10 Years Ago

The conventional wisdom is good riddance to this decade. In general and historical terms, I am in agreement with that. But this decade has been way more eventful than the one before that, and for that I am glad, largely for the corny and obvious reasons that I am now happily married with two beautiful children.

On the eve of Y2K, Mr. Scobie and his girlfriend, me and my boyfriend, another couple (who were on the verge of breaking up because of his imminent enrollment in treatment for pot addiction - which addiction was not in evidence that weekend, as no drugs that I know of were consumed) and a friend of ours rented a house at Brigantine, New Jersey. Brigantine is just north of Atlantic City, and I have no idea why we decided to go there. It had to do with the coming Rapture. I think we figured that if the shit went down, we probably wouldn't notice in a place like Brigantine. Which would have been true, if the shit had gone down. As you know, it didn't. I wish I could say that Mr. Scobie and I realized at that point that we were with the wrong people, but that didn't happen for another year. The whole weekend was, at the request of another attendee, a "PG weekend", so I don't have much else to report.

My mom, for her part, spent New Year's Eve that year hosting friends from the commune where she'd lived from 1971 until 1973. That "community" was millenarian, and among the numerous reasons my parents left was my mother's fatigue of waiting for the End of The World. Anyway, to finally have The End upon them, my mother and her friends mostly found hilarity in the whole situation. The visiting couple's daughter, who had renamed herself Rainbow, was now herself a part of a apocalyptic community. She and her husband had stockpiled food and made their own mattress out of hay (to absorb nuclear radiation). Her mother memorably said, "I've lived through that. Now, when the end comes, I want to be one of the looters."

That doesn't exactly exhaust my memory of this night 10 years ago, but it comes close. Me and the D posse gotta roll to our NYE party. Have a great New Year!

New Year's Resolutions 2010

A fun trip to Ano Nuevo state park to see the elephant seals today inspired me to do my New Year's resolutions a little in advance of the day itself.

But first, let's review my 2009 resolutions:

1. Get a job;

Check. Started my new job March 18, 2009.

2. Be more patient, and less angry, with my children.

This was too amorphous. I can't tell whether I was more patient and less angry with my kids than I was in 2008. Since I don't hit my kids, and DCFS doesn't check in, I don't have any metrics for this goal. This leads me to create a new New Year's resolution rule: There has to be something quantifiable being achieved. I.e. there must be a metric. Mr. Scobie is good about this. His resolutions are all "read 2 books a month, see 2 movies a month," etc., etc.

3. Less beer, more red wine.

Again, who knows. My calorie theory was quickly debunked by my MIL, who pointed out that a typical glass of wine has 6-7 ounces in it, not 3 or 4. And I just like beer.

In case you are curious, here are my 2008 resolutions, and how I did in 2008. And how I did in 2007.

Okay, now enough with the walk down memory lane. Here we go:

1. Run the Oakland half-marathon March 28, 2010. In fact, I already registered. I can run about 5 miles now, at a pace of about 9:45, so I think it's doable.

2. Read one new book a month. "New" means that I haven't read it before, not that it is newly published.

3. One "date" each month with each guy in this house. So one date with my husband, and one activity alone with each of the kids.

4. 100% of LMP employees in Unit Based Teams, 75% of UBTs are high-performing teams by the end of 2010.

5. Work "slap in the face" into my vernacular.

What are yours?

More Ten Word Restaurant Reviews

My last post misses the mark in two respects. My friend actually asked for some vegetarian options, and wanted a neighborhood where there might be some shops open late. This being Oakland, its hard to tell whether you can find a store open late, since even the restaurants close at 10. And me being a carnivore, I am not a good one to go to for vegetarian options. So I thought I would do a few more reviews in shop-y districts, which are also likely to have decent menus that include vegetarian options.

Rockridge (from yesterday's post: Oliveto, Filippos):

Uzon: only get take-out, good sushi, cute space, agree with Anonymous

Rikyu: more good sushi, expensive but tastier. Boringest location in all Rockridge?

Garibaldi's: Where your parents might eat if they were rich here.

Pasta Pomodoro: Like its siblings, big pasta plates, outdoor seating, does job.

Crepevine: Hard to get behind crepes, big lunch menu, good lemonade

Ben 'n Nicks: Every Saturday, kid-filled bar, love the nachos and beer.

Cactus: Allegedly Chez Panisse spin-off, delicious Mexican, no table service. Great.

Khana Peena: Wierd dome, great tikka masala, cost too expensive for Indian.

Currylicious: Bad name, hard to find, really fresh, tasty, they deliver.

Okay, that covers all the places that I have eaten at between Rockridge BART and the intersection of College and Broadway. Many many shops in that stretch too, if shopping is your bag.

As an aside, I fully endorse Anonymous (actually, its just Pat) on Barlata and Dopo. Dopo and Cesar are located on Piedmont Ave, another shop-filled neighborhood. Barlata is in Temescal, near Pizzaiolo.

Barlata: good tapas, house wine in a small carafe, totally awesome.

Dopo: nice owner, great Italian food. Again with the small portions?

Dona Tomas, Temescal: High-end Mexican by Flora owners, where Pizzaiolo rejects eat.

Ten Word Reviews

I got an email from an old friend today asking that I blog more. November sort of wore me out on the blogging front, but I thought I would give it a try. The other thing she asked for was some restaurant recommendations for Oakland. So I thought I would do some 10 word restaurant reviews:

Oliveto, Rockridge: Lighter fare downstairs, and less likely that a pig died.

Camino, Grand Ave: Long tables, slow service, no off-season limes. Good food.

Flora, Telegraph/17th: Art deco bar, yummy lunch, political Oakland "celebrities", get reservations.

Filippo's, Rockridge: Take kids every Friday, cheap meal, would like bigger portions.

Luka's, Grand/B'way: Great beer, fries, pool table. Remember the Hofbrau? Luka's better.

Franklin Square, Franklin/B'way: Only had lunch, downtown Oakland has a 'scene'. Pretty good.

Pizzaiolo, Temescal: Delicious fried chicken, egg on your pizza. Can't go wrong.

What Is My Problem?

I find it almost impossible to sit still in long meetings. Is this normal? I feel like a child.

More Family

Once again, my cousins are blasting past me with their bad-ass talent. While Rachael may be only rapping her winter dance invites, my cousin Zoe is tearing it up at the Yerba Buena Arts Center's Left Coast Leaning Festival on Thursday night. (I don't actually know if Zoe "tears it up"; based on what I've seen of her work, I don't think that's totally accurate. If you want to see what I mean, google her on YouTube, or "YouTube her" at zoe | juniper). Meantime, her sister Kate has artwork showing in PARIS! Paris, people, is in FRANCE! I have nothing in France! Nothing!

I need to go quell my inadequacies.

Brussel Sprout success

Thanks to Ella for this brussel sprout recipe. I tossed some pancetta in for good measure, but even without it, this recipe rocks. Also, you don't have to shred the sprouts. I ran out of time and just quartered them. Also, I didn't use a half pound of shallots, either. I used one and a half shallots.

In other words, I made a different dish based on this dish, which was excellent. I credit the original recipe and Ella for that success.

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I have so many things to be thankful for that I won't enumerate them all, but thanks for coming to read my blog!

Nothing to report

But I have posted over at Fungus Everything. It's mushroom season, people.

Housekeeping

This blogging every day thing having been wildly unsuccessful, I will still try to prop it up with some not interesting posts, before giving up almost entirely.

What's in my head? That song that goes, "oooo, your body girl, makes the fellows go, oooo" rinse, repeat. It's driving me insane. I don't even know where it's from.

