California Dream Runs

My cousin was married at the self-proclaimed "World's Most Beautiful Zoo" this weekend.



After the wedding ceremony, all of the guests were invited to feed the giraffes! (check out that tongue!!!)



So, yeah, you can add "licked by a giraffe" to the experiences I've shared with my siblings, first cousins, and niece. Cool!

In addition to the pleasure of feeding a giraffe, the travel commitment meant that the day of the wedding, I was able to run a loop from our hotel, through a canyon, under fog and mist, up a cliff, and out to a shoreline park trail, past crashing waves on one of the most gorgeous beaches in the world, and finally, a recovery jog/walk up one of the more posh and fascinating shopping scenes I've ever seen (State St).

California is a gloriously beautiful state and to enjoy it on a run in perfect weather is one of the greatest pleasures I have known.

The morning after the wedding was equally awesome (after the wedding, E & I bid the 20-somethings goodbye from the last shuttle bus as they headed out to dance 'til dawn and we prided ourselves on our late wedding partying - I mean, we took the last bus and because I packed flip-flops, I left my heels at the venue, that has to count for some sort of mid-30's coolness, right?). I woke after what felt like sleeping in, and I headed out to the deserted paved path along the beach (nothing like a party town to make you feel like you wake early). I did speed intervals in the overcast cool temperatures, grateful for the sound of the crashing waves and a reprieve from the direct sun I get at home. I finished, happy with the fast tempo, and treated myself to my favorite post-run ritual of bare feet in the cold ocean, where I try to relax and metaphorically let the receding waves take everything I should release.

Last night, thanks to business obligations in Los Angeles, we had a fabulous date night in Santa Monica including sunset dinner at The Lobster and a wonderful room with awesome views at Ocean and Vine:



Today, I had the privilege of a short run along the paved beach path in Santa Monica and Venice where I pushed the pace and enjoyed the shared commitment to fitness.

You know, like this:


(In other news, while I opted out of the tightrope, this AM, I confirmed that I can still *barely* do a pull-up. This was a relief to me after a failed attempt on the shuttle bus post-rehearsal dinner, perhaps after too many drinks and while the bus was driving...)

Tomorrow, I'm planning to run to the Hollywood sign.

All in all, this picturesque SoCal interlude has treated me to some fabulous runs and I can't help but feel extra grateful to live in such a beautiful state with a commitment to its environment and making the beauty available to all of its citizens.

Purging

Over the years I've gotten pretty good at getting rid of and avoiding the acquisition of what I call "stuff."

I don't enjoy shopping, so I rarely acquire new material possessions.  E & I have essentially the same furniture that we've had since we met, in 2000.  I mean, we live in Silicon Valley and both work in technology-related careers, yet this is what passes for an entertainment center in our house:



(Why yes, that is a 38" CRT and an HDTV antenna to send signals to the free converter box from the gubment to convert those over-the-air HD signals to NTSC).

I make a pile to go to GoodWill so regularly that the pile has its own dedicated corner in the house despite my general hatred for clutter.

I enjoy the act of purging "stuff."  I never feel guilty or wasteful for getting rid of something that still has use.  In fact, I feel freer, happier.   The later thoughts of "didn't I used to have a...." never cause me to regret my decisions.  They just make me smile.

Yes, yes, I did used to have that thing.  But I don't have it now.  How wonderful.  Space!

But Ideas?  Goals?  Books? Pictures or videos of memories? For me, these things are not "stuff."

I collect them.  I hold on to them long past their useful life.  I grow unreasonably attached to them.

So I have boxes and boxes of photos.  And shelves and shelves of books.  And lists all over the house full of things that are unlikely to ever be achieved.  We even have a VCR and videotapes of memories from childhood (see above) that have survived my otherwise strict regular purging policy.

I also have an unreasonable attachment to the idea of *finishing* books.

Prior to today, I've only given up and agreed not to finish one book: Ulysses back in my early 20s.  Because of its stature in the literary world, and the fact that I just could not get myself to enjoy it, I finally admitted that I just wasn't "getting it" and thus it would be a waste of time to finish it.  Too many characters and complexities for me, thanks.  Perhaps one day I will return to it, but I doubt it.  There are more books in the world than I could read in my lifetime, so it seems unlikely that I'll go back to one I didn't like rather than try a new one (to me) that might.

