Nelson Marans, Back in the Game

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

A Problem I Have

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

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

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

Cutest Scary Ghost Clown Ever?

The Internet Is Over

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

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

Jazz Prodigy

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

Mild Bitch Session

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

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

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

Bored?

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

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

What's Up With Me, vol 2.2

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

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

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

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

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

What's Up With Me, vol 2.1

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

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

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

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

This Is Cracking Us Up Today

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

Much Less Baffling

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

What the?

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

Lisa

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

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

Seven Years, No Itch

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

The Big Day, Aftermath

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

The Big Day

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

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

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

Berzerkley Parents, East and West

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, And

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

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

Here's What I'm Not Excited For

Jury duty. Again tomorrow.

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

The Agony of Children's Entertainment

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

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

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