The Car Post

We have two cars. The "other" car is a 1997 Honda Civic, and it is primarily driven by Mr. Scobie on days when he decides to drive to work (rather than BART) or when we both need to drive some place at the same time. This car is usually referred to as "the old car", "the other car", "the Honda" or "(Mr. Scobie's) car". But today, I needed to drive to San Jose, and Mr. Scobie said, "Can you take the crappy car?" and I said, "sure" but when I got in the car, I thought, What a master of re-branding he is. So now I guess the Honda will be known as "the crappy car". The next step from there is a new car, of course.

The other thought I had in the car was, Can you change someone's preset radio stations if the stations are super-corny? Another thought I had was, The popularity of the Segway in San Jose is what is keeping the rest of us from wanting to move here. I didn't tweet either of those thoughts because I was driving and I didn't want to die on 880.

Who? Me?

What am I up to? Oh, just moonin' around in my SF Giants/Fanta slanket. Finished The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest long before the witching hour, mainly because I inhaled like 400 pages of it last night. I'd share a picture, but the one that was taken of me has not been shared with me, and in any case, I probably just look like an orange lump.

Nothing else is going on, and I am trying to keep it that way. I want everything outside of my family and friends to shrink down to nothing. Or rather, some paraphrase of Grover Norquist keeps coming to mind. I often find myself thinking, "I want to shrink this ____ to where I can drown it in the bathtub." Where "this" isn't the government but some more personal bureaucracy. I don't want to be more specific, but man, being a grown-up is complicated. I saw this guy today who had a sweatshirt that said, "Capitalism is a death machine" and I got so annoyed. When did it get more complicated than that? WHY IS EVERYTHING SO NUANCED NOW?

And Tipper and Al are separating? GOD DAMN. I've already lived through my parents' divorce once. Why does this keep happening to me?

Which reminds me of a story. It's a boring one, but bear with me. Mr. Scobie used to call me Tipper Gore. Man, did that ever burn me. It used to make me so mad. Now, I don't care. Of course, he doesn't call me Tipper anymore; he calls me Al. If it's possible to be both, what will happen to me when they divorce? *head exploding*

Action Packed Week

First of all, how cute are these children? I took this picture with an iPhone app that makes everything look like an old Polaroid. Or as my cousin said, an app that makes your children look exactly like you in old pictures. The sleeping bag is SOO earlier this week, when the grown-ups had to take turns camping in the kids room in order to fend off robbers.

Notwithstanding the Crime Spree we faced, the really exciting event this week has been The Loose Tooth. Or possibly The Loose Teeth, or maybe Loose Tooth I and Loose Tooth II. The whole thing has not shaken out yet, but yesterday, Li opened a tupperware container with his teeth (I know, I know, you're thinking, What, you stupid hippies! Haven't you taught your children to fear anything real?) and that resulted in major loosening of a lower front tooth. Anxiety about the loss of this tooth resulted in such award-winning performances as this one, last night:

He's biting his lower lip in order to protect his bottom teeth. He did that from 6:00 pm last night until around 1:30 this afternoon, when I convinced him to try a popsicle (up to that point, no food or water had entered his body for that entire time). TaaaDAH! Instant relief! The other tooth is pretty jaunty too, so I'm hoping the T.F. makes two visits this weekend (Tooth Fairy, not Tom Frank. Although it would be good to see him as well).

The other thing that happened was that a bird flew in the back door yesterday evening, and flew around the house and got freaked out and pooped liberally and hid under the couch. It took much coaching and furniture-moving to get the bird out. It was the most exciting thing to happen to me in a while, but then again, I haven't lost a tooth in years, so what do I know.

A Few Installments of A New Feature

I've decided to start a new feature called "If I Loved . . . , My Life Would Be Awesome" where I would tell you about things which, if I loved, would contribute to a more awesome life on my part. It goes like this:

If I liked walking on Legos, my life would be awesome.

If I liked sleeping on stacks of Bob books, my life would be awesome.

If I liked hearing the Fantastic Fox theme song whistled flatly, my life would be awesome.

If I like decorating with sleeping bags, my life would be awesome.

