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!