Random stuff. Can't think of a title.

Rode my bike about twelve miles yesterday, up to Horseshoe "Lake" to the end of the paved road, then back down through town. The pedaling felt fine. There are a couple very short climbs on this route and I stood up in the pedals for short stints, no problem. The thing that started to not feel so good was twisting my right foot to unclip from my SPDs (for those not familiar, a type of pedal / shoe combination with a binding similar to snow ski bindings. Though I haven't skied in probably ten years so this comparison could be totally inaccurate at this point). My knee is a bit puffy today and I'm wondering if it was the overall effort, or that twisting motion, or the ongoing moving project this morning, or sympathy pains from watching some of the Tour de France stage in the Pyrenees this morning.

C came up to gather up as much of the rest of her belongings as would fit in her little car, and to take Amonke
back to the Big City with her. Whew. I can begin to understand, just a little, what would drive somebody going through a divorce to kidnap their own child(ren). Of our two cats it seemed like Amonke would do better in the city. Kato, he's a bit of a ramblin' man (despite the early curtailing of his manhood). It was very hard to say goodbye but it was the right thing. C and 'Monka will take good care of each other, and we've agreed that either of us can visit the cats whenever we want.

Back in the saddle

I rode my bike to work on Monday. And to physical therapy on Tuesday (and then to work). Had to drive to appointments in another town today that is theoretically accessible by bike if one has a few hours and the legs to devote to it. But I'll ride again tomorrow. Maybe I'll try something easy this weekend, a little 8-mile round trip through the park up to Horseshoe Lake and back.

Also got measured for my brace. It comes in three different models. One is the couch potato model that protects you from throwing your knee out while you're sitting at a desk or using the remote control. Two is the intermediate that allows you to go jogging and make the odd quick cut to the side to avoid stepping in dog poop, or shoot hoops, or play a little tennis. Three. Three is the one I need. [Guess what you can do with three.] The woman taking the measurements said only once has she heard of Three getting damaged (and it has at least a two year warranty or something): man with this brace was bodysurfing in Hawaii and a wave picked him up and threw him into a pile of rocks, denting his brace. But his knee was just fine. You just never know when you might be thrown against a pile of rocks.

The Evils of Peer Pressure

Up here in Westport with some friends and friend's sister's family. Eight-year-old nephew B last night announced, with wry grin, "I want to see Emily try the Bertie Botts," or something to that effect. Referring to some unique jellybeans produced by Jelly Belly on behalf of the Harry Potter empire. Now it may not normally seem like such a throwing down of a gauntlet to challenge someone to jellybean tasting, except that these particular beans came in flavors of Sausage, Earwax, Vomit, Earthworms, Soap, Rotten Egg, Dirt, Boogers, and Black Pepper. As it turns out we all sat around the table (three kids, and three "adults") and passed the box around. Of the five flavors I tried I was able to chew and swallow three; one I had to spit out, and one I chewed once tentatively and then swallowed whole like a pill with a Dr. Pepper chaser. I will say additionally that I did not get around to trying the Earwax, Soap, Black Pepper, or Dirt (I figured dirt would be redundant after the Earthworm anyway.)

I think the point of these ill-favored beans, or a point, is to laugh hilariously at other people's reactions to eating them, and then to be laughed at in turn. It's [s]not like anyone is eating them against his / her will and doesn't therefore deserve to be laughed at when they make a horrible nasty face at the oddly realistic flavor of Earthworms. Not that any of us really know what earthworms taste like, of course. But they can't be all that much worse. Just less sugary.

Right 'round like a record

In honor of the one-month anniversary of my season-ending injury, I attended, and more or less participated in, a spinning class. Most folks probably know, or would be able to guess from the context, that this did not involve the twisting of fine fibers together to make yarn. Or did it? I didn't feel able to do some of the typical activities of a spinning class, i.e. standing up in the saddle repeatedly with high resistance in simulation of pedaling up a steep hill, but I added a little resistance here and there, and managed at least to keep rotating for the whole class. Pedaled hard enough that I couldn't sing all the way through "Sweet Caroline" which, previously unbeknownst to me, is a song to which one can get a workout.* About 45 minutes, I think. Couldn't do some of the stretches, but could do others. By the end my range of motion was significantly improved and the improvement carried over to today. Walking much more evenly, going up and down stairs almost normally if still a bit slowly. This is a big improvement from the weekend when I was still using my cane quite a bit. At physical therapy today it seemed like the therapist had my knee almost fully flexed before my screaming made him stop. [I have a feeling he may not use screaming as his guideline, or he would have stopped sooner.] I'd estimate that in the past week and a half, I've gone from 75-90 degrees of flexion to 45 if I'm flexing it myself and maybe 30 if the PT is torturing me.