I acknowledge that some kinder-hearted among you might see these conditions are sweet blessings, and I'm not discounting that possibility. That's why I am trying to imagine a more awesome life out of the awesome life I already have.

Completely Random

Now that I've tried to start blogging again, I've really noticed how little people blog these days, unless they are professional bloggers. And maybe they don't blog either, since I don't think I actually read any professional bloggers. Anyway, its too bad. I like reading my friends' blogs. For example, I was really happy today to find that T&A Lady had posted. Its a pretty funny post. Notwithstanding the fact that she accurately calls out her ex-boyfriend's non-wisdom, I do have to say that the sentiment against sweat pants outside the house was a strong one in my family. So strong, in fact, that I think I may have rebelled for some years by clinging desperately to a really ugly maroon pair from high school. So deep was my affection, I cut them up and put them in my fabric bin; I intend to use them some day in a quilt, or pillow, or some other novelty gift for my husband, who hates them.

Which is a bummer, isn't it? That men (at least good ones) don't find women attractive in old sweatpants? And its a bummer for men that women don't think that SportsCenter is lady porn. So I guess we're even.

I ran another race on Sunday. And oh mother, was it punishing. It was only a 10k ("only", ha!) but it was in Redwood Park, which is very hilly and it was raining and muddy. So I am half-happy with my time. The reason I am even mentioning this is that I noticed that the race organizers posted on their Facebook page today that several people intentionally cheated in the related 30k. What is the point? If you are punishing yourself by running this insane race, why would you then cheat? I don't think I've ever cheated just to cheat. Strike that. Yes, I have. Sometimes I check for a hint at the back of the Sudoku book. Is that the same thing? It doesn't seem like the same thing.

Finally, I strongly encourage you to kill an hour or two watching Nowmov. Especially you, Seamus. This is my friend's new venture, and it is completely addictive. It's like Pandora mixed with Chatroulette mixed with basic cable. With Brazilians. And lots of Justin Bieber. But you can skip those videos. Anyway, enjoy and spread the word.

Deep Thoughts

Still on the music thing, but in a different genre altogether (assuming George Michael and X-Ray Spex are not in the same genre). I was thinking about the following lyrics: "Though its easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool."

How obnoxious and condescending is that? If any "friend" of mine told me that it would have been easy to pretend that I was a fool, I would be so pissed off.

Although now that everyone knows that most of my waking thoughts are song lyrics from the '80s, they would not be mistaken for thinking that I'm half-witted, I guess.

Musical Influences

On Saturday, Liam asked me if people ever have pet rats, which caused me to sing*, "Freddy tried to strangle me with my plastic popper beads, but I hit him back with my pet rat. Yes, I hit him back with my pet rat!" Li thought this was hilarious, so I spun Germ-Free Adolescents by X-Ray Spex for him in the car the next day. It only took one chorus for him to sing along to Plastic Bag. "My my-nd is like a plas-tic bag (do do do do do do doo)."

I was so proud. I mean, even prouder than the fact that both my kids love Ozzy (well, Crazy Train). But here's the trick. X-Ray Spex released that album in 1977. The year my sister was born. I was three, the same age as my younger son. It was old when I discovered it in 1991. So how can it be cool for me to be playing it for my kids? It just isn't, right? It's the equivalent of my mom playing Phil Ochs and The Band and Simon and Garfunkel**, which was still mildly contemporaneous with my early childhood. So in essence, I am even more of a throwback than my mom was when I was a kid. ~~~ Does not compute ~~~

This marked lack of coolness is something I've never adjusted to. Time to just own up to it and bust out the Doobie Brothers, I guess.

* I have this genetic condition that I inherited from my mother, and passed to my son, whereby I sing non-relevant song lyrics in response to friendly questions. This would drive Mr. Scobie "insane" if he weren't already in that condition due to our children's horrible table manners and their shambled, broken-toy-strewn bedroom.

** I still love The Band and Simon and Garfunkel. Here is my friend Dave's answer to the question "Beatles or Rolling Stones?": "Simon and Garfunkel", and he's right.