I need to find a good brussel sprout recipe for Thanksgiving.

T & A Lady has some great questions about the mammogram debate that I'd like to validate. First of all, kudos, all the right questions. I don't have all the answers but the problem with mammograms is something like this: 4 out of 1000 women under the age of 50 who are NOT screened will get breast cancer. 3 out of 1000 women under the age of 50 who ARE tested will be found to have breast cancer. That is statistically insignificant, and may cause to unnecessary further testing and procedures, which have non-negligible costs to the healthcare system. The cervical cancer screening debate (whether to get a PAP smear before age 21) is actually more troublesome, because in addition to the statistical insignificance of early detection, women who undergo an unnecessary procedure to remove benign tumors which may be found in screening (and which would otherwise go away on their own) may result in fertility problems. So now the unnecessary screening has created a health risk. I got all this from a New York Times article I read last week but which I am too lazy at this moment to hunt down.

But the whole debate points up something I find even more irritating and troubling and which I run into more frequently now that I work more closely with health care, and that is a lack of interest in, or understanding of, evidence-based medicine. Doctors have lobbied so hard to be taken seriously over the past 1.5 centuries, that we mistake them for scientists. And while many of them are, the practice of medicine is remarkably driven by intuition, litigation-avoidance and guesswork. Maybe most doctors in the fee-for-service model don't have time or access to peer reviewed data (not paid for by Big Pharma) and statistics that could help shape care. The particulars of this are interesting (to me) but the bigger point I wanted to make is the failure to view health care through this lens is one of many problems with the healthcare reform debate. Just irritating scaremongering.

We are here for Thanksgiving, hopefully doing lots of hiking, eating, running, movie viewing and trying to not get on eachother's nerves. Have a great holiday weekend.

Rogues' Gallery

Do You Ever Do This?

Sometimes when I am really bored, I employ one of two mind games to distract me. Both involve looking at people and imagining things about them, and both result in me getting completely creeped out. In one mind exercise, I look at people and imagine that they are on drugs. In the other mind exercise, I look at people and imagine that they are the opposite gender than the one they obviously present. Specifically, I look at men and imagine that they are women, and look at women, imagining them to be men. This largely results in me thinking, "That is a really pretty man" or "That woman is super masculine". In the other exercise, I just get creeped out/impressed by how many zombie-junkies there are that manage to get through the grocery store without freaking out.

The problem with this active imagination stuff is that it can be hard to stop doing once you start. Also, when you blog about it, your friends think you are really wierd.

Miscellany

I don't recommend this to my mother or mother-in-law. Wire fans, have at it.



This, on the other hand, should be right up the grandmothers' alley:



This was the hairstyle he had to have.

The Last Generation

I'm not given to wistful, generational hairsplitting, but after that Veterans' Day post, I've been trying to think of other things particular to "my generation" (in my mind, that means people born in 1974). Aside from not serving in armed conflict, what else is particular to us?

We are the last generation to follow the Grateful Dead. And there are probably precious few younger than us that religiously followed a jam band.* I never followed the GD or a jam band, and in fact openly ridiculed others who did, but still, at least it stopped with us.

We are the last generation to be born without a computer keyboard at our fingertips and the first generation to know what to do with one if we see it.

Okay, that's as far as I can get. Can you think of any others?

* For more on my views about jam bands, read this post.

The Things You Do For Love

Some time before college, probably around Christmas 1991, but possibly a year or two later, I got a pair of red plaid flannel pajama pants from my stepfather. These pants were very cozy, but so ugly that they were probably a contributing factor in why Mr. Scobie did not ever bust a move despite being my roommate for three years of our early adulthood. This summer, I finally threw them away, after many false starts (I actually rescued them from the trash and the fabric-for-quilts pile more than once). I got rid of them because they ripped, although that wasn't the deciding factor. I think I finally realized that I wanted Mr. Scobie to stick around longer than the pants, and was tired of hearing him ask that they be thrown away.

Well, Regret, thy name is the red plaid flannel pajama bottoms, because it is freakin' cold up in here.

My 801st Blog Post

Last night, I swear I was gonna blog but I fell asleep at 9:30. I should have done it when I got up at 4:40 am. I can't believe I am still awake right now.

A few months ago, I reported that I was starting a "boot camp" exercise class and that I would update you about that. I haven't - not because I haven't gone, but because I've taken it seriously enough that I don't have anything wry or facetious to say about it. In fact, I had boot camp tonight and it kicked my ass.

Probably not as much as real boot camp would kick my ass though. Reflecting on Veterans' Day today, I struggled to name even a handful of my friends and peers who have served in the military. Mine must be the first generation in history to claim that. We might be the last generation to claim it, too, given the number of people younger than I am who have enlisted and served during two wars in the past 8 years.

Part of me wants to go on a ramble here about Ehrenreich's Blood Rites (a really good book). But in honor of Veterans' Day, I'll just leave it at this. I am grateful to the men and women who serve in the military so that the rest of us don't have to, and for their sacrifices, which I doubt I can match off the battle field in any way.

Forget What I Said About Politics Fatigue

So there's one political race that has me interested these days, and not just for personal reasons. My father's race for Illinois state assembly became unexpectedly exciting today (well, at least to the incumbent). Turns out the incumbent might not have minded her Ps & Qs when she filed her election petition a few weeks ago. One of the funnier things about that link is that "blagojavich" is right there in the url. Even at its most technical and off-hand, the Sun-Times, and most other people, link Deb Mell to her more famous brother-in-law. That was Joe's first suspicion that she might be vulnerable. Being too careless to register to vote may turn out to be the bigger reason she goes home at the end of her term, though.

Trying to Explain a Couple of Things

My previous post inspired as much commenting as I typically get around here, and it seemed to be focussed on "why Twitter?" I thought I'd take a whack at explaining it. As Beth noted, blogging is like long-form Facebook - a regular status update for your far-flung friends and family. In other words, Nana, Facebook is short-form blogging, where you can follow the musings of your far-flung friends and family. I agree that if you don't really care what your sophomore year chem lab partner thinks about the weather/healthcare reform/her asthma, Facebook might not really be your bag. My answer to that is, unfriend her; I find the format to be easier to navigate than jumping around to people's blogs.

Twitter is like that, on speed. With a 140-character limit on posts, you really get bare minimum updates. Which is why Twitter isn't really for updates. At least not of the sort it was originally intended for. "Having coffee with no sugar this morning." "My hip implant is itchy!" and "ayn Rand R cool!" don't tell you much. Twitter is interesting as an exchange of ideas and the rapid fire news update. I learned about Michael Jackson's death, the Fort Hood shooting and the passage of healthcare reform faster on Twitter than from any other news outlet. In that regard, it's only useful if you follow the right number of people. Too many and you really can't follow what people are thinking. Too few and you don't get the "cloud" effect of everyone expressing themselves simultaneously. So what is the "right" number?

I have 325+ friends on Facebook, and only 35 followers on Twitter. I follow 99 people on Twitter. I estimate that only about 40 people regularly read my blog. That might be generous. In any case, I had to blog tonight and thought I would speak in defense of social networking for some reason. Mr. Scobie thinks that all these things are akin to being in the Matrix by the way (he encouraged me to "take the blue pill" today) but I think they just are what they are.

Blogging: Harder Than I Remembered

Ugh! Here it is November 6 and I've already failed to blog 2 days out of 6. And unless I blather on about my kids or how annoying I think phone conferences are, I don't have much to say. Other things you don't need to hear me say include:

• The shooting at Fort Hood is terribly tragic.
• Tuesday's election probably doesn't mean anything about Obama.
• It sure is getting chilly now that it's raining.
• Typing on the iPod is inferior to the Blackberry QWERTY keys, but its browser and apps are more functional.
• One shouldn't wait until 2:30 in the afternoon to eat lunch.
  