* Sidenote: Neil appears to be playing an Ovation guitar in this 1976 video. Characterized by non-traditional soundholes and fiberglass back. Supposed to be great as a plugged-in acoustic, also the guitar preferred by Melissa Etheridge. Who knew.

Hamstring harvesting

Doesn't sound that appealing? My doc thinks it's the way to go. He says the cadaver grafts are popular in the Bay Area but he's not very keen on them, says the joint may be more likely to react (this is the kind of thing where 'reaction' is generally synonymous with 'bad reaction,' I imagine), says cadaver grafts have been heavily marketed (because the procedure is more expensive?) and it's all fun and games until there's a "bad batch" of tissue and the doctor has to call all the patients and say, oops...or whatever the doctor says in that situation. He said the recovery from having a bit of hamstring relocated is not such a big deal. He said the total process from surgery to 100% green light is about six months. He said I need to do physical therapy to get my full range of motion back before the surgery (which confirmed what I'd heard already). I will call the PT's office tomorrow to schedule my first appointment.

He showed me a video about the procedure. I'm going to do some checking on YouTube to see if I can find something like it to link here in the future. I was impressed that when he looked at my MRI images he sounded like he knew what he was looking at..."See, these are your meniscii...they look just fine...there's the posterior cruciate ligament [which I could see]...there's the ACL [which I couldn't really see, maybe if it weren't torn asunder I could have seen it better]?"

I felt like he spent a decent amount of time talking to me and answering my questions about why he doesn't favor the cadaver graft procedure, though I was a little surprised to hear him say, "well it's from a dead guy!" in a tone that sounded like he was kind of grossed out by the idea. Before he looked at my x-rays or the MRI he asked me what happened in some detail, making me feel that my own experience of the event was potentially of some clinical importance, then he looked at the film / MRI images, then we watched the movie. Two small incisions, knee is filled up with water for better viewing, old trashed ACL is snipped out, tissue is "harvested" from hamstring tendon [gotta love that word, "harvesting," in the context of body parts], it is neatly folded in half and sewn together at the ends, holes are drilled in the leg bones and they thread in the new ligament and pin it in place. Oh and of course this all happens while I'm sleeping.

After the movie, he looked at my knee for awhile, bending it this way and that, but not in any ways that hurt, which kind of surprised me. The last time I saw an orthopedist about ten years ago, in an attempt to divine what was causing my knees to go click...click...click with every step when I walk or run sometimes, the doctor seemed to delight in causing discomfort. Oh, does this hurt? Oh, it still hurts when I do the same thing again? How about this time? Still hurts, does it? [All we ever found out was that it hurt when he did that.]

One bit of news I liked was that I can have the surgery AFTER my bike ride down the Oregon coast in September. Should get home from the around the 8th, surgery is tentatively scheduled for the 11th or 13th. Meanwhile I'll be fitted for a sports brace and get going with PT. Feeling a lot more hopeful that the way my knee currently feels is not at all what I'll be stuck with until the surgery.

Hope floats

Haven't used the little condo swimming pool much. It's a tad over-chlorinated and often there are people in there, and I haven't been a much of a socialize-at-the-pool person. However, it is a place I can walk to and it's shallower and warmer (and possibly cleaner thanks to the chlorine) than the big creek pool in the park. Decided to give it a try and see if my knee would allow for swimming right now. I have been depressed by my sudden new lack of exercise since "the Pop." And, even though I hadn't yet quite mastered the art and science of tackling, the idea that I will have to wait almost a year before I can have another (legal, consensual) try at knocking the snot out of somebody is also depressing.

Anyway, got in our pool and immediately realized that this injury could be, oddly, the best thing that ever happened for my triathlon. Not that I've quite decided to be happy about it, but I see that it could have some benefit. I can't even cheat with a frog kick right now which is what I always do if I'm feeling lazy or tired. Flutter kick is the only motion both legs can accommodate. I can dolphin kick a little bit if squeeze my knees together and use the left leg to stabilize the right. And there ain't nothin' wrong with my arms. I didn't stay in very long, but it felt SO good, I cried with my goggles on. [Somewhat defeats the purpose of goggles.] I wonder if there is some sort of amphibious brace I could wear. Maybe a neoprene wrap would help. I need a little bit of motion control...a couple times my leg went in a direction that made kind of unpleasant clicking and grinding noises in my knee.