Two Steps Forward, One Tiny Step Back

This post is about Oakland. Back in September, I wrote about how impressed I was by O-Town's burgeoning night life, and last month, I was thrilled to run the half marathon in the Oakland Running Festival. This weekend, we stopped by the re-opened Oakland Museum of California, which was packed with people, and I felt particularly proud to watch the immigration rally/protest circling Lake Merritt from the roof of the OMCA. OAKLAND! REPRESENT! Even the NYT caught wind of Oakland's resurgence this weekend.

But amidst the fun and the Diebenkorns, there was one small thing at the OMCA that made me shake my head. It was the Holistic Hooping demonstration. Oakland is not going to make it to the next level of cool with this hula hoop-based fairy costume sex therapy dance nonsense. And I know that one of them will find this blog post and disagree, so I just want to let that hooper know that when my old dentist's wife started anonymously commenting on this blog, it ended with me giving detailed testimony to another dentist's lawyer in a related litigation matter. So think again, hula hooper.

I've decided to chalk the wood nymph hula squad up to Berkeley and continue to give O its due. But if I see a diaphonous cape or felt upper-arm bands in the vicinity of a hula hoop in Oakland again, I WILL downgrade Oakland to a B+.

And Again

I was reluctant to tackle the subject of our trip to New Jersey, but then I found this website, for the Westmount Country Club, and I realized it was selfish to keep it all to myself. My grandmother's repast (post-funeral lunch) was held at The Westmount, and she would have been in her glory at this place. And I don't mean because she was some old school guidette. Far from it;my grandmother was amazed at tackiness, and would have been thrilled to spend an afternoon soaking up the Westmount and tossing off one-liners at its expense.

Let me back up a bit. My grandmother died April 6, 2010, after a very long and full life. Now that's she deceased, I know that I'm at liberty to tell her age, but when she was alive, her age was not commonly known or shared.

Here's my grandmother's obituary. There was no doubt that her progeny would travel to NJ for the services. Due to the fact that there are no hotels in Clifton, NJ, my uncle reserved a block of rooms at the Holiday in Totowa, just up Route 46 from the church. As an aside, I need to note that my husband and non-NJ cousin mis-pronounced Totowa in various ways, and I had to fight the feeling that their mispronunciation was intentional. It's Toe-toe-WAH, not tot-uh-wah or tuh-TOE-uh. I decided that I don't answer for NJ anymore, and didn't bother to correct them. Plus, I'm probably wrong anyway. The hotel was attached to a night club that doubled as the breakfast buffet. I didn't have the good fortune to visit Ruby's Lounge, but some phrases my family who did visit used in reference to it were, "milling about", "sexy dancing", "old" and "jarring".

Stepping aside from the hilarity of the Ho Inn and the Westmount, I must say that my Gram's mass was very moving and appropriate. I hadn't felt deeply miserable about her passing because it wasn't unexpected, but the mass felt just right for acknowledging who she was and creating a safe space for feeling that sadness. I was lucky that my mom took me up on my offer to speak a few "Words of Remembrance." I share them below, because I figure, I already shared them in public once, and I've already eulogized an old neighbor on this blog, it's only right to honor my grandmother.

When I first heard that Gram had died, I had a flash of self-pity where I thought, "I didn't get to say good-bye to her." Then I realized I had talked with her just a few days earlier. In fact, most of her children and grandchildren spoke to her in the weeks before she died. I talked to Gram almost every week in the past few years, and I can tell you, she was ready for this. In some ways, she was curious about death, almost impatient. I know that she was ready to pass.

Our familiarity makes it hard to remember anecdotes about my grandmother. But I do remember that in the last year they owned the house in Lavallette, Gram learned that a serious winter storm was headed towards the house, and the house hadn't been closed for the winter. She literally tossed me in the car and drove down there. (I think Jack was there.) She worked quickly to lock windows, turn off the water, whatever needed to be done. I am sure that I was no help at all. Before we left though, we walked down to the beach. It was the only time I remember seeing dolphins at Lavallette. Gram turned to me and said, "We should go swimming!" It was pretty classic. She had a way of making the routine seem spontaneous, and by extension, I felt so *included* in everything she did.