• The "point" of Twitter and Facebook continues to be lost on a lot of people, including my contemporaries, who are not the old farts they'd have us believe that they are.

Wow, the list of things I shouldn't blog about is almost endless. What should I blog about?

Carcetti's In Trouble

This Politic Wire headline O'Malley Could Face Trouble in Reelection made me chuckle. For you non-"Wire fans", the character Tommy Carcetti is widely believed to be modeled after Martin O'Malley, the governor of Maryland. That may be putting it too subtly. Other than getting a chuckle from that, I didn't have much response to this year's election. I just felt a deep, deep sense of exhaustion about this year's races, mainly because none of them concerned me directly. I didn't ignore them entirely, but my interest this year was a mere fraction of what it was last year. We have off-years for a reason.

The one race I am watching closely is the Illinois Assembly race for the 40th District. I've got my money on the dark horse. That's right, Joe Laiacona for Illinois' 40th Assembly District. Check him out, home slices.

The Birthday Boy

Liam turns 6 today. A lot of times when kids have birthdays, their parents say, "It seems like only yesterday (sigh) . . ." I don't fee like that. I feel like I've had this kid for a long time, and can't believe he's only been around for six years. I don't know why that is. It certainly isn't because he acts older than six. Maybe it's hormonal. Like at this point, having forgotten what he was like as a baby, I would be biologically conned into having another one. Well, that ain't gonna happen. Anyway, photo of the birthday boy to follow.

What I Blog About When I Blog About Blogging

Apparently, November is National Blog Posting Month. In order to counter my extreme inertia w/r/t the Internets, I thought I would informally participate. Not sure why. But it means I will try posting at least once a day through the month of November.

The title of this post doesn't mean anything, by the way. It's a riff on What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, which I just finished reading. That title is itself a riff on What We Talk about When We Talk About Love, by Raymond Chandler, which I haven't read, and probably won't, since they are short stories and I don't read short stories. But anyway, the Murakami book was pretty good. I don't really like him as a novelist but he's very approachable and likable as a memoirist, and I am trying to turn myself into a runner so I liked the sustenance it provided in that regard.

And so why am I doing that?, you are probably wondering. Or actually, you are probably thinking, Why are YOU doing that? And I don't think I have any particularly novel reasons. I wanted an efficient exercise option, and I got myself strong enough to do it, so in August, I just started. And I like it, and it feels good, and I want to keep doing it. And in order to take it from just an exercise to something that I keep doing, I feel the need to give myself the new identity of runner. Because if you call yourself that, you have to do it. If you call yourself a runner and don't run, then you are really just an a-hole, and lying.

It also feels good to get to age 35 and find that you have new things inside of you that you can be. I want to keep finding new things inside of me. It makes me feel young, which strangely I have been feeling a lot of lately. I thought that I went through "so much" as a kid, and thought I was "so mature", but now that I have rounded the bend of this decade and see 40 on the distant horizon, I feel like I've had a pretty great life and not experienced much at all. At least not many bad things. And in order to keep having new experiences, you have to keep yourself open to being a new person, or at least having new parts of yourself. All of this dawned on me this weekend because I finished Murakami's book, and its sort of about that, and also because a friend tricked me into running 4.5 miles on Saturday, and it wasn't that hard, and it felt great, and it almost felt like I had run through a wall (3 miles) that I didn't know I had put up for myself. Which means there are other walls that I can run through, if I just let myself.

Nelson Marans, Back in the Game

Once a master, always a master. Nelson Marans has a letter in the New York Times Fucking Magazine today. No, I'm not kidding. And possibly for the first time, I agree with him. I tip my hat to you, Mr. Marans. (But I'm too lazy to dig up a link, so if you aren't a subscriber, tough.)

A Problem I Have

The other day I blogged about how I thought the Internet was dwindling in popularity and strongly suggested that I would start talking on the phone again. Truthfully, that isn't going to happen. I have found that I don't particularly like talking on the phone. This made me think that I would revert to older forms of communication: letters, telegraph, etc. Maybe get a party line just to phone Doc or the constable if the kids get ague or a donkey goes missing.

There's something I dislike even more than talking on the phone though, and that's listening to voice mail messages. I have a real aversion to them. At home, I go weeks without checking the voicemail box (voice mailbox?) and get really wound up about checking the messages on my two work phones. I have to psyche myself into it. On my cellphone, I delete them without listening to them as often as possible (when I called the person back while they were leaving the message, for example). It makes me very anxious. I had this problem when I was a lawyer too, but I would just whip myself into dealing with them 99% of the time, because the number one thing that clients hate is not getting called back. Now that malpractice isn't hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles, I can barely deal with them.

Someone I know suggested that I get Google Voice. You get one phone number and it rings to all of your phones, or none of them. The salient feature, for this discussion, is the voicemail transcription, which allows you to never listen to voicemails, and instead get them as emails. Along with its other features, it goes in the absolute other direction from Morse Code that I was dreaming about. But does anyone have any better ideas?

Cutest Scary Ghost Clown Ever?

The Internet Is Over

My blogging laziness is not particular to me. Admit it, you check fewer websites since the election, and your friends' who once consistently blogged are really sluggish, if they still blog at all. Most of your email is junk mail, and you aren't even as swamped at work as you once were. Everyone who accidentally Replied All with, "YES! L is a totally f----ing nightmare!" has gotten their emailing under control and have returned to face-to-face gossip. Okay, so maybe Facebook and Twitter are siphoning off a lot of the traffic but they have lost much of their novelty and are already facing stagnating membership numbers.

I think we are all headed back to the phones -- the land lines even! Or better yet, our desire to communicate, which was spurned by Bell's invention, is finally finding satiety, and we can all go back to something simpler and less communicative. Like gathering around the fire with our banjos and fiddles. Or turning in early. Or reading almanacs. I can't wait! You read it here first!

Jazz Prodigy

My older son has recently become obsessed with playing the saxophone. We cannot figure out the origin of this interest. When asked, he says it's because the saxophone is "beautiful and shiny, like pirate's treasure." He can imitate a sax closely enough that I vaguely worry that he'll be an Ed Begley/Bobby McPherrin-type. I've asked a few music teachers what they think about him learning the sax, and the consensus is that his hands are probably too small. This has no disuasive effect on him. So on Friday, I brought him to Best Music and, with the purchase of a reed, they let him play an alto sax. He also tried a keyless sax (no holes), a trumpet and trombone. The whole store basically gathered around for the show. One guy yelled, "I feel like I'm at Point Reyes!" (foghorn sound), but mainly everyone laughed hysterically and clapped for him. A Japanese couple asked him how long he'd been playing (the trombone). I thought he had died and gone to heaven. The problem is, now he wants to take sax lessons. He's like a dog with a bone. Anyone have any experience with this, with a FIVE year old??

Mild Bitch Session

I recognize that in the scope of world events and history, etc etc, my problems are minor, but I just need to vent for a minute. For six years, I have taken for granted that having a job and kids is a "challenge" - largely logistical. Each twist adds a new layer: One kid to two kids, baby to toddler to boy, to work, to babysitter, to preschool. Teeth, sickness, transition, dinosaurs, airplanes, mushrooms, tantrums, head banging, biting - all this is standard issue. Right now, I feel like we are getting all of it at once, and while I keep telling people that everything's fine, I really think it's hard. Again, its all logistical. Like, thank God, my kindergartner just needs more food in his lunch and not that I can't send anything for lunch at all.

