define myself by my mistakes as it is to define myself by my successes. Either way I'd be setting myself up for more trouble.

Sorry, angry people. I hope the opportunity to chew me out at last relieved them of some of the burden of their anger but I'm afraid it probably revived it.

The last days of Tooth No. 15

2009-02-17T21:30:00.000-08:00

Several blog-worthy events have occurred in the past eleven days; for instance, I saw a funnel cloud north of Sacramento over a week ago. I took a cellphone picture and showed it to a friend who is doing graduate work in meteorology and, even though it was a teeny tiny cellphone photo, she said "Oh my gosh, that's a funnel cloud!" so I felt quite validated. Also, my sister Mary came to visit Sacramento (not long after the appearance of the funnel cloud, but if there's any connection at all it is a benevolent, auspicious one) and danced all day Saturday as if she were wearing magic slippers, but now I'm mixing H.C. Andersen with L.F. Baum and that seems dangerous, though I'll have to think about it for awhile.

Monday (yesterday) I took the Graduate Management Assessment Test and it looks like I remember 8th-grade math / algebra even less than one might have hoped. I'm not feeling like MBA school is quite worth the $60K it would cost to undertake it right now, 'specially since I already have at least one professional degree / credential that many people would probably take more seriously than they ought if I were to go into any kind of business for myself, and I'm not exactly attempting to climb a corporate management ladder. But I'd already signed up for the test so I thought, what the heck? how hard can it be? It was hard and didn't exactly play to my cognitive strengths. If only it had been a test of song lyrics and trivia questions. I was quite pleased with myself watching Jeopardy last night when I knew that the correct response to one of the statements was "Rashomon." I bet some engineering / economics type could score a 700 on the GMAT and yet not be familiar with the films of Kurosawa. I am grateful for my knowledge and skill base in all that it is and is not. Mostly.

This Friday I'm having a big ol' molar extracted. It's had a hard life...been done wrong by some fly-by-night HMO-type dentist back in the '80's, resulting in a root canal and crown a few years later, and at some point apparently one of the roots got fractured (no, pretty sure it wasn't a result of playing football, though I can see how you might suspect) and it has suffered...I should say I have suffered...a series of infections and inflammations over the last six months. So my dentist sent me to a periodontist and the periodontist said it is a "hopeless" tooth. Apparently that's the technical term. I say anything wearing a gold crown can't be all that hopeless, but whatever its emotional or existential state, it's leaving the place it has occupied in my head lo these many years. I sort of want to keep it. Maybe see if I can trade it in for a new electric guitar amp at the pawnshop. That $60K I could save on business school next year will have to go somewhere.

Let me tell you how it will be...there's one for you, nineteen for me

2009-02-06T00:59:00.000-08:00

I've stayed up much too late this evening on an itemized deduction scavenger hunt...shuffling through piles of paper, scanning through electronic bank statements...realizing, hey, that book I bought on Amazon a few months ago is arguably job-related!

I wish TurboTax would add sound effects to the little refund counters up in the right hand corner that show (in green) the amount of your refund :) or (in red) the amounts you owe. When you enter some kind of deduction you can watch the numbers run up, and I can't help but hear that slot machine coin-dropping sound in my head, after losing money in the big government casino all year now I get to win some of it back! [I was in Vegas recently for a union conference and all that noise is still rattling around my brain.]

I am especially pleased to announce that in 2008 I hit the 7.5% requirement for medical expenses to be deductible. I made a spreadsheet with all the months and all my different bills, I'm very proud of it and I want to bring it to my mom so she can put it on the fridge to show how good I did.

There are a few people / entities I need to thank for making the 7.5% milestone possible: first, my employer, for doing its part to make 7.5% of my income such an attainable goal; to my insurance plan that requires me to pay full price for prescriptions until I reach the $2500 deductible; to the unknown Santa Rosa Scorchers player who ran up and slammed into me during that game in June 2007...I don't know why people kept trying to do that because it seems to cause injury. That hit was minor compared to what the hospital, physical therapist, surgeon, anesthesiologist, and knee brace manufacturer threw at me later. Like Ishmael said at the end of Moby Dick, "I only am escaped alone to tell thee."

In the squares of the city / By the shadow of the steeple / By the relief office / I saw my people

2009-01-19T23:47:00.000-08:00

This was my favorite performance of the whole pre-inaugural celebrity beauty pageant. Pete Seeger leading the crowd in singing the best verses from "This Land is Your Land," with help from his grandson Tao Rodriguez-Seeger and the Boss. Just the smile on Pete's face, whether he did much singing or not, and his little knit hat. He called out the words and told everyone to sing. Like he's done for almost 70 years. How would that be, to work for what you care about, doing what you love to do, for 70 years?