I will see Dr. Komas in 6 days. Since the last post he has received high praise from people I've talked to who have seen him. That's a relief. Talking with teammates who have had ACL reconstruction, it looks like I might be getting a piece of somebody's achilles tendon in my knee. Somebody who didn't need it any more. Maybe in the Illiad when mighty [and sulky] Achilles met his downfall with the shot to his heel, it's not so much that he actually, literally died, he was just so bummed out by not being able to fight the Trojans any more that he wasted away on the couch. If he'd had a swimming pool in his campground and a good orthopedic surgeon the story would have been much different.

is he out of his mind?

Here are some pictures of torn ACLs that are a little easier to follow than my real images were.

Made an appointment with an orthopedic / sports medicine doc today (who is in my PPO network, unlike the one to whom Immediate Care referred me). A little worried that I don't know anything about him, and a lot frustrated that the earliest appointment was two weeks away. The receptionist told me he couldn't give me any advice about what I should / shouldn't be doing until he sees me. In two weeks. Why don't I call the doctor at Immediate Care and ask him, she suggested. Oh yeah, that guy who thought I just had a sprain. For lack of other options I called him (thinking maybe he can suggest some good exercises, etc.) and his well-thought-out advice was "I see you have a complete tear. Wear the immobilizer and use crutches and don't put any weight on it." You've got to be kidding me. I live AND work on the second floors of buildings without elevators for one thing. I was feeling proud of how much better I'm climbing stairs today. OK, it was the most conservative possible advice, but it was dumb. I'll be careful, but I haven't read anything that says you can't walk around just fine with a torn ACL. Two weeks of the "immobilizer" is B.S. I think if it were necessary our team doctor (an orthopedic surgeon) would have said something when I showed up to watch Saturday's game wearing only my ace bandage (in addition to other clothing appropriate for the situation). He read my MRI report and said, "Oh, it's just the ACL. The MCL issue can be treated non-operatively. ACLs must be to him something akin to what 30-day termination of tenancy notices are to me. Our coach who is a physical therapist (and who previously tore her ACL playing football) noticed I was holding my cane in the wrong hand and showed me the correct way to do it. (Bellabell's comment on the last post hinted that it isn't completely intuitive--I didn't realize I was doing it wrong.)

Maybe I'll ride my bike to the appointment in two weeks to protest how long it took to get the appointment. If I can find a suitable hinged brace, Mom.

Magnetic resonance

I can identify some of the structures in these images but I wouldn't have been able to look at them and say ah, yes,

complete tear anterior cruciate ligament. Associated bone bruise lateral femoral condyle and posterior lateral tibial plateau. Menisci intact [Yay, that's good, right? Intact menisci are the best kind]. Soft tissue edematous changes in association with large knee effusion. There may be a partial tear of the medial collateral ligament.

There were numerous other pictures. This series was the "sagittal proton density fat suppressed" scan. All the findings in the report may not be visible in this particular series but it was a bit of work capturing the images. Had to use Virtual PC to read the disk from the MRI office that came with its own special medical industry viewing software...not the JPGs I'm used to working with. Virtual PC runs...very...slowly...on my Mac. So eventually I had the screen with these images open in Virtual PC, I took a "picture" of the screen (not with a camera--it's a feature of Virtual PC of which I now see the usefulness), got it back on to my regular Mac OS desktop, opened Adobe Photoshop, changed it into a JPG file, and voilà!

One o' these things is not like the other...

Yes, I know far, far worse things have happened / are happening in the world. I listened to NPR on the way home from work tonight re: armor piercing explosives and unfriendly Iraqi police. A man in an electric wheelchair scooted by as I hobbled across the street to an ATM. So I have asymmetrical knees right now. No big whoop. At least there's two of 'em. Still, I'm managing to feel terribly inconvenienced by it all. Perhaps I took unrestrained mobility a tiny bit for granted.