In fact, I won't go down that list-road. Every "logistical difficulty" is a gift. My kids have great schools and teachers and babysitters; we have jobs and all the resources we need to give them what kids deserve. But like when there are too many Christmas gifts to properly enjoy them all, I am feeling a overwhelmed and cranky and want to put some of them in the basement until we are ready to enjoy them.

I am going to take my attempts to get perspective off-line but any words of advice are welcome. I'll be over here trying to put this puzzle together.

Bored?

If you are bored right now, you can play Cheese or Font, which is wicked hard.

If you are bored in the future, I recommend Paladar Temescal. For the moment, it will only take up time on October 24, but it's a lot better than being bored.

What's Up With Me, vol 2.2

This is an Oakland post. I just wanted to report out on a very wierd, topsy-turvy thing that's happening here in Oakland, so that you can enjoy it yourself and maybe even help explain it. But first I want to back up to 2000, which is when I moved here. In 2000, Northern California was going through a recession. The dot-com bust was underway, and Oakland had never really recovered from the earthquake (1989), fire (1991), and recession of the early 1990s. There weren't too many places to eat or see music; folks mainly ventured into Berkeley or San Francisco to do fancy stuff. Mayor "Moonbeam" Jerry Brown had this crazy-ass "10k in Downtown" plan that was widely derided by hipsters and their ilk (i.e. me). He thought if you built middle-income condo-style housing right in downtown Oakland, the city might start to bounce a little, even just downtown.

Okay, well, hat tip to Governor Moonbeam, because now, amidst all this tacky, "loft-style/lifestyle" new construction, there is a booming nightlife in downtown Oakland. A few weeks ago, I went to see a band play at the Fox Theater, which took about 200 years to re-open, but was totally worth it. The building is gorgeous, and the place was packed but comfortable. Good bands are getting booked. The Den at the Fox was packed, as was The Uptown, a bar across the street. We couldn't get reservations at Flora, and there were young people ("kids") just swarming around.

The next night, Mr. Scobie and I had dinner at Ozumo, a huge sushi bar/restaurant with a really wierd scene. And by wierd, I mean, it was totally different from the other crowd the night before. It was mostly young black professionals (which is not wierd), but also people who looked like drag queens and some who looked like professional athletes. The sushi was great but the prices suggested that they didn't know this was Oakland. We then walked over to Mimosa, a new place near the Y (!) which was nice enough, but didn't serve hard alcohol, so I don't know how long they'll limp along with that. Right on the same stretch are Pican, a new upscale soul restaurant and the newly old Luka's. Luka's seems old school now, but in 2000, it was Sam's Hofbrau, where mice would run along the pool table, and you could chip your tooth on the meatloaf (true story).

And since I work downtown now, I also get to experience the boom in lunch spots too. Flora is probably the best, and its usually crowded with Oakland-style celebrities (e.g. Jerry Brown), but the other day I met someone at Cafe Madrid, which is a coffee spot with a really nice little Spanish lunch menu. What the . . .? I thought I would be running the gauntlet of Oaksterdam "students" and instead I can get a decent meal? Color me baffled.

So for those of you who get out of the house in the Bay Area more often then I do, I encourage you to check out Oakland. I didn't even touch on the rest of the insane food scene. There's like 50 (okay, exaggeration) really great restaurants that are nationally acclaimed in Oakland. Step out, and let me know how it is. And big ups to Jerry Brown. This doesn't mean that I'm endorsing him for governor again, by the way, unless he can fast forward 10 years past his administration to a point where California is as nice as the new Oaktown.

What's Up With Me, vol 2.1

Usually when I have a long blogging hiatus, its because I am super-busy and involved with something much more interesting. Not lately. My only excuse for not blogging is that I've discovered a totally retro medium: Television! I'm going to pretend its hip to be over the internets and be in the thrall of this quaint and two-dimensional beast. I won't even pretend its because I've discovered something as marvelous as The Wire and am thus lowering my standards temporarily. On the other hand, this little tech-crush probably won't last past this season, at which point, I may move on to our landline telephone and start calling old friends. We'll see how it goes.

So, how did this happen? And what do I watch? My brother-in-law moved in in late July, and I finally had someone to watch Entourage with, even if this season totally blows. Then I agreed to be his Top Chef buddy, if he'd watch Project Runway with me, but then he moved out before he had to follow through on that. So while I occasionally text him during TC, he's never had to watch PR, although Mr. Scobie has, and it is clearly death by a thousand little sewing needles for him.

Then I got curious about Parks & Recreation from hearing Tim Goodman (SF Chron TV reporter) talk about it possibly being the next Arrested Development. So that meant I might as well DVR The Office and Community, too. Oh, and what's this On Demand? Jason Schwartzman acting exactly like the ex-boyfriend of mine he resembles so closely? Okay, Bored to Death, I will watch you, too. I am now considering Curb Your Enthusiasm, just to see how the Seinfeld reunion goes, even though I never really watched Seinfeld!

Clearly the only way for me to get over this is for Treme to start so that I can go back to being haughty and irritating about one television show to which others do not compare. Then I can start blogging again. Or calling you on the telephone. What's your number?

This Is Cracking Us Up Today

And by "us", I mean, me and my kids.

Much Less Baffling

Huzzah!! The How Berkeley Can You Be? Parade has been cancelled. A very teeny part of me says, "Wow, passing of an era," and the rest of me says, "Buh-bye."

What the?

I just came across this article Injured Sea Lion Dies After Rescue from I-880 Near Oakland Coliseum, and was just totally baffled by it. It makes no sense that a sea lion that had been bitten in half would be crawling up the highway this morning. But then I remembered, there's a Raiders game tonight, so actually it makes total sense.

Lisa

This weekend seems like a preview of the next 15 years of my life. L started soccer and we had a school outing and a block party. We met a lot of new people, spent time with a lot of friends. It was a great weekend, and it was exhausting. Tonight, its raining, which is very strange, as it almost never rains in the Bay Area until possibly October. Yesterday morning it was raining, and Li went out the front door and said, "What is this water doing here?" Long pause. "It's MUSHROOM SEASON!!" I'll take it.

Please watch this video about my friend Lisa's non-profit. I am on Lisa's board, which is nothing compared to the work she does. Lisa rocks.

Seven Years, No Itch

After an evening of basically begging my kids to go to sleep, it's hard to imagine that 24 hours ago, I was having a lovely anniversary dinner with Mr. Scobie, seven years after the Attack of Nerves we affectionately call Our Wedding. We went to A16, where my brother-in-law is cooking. Very good dinner. Here's a cute but blurry picture of them.

The Big Day, Aftermath

Here's the only vaguely sincere photo I could get out of the kid yesterday, walking to school. It turns out I was more excited; he took the whole thing in stride. Tonight, however, he's flipping his lid because, "I am not ready for kindergarten, the days are too LOOOOOONNNNGGGG!" S

The Big Day

My older son starts kindergarten on Wednesday, and I am basically a ball of excited nerves about it. I can't even explain why. He's totally ready. Often when he's faced with a transition - big or small - he has a hard time with it. But he is so ready for K that he has barely registered any anxiety. The only things to stress him out so far are: (1) the fact that he still has all his baby teeth; (2) the fact that other kids from his preschool aren't going to his K and (3) the school's no nut policy. Which I should have kept my mouth shut about. He never would have noticed 9 years of ham and cheese sandwiches.

