Feeling stretched...like butter over too much bread...

Looks like we have a supply & demand problem here.

From a recent report by the California Commission on Access to Justice:

* In 2005, only 754 California lawyers worked as legal aid attorneys. That translates into one legal aid lawyer for every 8,361 low income Californians. On the other hand, there is one private attorney for every 250 Californians.
* Two of three eligible low-income clients with meritorious cases are turned away.
* IOLTA (Interest on Lawyer Trust Accounts) funding, which serves as the underpinning for many legal aid programs, declined by $14.6 million between 1993 and 2005, a 59 percent drop.
* Although core funding for legal services (from IOLTA, the Legal Services Corp. and California's Equal Access Fund) increased by $7 million from 1993 to 2005, when adjusted for inflation, the 2005 money actually represented a decline in funding.
* Self-help centers are helping to fill the gap in county courthouses, but the courts need $44 million to fully achieve self-help assistance. Current funding provides $8.7 million statewide.

entertaining the troops

Last night at practice we were playing "half-line," meaning that we were running plays with one side of an offense and a defense since our roster is a little thin. I was learning how to read the offense as Safety. I was a little bit removed from some of the main action, and left to my own devices between plays I started doing very odd things like "nataraja-asana" (though I didn't know that's what it is called--I think we called it something else back in the SF State yoga class days). My back was sore so I was trying to do every stretch I could think of that didn't require sitting or lying on the ground in hopes of working it out, including several, like this one, that aren't lower back stretches.

I looked up and had an attentive, incredulous audience who had apparently not witnessed such yogic prowess on the football field before. So 'Anything to amuse the linewomen' is my new mantra.

Remind me sometime to mention that yoga was one of the most useful classes (I dare not say THE most useful for fear of possibly alienating at least one cherished reader) I ever took in college...new uses are yet arising!

Greetings from the edge of Sherwood

¡Viva el Robin!

We put Errol Flynn on the queue to see if we could recognize any of our Bidwell Park backyard in the movie...some of the stream crossings and sycamores and oaks looked familiar, though things have probably changed a bit in seventy years.

I loved this movie when I was a kid, loved a book of Robin Hood stories I read in the sixth grade even more. I really dug the whole Robin Hood aesthetic (though now I seriously wonder what material they could possibly have made tights out of in the twelfth century). I would go out in the back yard and attack fenceposts with my quarterstaff. I wanted to be Robin Hood and fight for the rights of the oppressed, and have a feather in my hat.

Seems I have it all except for the feathered hat. Our cats would destroy it in no time anyway. Olivia de Havilland has nothing over the lovely Ce, she's as much my companion in adventure as my lady. Plus Ce's outfits are far more sensible attire for jogging through the forest.

It is good to realize this as one of the roots of my legal aid career. Tomorrow I shall attack the pile(s) on my desk with newfound zeal, if not for Richard and England then just for the sake of being a louder, buzzier bee in the bonnet of the status quo. Errol Flynn. Where is he when we need him? Was there really an America that once embraced the values of this Warner Bros. adventure? Of course the good guys all got rich in the end when their Lionheart Inc. stock went up, maybe that's the sticky part.

fear is the mind-killer

Not sure that repeating the Dune litany will be enough to help me get over this "bump" in my young football career. In the blocking and tackling drills we did Tuesday I was a bit...hesitant...just before any impact was to occur. In 99% of the situations one encounters in the course of a day, this hesitation is a fine or even helpful response. But not here. I need to convince my brain that hesitation is more likely to result in injury than if I just charge out full throttle (momentum!). My brain doesn't yet trust me on this one. Coach says once I do it a couple times I'll be over it. I might be a bit gunshy since the bouncing I got last Saturday.

Physics Lab Experiments

Or, So That's What "Full Contact" Means!

Today's practice featured our first tackling drills. We started out by running at a big cylindrical pad held from the side by one of the coaches. Upon contact we were supposed to hug it, lift it slightly and fling it and ourselves to the ground. I found this to be immensely enjoyable. That pad never knew what hit it.

Then we practiced on a real person (taking turns so that we were both tackler and tacklee) standing in front of pads on the ground so that when you knock her backwards with you on top it is a nice soft landing. This also was fun, though just a tiny bit scarier than the first drill. We were supposed to wrap our arms around the back of the other player's legs and hug them all the way down, but the reflex to let go at the last minute and put your arms out to break the fall is hard to overcome. This drill was called the "De-cleating Drill." I liked that.

THEN we moved on to a drill called Window Tackling. One person is the runningback with a ball and the other person tries to tackle her when she runs through the "window" between two pads on the ground. There was a bit more rookie anxiety about this one. Another rookie teammate who typically acts / talks fairly tough was giggling nervously as we waited our turn, trying to figure out who we'd have to face off with. My first couple tries were OK, I had a sense of collision but no big deal.
Then my turn to tackle came up a second time and across the way from me was our Center. Now I thought it through...I thought, well, she's not all THAT big, we're close to the same height, even though she's been playing three years or so and I've observed that she goes all-out yelling at the top of her lungs for pretty much the entire practice, every practice, so I'll just...stay low...hug her legs...we'll be fine...OK, ready, HIT!

I ran forward. With a satisfyingly loud crash I basically bounced backward as if I'd been standing still and a light pickup truck or small SUV had given me a friendly tap at 20 miles per hour or so. I had a nice view of the sky lying on my back. The Center was nowhere to be seen, apparently she broke my tackle somehow. The coach was smiling as I jumped up and he said we should try it again. Ok...stay low...head up...ok...ready, HIT!

Another loud crash, more bouncing backward, rolling over a few times, and gazing at the sky, but so far the trauma was pretty much all psychological so I jumped up again. I'm not sure why but I think the coach told me to have another go. I couldn't remember later for sure whether I actually did this three times in a row or only two, but my teammates say it was three. Either way the last impact seemed harder than the others and it took me a few seconds to get up again. By now it hurt a little, mostly I felt shaky in the knees and my eyes watered up involuntarily, as if perhaps I'd just survived a 6+ magnitude earthquake, but everybody seemed pleased; people said good job!, slapped me on the shoulder pads and asked if I was OK. I apparently experienced my first minor "stinger"; and one of our veteran linebackers instructed me to keep moving my arm around to shake it out. Sure enough my arm stopped tingling after a minute or two. One of our QBs asked me if I'd ever seen the movie "Rudy," which as a matter of fact came in the mail from Netflix today. We watched it after I got home. QB said maybe they should start calling me Rudy for my willingness / ability to keep getting up from repeated flattenings. Now having seen the movie I feel like I'd have to work pretty hard to live up to that compliment but I feel like I earned some respect, in addition to the enormous respect I gained for our Center. I want to be like her when I grow up.

One of the assistant coaches likes to give people nicknames and he calls me "Judge" on account of my day job; that's another nickname I'll have to work hard to live up to but it might be the one that sticks, we'll have to wait and see. Football is very character-building so far.

While looking for a tackling-related graphic or maybe a picture of Rudy to include with this post, I found this link on the physics of tackling. Note the second bullet point in the article, describing what happens when the ball carrier has more momentum than the tackler. I think I may have had insufficient momentum. No worries though, on Tuesday I will probably get to try the experiment again.

Other famous #9's

Just discovered that Shane Lechler, the Oakland Raiders' punter, is #9. Since he's the busiest guy on their team in recent seasons, having punted a total of 3,660 yards in 2006 with his longest punt at 77 yards, he's worthy of some admiration.

Also Jon Ryan, a punter for the Packers, is #9. His longest punt last season of 66 yards is 11 yards shorter than Shane's, but he racked up more total yards. He has better hair than Shane too.