What's wrong with this picture?

2009-01-19T22:44:00.000-08:00

As a figure of speech, that is, since there isn't actually a picture with this post. I was down in the Central Coast this past weekend for the annual Benchmark Institute board & 'kitchen cabinet' planning retreat. In some spare moments I went to the beach...in shorts and a sports bra...and ran around in the surf. On Saturday and a bank sign in Watsonville said it was 75 degrees. Not everyone may realize that California in January isn't supposed to be this way, really. We're in trouble in the water department and I'm afraid next summer could be an unbreathable mess like last one was. So I figured I better enjoy summer wherever it turns up.

At least Arizona is going to the Superbowl finally. And there's that inauguration thing happening tomorrow too. Coincidence?

I heart miso broth

2009-01-10T06:29:00.000-08:00

Good morning...and welcome to Day 5 of my (almost) 5-day New Year's liquid cleansing fast. Last Monday I ate small healthy meals for breakfast and lunch (oatmeal, tomato basil soup and cabbage / nut salad from the Co-op deli) and then had a glass of unfiltered apple juice with psyllium powder for "dinner"...chased with a lot of water. Since then it's been apple juice and psyllium 3 times a day, with hatcho miso broth in between (and water) with cups of herb tea a couple times a day as well, and some diluted unsweetened cranberry juice.

I've been a little hesitant to publicly announce / discuss what I'm doing because it seems kind of extreme, and I know from personal experience that it can even feel a little threatening when somebody appears to be 'rejecting' something held so dear and craved so intensely as is our food. I was never very good at or interested in fasting beyond the minimum religious requirements. This has been much easier, though, with the liquids, and as someone pointed out, it's only five days out of my whole life. When I came down with that cold a couple weeks ago I stopped drinking coffee. I don't think the hiatus will be permanent but I'm enjoying it for now. My energy level throughout the day is more consistent and I feel more rested when I wake up in the morning. It was a stressful week at work so maybe that kept me awake too.

Part of this has been an exercise in control. I'm very food-oriented and not always as picky as I should be, especially considering that I have kind of a sensitive tummy. It helped that the Taco Bell two blocks away from my office closed down last month...through no lack of my support. I would need my cheap seven layers of goo burrito and quesadilla or jalapeno chicken melt fix and almost invariably have a tummy ache afterwards. So my brain wants a lot of things that really aren't doing my body any good. I would like to develop a little more control over my mind.

I'm really looking forward to some solid food this evening. Day Three (Thursday) was probably the hardest in terms of being hungry. The miso broth is what made this all more or less tolerable. I've had a package of miso in the fridge for a year, not realizing how easy it is to make a cup of delicious, satisfying instant broth. I don't know if all of its reported health effects are for real but it is comforting to the belly and the mind. I like the dark "red" salty Hatcho kind. I plan to make it a regular part of my diet.

As I enter the later part of my mid-30's I've been feeling that some of the old patterns / habits may not be sustainable for a whole lot longer, and I'd rather try to head them off now of my own free will than wait for all the consequences to bite me. Age will inevitably bite but maybe it won't have to bite quite so hard or all at once. Sports nutrition advice is full of statements about how our bodies are machines that need good fuel for optimum performance. How many times to I have to suffer from Taco Bell tummy before I get the message that what I'm doing doesn't work? Why is it so hard to heed those little red flags our bodies wave at us? Dumb old greedy brain.

I was walking Ripley yesterday and she was charging along at the very end of her leash, making me wish I had roller skates, and a woman with an apparently very well- trained border collie walked by and smiled and said "I see who's in charge." My brain and Ripley both need some follow up classes since we graduated from puppy school.

why catch flies with honey when you can squash 'em with rolled up newspaper

2008-12-30T16:57:00.000-08:00

Oops. It was just brought to my attention that the title of this post got posted without any post attached. I was going to tell a story about a case I'm working on, wherein I got so irritated with opposing counsel that I called him an ass, certainly not to his face but talking to my client, which still wasn't very professional of me but was deeply gratifying to my client. I had a raging sinus headache at the time too. Or maybe it was the cold medicine I took for the sinus headache. But I felt like I was divulging too many details in the post (even without including anybody's names) so I deleted it. If I had told the whole story you would probably have thought that I was being too kind and generous in my name calling.