The [mostly] walking wounded

I wish there were some exciting visuals to go with this post. I wonder if there's some way to get a color copy of my right knee MRI when it's done sometime this week...be it normal or...Abby Normal. I took a hit in the Santa Rosa game yesterday at the start of the 3rd quarter (we were kicking off, I was running down to meet the ball carrier and somebody else met me first). Can't wait to see the game film because I don't really know what happened with my knee, felt like it buckled or did something untoward, then when I stood up again it felt like it popped back into the right place. Or that it popped somewhere. Tried to walk it off. Played a couple more plays and we were back on offense, I think, and I was lined up in my left side tight end spot and got knocked down in the crowd, was trying to stand up again and somebody told me to sit down and rest for a minute. Come to think of it, that seemed like not a bad idea, so I did. Then our team doctor came over and helped me walk off the field. Wiggled right knee this way & that way and compared it to the left knee, and thought the sore unstable one was too wiggly. Didn't hurt all that much. I'd always thought if I tore something it would really smart. Dr. Dotson said if it was a torn ACL (which he thought it might be but hoped he was wrong) it would likely swell up like a grapefruit by the next morning so he wrapped it and I popped a few "vitamin I" (thanks J.M. for introducing me to that term), iced it for the rest of the game and off and on throughout the evening. Woke up this morning and it didn't seem swollen at all, but as the day has progressed it's looking fatter. The doctor at the clinic back home here in Chico didn't think it was all that wiggly; he thought maybe it's just sprained. Wrote Diagnosis: Sprained Knee on my chart so it must be true. MRI Tuesday. Either way it looks like I won't be playing next week. Crap.

I went to Rite Aid and got a cane. Nothing fancy or hand-crafted but more befitting my...je ne sais quoi...than crutches.

Oh. The other thing I've not been mentioning here. It's not the elephant in the room so much as the whole house. C is hunting for apartments in SF, having secured employment there. Please think good thoughts and / or prayers, as you are inclined, for her successful housing hunt and peace of mind. And save a few for Lefty too. It's a hard change.

stole a game pic from blog o' my sis

M.A. snapped this one in Seattle of me and Dante, one of my heroes. You should see this woman take down people two...or three...or four?...times her size. She's a human cannonball. Because when she gets there, she doesn't pause and reflect, and if the ball carriers she homes in on want to go anywhere, they have to take her with them. When I grow up I want to be like that.

Whupped

My strategy to psyche out Seattle by wearing my "Mount St. Helens" baseball hat in the parking lot before the game was of limited effect (though who knows, maybe that one time their kicker missed her point after attempt, she was thinking about my Mount St. Helens hat). We were beaten pretty badly and it seems like the beating started before the game did. Word on the street was that the Seattle team was all that & a bag of chips. As if I needed to be more intimidated than I would have been anyway. Last year in the Seattle game one of our players broke her leg. I was thinking about that too, i.e. 'here we go against a gang of leg-breakers.'

The ways in which we need to and can realistically improve are becoming more clear. It's not for lack of strength or speed that we lost that badly. I think we had trouble holding it together under game pressure. We've still been lacking in full scrimmage opportunities (Saturday's game was full scrimmage #2, the game two weeks ago was #1). This has got to change--I was still hesitant, especially for my first few plays on defense, about the whole crash-into-people-at-full-speed concept though I DID have a really good crash in the game that resulted in stopping my opponent's forward progress (even though it knocked me back a bit), and I tell you what, Spongebob Squarepants himself couldn't have soaked up the resulting praise and congratulations from my teammates better than I did.

Plus, look how mean I looked before the game. I am making progress. I was scared pretty much the entire 60 minutes. I have new-found appreciation for the people who played not only both ways but on special teams kickoff return too. I thought physically I could handle going both ways but I didn't figure on how mentally challenging it would be to stay out there from receiver to cornerback, and I had the luxury of not being on the kickoff return team on top of that. Several of my warrior companions just played right on through the whole damn game, both ways and Sundays. My helmet's off to you. I'm actually looking forward to seeing the film of the game and comparing it to the first film. I spent more time down on the turf this time; while that isn't in itself the ultimate goal I think it's another sign of progress.

One other big high point was having my travelin' sis M.A. and a couple of her Seattle buddies at the game who were willing to root for the visitors. Thanks M.A. et al for your enthusiasm & good cheer. [TSBD!]

Does this happen in the NFL?