But other than Ulysses, historically, if I start a book, I finish it.  And, I usually only read one pleasure book at a time (I'm mid-way through several educational books at the moment, on law, Chinese characters, etc. but I don't consider them part of my reading for fun habit -- I won't curl up on the couch with them or cuddle up with them in bed).

So, imagine my surprise when I admitted yesterday that despite absolutely adoring Anathem and REAMDE, I just couldn't bring myself to read another page of Quicksilver.  I slowed my typically page-ripping pace as soon as I started this one.  I'd been reading along at approximately 1,000 pages a month this year, and then, from May until now, I've been struggling to get through a handful of pages in any sitting. 

Yesterday, after yet another fitful few pages, I realized I was only on page 361 of 962!  And I'd bought or borrowed the whole Baroque Cycle Trilogy!

So, I had a chat with myself and admitted that I needed to make some more space in my thoughts, just like I need to constantly make more space in my physical life.

Not only am I not going to finish this book, I'm not going to finish the whole trilogy! Instead, I am going to go through my books, make a pile of books to sell to the used bookstore, and include the two books in the trilogy I bought. (I'll return the third one I borrowed back to metamatt.)

Oh, and while I'm at it, I'm going to admit that I'm also really struggling with River Horse.  It was a lovely gift from Arvay, and it's a treat.  But it's *so* *slow* that I actually agreed to cheat on it and start Quicksilver.  And look where that got me!

So, I'm going to follow several of the comments on GoodReads and relegate it to bathroom reading -- it's reassuring to learn that some folks took 4 years to get through this one.  I like it enough to finish it over the course of 4 years.  

And with that, I'm at 6,103 pages for the year and ready and excited to start a *new* pleasure book.

Inching towards a very hilly 26.2

This week, I finally pushed my mileage above 30 miles per week for the first time in 2012.

For my long run, I headed out to join H for a repeat of the hilly Sand Hill/Alpine loop with some additional out and back hills tacked on for good measure.

8 minutes faster than last time, overall, from beginning to end, including all stops and walking.  (Essentially, I kept roughly the same average pace as last time, but was actually faster in the running portions due to adding a bit more walking, plus I eliminated one of the stops/rests I took last time to buy beverages and cool off).

The first 4 miles (with some of the steepest hills) were noticeably easier than last time.  Also, I was able to hang with H (who's in *much* better shape than me) 'til 11 miles instead of 8, so I counted that as an improvement as well.

There's about 1300 ft of ascent and 1300 ft of descent on this loop.  So it's decent hill training and I'll definitely return to it a few more times for the benefits it offers.  But, when I look at the Equinox Marathon Profile, it becomes very apparent to me that I need to find some bigger hills if I don't want to die of quad pain on the day of the race...

Wish me luck...

P.S. yes, I realize my last blog post ranted about work-out regimes as an annoying default topic of conversation for women in my social cohort, and then I promptly posted about my running life.  

For clarity, I am more than happy to talk about working out for its own sake as a small subset of a general social conversation.  I really enjoy learning about what different people do to treat their bodies to some physical stress and strain in exchange for all of the myriad benefits.

I just really get uncomfortable when what I thought was a fact-based conversation around someone's work-out regime evolves into a weird competition, or judgment-laden topic, or, my least favorite, an entry into the Bermuda triangle conversation storm around cellulite, fat, size, and body image issues.  

Why is it that many women (and some men) can't live and let live when it comes to topics of nutrition, working out, etc?  I just don't understand why the reality that what works for one person may not work for everyone else is so hard to comprehend and accept.

Rant

Celebrities (usually with lots of judgment).

Cleanses (the more details of the dietary sacrifices made and physiological effects, the better).

Diet details (again, the more details the better).

Work-out programs (say it with me now, the more details the better).

Feeling fat, out of shape, or otherwise bad about and ridiculously concerned about one's appearance (aka body-dysmorphia).

Suffice it to say, I am severely disappointed with what are considered the default acceptable topics of conversation among women in my social cohort with whom I don't share some other obvious common conversation topics (children, as I've mentioned, leaves me feeling a little left out, however, they are actually much more entertaining and fascinating to me than the standard default female discussion topics.)