Also, it turns out I forgot to prepare an earthquake kit. Blurg. We had to do one of these for his first preschool and it was awful. Why? because we were asked to write a letter to him that would be read to him only if The Big One hit. Almost nothing is harder than writing a letter to a 3 year old that will be read only if a devastating earthquake hits. "Dear Liam, the way you chew your shirt is really gross and irritating. Cut it out now because your foster parents won't stand for it." Or how about, "You'll be moving to Boston/Virginia soon. You're in charge of your little brother. Don't fuck that up, kid." See? It doesn't get easier just because he's almost 6. Fortunately, this school calls the letter optional, so I am going to exercise my option and not tear myself apart with that one right now. I can barely stand to imagine him in kindergarten, much less hunkering down to wait for the National Guard to escort him someplace.

Tomorrow we have his orientation, when he will meet his teachers and some of his classmates. I don't know whose head will explode first - mine or his - but I will be sure to document extensively if it isn't my head that goes first.

Berzerkley Parents, East and West

Sorry that I've been gone so long. I haven't had much to blog about, plus my tiny random thoughts tend to get put on Facebook. If you are desperate to know the minutia of my life, I suggest you join me there. Otherwise, enjoy the respite from my nonsense while you have it.

Then yesterday I got a one-two punch of stupid parenting stuff. First, from the West Coast, a listserv post from the mother of a one year old:

Is there a spot on Kindergarten applications that asks what preschool your child went to? If so, does the preschool affect the chances of getting into said kindergarten? Is Preschool a pre-req for some kindergartens? As in, you absolutely can not get in unless your child has attended some type of preschool?

I'm starting to feel like my need to find the perfect preschool is similar to my hunt for the perfect hospital to deliver my baby at, then realized that I could just do it at home. (but if I follow that analogy, homebirth didn't work out that well, so maybe homeschooling wouldn't, either, but if I'm really considering ALL my options...)

ARGH. And this isn't even unusual, right? But in case you East Coasters are feeling smug and thinking, "ahhh, ha ha! All our preschools are feeder schools for Harvard!", I came across this article in the Food section of the, yes, New York Times, Soft Serve and Jingle Jangle Moms.

A few observations about this article: First of all, the NYT really knows it audience. Second, a really sad percentage of people do not know how to parent, meaning that when your kid wants ice cream, you either just buy it or you say no, and deal with the aftermath, including the tantrum. That's how kids learn self-control (or how to get shit their parents don't want to give them). Third, Mr. Softee employees know more about parenting than your average New Yorker. Finally, a few parts that speak for themselves:

• New York City principals received letters from the advocacy group Asthma Free School Zone, urging them to keep trucks from their buildings. “Sometimes you’ll see a child in a stroller parked right next to the exhaust pipe of the truck,” said Lori Bukiewicz.
• As a new mother, she said, people coach you on potty training and what to feed your child. “But the ice cream truck, nobody ever mentions that,” she said.
• Jim Conway, a vice president for Mister Softee, said the company encouraged vendors to be sensitive to customers’ complaints. But parents, he said, are different from when he was young. Those who dislike the ice cream man, he said, tend to be “New Age parents whose kids can’t seem to do anything without them.”
• But the complaints are not just coming from effete organic-food zealots with too much time on their hands. The 18th Ward in Chicago, which banned ice cream vendors, is made up of working-class African-American families. Ms. Reiley is a stay-at-home mother. Ms. Heidel-Habluetzel is a real-estate agent who is an active volunteer at her children’s school. And Ms. Sell owns and runs a restaurant in Brooklyn with her husband, a chef.

That last part is so offensive to me. "It's not just effete organic-food zealots, it's Black people, too!" because of course those two categories do not overlap, ever! And the idea that a real estate agent or a restaurant owner is "working class" is galling. Is it because they're African-American or because they live in the 18th Ward? Does anyone with any sense at the NYT read these things before they are published?

UPDATE: h/t to my old law school classmate who found this article, "Irate" Ice Cream Mom Knows a Few Things About Sugar Pushing Herself. Zing! And the race was on!

Oh, And

Thanks to Jon Stewart for hooking me up with Men Who Look Old Lesbians. Don't know what happened to the Lindsey Graham pictures. . .

Oh, and, this blog is FOUR years (and 1 week) old. Wow, that's older than one of my kids. I've written 776 posts. Thanks for reading.

Here's What I'm Not Excited For

Jury duty. Again tomorrow.

They made me go last year and I really wanted to get on the jury then, because it seemed like a nice distraction from work (err, attempted murder). But now, I have stuff to do, and don't want to listen to Grizzly Adams, my co-prospective-juror, tell me all the reasons he should not be picked for a jury. Yeah, I know lawyers too, guy.

The Agony of Children's Entertainment

Last Thanksgiving, we rented a car in South Carolina that was equipped with satellite radio. Since we had to drive about 45 minutes to our destination, we settled on a kids' radio station as the most acceptable to a majority of the car's occupants. The adult votes were split between sports radio and gangsta rap, so the kids of course won. If you've ever listened to children's music, you know that about 85% of it is completely didactic and/or irritating. Even aging pop stars are prone to lyrics like, "Brush your teeth, brush your teeth, wash your face, wash your face and SPIN AROUND!" And I cast this net over The Barenaked Ladies, They Might Be Giants, Green Day, whoever it is making children's music these days. (Okay, that was an unfair dig at Green Day, but you have to admit that Know Your Enemy is both highly catchy and totally didactic)

Mr. Scobie noted, as he has on other occasions, that a lot of children's entertainment seems to be based on what adults think kids should like. This is certainly true of many of the picture books being published these days. They are painstakingly, beautifully illustrated, but are usually about time travelling to watch Hank Aaron or about seeing Mama's quilt finally finished or about growing a sunflower. They are impossibly dull.

And in fact, our kids tend to steer clear of this tripe, either through natural instinct or because its one of the few areas where we remain in control of their habits. Unfortunately, this has not extended to their TV viewing interests. For no discernible reason, they both tolerate - no enjoy, even demand - Caillou, the preachiest, most annoying cartoon I have ever seen. I can barely be in the room when its on. And I would even let them watch 400 other things if they wanted, including NASCAR races or Whale Wars. Caillou is all about making a scarecrow, or taking a car ride, or returning a library book. Intellectual death. Is this an early form of rebellion?

Twenty-one Questions, and Two Book Reviews

1. Why was my almost-three-year old kid still awake at 10:30 tonight?

2. And why is his favorite word "scrumptious"?

3. Have you noticed how we all know how to pronounce "Sotomayor" now?

4. But not "Andrea"?

5. Whose collar is tighter, the puppy or the priest?

6. Will there still be any nuns alive in America by the time the Vatican is done investigating them?

7. What will come after Twitter?

8. What shoes should I buy next?

9. Does the road to self-improvement have an end to it?

10. Does Durkheim's theory about religiosity actually apply better to masculinity?

11. Why do I have a mental block against giving my son his allowance?

12. Are my kids going to walk around shirtless all the time when they are teenagers, rubbing their abs in that way that has always annoyed me?

13. Where do all the people with neck tattoos work?

14. How bad would California have to get, economically and politically, before we would decide to move?

15. Where would we go?

16. How would I stand the winter/summer there?

17. What should I read next?

18. Where does the time go?

19. If you ran out of cereal, would it be acceptable to crumble up some chocolate chip cookies and pour milk on them and pretend it was Cookie Crisp?

20. Would you love me if I was down and out?

21. Is it passive-aggressive to write only in questions?

So I know I said I would leave the book reviewing to my sister, but I had a 48-hour trip to DC (what's up, Jennys?), well, actually Silver Spring, and that gave me time to chew through a couple of really good books. As I said in my last post on the topic, I had gotten into the habit of thinking that I am not such a big reader, but it turns out, I think, that's because I was a lawyer. Lawyers have to (pretend to) read all the time, so I found it hard to read for pleasure. But I read The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larson, and it was so good that I was carrying it around reading it from room to room, in the jetway, at breaks during my meeting. Considering it was probably translated from the Swedish, its Dennis Lehane-level good. The story completely sucks you in, the characters are interesting, the writing is good. I plowed through that book (500 pages) in about 24 hours. But its violent and has some very messed up twists so if you get queasy from that sort of thing, well, you were warned.