I'm thinking probably not, what with all their fancy lockers and facilities that probably have no cats roaming freely around the premises. The jersey over the pads (I learned right away that you do NOT try to put on your jersey when your shoulder pads are already on--they must go together) creates such an inviting (if not pleasantly scented) small space for Amonke, Our Lady of Small Spaces. Took these before the game 2 weeks ago. I guess it will be a strictly homegame phenomenon. Leaving for Seattle on Friday morning and I doubt any cats will be with us in the van, they aren't big on away games. Too bad.

Released from Civic Duties

Got summoned to appear for jury duty yesterday. It was a very special "Juror Appreciation Day" which means that they offered free cookies, coffee and pens in addition to having the chief Court Clerk and a couple judges come in to the assembly room to express their appreciation. They were selecting the jury for a murder trial. The Deputy D.A. prosecuting the case smiled at me when I entered the courtroom (we were both in the women's triathlon training group for awhile); smiled as if to say, in a friendly way, 'Hi Emily, Bye Emily...' but it turns out she was able to use her peremptory challenges on some other suspected bleeding heart liberal(s) because the trial schedule conflicted with FOOTBALL. The judge had everyone with a "hardship" stand up and say so. In between, "Your Honor, I run a ___________ business and we'll go under if I'm gone this week," and "Your Honor, my son is getting married on Saturday" (trial on Friday in addition to the other days) there was, "Your Honor, uh, I'm a starting wide receiver for the Redding Rage professional women's football team and we leave for an away game in Seattle on Friday morning." The judge clarified that I was playing for Redding and then asked if Chico had a team. I said no. Good thing, he said, because if I were a rival of any Chico team he would not grant the "hardship." Fortunately there was a large pool of possible jurors and only one trial to select for. The judge granted everyone's request to be excused due to "hardship." I may never know what he really thought of mine, and I suppose he's heard both stranger and more frivolous excuses. I'm sorry to miss what opportunity I may have had to watch the trial--but the odds of my being seated were probably comparable to my odds of being put in the game as a Center or Nose Guard. Not so likely.

60 minutes

After our sound but educational loss (0 to 40 - something, 43 or 46 I think) a coach pointed out that high school and college boys don't play football for a full hour. Just us and the NFL. Of course the 60 minutes of time clock equals at least two hours with time outs and halftime and all the other bits that work into it.

Wow.

I think I was so overwhelmed by the number of people on the field, being accustomed to running into imaginary targets, that it was hard to remember some of the things I'd actually practiced. The pace of it made my head spin. My personal high points of the game were when I played some defense in the second half / last quarter and got knocked down a couple times by Corvallis' blockers for their runningback. I say high points because I knew that at least I was in the right place and moving in the right direction for them to bother knocking me down. I felt like I was really playing when that happened. And hopefully next time I'll remember that I'm supposed to hit the blockers before they hit me.

More than anything I am blown away by the grit of my comrades. I went in on defense because the cornerback had also been playing receiver and tailback most of the game and she was exhausted.

We need all our players to come to practice, all the time, so that we can keep learning real football instead of pantomime, and I think we'll make great progress.

T minus 6 hours

In about an hour I'll be getting on road to the field. We're feeling thankful for a field to play on at this point...maybe I'll recap that story later. I'm nervous and not really hungry but it's going to be a long evening so I'm having mac & cheese (Annie's Organic Shells & Cheddar, the meal of champions, of course. Maybe I should approach them about sponsorship opportunities.)

We had a team meeting last night to put our new logo stickers on our helmets. The company that we ordered our homegame jerseys from blew it so we're wearing our away-game whites, but ya know, it's what's on the inside that'll count, I think.

Can't find the cable to connect my camera with the laptop right now...so stay tuned for the photos.

Lizardora, 2000? - 2007

I think she was about eight years old. She hadn't been eating well for awhile, I started force feeding her a couple weeks ago, mashed up bananas with lizard vitamin powder, a little wet cat food gravy...beardies like variety. Hard to tell if it helped or hurt though. We found she had perished sometime during the night before yesterday. I buried her near the fish graveyard in our back yard at work (we have a little ceramic tile fountain / pond back there, some fish survive and some not so much.

Hard to see her terrarrium so dark in the daytime. She was a still presence much of the time but she definitely had presence. She travelled from SF to Sacramento to Davis to Chico. Not much of a life for a critter meant to live in the outback. She got into football though, when we'd have a game on she would often be looking out at the TV. Tempting to shout out the score for her.