There and Back Again

2008-12-29T21:25:00.000-08:00

Ripley made her first visit to the snow over Christmas. Except for an agitated phase toward the end of our drive back that lasted through most of the evening after we arrived, to the chagrin of Mia and Dozo, who think Ripley not a very polite or properly deferential guest in their house, Ripley did great in the car. Here she is admiring the world as it goes by the window that is covered in her noseprints.

She was confused by the stuff at first, and understandably reluctant to squat in it, but very soon she made herself right to home in the snow.

Now we'll have a transitional photo that is mostly of my dog, but begins to incorporate human elements. Ripley got these lovely antlers in her stocking. Someone is no doubt really glad she painted her toenails for Christmas, because you just never know when they might be caught on camera.

LG walked around all morning saying "Santa." "Santa?" in a calm, observant voice. His calm was periodically shattered by Ripley's effort to communicate by barking. After recovering from the trauma of such a loud noise coming from a not very big dog, LG would remark, now and then, "Dog. Wuh wuh." Here he and Grandma (aka "Bama,") playing with his very cool new blocks. Later I wanted to play too and I learned the rules are that whatsoever ye build, LG will come knock it all down...thoroughly obliterate it, in fact, so that not one block is sitting atop another.

Not pictured are the three days of pie. I wonder what percentage of the cells of which I am currently constituted were made out of pie. It was a lovely visit...and I don't blame anyone but myself for my having eating myself sick on Friday. Though somebody gave me a cold, I don't know who, and I'd like to return it but don't know where it came from. If you have any leads send 'em along.

Folk jam

2008-12-14T12:23:00.000-08:00

I wish I had a photo of this, and perhaps an audioclip. The Butte Folk Music Society has a website of sorts but it's more of a cry for help than a website. Nothing that captures how much fun it is to go to one of their jams. There were two or three banjos, a fiddle, a mandolin, a slide guitar, a couple harmonicas, and several guitars (including mine) in the circle yesterday, along with a few people who were just singing. They went around the circle and everybody took turns picking a song, which the whole group then would play and sing. Those who were able to play some lead / solo took turns soloing. (I'm not there yet with my playing.)

I happened upon the group several months ago at Augie's Coffeehouse (named for the Anglican "Church of St. Augustine" to which it is attached) and have been wanting to go back with my guitar ev'ry since. When my turns came around, I picked "Can the Circle Be Unbroken," "Goodnight Irene," and "Wildwood Flower." I learned some "new" old songs I want to add to my repertoire too, like "Hard Times" and...shoot. Should have been writing things down. I was reminded that a crucial piece of equipment I haven't yet acquired is the bible of group folk-singing books, Rise Up Singing. I don't usually think of it until I get into a group where people want to sing old-timey songs but nobody can ever remember all the words (not to mention the chords).

There were some really great bluegrass players in the group. I need to go to one of their "Bluegrass Jams" so I can learn some of that pickin'. I stayed for over two hours yesterday and finally had to stop because my left hand was getting a cramp and I was getting hoarse and my fingers were already sore from playing at the office holiday party the night before.

I'll try to remember to take a picture next time. Meanwhile here's the Carter Family to tide us all over. There is some great close-up footage of Mother Maybelle's guitar picking.

Holiday highlights, pt. II

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

Way back when I started this blog, under its previous title "Hamartia and Cheese Sandwiches," it was meant to be a record of my triathlon training efforts. Huh. Sort of like how my parents' business started in the 1970's repairing sailboats and now they manufacture and install corrosion resistant linings and coatings for industrial containers. I'm just glad they saved that part for when I was a little bit older because it's harder to say than "Sailboats."

But now and then, sooner or later, we all revisit our roots, and I want to fan the ember of cycling enthusiasm that I feel is trying to burst into flame, so I wanted to say that my roadbike trip meter says 24-something miles from last Sunday's lovely ride down River Road in West Sacramento. I heard the road was rough but compared to a notoriously bad stretch of road I can think of here in Chico, it might as well have been an indoor track. H took pictures, which I hope might appear sometime later on her blog, and I'll probably let her tell about how the ride would have been a little longer if not for the happenstance of a Clarksburg winery. The vintner was very gracious and friendly even though it is surely obvious that when people are wine tasting impromptu in their bike shorts, they're not likely planning to buy anything liquid in heavy glass bottles. Though...hmmm...that gives me an idea. Tell you later.

One of my favorite parts of the ride was when there was a long stretch of smooth / straighter road and I had a Burst of Power! Shifted into my big front chainring and sped up to 23 - 24? miles an hour. For about 30 seconds, and then I was really tired. I call this a "Corgi sprint" -- very dangerous over the short distances, as they say

There is something about having been for a ride, even a short, flat ride like that one with the pause for refreshment in the middle, that makes you feel so good when you get home, and you're hungry from riding. It makes any food taste better and your legs feel tired from too many corgi sprints, and it's a good feeling. It's a good feeling, to know you're alive.