Now of course not all #9's are kickers / punters. Drew Brees, the QB for the Saints, wears that number.

number 9...number 9

We had a great practice tonight and most everyone was in a great mood, maybe because it rained and snowed in Redding all day and practice was moved indoors to the gym.

The rookies also got to pick their jersey numbers tonight. After bouncing around in the range of eligibles (numbers that allow me to catch a pass w/out notifying the ref ahead of time) -- first I picked 19, but that seemed too quarterback-ish which I'm not, then I picked 37, which would have been OK but it's more of a running back number, and 99 was already taken by one of our linemen -- I finally settled on 9 which is a proper kicking number (but I can still be a receiver and all that).

It looks like I might get to do some serious kicking. I am stoked about this because I think I could actually be really good at it with ongoing practice. We had another rookie player who had a mean left-footed boot but unfortunately she may not be able to play for medical reasons. It will be a while before we start officially practicing special teams, most of us still have to learn how to tackle and apparently that's kind of a priority in the coaches' minds, but after the last few field practices I've been punting a few and a couple teammates have been fielding. Then they throw long bombs back to me which is also good since my catching needs all the help it can get.

I also have my own kickoff tee. Last Saturday formal practice was cancelled since the coaches were at a coaching clinic (in Reno, probably getting coached on how to navigate all-you-can eat buffets as an added bonus) and I worked on kickoffs. Had a small breakthrough, figured out that I was reaching too far for the ball and if I put my left foot down somewhere just past the ball, the power and lift increase dramatically.

I may not be Adam Vinatieri just yet, but at least he and I are the same age. That's a good start. I am only an inch and a half shorter than Martin Gramatica, who is my favorite kicker to watch because he prays so fervently before every kick. Too bad he plays for Dallas because I can't help but want him to make his kicks even though we always want Dallas to lose.

vindicated doctor visit

Some co-workers helped persuade me to drop by the clinic and have my cough checked out--I decided at least maybe I could get a prescription for something better than NyQuil to help me sleep at night even if the verdict was just that it's the bug going around.

Turns out that the verdict is bronchitis and I got Rxs for antibiotics as well as Tussionex, touted as "very strong" and capable of producing a full night's sleep. Isn't that sick, to be somewhat pleased that I'm sick? Maybe not so much pleased, but definitely validated, which is pleasing. "Your lungs sound kinda rough" declared the young PA-C. Thank you, they feel kinda rough!

cough...cof...cof....

One expects that there should be some benefit from taking nasty tasting medicine, other than the experience of choking it down. That's the last time I buy the Rite-Aid brand NyQuil Cough knockoff. I took it 45 minutes ago and can't tell that it has had any effect. C had to put in her earplugs, and we have some guests staying with us in the living room (they were warned, sort of) so I'm here trying to stifle my coughs. Lying down seems to make it worse. Nighttime in general seems to make it worse though it might only be perceived as worse because everything else is so quiet. Last night staying with a friend in Sac I took some NyQuil capsules she had on hand and slept really well once they kicked in. I should have bought more of those except that I don't have all the symptoms they claim to cover and they have a lingering zombie-like effect well into the day, maybe it's the antihistimine ingredient. I was trying to be a smart health consumer by selecting a product not too broad in scope. I think I would prefer being a well-rested (and quiet) zombie at this point to a hacking insomniac.

Overall it's trivial in the scheme of health complaints. This isn't a Wuthering Heights kind of cough or anything, but it's still a drag.

Lance says running is hard

Just ran across this article about Lance Armstrong's intention to have another go at the NYC marathon next fall. Apparently last year he accomplished his goal to run it in under 3 hours, but just barely. You'd think that no physical effort would seem all that tough to Lance but I guess the accumulated impact of running takes its toll in a way that the Tour doesn't. I'm impressed that one of the greatest athletes in the world was willing to try something new that he might not (yet, or ever) be one of the "best" at, and that he's coming back for more.

Lance flatly refused to wear the itsy bitsy Speedo shorts Nike wanted him to wear for the marathon last year, opting for basketball shorts instead. He has a spine in addition to his other physical attributes.

first practice w/ helmet

The helmet fits perfectly and is touted as the most "comfortable" football helmet on the market. Nevertheless it is something like wearing a ball and chain that attaches to your head with thumb screws (speaking more from speculation than actual experience) so I'm glad I got the comfy one. Whatever capacity I had for catching a ball on the run was at least temporarily shut down by it. I'm afraid that if I turn my head too fast, the inertia will make my head spin all the way around. My peripheral vision is shrunk to the area of my face mask. Good thing we have practice three times a week for the next 2 1/2 months, I'm sure these issues will work themselves right out.

Word to Bush -- Isaiah 3:15

A long time ago, riding down a street in Salt Lake City with my dad, I saw a bunch of guys in carwash uniforms kicking and stomping on another guy who was down on the ground, looked like he could have been homeless but who knows, and who knows what he may have done, if anything, to incur the wrath of his attackers. Whatever else it was, it was obviously not a fair fight. When we got to Dad's office he called the police to report the incident. I haven't witnessed live very many instances of real violence which seems a little surprising to me, considering how prevalent it is in the world. In my own protected sphere most of the violence I see is prepackaged and edited or staged, with one subtle exception.

I have a client, a woman in her 50's, who (along with her cat) is about to end a long stint of homelessness. She was a winner of a recent Section 8 "lottery." During the cold snaps in January I wondered almost every night if I would read the next morning that she had frozen to death. The homeless shelter wasn't a viable option for her because they have many stringent rules for eligibility imposed by their HUD funding. No way in hell was she giving up her cat, her best friend and companion for the past ten years, and she doesn't do so well with crowds and little privacy. I have heard people use the term "feral humans" as a way of trying to wash their hands of those "hard to serve" homeless who won't sign away nearly all of their personal liberties for the sake of a roof and a hot dinner, but she has been very much interested and focused on finding herself a warm, safe place to live.

A few months ago, our local Housing Authority held a lottery for people to try to win a position on the waiting list for a Section 8 voucher. Briefly, the Section 8 program allows people to receive rental assistance that allows them to rent a very modest apartment of their choice (from any landlord who will accept the vouchers). The tenant is obligated to pay about 30% of whatever income he / she has as their share of the rent. There is a ceiling on the amount of assistance the Housing Authority can provide, so the total rent has to be at the lower end of the area's average rents to start with, or the rental won't get approved. If or when the tenant's income increases, the Section 8 subsidy decreases proportionally. So it's a pretty smart program, encourages responsibility, theoretically helps avoid concentrating all the poor people into one spot, includes annual inspections to make sure the housing is up to health and safety codes, and so on.

Unfortunately the waiting list to obtain one of these prized vouchers in our county had been closed for YEARS before the recent lotteries. Even once on the waiting list, in many areas it can take five years or more before your name comes up.

My client and her cat got lucky -- not only did she win a spot on the list, she got a low number and was able to get a voucher almost immediately. She's working with a landlord to make some repairs on an apartment so that it will pass the Section 8 inspection, and hopefully soon she can leave behind the years of sleeping in old camping trailers and tents and somebody or other's van. I am so proud of her, she's really stayed on top of this plus she has no car and travels everywhere by bicycle and bus. A hero for our time.

So when I read about Bush's budget proposal that would further slash housing assistance programs, it is clear that Bush and his gang are just like those guys at the carwash. This is our "homeland security," a bunch of guys in jumpsuits who will come and stomp on you when you're down. In the article linked above there is an interesting quote from Nixon's 1972 re-election campaign touting the fact that

"for the first time in 20 years we are spending more on human resources than defense."

This was something people once said to try to get re-elected. Huh.