We'll miss our spiny friend.

Updated Roster

Introducing the 2007 Redding Rage. Two weeks until game day. Hoping it rains, at least for awhile, on our practice tomorrow--my white practice jersey is still far too white.

Remarkable

Willing to accept this as a small miracle, or as really good luck, either way it was just great. I wrote a check for several hundred dollars today in payment of one of our condo-related debts and put it in an envelope with all the addresses but no stamp, because my stamps were in my desk drawer at work. I put the envelope in my spacious utilitarian pants pocket and got on my bike. I noted that the envelope was poking me in the stomach and thought, hmm, that's not really comfortable but at least I won't forget it's there. Rode to work, noting irritation of envelope. Then sometime after arriving at work I realized I was not irritated any more. I thought, maybe I took it out and put it in my bag after all. It wasn't there. I looked around the office and in my mailbox, wasn't there. I walked about a block up the street, wasn't there.

I wondered if someone would find it and try to return it, or if they would find it and try to wash my check. I wondered if I stopped the check and sent another one, and someone found it and decided to mail it for me, how complicated things would get at the bank it was headed for, and what level of awkwardness or inconvenience my be involved for myself and otheres.

I wondered these things for awhile and then C called and said she found something interesting on her walk to work. My kung-fu instructor used to say, by way of kung-fu proverb, "There is no money on the ground." He was wrong, in this case.

Zen and the art of tackling

Thursday nights are all about the D, which means tackling practice. A teammate told me I'm making progress; I have gone from stopping completely before impact, to slowing down before impact, to hesitating just before for impact and then lunging forward. We did an angle-tackling drill where the ball carrier gets a small lead, then cuts up the sideline and the defender is supposed to intercept and destroy (or at least knock her out of bounds.

I tried this several times, the coach having me go back and do it again on the same turn because I was still too hesitant or my angle was too deep. Then I got a good one.

I wasn't able to repeat the experience for the rest of the drill, but the fact that it happened was very encouraging. It was so smooth, almost like flopping into a bed, fast but sort of in slow motion and almost like I watched it happen from somewhere else. Quiet mind. Or maybe the Dog Whisperer Cesar Millan would call it "Calm - Assertive." I just ran right through our running back and hugged her. Then we were on the ground. Coach said "How did that feel?" and I said "Good!"

Conversely when one is carrying the ball (we switched back and forth) I had to remind myself that I had some momentum in my favor too...that it is likely to turn out better if I...if I hit them before they hit me? That part of it might not sound very Zen but I think the typical head chatter I have is not very Zen either, and not helpful. "Oh dear...I'm scared I'm going to be hit...I'm going to be hit...I'm going to fall down...is it going to hurt?...oh dear...I'm scared" and as many repetitions will fit into the 3 - 4 seconds the whole thing lasts. Not quite the right mental approach. Rather, I should be as an Uncarved Block (on wheels, holding a football).

Time to go back to practice. Saturdays are Game Days (meaning we've gotta practice as if we're running both ways for a whole game, which is what some or all of us who aren't on crutches will probably need to do).

Local tragedy

The cover of the Chico Enterprise-Record grabbed my attention today. A fire in a reptile supply shop killed almost 200 bearded dragon lizards Wednesday morning. There were some very sad photos with the article, you can look if you want but I wasn't up for reposting them. As some know I have had a beardie named "Lizardora" for several years, and I'm worried that I haven't always done right by her (actually I'm not even sure that she's a "she" but she's never been one to complain about pronouns). I have realized that I am probably better suited to caring for pets who sing little songs or bite your toes or jump on your head or try to trip you on your way to the bathroom when they want your attention. Fortunately beardies are fairly sturdy, quite docile, and interested in their surroundings relative to other lizards people keep as pets. My reptile vet in San Francisco once said that beardies are the golden retrievers of the reptile world. I think Lizardora may be getting on in her years, she's about 8 I think. I don't know how much time we have left with her, but I want to offer her a bit more attention and serve up as many tasty mealworm salads as possible while she's still in our household. We've photographed her before but I can't find the photos...will take some more if I can catch her in a good mood. Meanwhile this (copyrighted) photo bears a striking resemblance.