When I was very young, Gram taught me how to answer the phone, make a pot of coffee. She let me watch the Today show with her at the kitchen counter , and she'd send me to buy donuts at Cozy Joe's. I felt so important! So grown-up! It seems silly to remember such little things about a woman who accomplished so much. She graduated from Fordham and got her Master's degree in the 1940s. She had a professional career when Irish Catholic women were not professionals. Then she had a family when most women at that time would be considered an old maid. Gram was one for the history books and yet my whole life, I just took it for granted. Of course she did all that. NO big deal; I'll do that too! Sometimes she used her maiden name, sometimes she used her married name. No big deal; I'll do that too!

In fact, Marie Winberry Costello has many names. To the older grandchildren, she is Gram. To the younger, and to her great grandchildren, she is Memaw.

Regardless of what we called her, she was crazy about all of us. The younger kids were beautiful, hilarious and, wonderful. I never heard her use baby talk until I had kids. Rachael got Gram to shoot a music video a couple of years ago. She thought you were all hilarious. Every time she was with you, she was 70 years younger.

And making Gram laugh was one of her favorite things in the world.. When I got married, I asked her how I could have a long and happy marriage like hers. The first thing she said was, "Keep laughing with one another." She and Pop definitely did that. The other advice she gave me: "Never speak ill of his family, no matter how long you are married." And, "Feel free to go to bed angry - you'll know in the morning what you were really mad about." But keep laughing was the main advice I try to use every day.

I wanted you to know how much she appreciated that you could make her laugh.

What about us older kids? What did we mean to her?

There are enough people she loved in this world that I cannot say that we meant "everything". But the five oldest grandchildren were all the products of divorces by the time we were in our early teams. Each of us struggled in ways and through issues that Gram and her children never envisioned that we would.

And for that, Gram, above all, admired us. She was so proud of us. Every time I talked to her, she bragged to me about my sister, my cousins, my husband, my sister's husband, my cousin's husbands, my cousin's wife. She bragged to me about my own kids. She bragged to me about ME. She didn't understand everything that we did, but she thought we were all just amazing. And she respected us. Not just once were coping adults, but throughout our lives. She trusted us to answer her phone, make the coffee, hear some adult news - because she respected us, and our intelligence.

When I talked to Gram that last time, we didn't have any deep conversation. She had questions about being a criminal defense attorney - she was watching Law and Order - and wanted to know more about a half marathon I had run a few weeks ago. But she also let me know again, in simple ways, that she was really impressed by me, and more important, she was at peace with her own future.

The level of love and respect that I got from Gram, I got to reciprocate almost weekly. While I don't feel like there's anything I didn't say to her, I want to say this to you: If you want to remember my Gram, then take excellence for granted, respect eachother, and above all, keep laughing together. Thank you.

Another Blog Post, Finally

I've really been struggling to think of something to blog about lately. Obviously, the non-blogger side of me has been winning. I'll try to rectify that tonight, if I can. But coming up with a blog post was really challenging, especially since I DVRed the final episode of Project Runway, and I really should watch it tonight. It aired 5 days ago and the whole Western world knows who won, and I have been intentionally ignoring any source of information that might reveal the winner. So I really need to see it before the news blackout breaks down.

But okay, here I am.

Went to Jersey this weekend. Can't even begin to tackle this topic, I've reverted to such a neophyte weakling-blogger state. I just don't have the physical and emotional constitution to tackle New Jersey right now. It's like I've had blogger pneumonia, and I need to ease back into it.

Here's a topic I can handle: I finished reading Union Atlantic by Adam Haslett yesterday. I can't really recommend it. It got great reviews I think. Actually, maybe only my mother-in-law liked it. I don't know. It was on the cover of the NY Times Book Review, and I therefore assume they gave it a good review. Only Saul Bellows or Don DeLillo would get the cover and also a bad review, right?

Why did I dislike it? A few reasons:

(1) It was Gatsby-esque but not in a subtle enough way to be anything other than derivative.

(2) Speaking of derivatives (buh-dum-bum), the story involves a stock market crisis that takes place at the beginning of the war in Iraq, thus causing the reader to be forced to reckon with two monumental national disasters simultaneously. But the crisis feels anachronistic or something. Or maybe you are supposed to shake your head and lament that we never learn from our (snore).