I will vote for anyone who has the internal organs, of whatever gender, to embrace truly and re-proclaim investment in human resources (including varying companion species) as a legitimate American value and a most desirable goal. Down with the thugs.

championship wall sitting

Here is a photo from the web (not me or our team) demonstrating Wall Sit.
Last night was our last team practice in the gym; after this we're on the field 3x per week. A regular exercise in our gym practices has been the wall sit. Usually we do three reps of 2 minutes or so. I was eager to up the ante but I didn't think this would help me win friends and be popular with my teammates. However Coach Mike made us an offer last night that whoever stayed longest on the wall could get out of doing the "quick feet" drill, a delightful exercise that turns your calves and shins to jelly in a short time. Apparently this was a very motivational offer for some folks. At the 6.5 minute mark three of us were still sitting, prompting Coach to declare that whoever made it to 8 minutes could get out of the quickfeet drill (guess he was worried we'd sit there all night). At the stroke of 8 minutes my two teammates dropped, having achieved their objective. I really wanted to see how long I could keep doing it but coach told me to get up shortly afterwards. I think it made a good impression. A flyer on the wall in the women's locker room says somebody in one of the women's strength training classes at the gym wall sat for 15 minutes. I think I could have made it to 10. 15 would take more practice. It felt good, since I'm still lacking somewhat in actual football skills, to be queen for a minute.

The Girls are Safe!

Up until this moment there has been no women-specific football equipment that I am aware of. This is a groundbreaking development. All my teammates and our colleagues around the country have been playing in gear that doesn't really fit or adequately protect our bodies. I think my rugged pioneer foremothers would smile upon this. Just put my bid on eBay for my set. I will sell the shoulderpads I already bought back on eBay or perhaps to a teammate who isn't quite ready for the revolution.

Grandmas on ice

Local grandmother Cathy Webster will spend two months in federal prison for her protest at the School of the Americas (WHINSEC). At her sentencing, Ms. Webster told the judge, "You will notice that increasingly it is the elders who are speaking out and acting boldly and authoritatively to bring understanding of what justice, kindness, generosity and compassion mean in a world weary of the endless conquest and dominance mind-set of nations."

Who's afraid?

In view of the delisting of wolves in three states with more to come I have to plug a book I read a few years ago, Of Wolves and Men by Barry Lopez. The author highlights very interesting, and tragic, parallels between how white people have historically treated wolves and how they treat(ed) native people. Maybe it's not really all that surprising a parallel. But the book is fascinating in its description not only of biology and the pack social structure, but in human mythologization for good or evil. After reading it I was ready to go up to Alaska with a rocket launcher and fire a warning shot or two past the propellers of the airborne wolf "hunters." Even out the playing field a bit. I can understand the rancher's need to protect property (though it sounds like many cases of predation were historically misattributed to wolves on a regular basis, actually feral dogs have been a worse problem at times). If you'd left the wolves an adequate supply of their normal prey they wouldn't have gone after your dumb old sheep anyway. Why can't we all just get along. It is grotesque and tiresome, this game of sending a whole group of somethings or someones to the brink of obliteration and then spending enormous effort and energy trying to save them again. I want to play something else. At least the good thing about the current administration is that in this game I don't think it would bother with the saving part because it's too hard; if it came to it, we'd just get to stop at the obliteration. Good thing the writing is on the wall for the administration along with anything it may have helped obliterate.

As time goes by

I received an 11"x6" postcard this week inviting me to "finish at home" what I "started at BYU!" by obtaining a Bachelor of General Studies with an emphasis in one several areas: American Studies, English and American Literature, Family Life, History, Management, Psychology, or Writing. The postcard has a detour / road sign theme (continued at the website) and the caption at the top of the card reads "Whatever Detours in Life Have Come Your Way, You Can Still Finish Your BYU Degree."

Rather a bold, all-encompassing statement. If I didn't already have a couple degrees from other universities (one school's degree is another school's detour, perhaps), it would be tempting to spend $30 to find out whether this is false advertising.

However, as Greg Kinnear's character stated in "Little Miss Sunshine," sarcasm is the refuge of losers, so I won't trip down that particular path right now. Certainly there are a number of people for whom this postcard will point out a feasible method of finishing their undergraduate degree, and it's a worthwhile thing to have. Last week I attended a conference on the issues faced by working poor families. One of the speakers pointed out that sadly one of the leading causes of poverty is motherhood. Therefore it especially behooves mothers to seize any economic advantage they possibly can, and judging from the images on the postcard and the website, the mom contingent is the prime target audience.

I am just puzzled though, unless this is some brand new continuing ed program and they dug way down into the files to promote it, why is BYU inviting me back at this particular time? I would have been (theoretically) eligible for the program almost ten years ago. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world...er, I mean, God never closes a door without somewhere opening a window...my grandma would have called that "working for the power company" but maybe it is meant to demonstrate the importance of good ventilation. I digress. Back in the day at the Y the closest thing we had to a gin joint was a coffee shop in Orem. We'll always have Orem. I think this may be the beginning of a beautiful work of satirical semi-fiction. No sarcasm though, that's for losers.

for my NFL-sized head

The Schutt DNA appears to be a good model for protecting what C would call my "tender goo." Been searchin' the "internets" for a metallic silver size XL which, they advise, requires the XL size DNA facemask (has to be maroon). I found one ebay store that claims to offer the requisite size and colors but I tell you what, XL is harder to come by than you'd think considering the sport's association with human solar eclipse-type guys. I guess the pros / collegiates have their secret suppliers. And no joke, I really do need an XL helmet despite the less substantial rest of me. I wrapped the measuring tape around my forehead and it came out 23.5." The lower end of XL, yes, but a tad too big for a large unless I were to slather my head with petroleum jelly which I would prefer not to do. I can adjust the pads inside the helmet to make sure the fit is good.

But back to the subject of suppliers, it turns out that right here in Butte County, CA is one of the nation's premier suppliers of certified reconditioned football helmets of all the major manufacturers. On Thursday when I'm passing through Gridley on the way to Sacramento I may pay them a visit, I think I may be able to save some $$ over the ebay outfit in Wisconsin, try before I buy, and maybe even show up to Saturday practice with a helmet. The first drill will involve trying to stand up and walk while wearing helmet without being toppled over by its massive girth. We aren't tackling just yet but coach wants us to start practicing the not toppling over bit.

the horror

I added the movie "S21--The Khmer Rouge Killing Machine" to our Netflix queue a long time ago because I was looking for films about the recent history of Southeast Asia. It finally made its way through the list having been bumped back numerous times by other DVDs that were more appealing. However, I'm glad I left it in the queue. It was so different from anything you see on the "history" channel or even good quality PBS documentaries we've seen, such as Ken Burns produces, and this is why: the film features a survivor of the S21 prison camp, Vann Nath, interviewing his former guards. Vann Nath survived because he was a painter and the men in charge liked the way he painted Pol Pot. Remarkably Vann Nath is able to ask the guards why and how they could have done what they did.

How often has that happened on this earth? That the victim and the abusers sit down at a table and the victim is able to call them to account? It was amazing. As dissociated and shut down as the guards appeared to be, they were obviously ashamed. Yet the film told their story as well. One of the former guards was only 13 or 14 years old at the time, having been taken away from his village as a small child and indoctrinated.

What was even more amazing was to observe the difference between Vann Nath and the former guards and see who was obviously worse off twenty years after their experience.

The film has some graphic photographs and descriptions of what happened but it uses no special effects. The guards use pantomime to describe some of their routines at the prison which is now a genocide museum, and one almost feels that they are like ghosts haunting the place, emotionally / mentally / spiritually trapped there as the former prisoners were physically trapped.