Photos would have been nice with this post but I didn't have my camera (or even a cellphone camera) with me. You can look at the photos from the last post again if you need to look at something.

Holiday highlights pt. I

2008-12-01T19:49:00.000-08:00

Ripley w/flamethrower in the original, iconic, unequalled "Alien." Yeah, special effects show their age, but I'll gladly suspend disbelief when necessary. We are introduced to the TRUE monster of the Alien series: THE COMPANY. The ultimate in corporate evil. Ripley gets in a lot of trouble with THE COMPANY for blowing up her ship and cargo just to get rid of the alien after it ate her whole crew. THE COMPANY keeps trying to get its claws on one of these creatures for bioweapons research, and doesn't care who is expended in the process.

"Aliens" was for a long time my favorite...the action and peril are made interesting by the excellent development of the characters. The classic showdown of the Muthas. The serious weaponry. The oft-quotable lines tossed off by the Colonial Marines. It is still a favorite but now in my mature years I am realizing that the first Alien is unsurpassed. The films are different g enres under the
sci-fi umbrella so maybe it's not fair to compare the m. Good thing I have both, I can compare them all I want.

Alien3. I'm sure there was all kinds of symbolism going on in this movie; some have compared it to the original, but the comparison breaks down when you aren't able to get to know or like most of the characters. I didn't like it at all when I first saw it in the theater, since then it has grown on me a little (or perhaps it's more correct to say 'grown in me, in this context).

Ripley at the other end of the series, "Alien Resurrection," which was an odd duck; normally in a movie there is at least one person you can really like. Sigourney's human/alien hybrid clone was the most likeable but she did creepy things. None of the humans were likeable. Winona's emotionally strident robot whined too much. But the movie has moments that make it worth sitting through, i.e. any scene with Sigourney. When you are part alien, you have superhuman strength and agility, and you have pointy black fingernails, and you have to wear a lot of leather. Just so you know, should you encounter an alien-human hybrid.

In the spirit of thankfulness for leisure time with friends, my friend L and I watched all four Alien movies--the entire quadrilogy--back to back, in
one day (Friday). We did take breaks to walk the dogs and check in on current events.

I tried to watch the dog Ripley to see if she reacted at all to her name being shouted on TV over and over again, couldn't really tell.

What part of Marbury v. Madison don't you understand?

2008-11-21T17:13:00.001-08:00

That's supposed to be funny. Lawyer humor. But this quote engraved on the wall in the United States Supreme Court building is serious.
Marbury v. Madison was the case in which it was determined that the buck stops with the Supreme Court in terms of reviewing the actions of other governmental bodies to decide if an action is illegal, or reviewing laws and statutes for constitutionality. Nice that the first Chief Justice, John Marshall, figured all that out in 1803 so we wouldn't have to worry about it again.

I ate lunch in the US Supreme Court Cafeteria today. I was going to try to make some kind of joke about that too but I was actually quite excited to be there, and the food was reasonably priced and pretty good. My coworker and I thought about trying to pick a fight with each other outside the building so we could say we argued before the Supreme Court, but we couldn't think of anything to fight about.

got captions?

2008-11-09T01:12:00.001-08:00

"A tisket, a tasket, a kitty in a basket."

"I Has a Baskit."

"Where are we going and what am I doing in this handbasket?"

"Take my picture already."

"I can't come back! I don't know how it works!"

from Discovery News: Lemming Numbers Dwindling Under Warming

2008-11-08T19:49:00.000-08:00

Lemmings may be disappearing in Norway, but they're thriving in many parts of California and elsewhere.

May the best frame win

2008-11-04T10:50:00.000-08:00

In preparation for a presentation I have to do in a couple weeks, I'm doing research on cognitive frames and their use in race equity advocacy. It's explaining a lot to me about how people can persist in believing things that are completely unsupported--even contradicted--by the facts. I don't claim to be exempt from this phenomenon. I don't think anybody can be completely. The power of frames is too strong. Something pretty dramatic has to happen for somebody to start seeing outside of their familiar, prevailing frames.