I mean, really.  Was I at a party this weekend where the dudes branched off to go troubleshoot a broken two-stroke engine and the women talked about diets and feeling fat for part of the separated time?

Yes.  Yes, I was.

Happy Independence Day!  (In fairness, the rest of the women-only conversation was scintillating and wonderful.)

But, I am sad about the state of women in America.  Why do we default to discussions that assume the value attached to female attractiveness and the maintenance thereof is all-important?

And I am especially sad because I am often hated by women who don't know me, simply because when they meet me, I speak with confidence and brush off the standard topics (like a guy, I've been told, more than once), which apparently makes me (one of my least favorite words) a "bitch."

Ladies.  We can do better, and we'd all be happier.  Seriously.

Come to the party ready to talk about what you love and feel like it's worth talking about.  I'm fairly certain that even if you love celebrities, cleanses, diets, and/or your work out, you also love something else in your life that's cool and just as interesting as a failing two-stroke engine.

And, if my prior rants about kids scared you off?  Please.  I would so much rather talk about your kids than celebrities, or cleanses, or diets, or body-dysmorphia.  Let's talk about them.  Please.

I guess this rant is a request to expand the acceptable default conversation topics for women who don't know each other.  We are smart.  We are interesting.  We can talk about all sorts of things.  Let's do that!

Bittersweet

June 30th.  A rough time for a transactional attorney.

This AM, after a long work day yesterday to cap off an even longer work week (and too much wine last night to celebrate the end of the quarter), I woke, went for a run while listening to mandarin lessons, and then hopped in the car for a 3 hour drive to a family wedding-related event.

With traffic, it was 3.5 hours.

But, thanks to E's offer to be the driver, the delay didn't bother me, I took advantage of the time.  I marked up a contract, I composed emails, I finalized time sheets for the month.  Eventually, with 45 minutes to spare before arriving at my cousin's bridal shower, I looked up, with the "must do" work finally done, shut my computer, looked out at the laborers in the fields of the California central valley and almost started to cry.

It's June 30th.  The end of the quarter.  Tomorrow, things will be easier.  Lighter.  Less stressful. This is true every end of the fiscal quarter for me.  But, I do not manage the stress as well as I could or should.  And, in the grand scheme of things, my life is *not* stressful.  The laborers could not have made this more clear.

Which just made me want to cry more.

I needed a stress release, but I also needed to hold it together, at least 'til after the bridal shower.

So I did.  And now I'm here, sitting on a balcony, replying to the 20 emails that came in during the bridal shower and watching the sun set over the pacific ocean at a lovely beachside hotel.

When I was a kid, I dreamed of being the person who could splurge on the balcony view over the ocean room.  I never guessed I'd be there one day because I was too busy to book a room until all that was left were the expensive ones.  And I definitely never thought I'd be here because I needed to work and I wanted to visit my aging gran, but because AM visits are much better for her, I needed to stay the night after the bridal shower unless I wanted to get on the road at 5 AM and do a pre-bridal shower visit (which, if I'm honest was not happening with me alone, much less with E as a driver and companion).

So yeah, I finally hit one of the goals I set in my innocence as a kid, I can actually afford and justify staying in the hotel room with the balcony and a view at the beach near my dad's hometown.

I thought that was success, a long, long time ago.

But it's not remotely why or how I imagined.

I'm not complaining.  It's awesome.  It's just completely different than I thought.

In short, it's bittersweet.

Garmin: It's a Love-Hate Thing

Oh, I love data.

But man, do I hate being a slave to data.  I want it on my terms. 

So, oh, yeah, when my Forerunner 405 gave up the batterial ghost, those were tough times.

But now, I've sucked it up.  I finally splurged on a Garmin Forerunner 610 and it's been 48 hours of effort and reading and searching and uploading updates and calling the tech support folks who are trying to coach me by text but finally give in (Garmin tech support, by the way, is much, much better, than my last adventure with them a few years ago, when there was essentially none.  They now have phone support, and they are nice!)

After 48 hours of fighting to make it work, the Garmin is totally up to date with what happened this AM, but it won't sync, and won't acknowledge the routes we've done this evening, in other words, it won't own up to the work I've done...