The film is probably not for everyone but if you are up for watching it, I recommend reading the Wikipedia link first to get a little more background. I had never heard of this prison before seeing the film and it took me a little while to figure out that S21 referred to the prison itself, and that most of the prisoners there were actually supporters / members of the Khmer Rouge movement that turned on its own people. Usually we think of genocide being perpetrated by one group against another. Perhaps the events in Cambodia reveal the falsity and insanity of sorting humans into groups who have some reason to hate each other. Is it more, or less, an atrocity to systematically torture and murder your "own people" than to murder "other people?" Trick question! The Khmer Rouge regime can be credited, at least, with not externalizing all of its paranoia.

Here I go again--

meaning it looks like I'm about to jump in to something that, if I'm lucky, could result in serious injury to my ego. Hopefully not too much physical injury. At least I know a lot more about football than I knew about law (& law school) before I started THAT project, so I'm not signing up in a state of nearly complete ignorance about what it is I'll actually be doing.

Tryouts on Saturday involved a pretty easy warmup and some timed drills. My best 40-yd dash was 9.62 seconds. The fastest woman there ran it in under 7 seconds, but I was in the ballpark of the faster end of the group.

I did pretty well with the kicking considering only two previous kicking practices. The coaches offered some suggestions for increasing my punting distance--I was hitting the ball too high, I need to drop it lower or wait longer before I connect with it.

My standing jumps were pretty good. We were supposed to take three jumps in a row and then the coach measured the total distance traveled. My best of two attempts was 19'4". The record for the day was over 21 feet.

I caught on to the team cheer right away--"rage on three--1, 2, 3, RAGE!" At the end of the tryout the coaches gave us some of the fine print and reminded everyone that this is in fact full-contact TACKLE football (apparently one year somebody went through tryouts and even bought all her gear, then was utterly shocked when the first full-contact practice took place and quit in horror). Even though everybody gets to be on the team who wants to play, I was very impressed by the level of athleticism and skill I observed. There were a few veterans there as well as the new hopefuls. I seriously wondered if I'm really up for this challenge to my physical and mental toughness. But I think it will be good for me. The fastest running and farthest- jumping player trying out was there with her 3-year old son. No wonder she's so fast.

Bows and flows of angel hair

I like the sound of this year. Has sort of a sleek James Bond thing going for it. I am thinking of some things I would like to do and / or change a bit this year, understanding that old habits probably don't die but are at least adjustable.

So, not necessarily in order of importance, I want to:

·Experience being on a football team
·Help C carry out her plans to make art and put it out into the world, dream up clever marketing strategies and help her make a website
·Get some cafe singing gigs
·Use the GarageBand software to record a demo CD
·Finish building my touring bike
·Go bike camping
·Get a puppy (and a trailer for the bike)
·Increase by a notch or two the level of order I impose on my personal and work spaces. Tap in to my inner fastidiousness.
·Visit family and friends more often
·Continue to write the disjointed bits of fiction that will someday reach critical mass and coalesce into the great overlooked literary novel of this (or some future) decade.
·Renew my commitment to budget and save a little $ aside each month
·Go to sleep earlier and wake up earlier (I write that knowing it will improve efficiency and well-being but I have some resistance to it. We'll see. Maybe if I start waking up earlier it will become self-enforcing.)

Only 364.5 days left to accomplish these things. Better get crackin.'

Putting the Pro back in Procrastination

This is going to be short 'cause I have to dash off to work--BRIEFLY, I pray--to finish up the paperwork backlog I allowed to accumulate over the past, well, year.

Yesterday the office was officially closed which made the 10 hrs I put in extremely productive. I'm trying to leave on vacation, you see, but everything is supposed to be done before the ball drops over the weekend. And when the office is open I find it incredibly difficult to get anything done, people keep calling me, dropping in with new problems, and there's the email OCD thing where I feel compelled to check it about every 5 minutes, etc. I'm not sure what grand message it is that I think I might be receiving any minute that makes me want to check so often but it must be something good. (That's framing the problem optimistically at least.)

There is now some space on my desk that hasn't seen the light of day for months, so deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall be leaving for the coast this morning. Maybe not early this morning, but prior to 12:00 pm. Okay, gotta go.

graduated from Nerf

I pried Ce away during halftime on Sunday and we took our Nerf out in the parking lot. I guess for purposes of throwing a ball amidst parked cars it was a good idea but it was clear that this wouldn't do for real practice, plus we were probably bringing shame to our ancestors by tossing this bit of pointed prolate spheroid-shaped styrofoam around.

Today at lunchtime I went to Play it Again Sports and acquired a nice sticky Wilson Supreme official NCAA-size composite ball for $14.99. I tucked it under my arm and discretely ran back to the car. I think it's bigger than the one the women's league plays with but it has a good feel and Ce noted that no pigs or other animals donated their hides for it.

So now our household is more properly equipped. It's almost, but not quite, as exciting as the hanging cookware rack we bought from Collier's last weekend with our housewarming gift certificate. (Thanks again, you know who you are!!)

"was it destiny? I don't know yet"

The next Papale?

We stopped in for lunch at the Burger Hut off of Forest Ave. yesterday, needing to refuel for continued shopping, and also dining there was a whole table full of sturdy looking ladies in maroon football jerseys. I studied them for a bit, then noticed one of the women had a T-shirt that said "Rage On!" This was clearly the "Redding Rage" professional women's football team (or part of it, at least). So then I had to talk to them. We sat down at the adjoining table and I turned to the nearest player and said "Are YOU the Redding Rage?" which seemed to please the woman enormously. She said "Yes! Do you guys want to play?"

How to answer that question. Heck yes I want to play. Ce is very clear about her desire to remain a spectator, not a participant, but I am not clear at all and I can't figure out why. Normally I am quite averse to physical risks. They play full contact in this league. Maybe I don't really want to play, I just want to try on the costume. No, I want to try on the persona too. I could be meaner than a junkyard dog on the football field (within the rules of play) and my behavior would be completely appropriate.

On the other hand, I looked at their roster and it looks like they need another kicker. Not exactly the junkyard dog position but probably would make a lot more sense for someone who's a bit scrawny and risk averse. I think I was probably about 8 or 9 years old when I last attempted to kick a football but I'm sure it would come back with a little practice.

Anyway, it's only $25 to try out and you get a t-shirt (compared to the $75 fee to try out for the Sacramento Sirens team) so maybe...just for fun...just to say I tried...I'll head to Redding on January 6.

P.S. Someone I went to school with who is a staff attorney for legal services in Sacramento plays for the Sirens. She's smaller than I am but she's a lot meaner.

lean your ear this way

I spent the morning at a senior center in their storage room (officially called "the library" because among the stored items are some bookshelves full of very old paperbacks and ReadersDigestCondensed volumes). I have appointments here once a month. Today a client asked me, "Are you an attorney, or are you from Legal Aid?" I explained, why, as it happens, I am an attorney AND I am from Legal Aid! To cut the old lady a little slack, though, a lot of free legal aid happens through the efforts of non-attorneys and attorneys who volunteer their time. I don't really wear the uniform that people associate with attorneys either so I can't blame her for not being sure.

Since I had a couple no-shows today there was more opportunity to reflect on the senior center environs. A gentleman started playing Christmas songs on the piano in the main room. He played a bit hesitantly, as if sight reading and a little rusty, though less rusty than I would have been. He played "Jolly Old St. Nicholas" in a halting, reverent way that made it sound exactly like like a hymn, which was pretty much how he played all the songs, but for some reason that one stuck. I'm a sucker for paradox, I guess. But the main thing was that the music warmed the air a bit, sent out some good vibrations, and that he was both able and willing to play for us. Bless him.

Imagine

"If everyone demanded peace instead of another television set, then there'd be peace."