Just a little background: A frame is a core idea or 'story' that helps us create meaning and interpret the world around us. Frames come in clusters--one may be tied to another, and there are frames within frames. Frames not only describe our reality, but they construct it as well. Successful social and political (and religious) movements know how to trigger and play into these frames. For example, anti-affirmative action efforts have played into the individual merit frame and co-opted civil rights language so that white people will see affirmative action as unfair and will fail to see that women and people of color still encounter structural barriers to opportunity. This frame of "merit" is so powerful that even liberal whites often view affirmative action as unfair and unnecessary despite all the research to the contrary. People are likely to reject any amount of research, no matter how thorough and objective, that conflicts with their frame. When facts collide with a cognitive frame, the frame will win. People are not persuaded to change by facts.

While this phenomenon is frightening and unbelievably frustrating when one is in a position of trying to champion the real true facts (or marshal the facts! as Prof. Imwinkelreid would often say), it's some comfort to know that people are somewhat at the mercy of their brains. It's not because they're inherently mean spirited or ignorant. To the contrary, smart, kind, thoughtful people who are operating under a powerful frame may just not be capable of believing anything that doesn't fit in it. The only hope for change is to shift the frames. The good news is that it can be done. If this were not the case, there wouldn't have been a Prop 8 to begin with, because it wouldn't have occurred to anybody that sexual orientation should be a protected status such as race and gender and religious creed and so on. No one would have feared that 'traditional marriage' was under attack because no one would have recognized the diversity of family structures and decided that one type of structure should be promoted at the expense or exclusion of others. And certainly, no one would have had the opportunity to vote for a President who looks like Barack Obama. For that matter, women would not be voting, period.

I am hoping and praying for the frames of fairness and equality and opportunity for all to prevail by the end of the day today, because these are powerful frames in America too. Whatever the result, things have shifted a long way even for us to be able to fight our current fights or make the kinds of choices that are before us.

I'm off to stand 100 feet from a polling place with my Vote No on 8 t-shirt and sign and my guitar. I'm going to sing America the Beautiful, and maybe a few songs promoting the "love your neighbor as yourself" frame. Don't know if it'll have any effect on how anybody votes one way or the other but singing always makes me feel better, so there's that.

Travels with Ripley

2008-10-26T09:02:00.001-07:00

Ripley here with her cousin Tango chez Elouise and Nancy. They've been in Corgi heaven, chasing each other, wrasslin', herdin', telling each other sheep jokes...We're leaving in a few minutes and it's hard to take Ripley away (without taking Tango with us).

Further trip updates are forthcoming, but one experience of note from the road was hearing a Barack Obama ad in Navajo while driving through eastern Arizona. I'm not sure why, but I got kind of choked up when I heard it. Maybe the idea that Obama would represent all Americans, including the original ones, and give us a chance to feel like this land was, in fact, made for you and me rather than us versus them. The Navajo Nation has endorsed Obama.

Glad to be a Mac.

2008-10-16T23:57:00.000-07:00

Lesbian video from AfterEllen.com

From an article by Jon Hanson, "The Blame Frame: Justifying (Racial) Injustice in America"

2008-10-16T19:44:00.000-07:00

"Because humans crave justice, salient suffering or inequalities activate an 'injustice dissonance' within us. Too often, we alleviate that dissonance, not by addressing the injustice, but by creating an illusion of justice through assumptions, arguments, or stereotypes about the blameworthiness of the victim."

Seems like a lot of folks are having to alleviate a lot of dissonance these days about a lot of things, and a lot of illusions have been created in the process. In the perennially apt words of Aunt Liza, "oh dear oh dear oh dear."

Word of the day

2008-10-05T11:18:00.000-07:00

Most people who can't speak English can communicate pretty fluently in some other language. Maybe Sarah Palin's language difficulties aren't at all due to ineptitude or lack of education but rather that her home planet has its own English-like dialect, and to other aliens from that world, she sounds perfectly coherent. Clearly she tried to practice English extra hard for the debate but still spoke with a pretty heavy accent.

Maureen Dowd of the NY Times tries to analyze the dialect in this op-ed, "Sarah's Pompom Palaver." The problem I can see right away with this piece is that even a lot of people who aren't snowed by SP may not know what 'palaver' means, let alone the folks who think somebody's qualified potentially to lead the free world on the basis that she's cute as a bug's ear. [Palaver: (n) a. Idle chatter. b. Talk intended to charm or beguile. ]

Pretty good word for what comes out of her mouth, if a bit too polite and dignified. Here in down-home middle America we have another word or two for it.

Most Likely to Succeed at Making You Smile

2008-09-24T18:33:00.000-07:00

Ripley graduated from Puppy Toddler class tonight. Her mama is so proud. She has 'sit,' 'down,' and 'come' mastered, though she also appreciates the value of her free will and sometimes chooses not to respond. She was by far the best looking dog in the class too, which we all know counts for a lot in this world.

I'm gonna pop!