Pigskin: a new fragrance for women

I have observed a phenomenon whenever I mention football playing or football practice in "mixed" company...the male half of the other couple will scrape his toe on the ground and say to me, "well, if you ever want to toss a football around...." I had no idea that this urge / need was nearly as universal as it appears to be. We can scarcely step outside, football in tow, without some guy drooling and asking us please, will we throw to him?

Okay I'm exaggerating just a tiny bit but not really that much. I had a moment of vague concern that the late-30-something guy who asked me to throw the ball to him today was going to try to run off with it and I'd have to perform an open-field tackle, a skill I'm still struggling with at practice. Maybe some guy stealing my football would be just the thing to send me over the edge into the kind of full-throttle hit I'm supposed to do. My coaches have astutely observed that I seem to have a little mental block about hitting. Or a medium-sized block.

We ate bison steaks for dinner tonight and my prayer on the food was that some spirit of the bison would be with me that I might charge fearlessly at my opponents with GREAT momentum. I don't know if a bison would typically be interested in doing this but I imagine once they get to runnin' they don't stop for nothing no how.

Tree, Tree, Tree

This isn't one of the songs I remember from watching the show, but like other songs by my late Television Friend, it sums up my feelings pretty well. If you have never felt this way about a tree, it's not too late...don't be afraid...maybe you would even like to sing this song to a special tree in your neighborhood.

You need will need RealPlayer in order to listen. There's a link on the page to download the player if you don't have it.

Child-hating congressman

Whoa, Em, that's some strong rhetoric there...wasn't Rep. Nathan Deal, R-GA just trying to protect innocent taxpayers from spending their money on illegal aliens when he and the late Rep. Charlie Norwood created the Deficit Reduction Act of 2006? Some excerpts from an update on CaliforniaHealthline.org:

Proof-of-Citizenship Rule Pushes Drop in Medicaid Enrollment

March 12, 2007

Medicaid programs in seven states have reported declines in enrollment during the past year that they attribute to new federal rules requiring beneficiaries and applicants to provide documentation proving their U.S. citizenship, the New York Times reports.

The Deficit Reduction Act of 2006 includes a provision that most people who seek Medicaid enrollment must provide "satisfactory documentary evidence of citizenship," such as a passport or the combination of a birth certificate and driver's license. Applicants are required to submit original documents or copies that have been certified by the issuing agency, some state officials say.

The law, written by Rep. Nathan Deal (R-Ga.) and the late Rep. Charlie Norwood (R-Ga.), is intended to prevent undocumented immigrants from enrolling in Medicaid. However, it "has instead shut out tens of thousands of United States citizens," the Times reports. Florida, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, New Mexico, Ohio and Virginia have attributed declines in Medicaid enrollment to the new requirements.

In Florida, the number of children enrolled in Medicaid declined by 63,000, to 1.2 million, from July 2006 to January. Florida Department of Children and Families spokesperson Albert Zimmerman said, "Nearly all of these people are American citizens." In Iowa, the number of Medicaid beneficiaries declined by 5,700, to 92,880, during the second half of 2006 after increasing for five years.

Iowa Department of Human Services Director Kevin Concannon said, "The largest adverse effect of this policy has been on people who are American citizens. We have not turned up many undocumented immigrants receiving Medicaid in Waterloo, Dubuque or anywhere else in Iowa."

So now that Rep. Deal knows that his law is keeping real live U.S. citizens and their kids from accessing health care benefits such as befit real live U.S. citizens, is he trying to fix it?

Chris Riley, chief of staff for Deal, said Deal believes that the law "has saved taxpayers money," adding that Deal "will vigorously fight repeal of that provision." Riley added that Deal will try to extend a similar provision to SCHIP. Riley also said that the requirement could be applied flexibly to minimize hardship for citizens (Pear, New York Times, 3/12).

Assuming there's genuine interest in minimizing hardship. Some states, not to name names (FLORIDA) thrive on it. So many vivid cliches come to mind...babies and bathwater...noses and faces...guns and feet...

So, I assert, either Rep. Deal hates children, or he just really hates non-citizens & non-citizen children and doesn't believe that people who need Medicaid are really citizens because he thinks there's an income requirement in the Constitution (hint: there's not). Or maybe in the war on illegal immigration, tens of thousands of U.S. citizens are OK collateral damage especially if it frees up our sacred tax dollars for other uses. Last I checked Georgia was not one of those states where nobody needs Medicaid so I reckon he's not doing such a great job of "Representing" y'all.

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.'