(3) The main character is boring as shit and totally unlikeable. And not unlikeable in a Saul Bellow character way, where you can't wait to read what ludicrous prejudice is going to be next attributed to this character. It's more like, "Okay Doug is a power tripper, and now he's taking his shirt off again." (flip, flip, flip)

(4) In fact, all the characters are unlikeable, really. At least in small ways. And the things that are supposed to make them complex and interesting, aren't. Nate is gay? OMG! I just thought he was goth!

Had enough snark? I can't say I hate the book. It has enough interesting elements to be worth finishing.

UPDATE: I just checked the NYT review. It's pretty close to glowing, so heck ,maybe I'm wrong. But it reminded me of the talking dog bit, and that made me decide that, yup, I might hate this book.

Update on the Twitter situation, and Day 2 of SD

After I invited everyone to follow me on Twitter, my spouse let me know that I require new followers to be verified by me before they can read my posts. None of you asked to follow me, so I assume no one else tried to follow me there. Probably because you are mainly Luddites who are ambivalent about even reading this so-called blog. Anyway, I added my Twitter feed over there in the right hand column, so you'll have a reason to check back in even if I am not updating the blog.

As for Day 2 of San Diego, all I can say is, Legoland is nirvana for a 6 year old boy. Mine literally ran from place to place, overwhelmed and thrilled by the whole thing. It's probably the best theme park for kids that I've ever been to. My kids are anxious to return this weekend (not happening).

I've Found Something New to Be Annoyed About

In case you thought I'd gotten mellow and maybe more accepting of the world around me, I wanted to let you know that I have a new pet peeve. It is the use of quotation: "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting the same results."

I'll admit that the first time you hear this quote, you might think "HA! Isn't that clever? And so true...." but in reality, it is rarely true or even descriptive of the event under consideration. This particular iteration of this nonsense is attributable to Meg Whitman, criticizing Jerry Brown's decision to run for Governor. Say what you will about Jerry Brown and crazy, but this isn't actually him repeating himself, expecting the same results.

Another context in which I heard this quote was a meeting at work where someone was bemoaning the failure of program to reduce workplace injuries. The program was never actually fully implemented. I practically bit the woman's head off, and had to restrain myself from giving a lecture about the failure of LBJ's Great Society or War on Poverty or whatever and even now I don't know what that means. In other words, if you don't do something, you can't turn around and say that you did the same thing over and over again.

On reflection, this is just one quote that people use to sound smart and pithy and right without actually having to be thoughtful and articulate and creative. Which describes the use of quotes generally. So I am going to amend my pet peeve to include the use of all quotations in verbal communication.

It Didn't Seem Like Such A Bad Idea At the Time

Mr. Scobie decided to go to CO for a ski weekend with his brother and friend around the same time that I realized that I had a Southwest voucher that will expire in June. So I got the bright idea to take the kids to San Diego for the same weekend, so we could hit Legoland and the Zoo. Now, I've been informed by both Mr. Scobie and his brother that they would also like to visit Legoland and the Zoo, and while I understand that, I also know that I cannot plan a non-skiing trip during the winter for the whole family without some serious backlash, so I went ahead and booked it. Way later than I should have, but the money is spent. This blog post is not to cry over that spilt milk. Instead, I will compose this post as though it were Twitter status updates I had made throughout the day. In fact, I didn't have time to tweet, what with all the yelling and driving rain, but I know a lot of my readers don't follow me on Twitter so I thought I would give you a taste of what it's like to read.

6:22: Up, fed, dressed out the door!

6:22: F! Forgot my coffee and the NYT. Not going back now, already at the end of the block.

6:38: Nasty odor wafting over OAK causing kid to fake-retch is IDed as landfill fumes by security guard. Mystery solved.

6:43: Practically no one at the airport.

6:46: Kids ecstatic to see Southwest airplanes; out of proportion to their abundance.

9:01: Safe flight, safe landing in SAN.

9:33: Car reservation for Mary Dooley found for Tuesday not helpful to me.

9:47 On the road to Legoland.

10:25: Legoland closed. Would be a total disaster if not for killer earthquake/tsunami

10: 25: For perspective, i mean.