2008-09-22T14:01:00.001-07:00

Remember that scene in the Matrix after Neo gets rescued from the human-powered electric plant, and he just can't process the difference between the real world and the land of computer make-believe, and he barfs and passes out?

I had a moment of feeling a little bit like that when I read this on the McCain website:

The pro-life movement has done tremendous work in building and reinforcing the infrastructure of civil society by strengthening faith-based, community, and neighborhood organizations that provide critical services to pregnant mothers in need.

Is he talking about civil society in the United States? A quarter or more of children in rural and inner-city communities are living below the poverty level. A QUARTER. 23 - 25%. In Mississippi (ironically, the home base of the dear ol' American Family Association), it's 35%. Maybe the pro-life movement just hasn't gotten around reinforcing the infrastructure of civil society in Mississippi. Or maybe I have a different understanding of the word "tremendous." Or maybe the "life" in pro-life means something a lot more specific than what it sounds like.

Or maybe McCain - Palin are agents of the Machines, and Obama is the One. McCain = Machines, Obama = One. Coincidence?

Oh, I'm sure all the well-schooled evangelicals will recall that Bible story about McCain and Abel, how he flew off the handle in a fit of jealousy and killed his brother, and then lied about it when asked what happened. Oh...I said McCain when I meant Cain. I'm sorry. John McCain flies off the handle, but as far as I know he's never killed any relatives, just yelled and called them nasty names. No real harm in that.

No on Prop 8 TV Ad Airing Today

2008-09-22T11:48:00.000-07:00

You can help it stay on the air by using the ActBlue thermometer link to make a donation, or clicking here.

Just when you thought it was safe...

2008-09-16T23:00:00.001-07:00

McDonalds has really, really pissed off these folks in Mississippi because now the company is, as I understand this report, actively trying to turn all its employees gay(!!) and pays them to get sex change operations. Because all that sort of thing goes together, like parts of an Extra Value Meal.

Read it straight from the horse's... whatever:

A document shows McDonald's requested a 10% "group discount" to a recent pro-homosexual training seminar. Eligibility to receive the discount required "groups of 15 or more registrants for the full price 3-day (Out & Equal 2008 Workplace) Summit."

McDonald’s applied for the special "discount code" off the regular registration price of $775 per person. The registration price did not include the employee's air travel, hotel and meal expenses.

The conference, held in Austin, TX, was designed to train employees how to effectively advance homosexuality in the workplace and to persuade top corporate officials to embrace the lifestyle by offering special recognition and benefits to gay employees.

For example, McDonald's health benefits package includes full coverage for sex-change procedures, post-operative recovery, and mental health counseling throughout the process.

Wow! Special recognition and gay benefits. If only I'd known way back when I made different career choices. All the health food stores and the organic produce distributor I worked for didn't have special benefits, even though I worked for a number of top corporate officials who had obviously embraced the lifestyle. I feel like I was cheated.

the casserole gene

2008-09-16T19:19:00.000-07:00

This time last year I was pretty laid up with my knee in a big brace, but enjoying the luxury of a hotel and my mom's TLC which in some ways makes it a rather pleasant memory (being on drugs helped too). After my mom had to go home and I was at least able to get up the stairs to my condo, H stayed for a couple days and between the two of them I had food for the next two months.

I'm seeing how good I really had it. My roommate had knee surgery today on his torn medial and lateral meniscii. Lucky for him they didn't have to take a piece of him from somewhere else to fix his knee, so hopefully the recovery will be easier, and he doesn't have to wear a brace. His pain pills aren't as strong as mine were (though it would be interesting to see a study on who gets prescribed what doses in what circumstances). He might not be doing so well in the morning. At any rate he's basically trapped here because he won't be able to get down the stairs, having just managed to climb up with his girlfriend and me spotting him. His mom doesn't seem to be available. [I had very strong pain pills AND my mom. I was so lucky!] For various reasons, staying at his girlfriend's house was not an option for him, so there he is on the couch with his knee all wrapped up. The least I could do was cook something.

I didn't actually bake a casserole. But I made a good pasta dinner with a jar of tomatoes my mom canned last year (the last one, I think), veggies, frozen meatballs and salad. It was one of the more balanced dinners I've managed to cook for myself recently too, and it made me feel lucky all over again.

The Universe According to Sarah Palin

2008-09-08T17:14:00.001-07:00

Did you know that in her free time, when not on the campaign trail or being a loving mom to her five children, Sarah Palin enjoys clubbing baby seals and shooting wolves from low-flying aircraft? With a high-caliber rifle she learned to use in the family's stay at a right-wing militia retreat. She said a lot of compelling things in her convention speech and later condensed versions of it, so it's easy to forget the part where she informed the crowd that the earth is actually flat and located at the center of the galaxy, and the sun moves around it as is obvious to anybody who watches the sky, and was met with cheers and chants of "Flat! Flat! Flat!"