I don't know if a mass rejection of additional TVs would be sufficient to halt the war industry or repair the damage it has done, but I will challenge myself, and you, to think of something else you can do today or the coming week or month to bring forth your own vision of the world you would like you, your kids, and / or your friends to live in, on however small a scale.

Thanks. Visions may vary a bit, but I think it's probably safe to assume that nobody dreams of raising their kids in a cardboard box by the river or in bombed-out ruins, and probably everyone would like to be able to get medical care without destroying their credit, and probably nobody really enjoys being stuck in traffic twice a day, so I trust you.

my own private Kansas

I applied for and was appointed to a Citizens Advisory Committee to help with our county's General Plan update process. I missed the first meeting due to a conflict but attended one tonight in which the group showed photos of things they liked or disliked about our county, and we reviewed a set of "guiding principles" that will be used to chart the rest of the GP update.

There were many, many photos of the open spaces, ag land, forest, recreation opportunities etc. (Like), and some photos of illegal dumping and aesthetically displeasing industrial uses (Dislike). Unfortunately since I missed the first meeting I didn't find out about the photo homework in time. We were put into groups as part of this discussion. One of the people in my group had a profound concern that the commercial developments along our highways were being painted in colors that did not encourage people to shop / eat there. She expressed this at some length. Another person explained that we need to develop more recreation options because now everybody wants to live where they play since they can do all their work remotely with the internet (uh, except for the people who mow the golf course lawn, run the concession stand, teach math to the children of the liberated recreating home-office workers, and respond to 911 calls; but sure, everybody else is just here to play).

OK, trying to respect the inherent worth & dignity of the people in my group. Maybe they are really deep in ways that were not apparent. I would love to wallow in progressive-minded self-righteousness here but listening to everyone in the room made me realize that going to work every day, where I work, has given me a very distorted view of what public priorities are. It's not just that the concerns of the poor are overlooked, it's more like there's an active hatred or aversion.

All the group introductions happened in the first meeting so I haven't been outed as a legal aid lawyer yet, though people probably became suspicious when I tried to suggest that we establish a guiding principle that the General Plan will address the needs of housing for all income levels. It is kind of scary to realize that somewhere between 15 - 30% of the population of the county may have no voice at all in this process if I don't pipe up now and then with my wildly popular ideas.

On the other hand, my background and affiliations were fully disclosed in my application to serve on this committee, so it seems likely that somebody in the planning department really wants to hear from me. Time to step up.

Cured!

Specifically, cured (at least for now) of my curiosity about ultramarathon running. Just the garden-variety 26.2 distance is fine. I was about to refer to this as the distance that killed Phidippides but apparently that story may be a total myth, and/or before he ran 21-something miles from Marathon to Athens, he had spent the two days before running 150 miles to Sparta and back. Nor was he on paved roads and rolling hills. So I don't fault him for dropping dead at some point. The only reason Dean Karnazes can get away with it is that he stops at 7-11 for donuts and microwave pizza while he's running, and his family brings him peanut butter sandwiches.

Technically I guess I did an 'ultra' since we walked about 4 blocks back to C's mom's place after I finished, and after I had spent a few minutes trying to decide if I was going to have to ingloriously decorate the lawn of our State Capitol. (Note: hot tomato soup is a bad chaser for marathon finish--took only three sips to figure that out.) On the drive back to Chico I was thinking about how much I will enjoy riding my bike, especially once the all-weather Surly is ready to roll, and it's getting close.

Nothing like actually running a marathon to take all the romance out of the idea of marathon running. But since I seem to keep doing it (this is where Dr. Phil yells "What's your payoff??") I must have a reason. I just keep forgetting how hard it is. It's good for me because even with the progress I've made with my running, this event never goes just as I expect and I always have a huge struggle with it. I can feel good about the fact that I got a significant PR (about 4:03, down from the previous 4:20), but humbled by how hard it was to do that, and I was really hoping to crack the 4-hour barrier. Then again, I feel like I gave it everything I could. Yet again, whether I run a marathon in 4:03 or 3:59 is probably one of the least significant details in the universe.

We'll see, maybe with some time I'll be up for another try. I know I'm faster but I can see that my distance training wasn't quite where it needed to be.

C has been very sweet and helpful this afternoon as I pretty much wiped myself out. I'm starting to perk up a little though. I took a shower at C's mom's place and was very grateful for the grab bars.

One highlight from the road this morning--a small group of somewhat portly unshaven fellows staged what appeared to be a protest of the marathon along Fair Oaks Blvd. They had handwritten cardboard signs reading "STOP THE RUN! DON'T BLOCK FAIR OAKS BLVD!" They also had built a fire in a little barbecue container, but nothing was cooking on it and they weren't gathered around it for warmth so I thought maybe they were just trying to replace the air pollution that would have been generated had the road been open for those few hours on a Sunday morning. Other than that it was very heartwarming to be cheered almost continuously for the length of the course. In some places the crowd was dense and noisy, ringing bells and yelling and clapping. Music played in various locations along the course, of course with the obligatory Queen "We Will Rock You" near the finish. I have to admit that the guitar solo in that song probably quickened my finish time by at least a minute. I wish they could have played Queen the whole way, I might have run a 3:40 and qualified for Boston.

Damn the torpedoes!

This phrase came to mind and I did a little checking to find out its origin as my knowledge of the history of warfare is somewhat incomplete. (Speaking of knowledge, thank heavens all I had to do was take the California Bar Exam and not the new test for U.S. citizenship. What kind of messed up questions are those anyway? "What is the rule of law?" "What is self-government?" Huh? These are the kind of questions that require an answer that is either a precise one-liner from page 128 of your high school civics text book, or a dissertation examining the Federalist Papers and 200 years of Supreme Court jurisprudence. Or maybe I've got it all wrong, the Bush Administration is just asking prospective citizens these questions in sincere hope of actually finding out what the answers are.)

ANYWAY, Damn the torpedoes--Full speed ahead is attributed to (then) rear admiral David Glasgow Farragut in the Battle of Mobile Bay. In the Civil War era, what we would call mines were called torpedoes. After the U.S.S. Tecumseh was destroyed by a mine, Farragut decided to charge through the minefield anyway to Union victory. We've been watching the Ken Burns "Civil War" series, but we're not quite that far along. Stonewall Jackson just died and Pres. Lincoln is (still) trying to find competent leadership for the Union army. Now there was a man with a hard job.

I thought of Damn the Torpedoes! because I was feeling low yesterday with this head cold and the marathon on Sunday, and a trial on Monday while we're at it, feeling like I had no energy or motivation, and totally annoyed with myself because it's just a stupid cold, why not suck it up like (almost) everybody else does and pretend I don't have it and go about sharing my germs with the world? I really just wanted to stay in bed. I had to go to work for part of the day and felt very whiny the whole time, and annoyed, and like my head was not attached to my body but not in a good floaty-detached-head way. One of my friends in Sacramento emailed about our plans for the eve of the marathon and I emailed back with some of my whining. Then she emailed and said "You have 4 days to kick it!" and I thought, hey, she's right. From then on my spirits have been better even if my head is stuffy. I'm sure it'll clear out after a few miles anyway. DAMN THE TORPEDOES! RAAAAHHHHHH!!!! Thanks for the pep talk, H. See you at 5.5.

allergique pt II

I came home from work a bit early today hoping to get a jump on this cold. I went to the co-op to get some supplies and felt a craving for some kind of soup with roots in it so I bought a turnip and a burdock and a piece of ginger. I have eaten turnips before but I can't remember when I last purchased one, if ever. I am glad they exist, and that there is enough demand for them to create supply, because I guess you never know when you'll want one.