(Those were actual posts)

11:30: After more than an hour of tears and recrimination, we are resigned to make the best of it: San Diego Zoo, give us all you've got.

3:49: Hippos are amorous, time to head out.

4:35: Did not get $91 worth of San Diego Zoo.

5:35: Hilton Club Lounge cheese selection not up to unacknowledged expectations. Milk containers don't open with adult assistance.

5:36: more tears and recrimination. Back to the room.

9:41: listening to the yapping of the participants of the San Diego Dog Show who are also guests here tonight.

That covers Day 1.

Literary Detective Work

Today, someone commented on one of my first posts Who is Scobie?

What is one to make of "Scobie" being the name of the saintly main character of THE HEAR OF THE MATTER?

It's a good question, right? The first book of the Alexandria Quartet, from which I took the name Scobie, was published in 1957. The Heart of the Matter was published in 1948. It's possible that Lawrence Durrell was inspired by Graham Greene. I was wondering if both characters were both inspired by the same person. Both Joshua Scobie and Henry Scobie are police officers, posted in Alexandria, Egypt and Freetown, Sierra Leona, respectively. Beyond that, I have no idea what the similarities are, since I haven't read Heart of the Matter yet.*

Based solely on a Wikipedia search, I've got these candidates:

Ronald Scobie, a British army officer

Scobie Breasley, an Australian jockey

Jonathan Scobie, alleged rickshaw inventor

James Scobie. He's a dead gold miner. Definitely read the story on the link.

It would not surprise me if both Greene and Durrell were familiar with all four. Just guessing, but I bet Greene was inspired by Ronald, and Durrell was inspired by the other three all rolled together.

* I may read it this weekend. Or I may not. I love Graham Greene so much that I find it hard to read him. I mean, he's easy to read, but his books are very intense. To me, qua lapsed Catholic.

Mind Reader

Are there any topics about which you know that you and your partner disagree to such an extent that you avoid raising the topic, even if you've never discussed it before? The personal example that comes to mind is sweater pills. I don't really care; I assume Mr. Scobie thinks they are unacceptable.

What the? vol. 2 clarification

Just a brief follow-up to the post below:

1. By kneeless women, I didn't mean heroic wonder athletes like Sarah Reinertsen, who can probably pee anywhere she wants. In my mind, I envisioned a person who had complete legs which just did not have a joint midway to the floor, making lap creation a complete impossibility. I now hope that this physiognomy doesn't exist so I don't have to write something else hilarious.

2. It turns out that this product may be targeted towards transexuals who are transitioning from female to male. While this explains better which women might be interested in standing to urinate, it doesn't explain how this product solves their problem. I imagine a new female-to-male on an outdoorsy date with a woman, overcome with a need to relieve himself. How exactly does he employ the P-MATE in a way that doesn't kill his chances with his date?

So much in this world is just beyond my grasp.

What the? vol. 2

In the department of "problems I didn't know I have, solutions I don't want", my friend Jen shared a link to this website. That's right, P-Mate USA has finally brought a product to market that helps a woman (I assume; I guess men could use it too) pee standing up. Peeing standing up has never been an aspiration of mine, so I guess I was never really looking for this product. But I want to keep an open mind, so I've created my own FAQ about this product:

1. Why? Some women want to pee standing up. Also, some women find it hard to squat down to pee. Others don't like to hover over dirty toilets in the Port Authority. Fair enough. The pictures on the website show adventurous women, setting off on hikes, bike riding, looking at the Jersey City skyline - you know, adventure stuff.

2. But if they feel awkward squatting down in the tall grass to pee, how much easier will it be to stand upright with a little origami penis sticking out of their pants? It won't be. In fact, adventure women are unlikely to need this product. Adventure women love to do the wild wee. UNLESS THEY DON'T HAVE KNEES. That's right. It's hard to squat if you don't have knees, so this product is for you, adventurous kneeless women. God bless ya! Get out there!

3. Does it really constitute an endorsement if

Ellen DeGeneres Emmy-winning host of The Ellen DeGeneres Show was gifted a pack of P-Mates backstage at the 2009 GLAAD AWARDS on Saturday, April 18th at the Nokia Theater in Los Angeles.