Then I picked up Complications by Atul Gawande. I had really enjoyed his recent article in the New Yorker about healthcare reform, and liked this book. Its ostensibly about being a surgical resident but is actually about all kinds of healthcare issues. Since my job currently demands that I think about this stuff (on the good days), I appreciated all the strong data, compelling stories and subtle treatment of really difficult topics. For example, he has a chapter about going to conferences, where he's pretty forthright about the overwhelming marketing that swamps doctors at these events, but then describes why these events are enticing to doctors: it isn't the merch, it's the camaraderie of their peers. Big Pharma preys on the fact that doctors need these events to feel in touch with their peers. That oversimplifies it, but I guess that's what book reviews do. Sheesh, that's not even the best chapter. Anyway, good book. What should I read next?

Requisite Michael Jackson Blog Post

I figure that, although you may not care where I was when I heard he died, or what my best memory of his music is, it is necessary to preserve these memories for posterity, because, for years, we'll all be putting on Thriller, having a wine spritzer and saying, "Where were you when you found out he died?"

At least, those of us who aren't going to be out there denying he is dead are going to be doing that.

I found out yesterday when my plane landed in Oakland, around 3 p.m. The woman in front of me must have checked her voicemail messages, because she exclaimed, "Oh my God! My sister cannot be telling me this! She knows I am on a trip! Is she fooling with me!? I can't take THIS and Farrah Fawcett dying on the same day!"

I was intrigued. Who was the mystery person that this woman held more closely to her heart than Farrah Fawcett? It couldn't be a family member, since she probably would be crying or her sister would not be THAT cruel. So I hurried off the plane and checked like four different applications on my phone to see who was reporting a death more profound than Farrah Fawcett's. Twitter aced it. My first thought was to call my cousin in LA, but decided that she might think that was wierd. Not so wierd that she didn't call me literally as I was having that thought though. I hadn't even realized that she and I had ever particularly bonded over MJ.

She said that her sister (another cousin) had once had a lengthy conversation with Farrah Fawcett in a bathroom at a party in LA, and she was wondering how her sister was holding up, under all the news.

So back to Michael Jackson. I never got to see him in concert or anything. I remember my aunts went to the Jackson Brothers reunion tour. I got the Thriller album for my birthday one year. Probably the first record I ever got. And in fifth grade, our school hosted a party at a local roller rink. The rink usually projected videos during the skating, but because it was a Catholic school, the rink didn't offer that entertainment this night. However, a grassroots movement to get the DJ to show the Thriller video was successful. I was "thrilled" because I had never seen it before. The video didn't even show for 2 minutes before some kid started crying and her mom made the DJ shut it down. Everyone was so mad at that girl. It was all we could talk about. It taught me a lot about how long the very powerful will let grassroot movements go before they crush them, I can tell you that.

Also that night, I wanted to wear a cut-off sweatshirt and my mom made me put a Polo shirt on underneath it (seriously). So when I got there, I took the Polo off and hid it in a locker, but then my mom got there early and I had skate faster than I ever have in my life to find the shirt and go into the bathroom to put it back on before she saw me. Again, it taught me a lot about how far I could go with my fake-ass sexuality before the very powerful would crush it.

I think Michael would understand that.

The Best Thing That Happened (To Me) Today

I found a secret cherry tree on quasi-public property that has delicious cherries on it. By even blogging about it, I run the risk that my one neighbor who reads this will either go find it or relentlessly harass me about it until I give up the location. By mentioning "quasi-public property", I've already revealed its location, practically (sound of me thwacking own forehead).

In other news, I seem to have committed myself to a boot camp class twice a week, starting Saturday. I'll let you know how that goes. The boot camp class is also in my neighborhood, and if the aforementioned neighbor bugs me about the cherry tree location, I will probably send him to the boot camp class location instead. (I'm assuming that he won't read the whole post by writing this.) Hilarity will ensue.

My Third Run at a Holy Hullabaloos Review

I am actually now reading Holy Hullabaloos, and given how long it can take me to finish a book these days*, I thought I would try my hand at another review before the book gets made into a movie. Here's my last review of the book. I actually wasn't that far off last time, except that it is way funnier than "a chuckle-a-chapter". It's actually funny in an ingenious way, like when Jay reviews the various opinions on the establishment clause through a fake discussion among the Supreme Court justices, wherein they are eating beef jerky and four of them leave to get haircuts. Okay, it's even funnier than my summary. Get it. Read it. If law school had been this interesting, I might still be a lawyer.

* I have this view of myself as "I never have time to read anymore", but in fact, I have finished several great books in the past few months, including Netherland by Joseph O'Neill and My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell. I recommend them both highly; the latter is perfect for vacation and is the sweetest book I can remember reading in a long time, but not in a saccharine, annoying way. I also read At Play in the Fields of Lord by Peter Matthiesen, which went over my head, I think. I kept thinking, "Wow, this is a lot of symbolism," but wasn't sure what anything symbolized. I was reading The Tipping Point until I got Jay's book, so I am now, for the first time in awhile "not reading" two books. I will leave further reviews to my sister.

Truck Nutz!

Yeah, them's truck nutz. Extra large, silver. Stay classy, Oakland.

That totem seems like it creates a good segue to some thoughts about a show I saw on Thursday night. And by show, I mean "rock show". I went with JFB to see Shellac and Arcwelder at the Great American Music Hall. I think I have seen Shellac 4 times and at least three of those shows were with James. Its likely grounded in our history: we met when I made fun of his Big Black t-shirt. Boy, I must have thought I was cute. Anyway, it was a really fun time for a number of reasons, and Shellac isn't really in the top five.

1. It started "early", i.e. 9:00 p.m. That's when Arcwelder started. They played well and enthusiastically for an hour, and Shellac was on by 10:30. This is veritable warp speed in the indie rock scene. I was driving home by midnight. Unprecedented show efficiency.

2. The reason it started early is because we are all getting old. I haven't been to see a band play in 3 years, but one reason I avoid it is because the rest of the crowd is usually so young. But this crowd was just as old as I am, and older. The guys were in their 30s and 40s when I was in my early twenties are now in their 40s and 50s, and they were there, making me feel young. Another benefit of this aging together is that Arcwelder in particular has morphed from a group of young guys out on tour to a group of guys in their 30s/40s whose kids are old enough that their wives said, "sure, you can play two shows in San Francisco," and they took a week off work to go re-live their glory days.

3. That's why the bands seemed more admirable than they were 15 years ago. The appreciated the audience, played their best, and had a great time. It was infectious. I liked Arcwelder more than I had remembered, and slightly more than Shellac. More on that.

4. The show was such a sausage party (that means all guys, MIL) that there was no line for the women's bathroom. That's never happened in my life. It was a cause of much hilarity in the women's bathroom that the men's room line had 20 guys on it. Women said things like, "I wish I were single!" and "I've never seen this many straight guys in the Bay Area in one place!"

5. It's always fun to hang out with James, even if its too loud to even think, much less talk.

As for Shellac, they remain the same. Unbelievably tight, intricate, loud, angry rock. They barely look like they've aged a day, but they looked sort of haggard 15 years ago. They don't look worse, and they still put on a great show. Albini goes in too much for the Word Jazz, though, and sometimes I just thought, "shut up and play."