(There were other things in my stew as well...though it turned out to be very thick, more like a risotto. The brown rice was very absorbent.)

Allergique!

Funny, I felt fine all the long weekend and within an hour of arriving back at the office I started having the sneezy sniffly thing. My boss was sick over the holiday and I felt like maybe I was trying to fight something off early last week / week before but whatever it is I think it lives at work. I should have stayed on holiday. It was a day when I just felt like I shouldn't answer the phone and the intuition was good, nearly all the messages I got were from clients who don't have an open or current case with me but who left very long, repetitive, semi-coherent and alternately teary and enraged-sounding messages that would have been even longer, more rambling and energy-sucking conversations. If there were some way I could play you a sample without violating all the codes of professional ethics, I would. It is amazing what people will pour out to a stranger or near-stranger. Folks have many troubles, sometimes of a legal variety, sometimes not.

Happy birthday to Marilynne Robinson

Garrison Keilor already mentioned her in today's Writer's Almanac on NPR (which is how I found out it was her birthday), but I feel that she can't be mentioned enough. Plus she is originally from Idaho so it's tempting to try to claim her has a relative.

I read C's copy of Gilead back in April and since then I've been sort of evangelical about it, even to the point of lending out C's copy a few times (with her permission). I should get my own, and two or three to give away. I made my mom buy one though I don't know if she's had a chance to read it yet. I hope she will very soon. Then I hope my dad will read it too. And all of my siblings. And my grandparents, and my aunts and uncles and cousins, and so on. And my bibliophilic friends who haven't read it yet. You know who you are. It is a very quiet book, our hero is not a hardboiled investigator of crime or a secret agent, but rather an elderly minister living in a small town in Iowa writing his thoughts and recollections to the son of his old age as he anticipates that he won't live long enough for his son to know him well.

As another reviewer put it: "[N]early every sentence demands to be savored....There has been much talk lately about a religious divide in this country. Gilead, then, may be the perfect book at the perfect time: a deeply empathetic and complex picture of a religious person that is also gorgeously written, and fascinating."

After I read it, I thought, if I could only read one more novel before I die, I would read this one over again.

...new york in June, how about....?

We got a save-the-date card in the mail today for the wedding of a childhood friend / former SF roommate of C's who lives in Brooklyn with his girlfriend and they've decided to wed June 9. At first I thought, well, C should go by all means. But she seems to want me to go with her, and now she can't pry me away from my search for the ultimate sweet NYC B&B deal. Or perhaps something affordable yet culturally significant; i.e. the hotel referred to in Joan Baez's "Diamonds and Rust" as "that crummy hotel over Washington Square." Or something in Chelsea for the "morning" with the first thing one sees being the sun outside the window, etc. etc. If I keep this up C may change her mind about wanting my company on the trip...it was already suggested once or twice today that maybe I didn't need to sing a song for every other word she said. I have sort of a musical Tourettes sometimes, the songs in my head create pressure and they have to come out. Probably the last thing we need is to choose lodgings based on a musical reference. That pretty much rules out all of Harlem on account of the ermines and pearls that I won't wear.

ran for food

Map of the course in Bidwell Park
Participated in the inaugural "Run for Food" this morning, benefiting the Jesus Center. You can read about it but essentially, the center provides meals to anyone who is hungry, and shelter for women and children in an adjoining facility, "Sabbath House." So combine a great cause with the chance to start Thanksgiving off with a little calorie debt and I think we have a very successful new Chico fundraising tradition before us.

I tend to take running and my effort in timed events somewhat seriously (right down to the intestines that always freak out before a race)...but after I finished I watched other people come in for awhile, all ages of people, and almost everyone broke into a crazy all-out sprint near the finish line, and I realized this is a kind of playing after all. I felt so warmed to see all these people outside on a crisp sunny Thanksgiving morning, running like we're all going for an Olympic medal! Sometimes people are so sweet and funny you don't know whether to fall down laughing or crying over them.

learning about age-appropriate toys

We had a small visitor today, S., who came along with her parents to watch football and have good snacks, and I was very eager to see that she enjoyed herself. It didn't really occur to me that pulling the detachable limbs off of the Monty Python "Black Knight" doll we have in the living room and exclaiming "Ow!" was anything less than a delightful way to entertain a child. I would have found it pretty amusing, I'm sure, but maybe age 2 is a little bit early to develop a sense of black humor. I was pleased when she took the doll and pulled off one leg, but she seemed hesitant to dismember it any further, despite encouragement from her parents. About that time we all decided maybe the Black Knight wasn't her cup of tea and let her return to playing with the nice dolly whose arms and legs don't come off (yet).

When I was little (though older than S.) I used to remove the head of my dolly but usually only when it was medically necessary to do so, and I always put it back.

finding the inner urchin

I was moved to do a little research after watching an episode of "Lost" last night in which Dr. Jack uses a sea urchin spine as a needle to give Boone a blood transfusion, and feeling a bit skeptical about the whole concept because I thought sea urchin spines were barbed--not exactly something you'd want to puncture a vein with even if you are as manly and able to endure pain as Dr. Jack. Of course, simultaneously with the blood transfusion, Claire was having her baby in the middle of the jungle with apparently no medical equipment of any kind, I'd like to see Dr. Jack do THAT. At least the birth was more plausible than the sea urchin needle. And I can't find anything that suggests sea urchin spines are hollow as portrayed in the episode. I can suspend a lot of disbelief as long as a TV show or movie doesn't blatantly lie about known facts of the natural world. For example, if there are mutant sea urchins on the island who evolved razor-sharp, hollow, barbless spines due to their exposure to mysterious radio transmissions, that's FINE. But don't just go harvesting any old Pacific urchin and telling boldfaced lies about it.

Meanwhile I discovered that we (humans) have a lot more in common with sea urchins, genetically speaking, than we have with fruit flies. This article says that 70% of urchin DNA has a human equivalent but I'm not sure where they get that figure, elsewhere in the article it said 7,000 or so bits out of 23,000 that they identified from the urchin genome matched human DNA. Maybe I should suspend my disbelief about the math in this article as well.

here's to free & untrammeled

The Susan B. Anthony quote came via Adventure Cycling's (link at left) Bike Bits today. Just reading it sort of makes you feel like the wind is in your face.

We had a live band at the LSNC party last night playing danceable "oldies" from the 60's - '80's. I found out that the Pretenders' "Back on the Chain Gang" was on their set list and I asked them before they went on if they would maybe let me sing it. A perk of being one of the organizers of a private party, I suppose. They were very friendly and indulgent about the idea. So I got to be Chrissie Hynde only without the fender telecaster and vegan activism for 3 minutes or so. (Don't get me wrong, as they say, absolutely nothing wrong with vegans as long as they don't too forcefully obstruct my path to the food dish.) I couldn't really hear much in the monitors, so I just hoped that I was mostly in tune, but Ce and others said it sounded good and she was pleased that I even put some movement into my performance (rather than the deer-in-the-headlights style I tend to exhibit).
Just in case you get us mixed up, I've labeled the photos. The distinctions are quite subtle, I realize.
For example, Chrissie Hynde's birthday is September 7, 1951 and

mine is September 6, 1972. Also she's originally from Akron and I'm from Centerville but our states are both 4 letters.

The slideshow was successful too; a number of the old-timers who featured prominently in the photos were at the party and so far no one has threatened to sue us or demanded that I destroy all the copies. Truth is an absolute defense to slander, after all.