I'm gonna say, no, it doesn't.

4. How do I dispose of this product? Apparently you can recycle this item, but I am sobered by the thought of the Waste Management employee considering which pile a damp, smelly triangle of badness should be thrown into. Which strongly suggests that this should be composted instead.

5. No seriously, who uses it? From a close reading of the website, and in particular the testimonials and photos pages, the answer is: Europeans and people at Burning Man, which means the same thing. No one has ever accused me of being either, so I will get back to work on my patent for a compostable upright urination device.

Best Line of the Night

A line shouted in anger by my 6 year old: "You are NOT a genius, and you are NOT a millionaire!"

Second best line in re: our house, by Mr. Scobie: "It's tiny, but at least it's expensive."

My Family

While I have been a complete slug this month, other members of my family have been doing dazzling and brilliant things. First of all, read my sister's blog post on Haiti. She's so smart.

Meanwhile, my father Joe, who is running against Deb Mell (sister in law of Rod Blagoyevich) for state assembly, grabbed a huge endorsement from the IEA this week. Check out his campaign website here. Please support him as a volunteer or contributor!! The primary is coming up and he can use all your support.

What's Up With Me, vol 3

First of all, check out my newest endeavor.

The rest of this post will just read like a Jackie Harvey column because mostly I just continue to play cultural catch-up with the rest of America. For example, we saw Julie and Julia - or is it Julia and Julie? - this weekend. Didn't like it. Didn't even finish it. Meryl Streep was of course blah blah blah awesome blah blah overacting blah blah blah, but the parts with Amy Adams were excruciating. Unless you are paying her by the minute, if you have Meryl Streep on contract, why would you spend even one second of your movie on mousy-squeaking boring ass Julie Powell typing on her computer? I hereby call a moratorium on movies showing blogging. Its barely passable as a hobby; why does anyone think I want to watch someone blog?

I realize that writers and screenwriters are facing this Modern Dilemma whereby technology nows solves all kinds of problems which previously permitted all kinds of dramatic tension in a story. For example, cell phones and Google probably eliminate 68% of all detective stories and 83% of all romantic comedies. So be it. Adapt or die. But showing a woman blogging is not an acceptable adaptation. Its boring. I invite any of you to come over and watch me blog. Except for you, if you are a creepy person who has developed a fetish for watching women blog. You can't come over.

Where was I going with this? Ah, yes. Other cultural fare I have tasted. I read Asterios Polyp. It's good. It's not the greatest graphic novel of all time or anything, but its very beautiful. I don't like when a graphic novel needs to end with a ludicrously cruel twist of fate. Comic artists are the most diehard cynics I've ever known. Rule: If you permit a character in a graphic novel to fall in love, they must die a truly bizarre death or be profoundly unhappy in spite of this gift of a human they can share their lives with. Crumb and Pekar come easily to mind in that last category. I won't say what happens in this book, but I do wish the second to last page had been left out.

Okay, back to my nascent art career.

Bad Feminist?

We watched The Hangover* last night and I about died laughing. This is the kind of movie my kids will know every line of in 10 years. Okay, maybe hopefully more like 15 if I am a good mother. I recall that at the time this movie was released, I heard that it was misogynist and had no strong female characters. Seeing the movie confirmed for me that I am apparently incapable of thinking like a good feminist anymore, because my reaction after watching it was: Of course there were no strong female characters! It was a bachelor party movie! And somehow its misogynistic to show strippers IN VEGAS!?

No one should expect to see strong female characters in bachelor movies, old war movies where women didn't see combat, football movies (but see Any Given Sunday. Or don't.). It would make very little sense for a narrative realism perspective, and they aren't necessary to make a decent movie.

Also kudos to the filmmakers for building a movie around a city's tourism board slogan.

* Actual dialogue in my life:

Mr. Scobie: What are you blogging about?

Me: The Hangover.

Mr. Scobie: You mean the one you had Christmas morning?

Me: No, the movie we watched last night.

Mr. Scobie: You should also blog about the one from Christmas.

This Is A Test

I got a Flip for Christmas, so bear with me while I test whether I can post a video.

Let me know if you can view this. Thanks.

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