Another downside, I still haven't shook the standard "show back/leg/knees" that sets in near the end of the opening band. You know, that pain that results from standing, back and knees locked, head and foot bobbing, for 3-4 hours. It's making me hesitant to see another band in the next 3 years. On the other hand, Sonic Youth is playing in Oakland soon, and I'd like to see them before I die, so who knows. . . .

Onward

I want to say a non-chronological thing or two about Nicaragua. First of all, the fruit is amazing. The bananas were the best I have ever eaten. But the bananas revealed something else, which is that bananas in this country must be heavily subsidized because we say way more mangoes there than bananas, but mangoes in this country cost $1-4 each, while bananas cost 20 cents each. Or $2 a bunch or something, right? I always thought each mango tree must grow 1 mango a year or something and that's why they cost so much. In fact, mangos grow almost like berries; the tree is covered with them. So I assume mangos' price in the US reflects something close to the true cost of getting them all the way up here, while bananas are subsidized or something.

The damn banana lobby.

Something else: We really take our water, sanitation and sewage systems for granted around here. Because when you don't have stable systems, its a huge bummer, and much less happens if you have to worry about those basics.

Those are just two obvious, and possibly baseless, observations.

On Thursday of our visit, the big event was a sailing trip with Matt and Katie, folks Carl and Angie met down there. They were really nice hosts and totally effortless sailors (i.e., I never freaked out for a second that anything bad was going to happen even though I was in a tiny vessel in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Nicaragua, not a place I ever saw myself). It was one of the most relaxed times I had, because everything was in someone else's hands, including my kids. Q was napping back at the house, while Angie stood guard, and Liam was "fishing" off the back of the boat and talking Matt and Katie's ears off. Magical.

On Friday, the big event was a baseball game in Rivas. Frente Sur Rivas played Caribbean Coast. It's hard to describe this event. It was like watching a major league game in a municipal ballpark, and not a fancy municipal ballpark. More like an all-concrete, abandoned ballpark. But with really excited fans, and many vendors walking the wide rows, selling ceviche (where does that seafood come from?), cashews, mangos, loquats - any of which they will douse with hot sauce or vinegar at your request. You could also buy individual cigarettes, which strangely made me want to smoke, only because they were probably 5 cents a piece. I cannot pass up a bargain, you know? Unfortunately, the kids were cranky and it was hot, and I drank 3 Toñas, so after 5 innings we were ready to roll. Rivas was ahead when we left. Another observation: there's a lot of Yankees and Red Sox gear in that country.

Halfway Through

I don't have much to say about Wednesday in Nicaragua because we spent most of the day swimming, packing up in Granada and driving (being driven) in a van down to San Juan Del Sur, where Angie and Carl were living (they came back to the US today). The only notable part of the drive, other than just the sights and sounds of rural Nica, was when Angie got into a haggle-feud with some ladies selling fake cheezits at a gas station. First of all, the wanted too much for their fake, nasty cheezits - like probably 35 cents or something - and Angie wasn't having it. And then when Angie handed the money out the window, a pan handler grabbed it, and the food seller acted oblivious, like Angie had not, in fact handed the money out the window. This awesomely infuriated Angie, who let loose with a torrent of Spanish and vinegar that I admire, mostly because I wouldn't have the nerve for this tirade against a peddler-panhandler act in English. It was first rate. The cheezits, however, were nasty, and Angie was right to lowball Abbott and Costello. 

The place we stayed in SJ was awesome. We had a two bedroom house with an unbelievable view, and it was part of a very upscale resort, Pelican Eyes (I can't provide a link because my computer says their site has malware on it).  They had good food, three pools, soft towels, etc etc. Here's the view from the lower pool. 

They also, inexplicably, hosted a spay/neuter clinic for two of the days there. But that was for local animals (not guests), and we were unaffected by it other than it made me want to get a cat. 

On Pace to Finish by September

So where was I? Tuesday? 

Tuesday morning found the kids in the pool with Angie. The other grown-ups walked around Granada a bit, checking out churches and the market. Not your serene NoCal farmers' market, that's for sure. You can buy everything, including lingerie and juice in plastic sandwich bags at the open air market. 

We climbed the bell tower of one church along stairs so narrow that the only reason I didn't hyperventilate is because I was concentrating on listening to whether Carl had hyperventilated. This journey was made more harrowing by (1) the copious rat droppings on every step and (2) our discussion of the Honduras and Costa Rica earthquakes of the recent past as we climbed. The view was pretty cool though. 

On Tuesday afternoon, Huascar returned to take us up to Mombacho, a relatively inert volcano outside of town. I say "relatively" because the Nicaraguans call it dormant but it has steaming fumaroles and its neighbors are "active" volcanoes. The trip up the mountain was as close as a truck can get to being vertical as is possible under the laws of physics, even though it had switchbacks. Our dictatorito had a steady hand, though, and we made it safely to the top. 

Most of the top of Mombacho is a tropical forest preserve, with pristine trails and good interpretive signs. And by pristine, I mean, way better than our trails in CA, which are all washed out and rocky. The preserve is a strong stab at attracting eco-tourism, and has several endemic protected animals, as well as sloths, monkeys, puma, etc. None of which we saw, of course. Still even the flora was exciting. The kids made the 1.5 hour trek around the crater of the volcano and we got a great view of Granada and the lake. 

Tuesday night, B and I tried, after several false starts, to go out to dinner. Most restaurants are closed on Tuesday night. We finally settled on a place which got decent reviews in the guide books, Mediterraneo. One book did warn, "Stay away from the paella, it's terrible," but otherwise, it was well-reviewed. We sit, and our waiter Nelson tells us, "The house speciality is paella." Of course. So we had to order it, and while it was not terrible, it also wasn't very good, and I consider paella to be difficult to mess up. The evening was generally lovely, except for an unfortunate incident of advanced bullying we witnessed in the square before dinner. It made me excited to leave Granada on Wednesday.  Which we did!

Here I Am Again

So where was I? Sorry, MIL, I wrote a long post on Tuesday morning and then connectivity problems prevented me from posting it, so then I got briefly dejected, but now I am back in action. I think I left off at Lake Nicaragua.

Our tour guides showed up on Monday morning, during breakfast, just to introduce themselves and agree on a time for the kayaking trip. Although both were impeccable English speakers, we couldn't understand their names. The next day, we ascertained that one was named Huascar, which we learned by making the kids say, "Como se llamo?" like 40 times. At 2:30, our gu

ides arrived in a pick-up truck driven by a man with an impressive mustache and large aviators. Very banana republic and I don't mean that in a Short Hills Mall kind of way. We piled in, the kids using the two functioning seat belts of this vehicle, dad and uncle hanging off the back, and left for the lake. 

The lakefront is a park which appears totally abandoned, except for the dozens of people milling around in a non-recreational manner. At the entrance to the park, I saw a boy my son's age - say, 5 - hacking at a log with a machete. Good idea? I thought, in a Jay Wexler voice in my head. 

At the end of the road in the park was a surprisingly well-appointed bar (it had a dance floor, basketball hoop and chickens), at the far end of which was a stack of kayaks. Initially, the guides wanted to put the kids in a little dinghy which they proposed to pull with their kayak, but we convinced them that the kids would probably spoil the idyllic trip by standing up and then drowning. That meant one kid went to Dad's kayak and the other to Carl's, and we set off. 