Of plant / human hybrids

After some long nights I have finished the slideshow project for the big office fundraising event, which is tomorrow night. One of the quaint things about living and working up here is that I have somehow achieved techie quasi-guru status in the office. These people haven't met my family. A coworker attending the conference in Sacramento with me remarked "You really like your electronic devices." Yes, yes I do. though I pushed the learning curve with this movie thing. I didn't want just a bunch of still images at 5 seconds a pop...I wanted a soundtrack and titles and the "Ken Burns" effect and cross-fade transitions. I had immense faith in the ease and intuitiveness of working with Mac software I hadn't really ever used before. I am older and wiser now but I think I came up with something pretty cool considering I didn't know what I was doing. Now I'm looking around for something else to make a movie about. My camera can take several seconds of .avi footage at a time. As much as I love Ken Burns I would like to branch out from the slideshow experience. I wonder if you could fit enough slides into the slideshow and have them change quickly enough to do 30-second or so animation pieces.

Great, I really had this expansive void of time that needed to be filled with another hobby.

Don't let the fact that I'm typing this fool you, I'm approaching semi-vegetative. Better rest up since I'll need to be one of the charming hostesses for the party tomorrow night. Among my duties is the calling of the winning raffle numbers (and pushing the button on the DVD player to show my "movie" a couple times during the evening). Tomorrow, Chico; the day after tomorrow, Sundance.

plot thickens

This is an issue that's hard to feel until it kicks you or someone you know in the teeth, but since more and more people are being kicked in the teeth, maybe it's not so hard. I'm talking 'bout the health insurance industry, having recently spent 7 - 8 hours in a conference on medical debt. I have a goodly number of elderly clients who are or have been dragged through collections because they couldn't pay their medical bills. Having some kind of insurance is not necessarily always helpful either. I learned about something that hospitals have called a Chargemaster. This is the list of the highest most detached-from-any-reality prices that they have made up for any given procedure. It is different from the actual "Cost" which is the amount the hospital has negotiated with various insurance companies and government safety net programs, the amount the hospital will actually be paid for the procedure. The "charges" have skyrocketed since the 90's with no relationship to anything other than that hospitals figured out they could gouge the government for procedures that are reimbursed at a percentage of the "charge"--for example, wouldn't you rather have 80% of $100,000.00 than 80% of $10,000.00?

California recently passed (takes effect in January) some better protection for consumers including self-paying consumers...the hospital can't charge lower income uninsured people an amount greater than the Medicare, Medi-Cal, or workers' comp rate, along with some brakes on the collections process.

So that's good. But health insurance as a for-profit industry is hurting and / or killing people and small businesses and nonprofits. My nonprofit org has been scrambling to figure out how to deal with yet another 30 - 40% hike in premiums this year. Last year they dealt with it by giving us a $2,500 deductible. One proposal this year is to have us start paying full price for office visits (currently we have a $30 co-pay). Seems like that would really discourage anyone from going in for preventive care. Thanks, I'll just wait until I'm pretty sure that I'm dying. We pay for this?

It is all about profiting at the expense of public health and security, cutting benefits (maternity care is often one of those items on the insurance companies' chopping block) and increasing the revenues. This can't go on. I think Phillip Morris and Wal-Mart have more integrity at this point than the health insurance industry. At least I can make choices about smoking and shopping but I'm just not empowered enough to perform most surgeries at home. Maybe creative solutions are out there and we're not as helpless as it feels like we are. I don't know where the breaking point will be, maybe campaign financing reforms will have to happen first, but I tell you this is the next big revolution that has to happen.

Also, I think that there is a scene in my novel in which some people appear to set themselves on fire in front of the brand X insurance corporate headquarters. Not really a solution (other than they no longer have to pay premiums and it takes care of any preexisting conditions they may have had), but sort of cathartic to think about. Especially since not a whole lot has been happening in the novel in terms of a storyline.

good morning america, howareya

Since I'm here working on the slideshow (going better, but waiting for some slides to finish rendering yet again), and since the novel writing isn't exactly flowing, I thought I'd mention that we so enjoyed our jaunt up to Westport with the folks (or rather, we enjoyed being there, perhaps more than the process of getting there) that we started saying things out loud such as, "What if we lived in Ukiah?" C asked "What's in Ukiah?" with a tone of genuine curiosity as opposed to a tone of "that is not a funny joke."

Well, the list of things in Ukiah wasn't the longest list, exactly, but at the top was the 1.5 - 2 hr drive to the house in Westport. Also in Ukiah they have a Co-op, an organic brewery, a Buddhist temple, and a bookstore. They have a Legal Services outpost, though another component of the out-loud daydreaming involved what kind of private practice I might like to have and who would be my fabulous, efficient office manager. We still have some equity to build and work to do where we are. But maybe it'll happen some day. On Hwy 20 a few miles west of Willits there is a spot (one of many such spots up there) where we looked out and saw nothing but tree-covered mountains. Based on that view you'd hardly believe the world had any other people in it. Always brings to mind the statement of St. Exupery's Little Prince, looking out over an arid mountain expanse and declaring that the world was altogether dry and pointed.

Of tiny outbursts and their benefit

Perhaps since I'm still not very fast at some things, whenever we change the sheets on the bed and flip the mattress and replace the mattress pad (you don't really want to know how infrequently I would perform any or all of these activities if not for the domesticating effects of my partner) I always, ALWAYS get stuck with the intractable last corner of the mattress pad that is obviously too small for the mattress at that point. Usually I can coax it on before reaching my frustration threshhold.

However today I think I was pushed over the edge by the hours I spent trying to put a slideshow together in iMovie; when I added transitions between the slides so one would smoothly fade into the next, it started making the slides themselves shorter and shorter until they were fractions of seconds in duration. Then going back trying to make the slides longer again resulted in others getting shortened. OK, so I probably don't know what the hell I'm doing, and my poor little PowerBook is stuffed to the gills with music, and this slideshow is supposed to make its public debut at a very fundraising event for Legal Services

(side note: my dad and I discussed the possibility of splicing Cher's "Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves" into the slideshow soundtrack as it somewhat reflects the attitude of the establishment toward legal aid lawyers, and has a clear fundraising message, i.e. feeling that one must dance, etc for 'the money they'd throw.'

and, thus we see that the mattress pad was obviously the last straw. After at least 4 - 5 attempts to attach my corner, I roared and clenched my teeth and clenched my fists and stomped my feet in a circle. It felt very satisfying to do this. Then C came over and fixed the mattress pad. There is a trick, which she demonstrated, of bending the mattress to your will, and then it is much easier. On the multimedia front, iMovie may have bent me to its will as I'm thinking now that I don't really need transitions between every single slide. No foolishly consistent hobgoblins here.

training hangover

We arrived last night at the house in Westport where my folks had grilled up some Alaskan salmon and sautéed chanterelle mushrooms in garlic butter, and baked potatoes with sour cream, and a couple trays of sushi from the high-end grocery store in Fort Bragg, and some sparkling juice, and it was all good. They said it was part of the ongoing celebration of the old bums getting swept out of of office and the new ones having a crack at it. Unfortunately, though not too surprisingly, the ancient senator Hatch of UT was not dethroned. I think he's been in office since shortly after I was born. Maybe that's why he keeps getting reelected, too many people in UT can't imagine the universe configured in any other way. In Dantés Inferno one of the lower rings of hell was filled with people who had no imagination either. But that is a discussion for another day.