It's such a relief to make up whatever stories you like about other people and yourself and without concern for accuracy. I'm learning from Sarah Palin already, that if a fact doesn't serve your purpose, out with it! Make a new one. Either that, or just stick with the script they give you even if it means you will have to utter boldfaced lies. I hope her kids have picked up on these principles too, as they need to soak up as much of their mother's wisdom as they can during the brief periods that she'll actually be seeing them.

Another Big Gay Mac Attack

2008-09-04T09:51:00.000-07:00

I'm continuing to find my American Family Association action alerts a source of considerable entertainment. The last one included a statement from Brian Unger, McDonald's Senior VP of something or other, excerpted and bolded in such a way as to imply that McDonald's is trying to make more people gay:

In January, McDonald’s paid for travel and accommodations for 56 employees to attend the “Pioneer Summit” in San Diego. The purpose of the meeting was to develop a plan to promote the gay agenda within the company. Those attending were thrilled that McDonald’s showed such support for their agenda.
“It was truly inspiring to see McDonald’s Lesbian, Gay, Bi-Sexual and Transgender members come together to share heartfelt, personal stories about their journeys, challenges and personal reflections. Better understanding these journeys … will help us better grow our people in the restaurants and across the company,” said Brian Unger, senior vice president.

AFA has asked McDonald’s to remain neutral in the culture battle – to neither oppose nor support the gay agenda. McDonald’s has refused, choosing to support those groups and individuals promoting the gay agenda — including homosexual marriage. A McDonald’s official (Bill Whitman) went so far as to say that those who oppose the gay agenda are motivated by hate.

(Exactly as it appeared on the AFA website except for the lavender text color that I added for contrast.) I can see how upsetting this all is...to be accused of hatred. What exactly does it mean to be hateful? (I could go on a tangent about the burgeoning use of the word 'hater,' as in 'don't be a hater,' and how it's almost but not quite up there with the expression 'my bad' on my list of trendy expressions that I hate. Or, I mean, I'm just standing up for my belief in traditional English and I'm fearful of its deterioration.)

vanity press

2008-09-01T13:59:00.000-07:00

I gave up on the online karaoke sometime back because I couldn't get the vocals to synch up with the music. This is way more fun.

"Save Me a Saturday Night" (Neil Diamond)

"My Friends" (Red Hot Chili Peppers)

Del Martin: May 5, 1921- August 27, 2008

2008-08-28T20:13:00.000-07:00

Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon fell in love and got married as soon as possible, 55 years later.

I think that's a marriage worth saving, don't you? The State can't do anything to hold back time, nor can it promise anything beyond time, but I believe Del and Phyllis will be seeing each other. They didn't need no piece of paper from the city hall keepin' them tied and true, but they devoted most of their lives to the right to have it, and they won!

See Del's obituary at Equality California here

The needle and the damage done

2008-08-28T08:15:00.001-07:00

There is an I.V. bag hanging in the kitchen from the pots & pans rack. Next to the knives. Something is wrong with this picture, or at least it's got a certain chamber-of-horrors quality that I don't prefer as decor most days of the year. Medical equipment and cooking utensils are just not supposed to mix. I've probably seen Silence of the Lambs a few too many times but I think I'd feel the same way even if I hadn't.

The attempt to administer Kato's subcutaneous fluids by myself this morning was not successful (at least if one measures success by whether he actually received any fluids subcutaneously). It seemed much easier at the vet's office yesterday with the tech holding him down and telling me what to do. This morning I did actually get the needle into him, but he immediately jumped down from, the, er, butcher block table, which I had covered with a towel, knocking over a glass of iced coffee on the counter (it broke) in the process. I'd put the dog in her playpen just before this and she was barking like crazy and trying to escape, perhaps worried that she'd be on the block next, but actually she just really needed to poop. As she demonstrated on the carpet as soon as I let her out.

But I was able to get Kato to take a good long drink from his water bowl afterwards, and I had another glass and enough iced coffee still in the carafe to fill it, and I picked up the poop, and here we are. It happens.

Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed

2008-08-26T23:01:00.000-07:00

Kato is back in the hospital. On his second night but sounds like he'll be ready to come home tomorrow. Monday morning I saw that he had another blockage and was pretty uncomfortable so back to the vet we go for the same damn thing over again. "Do you have a buy one / get one half off deal?" I said. Ha haha, said the vet, thinking I'd made a joke.