We paddled our kayaks amid the little islands of Las Isletas, a chain of 300-400 islands formed by the eruption of Mombacho volcano, near Granada. The islands were thick little jungles, and people live on many of them. Several were clearly owned by regretful Canadians/Americans trying to sell them (from the For Sale/Se Vende signs); others are owned by Nicaragua's elite. We saw herons, egrets, sardines jumping from the water to eat mosquitoes, men fishing, men just randomly shooting their guns from boats into the woods, a pet spider monkey tied to a tree, horses, and electrical wires spread 30 feet over yards and yards of open water. It was both beautiful, easy, peaceful and mildly terrifying. Here's Mombacho, viewed from the Lake.

Just as our arms were beginning to quiver from exhaustion (mine at least), we pulled back into our "boat slip" at the bar, where we were greeted by two boys who had a jelly jar of camerones in muddy water. They were kind enough to let Liam hold one of them. He was thrilled to have it wriggle in his hand, and he wanted to help them catch more. 

Soon, though, we were on our way back into Granada; this time, I got to hang in the bed of the pick-up. Huascar told us that the park hosted very popular motorcross events every Sunday, and that while baseball was the number one sport, "high ball" is the number two sport in Nica, and tossed his hand to his mouth to show he meant drinking. His friend said, "La Cana . . . yes, high ball is the one you play best" and we all laughed. 

So that gets me through the first 24 hours of our visit. Since we stayed there for a full week, its hard to imagine that I can keep going at this level of detail. I will see what I can do but I will need to pick up the pace here or else I will forget everything. 

Oh, and these are the nests of a colony of oropendola, a bird with a tail that is gold (oro) who builds a nest like a pendulum. They were very swooping in and out of the trees. 

This Bird Attacked Mr. Scobie

This bird attacked my husband (who doesn't let me use his name on this blog, for those of you who think its wierd that I refer to him as "my husband") yesterday.

The First of Many Posts, I Hope

We got back from Nica last night, and I will try to capture for myself all that we saw, but I am remembering it through the prism of a night out in Portland, OR (where I am today), Black Star on my ipod, and some wierd Brazilian drink I thought it wise to drink tonight. Before I begin, here's a preview.

First of all, I just need to say that Carl and Angie are the most awesome hosts, and Mr. Scobie is a topnotch travel agent in his own right. In the weeks prior to our departure, he was working his ass off, but in the midst of it, he was secretly making arrangements for a highly entertaining vacation.

We landed last Sunday night in Managua, and were greeted at baggage claim by innumerable Nicaraguans pressing themselves to the glass outside. It was a little unnerving. Fortunately, our driver was one of the people mobbing the door, preventing our exit from the airport. He hustled us to a corner and went for his car. It was hella muggy. I saw an Obama sticker on a car and breathed a sigh of relief. We piled into his van, which mercifully had two seat belts (truly, my kids wore the only 6 seat belts in all of Nicaragua, I think) and a boomin' sound system. The kids' eyes bugged out of their eyes as we drove the 40 minute ride to Granada. It was actually too dark to see much, but the smells were truly something to experience. Wood burning gave way to skunk, gave way to diesel exhaust, to cow manure, to pot, back to wood. In the dark, people just standing at the side of the road. A pack of dogs chasing loose balloons into the road. Broken trucks, horsedrawn carriages, the smell of meat, lovers sauntering, and we were blowing past at 80 kilometers an hour.

We checked into the Hotel Colonial in Granada and headed out for some food. We ended our search at O'Shea's, no joke, a sidewalk cafe that sported a live mushroom in the courtyard. Guess who was psyched? There also seemed to be an actual Irishman on hand. Right off the bat, we had to tackle (hamfistedly) the poverty of Nica. A panhandler smartly chose the almost-six year old to hit up. When I said No to the guy, Li immediately said, "Why can't we give him something?", which made me feel shitty and loquacious all at once, like I'd be able to explain it all right there. Within 24 hours, the kid was like, "No, gracia" to every street vendor in the town.

The next morning, we walked around town, seeing the Cathedral and the Convento de San Francisco. Pictures will follow. We never made it Kathy's Waffle House, sadly. Carl and Angie arrived around lunch time and afterwards, we headed to Lake Nicaragua for a kayak trip. I will get to that tomorrow.

Foodless in Oakland

Doesn't have the same ring to it.

It turns out that the two Indian restaurants in our neighborhood that deliver (1) stop delivery at 9 or (2) require a minimum purchase of $25. BUSH!

I thought I'd weigh in while the Greatest Neighbor on The Planet runs out to pick up my food at restaurant (1). 

Sonia Sotomayor: If you want the best thinking about this, I recommend SCOTUSblog
on this. I agree, it's over. The conservatives were so off-message on day 1, and just had nothing to complain about. And then when Newt Touretted: "She's a Latina racist!", it was like, "Really? That's the best you can do with this?" On the other hand, I am not completely teary about this pick. I agree that its awesome to finally have a Hispanic justice, and another woman on the Court. But the best part of this was how many female and/or minority candidates that Obama could have chosen from. It's like the good guys have such a deep bench now, we could staff the whole place without a pasty white dude from the DC Circuit. (Not to say there aren't some decent white guys out there, but you know....)

Prop 8: Here's another issue where it's all over but the shouting. I subscribe to the view that the Cal Supremes were essentially ruling about how messed up our state constitution is. Putting aside the immediate disappointment of not having gay marriage legalized already, the fact that the Court kept 18,000 marriages intact is just a huge fail for the Right. With marriage legalized in several other states, including two by legislation, the fact that 18,000 gay marriages didn't turn every public school child in California gay is just a huge problem for conservatives. All their arguments have failed. I was emailing with an old college friend, who said that his fraternity brothers are 85/15 in favor of gay marriage. We were marvelling at how much public opinion has changed on this issue just since we were in college, which wasn't really that long ago. 

If gay marriage is almost here, and Sotomayor will be seated by the time the fall session, what else will see in our lifetime? I don't mean stupid shit like time travel, I mean, what historic firsts will be commonplace in 25 years? What's left? Here are a few that I can think of:

1. First woman president: I think this is going to feel anticlimactic when it happens. Hillary shattered the ceiling, acting like a typical candidate in a year that had an atypical, and superior, candidate in the race. She made it look like its been done. I give her credit; I don't think its going to feel the same next time out. Like Sotomayor, we have so many women qualified for this job, it makes it seem unexceptional. I know feminists older than me may despair of my attitude, but it just feels, again, like its already done. 

2. Universal healthcare? After the day I had listening to the problems in healthcare in my region, I have a hard time getting my mind around this.

3. True energy independence and global climate change reversal? This, to me, is the new movement. Its both a social movement and a capital movement. Its gonna happen, or we're gonna die trying. It's also hard to imagine.

What do you think?

Freestylin'

I know that there is at least one person out there who is annoyed/bummed that my blogging has atrophied. I can't promise that I will make it up to you in one measly blog post. But I thought I would try a little stream of consciousness download and see if it appeases the cranky neighbors.

Since I last blogged, Blogger has added a menu option named "Monetize". Isn't that ominous? Doesn't it mean: "Turn into money". Like I am some blogging Rapunzel or the little mean man who spun all the gold for her? I don't like it one bit.

My sister is doing all her blogging by Voice Recognition. She likes it but it also caused her to post her first vaguely negative book review. In the final analysis, I hope she keeps up the negativity, VR or not.

My job is pre-occupying. And since Radio Boy thought it inadvisable to blog about my new job, I am somewhat at a loss. I did overhear someone today on their bluetooth contraption say, "optimize . . . strategy . . . boo-boo." What the what?

Okay, I am out of practice. This is it for me tonight. We are going to Nicaragua on Sunday for a week. I will try to post, but you can check in on gringosenica.com too. Later gators.

Another inspired piece

Liam contemplates the piece designed as an homage to Ernesto Neto.
This kid is a piece of work himself.