Anyway, ate very well and slept well but woke up feeling like maybe a light-duty truck had run over me while I slept. This is a good sign, clearly it could have been a much larger truck so I'm doing pretty well. The run yesterday was intended to be the last long one before the marathon so I should have ample time to recover. Meanwhile I'm working hard at replenishing those calories I used up yesterday. We stopped at a gas station in Willits last night and I got back in the truck with a Dr. Pepper and a small bag of mini Nutter Butters and a yogurt smoothie, and C suggested maybe I should focus a bit more on nutrition over just stuffing myself with carbs. What did she think the yogurt smoothie was for anyway? I just needed a little something to tide me over until we got to the house and had dinner about an hour later. I said, in my defense, But Dean Karnazes Eats Junk When He's Running and she pointed out that I'm not Dean Karnazes. I knew it wasn't a good argument anyway since he literally eats the junk food WHILE he's actually running all night, since 7-11 is the only place open. He says that at all other times he has a very healthy diet. So the bottom line is that I'll have to come up with a different rationalization. Pass the jalapeno potato chips and the ibuprofen please.

miles 17 & 21

What I can anticipate based on the 21 miler this morning. You've all no doubt heard or experienced "the wall" in its sundry forms; I talked myself through it at mile 17 by thinking of a suitable metaphor this morning. Happens to be a Star Trek metaphor, apologies to folks who are strictly old-school Trek and aren't familiar with this phenomenon. Mile 17 feels like my body is the Starship Enterprise and the top half is the saucer section, which is trying to detach from the bottom half in order to save all the innocent civvies and families with children on board, because the bottom half, though typically the chief propulsion area, either must create a distraction or has already been partly blown up, or both.

I didn't have time to think of a good 21-mile wall metaphor because that was the end, the engines canna take na more cap'n. But I'm sure I'll think of one during the actual marathon and I'll let you know.

dansez, dansez, dansez-vous

Now here's a band
I could happily follow from town to town. We loved the CD we have, "Hang on Little Tomato" and realize that we've been grossly negligent in not having their first CD "Sympathique." C posted about them, and maybe only didn't mention they are divine to behold because she posted before we went to the show. Almost torture to see them in a venue where I couldn't stand up to dance though. Fortunately we were traveling on foot so I was able to relieve the pressure somewhat by dancing home to the music still in my head. NPR clip from a couple years ago has some good music selections if you need to be introduced.

Lapses in judgment

perhaps caused by recent shifts in power, or the loud whooshing sound of defense secretaries resigning, dunno...but one thing I do know is that one minute I pulled up to the gas pump, turned off the engine, thinking I'd just keep listening to the song on my iPod playing through the stereo while I pumped the gas, and the next minute I was standing outside my locked truck.

Not just any gas pump, but the Texaco Food Mart on Grand Ave & 3rd in Oroville. Where I was treated kindly and granted use of the store phone after one of the last remaining payphones in the western U.S. ate my $0.50 (cellphone in the truck), where I was on hold with Better World roadside assistance for 10 minutes while the lady tried to figure out whether Oroville, CA was actually a town with paved roads as well as tow trucks, where about 20 minutes later the tow truck guy came and I confessed my sordid history in the sentence "Last time this happened the guy had to use one of those inflatable things to pry the door open." He replied, "Really? Didn't he have a magic such-and-such?" (or maybe it was a "wonder tool") holding up a benign looking variation on a slim jim, and I said, "well, I guess not," though it looked identical to whatever the guy had tried to use 6 months ago when we were at Donner Memorial State Park. I guess in Oroville they really know how to handle a slim jim or whatever this particular tool was called. I only wish that when you call, say every 6 months or so, for roadside assistance to get you back into your vehicle, they could drive something slightly more discrete than a bright yellow flatbed tow truck with flashing orange lights to help you.

"good samaritan" from the Upper East Side

A pro Kenyan runner dropped out of the race with stomach problems, got lost and was freezing in his skimpy running outfit until someone felt brave enough to actually help him. Having spent a little time in the City and having been inspired by the NYC Marathon even though I've never participated in it, and feeling a little biased against the entire Upper East Side the dwellingplace of people who have way too much money for their own good, this NY Times story (note: an ad may pop up when you click, just click "skip this ad" in the upper right corner--if you click on the ad, you might get lost and have to be rescued by the nice lady in the picture) is the kind of news I wish we got a little more often. I think it is helpful, even transformative, to be reminded of our capacity for kindness.

all fun and games until age 35

When I got to work this morning the secretary paged me and said Congratulations! I left the race yesterday before the times were sorted out and apparently I placed first in my age group (the 30 - 34 year old women). Slight discrepancy between what I saw on the clock as I passed it and the official posted time, but I'm not going to quibble about those 3 seconds (maybe I hesitated right at the finish without realizing it?). The results were in the Chico Enterprise-Record. However it looks like starting next year and possibly for the next 15 or so, the glory will be a lot harder to come by unless I can knock a couple more minutes off my time. Meanwhile I am basking, in case you hadn't already sensed that I'm somewhat pleased with myself, in the new and strange idea that I'm kind of FAST.

10K PR, 0:47:37

A fast, familiar course through the park at the annual Almond Bowl 10K this morning. Just checked last year's post on the race and I improved by almost 3 1/2 minutes from last year's 0:51:00. Some women from the Sports Club women's triathlon / running group were there; I haven't been training with the group because participation is not free, and you still have to pay entry fees for any & all events on top of that, and they work out at times when I'm not so inclined to be working out. But, there are some awesome 40 & 50 (and even 60)-something athletes in the group; if I were more motivated and weren't spending any last bits of disposable income at the hardware store, then no doubt I would really learn to fly if I stuck with their group.

Anyway, I finished ahead of them today (at least the women I recognized) so I don't feel like I'm too disadvantaged in the running department. No way would I be able to keep up with those 40 & 50-year-olds on a bike though. One of the times (er, the only time) I did that Wednesday night bike ride last summer I caught them because somebody had a flat and everybody had stopped to show support. Seeing that matters were well in hand as I rode by, I started pedalling as fast as I could to make the most of the opportunity but most of them still passed me a few minutes later.

I did some research on marathon time predictions based on 10K results and it looks like I'm in range to finish in 4 hours or less. One month from today I'll be recovering from that effort, gobbling special marathon recovery foods such as "E.R.T." which stands for Enchilada, Relleno and Taco with a side of rice and beans. Or maybe a mushroom cheeseburger with garlic fries and a chocolate shake would work. Or maybe all the above. Recovery is a multi-day process, after all.

50,000 words by November 30?

I found out today that it is National Novel Writing Month Why not? Maybe I could bring a tape recorder on my training runs for the marathon and dictate my draft (ok, not very likely). Starting today I would have to write almost 2,000 words a day to reach 50,000 by the deadline. Huh. Well, sounds a heck of a lot easier than running 100 miles through Death Valley in July. What Would Dean Karnazes Do?

I really like the "NaNoWriMo" logo though...a runner with a big javelin-like pencil. It sort of all fits together. I learned of this indirectly from our friend 'Stine of Seattle who sent a link to a perhaps more realistic option, National Blog Posting Month, wherein one makes daily blog postings. I don't know, the speed and volume of the novel thing would force me to throw perceived quality to the wind which is probably the only way such a project would ever get started. A very bad, messy 50000-word attempt at a novel would be not so different from some of the marathons I have participated in. As my violin teacher told me once when I had bumped into the wall of mediocrity and was trying to decide whether I wanted to commit to climbing over it, "Just think about all the people in the world who can't play the violin at all." Soon after that I took up the guitar instead. But I digress.

the holiday spirit gum

Just trying to change the dress-down legal services culture, at least for one day out of the year. Due to the glue used to attach the facial hair I was not able to smile but a clenched jaw seemed right for the character, and I could still talk on the phone without any problem, so I was able to tolerate it until we went out to dinner that evening and I was trying to eat a Reuben sandwich. At that point the very small dainty bites I had to take definitely didn't seem right for either the character or my actual personality so I gave up on the glued-on 'stache and drew it on with the eyebrow pencil for the rest of the night. Maybe not as lifelike but far more comfortable.