He needed some meds from the compounding pharmacy so for convenience (lest they add some delivery fee to my bill) I picked them up when they were ready and took them to the vet's office. They thought it would be good for me to visit Kato, or good for Kato, rather, and hoped I'd be able to get him to eat something. He's not real keen on the prescription food he'll now have to eat for months and months. He looked awful...his face seemed too thin and he had an IV in his front leg, and his fur gets all flaky and dull when he goes to the vet. Stress shedding. We had some good petting, holding and cuddling though. He was purring and growling at the same time. Not feeling his best. He ate a few bites of the yucky prescription food for me, but not much. Then I left and cried in my car for a minute.

Later the vet called to say that since my visit, he'd chowed down on the dry food and he'd been peeing on his own, quite enthusiastically and voluminously, all over one of the vet techs and on various other animate and inanimate surfaces. I don't know if she said this because it sounded like such a nice story to tell a worried and sad kitty owner, or because it was exactly truly what happened. Who am I to question the power of a loving touch and familiar voice and smell when you've been in a scary place for awhile. Some say love, it is a Big Gulp, or a waterfall, or a running faucet...

I'm lovin' it

2008-08-25T17:31:00.000-07:00

Can't help myself. These comments raise another concern I have for the well-being of children of the right-wing zealots: their parents' and grandparents' spelling and grammar tends to be atrocious to the point of comedy.

Not only that, but some of these 'Christian' soldiers couldn't resist the opportunity to complain that not only is McDonald's morally bankrupt, but too many McDonald's employees speak Spanish. The AFA has a bigotry package deal you get when you sign up, I think.

"McDonald I am a regular customer in your store but I will not be eating in your store any more because of your open support of gay. I am a christianand God says they are an Abolition and God will deal with them. joyce"

"I will definitely boycott. Me and my family, including kids, grandkids, cousins, and parents have received message and agree on boycotting. If I figure right based on just my family alone, will keep about $1300 a year from these idiots. Others that follow should equate to less business."

"Yesturday,I purposedly avoided going to McDonalds for dinner. They can count me out as a customer from now on."

"I have no problem with you hiring, serving, etc of gays...I have a problem with your prejudice against those of us who are not gay. You should be equal. Do you put funds into the promotion of "normal" sexual relationships????"

"I and my family will be buyers at burger king.. You need to change your gay position.."

"I will no longer take any of my grand children nor my self to any Mc Donald's restaurant--I also intend to tell others about this decision of mine--I know you also sponser Planned Parent hood--which most of the finincial support they get are uded for abortions"

"I won't support you with your gay agenda or hiring illegals."

"No more cold limp fries, not so clean resturant and Spanish speaking non- English employees for us. So dad to see our America down the toilet. Married 38 years to a man and have a wonderful MARRIAGE and yes we are BREEDERS, isn't that what the queers call us traditionals that are a family. Funny how they want to adopt a breeders child. Poor choice McDonalds."

[Ed. note: Please please do not confuse this woman with that awesome alt-rock band The Breeders, fronted by the incomparable iron-throated bass-playing crusty rock goddess Kim Deal, whose child (if she were to put one up for grabs) I'd gladly adopt provided it was an open adoption. Don't really see how that's funny, though.]

I'm hungry.

We deserve a break today

2008-08-25T14:55:00.000-07:00

Apparently part of the dread homosexual agenda now includes reduction / prevention of childhood obesity among the innocent offspring of right-wing zealots. The American Family Association has called for a boycott of McDonald's because of the corporation's sponsorship of San Francisco Pride and its efforts to stop workplace discrimination against LGBT people.

I confess to a lifelong weakness for McDonald's breakfast when I'm on the road, a weakness that has persisted even after watching "Supersize Me." And when I lived in France for a summer, some 17 years ago, I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome I sought some comfort "chez McDo." If only the Arches were the worst symbol of American power and influence throughout the world...I guess I'm just a little confused about how to feel about the right-wing boycott. It won't cause the Almighty Arches an ounce of grief. They have bigger fish to fry in transfat-free oil. Based on some of the comments I read on the AFA's website, it sounds like the Faithful are marching their children straight to Wendy's anyway, lest they miss this opportunity to develop better eating habits.

Dog is in her heaven and all is right

2008-08-12T14:49:00.000-07:00

Or, "Chilly Dog."

The A/C registers are Ripley's favorite places. She likes to cram herself into this spot in my office, or just lie down on top of the registers in the floor downstairs. As if there were a sign over each one that said Dog Parking.