So, I feel betrayed.  I'm really not a fan of the reliability of Garmin products.  My first 205 lasted 2+ years.  My second one the same.  My 405 lasted just a little over a year and in protest I ran without a GPS watch for several months.  But, finally, as I mentioned, I'm getting back into running more seriously. So I need my data!

I spent much of today on-line with their awesome (much improved) help desk.  I've re-installed every driver, I've re-associated every device, I've tried alternate browsers and I've re-installed every piece of software, and I've re-booted at least 5 times.

At the end of the day, after much struggling I'm sure it'll end up just fine.  All of my data in Garmin Connect and my watch working as expected.

In the meantime, I have weekend plans and holiday plans for the 4th!

Also, I spent my last 36 hours migrating Exchange 2007 - 2010 (which was much more labor intensive than the Garmin, but less frustrating as I don't have to deal with it on a daily basis).  So at BBQ, a subset of us discussed how it is possible that the electronic age has not brought net benefits to us... interesting polite BBQ talk in the middle of Silicon Valley, no?

But, really, the important part is...my email is finally migrated (fingers crossed) and my Garmin still has all the data, it's just a matter of extracting it.

Viva (Data)!

Getting Back in the Swing of Things

Sunday, I headed out for a hilly loop of 13 miles with H.

It's been a long time since I tried to do a true long run, much less one with serious hills.

It was a beautiful day and I finished.  I also bid H farewell around mile 8 when it became glaringly apparent that I was just much too slow for her.

Year to date, I'm at about 515 miles.

Last year, I did 1659 miles, total.  So,yeah, I've been slacking.

But, I've got 2 marathons in the pipeline (Equinox and CIM), so this weekend's ass-kicking was exactly what the doctor ordered. I took a few walk breaks, and I erred on the side of slow and steady, but at the end of the day, I'm back in distance runner mode.

Apologies (to my 13 loyal readers as well as randoms) in advance for the likely increased frequency of boring running posts.

Niece Week 2012 -- Success

She's 10, going on being a teenager.  It's scary to realize how fast she's grown up.  And yet it's easy to understand, visually, as she's grown 3 inches since her last visit and now she wears my shoe size (which she enjoyed to no end).

I'm also so proud of her and just love her so much.

The fun part is how she internalizes everything we strive to share with her.

She proudly informed me at the rocket launch at Moffett Field on Saturday that she had to be patient with some of the kids because, this was her *5th* time setting off rockets and many of the other kids had never done it before.  Ahhh.... a rocket expert, how could we not love her? 

Only a few hours before the end of her visit, she reminded me that I'd promised to pay her for watching/playing with a friend's child one of the evenings of her visit.  I explained that we'd have to negotiate her pay and it was such fun to watch her little brain grow with the idea that when someone is paying you, it is a 2-way discussion.  I made her pick hourly rates, do the multiplication, and then assess whether it was a fair price for me and for her.  She did well, and we arrived on a totally reasonable $15 for 2.5 hours. (It didn't hurt that Uncle Rocket was coaching her on the side, "She does this for a living... start high!")

But it was the subtle internalizations that were the best.  I overheard her telling my mom (who came to pick her up) "I went to Auntie's Mandarin lessons.  I learned to say, "Dui" (correct), "Xiexie" (thanks), and "haochi" (good food).

Early in her visit, I decided that while doing Mad Libs before bed (our standard pre-bedtime activity),  I would only use words I also knew in Mandarin and I'd tell them to her and let her repeat.  She was a quick study and quickly learned to differentiate the tones.

In fact, she made me bust out laughing when she said, "Level 3 sounds like you are puking... Haaaaaaooooouuuu" (complete with gestures).  

This is hilarious because: a) she thinks of the tones as levels, like on a video game; and b) she's right, 3rd tone does sort of sound like gastrointestinal distress.

There are a million other adorable things she said as well as a couple less adorable attitude pre-quels for the teenager she is likely to become.

But, overall, I'm so happy she was able to come stay with us and I'm so thankful she has parents who are willing to let her come.

Also, for the record, I got *much* less work done than normal last week (turns out, Mad-Libs, teethbrushing, boundary setting, supervising clothes-laying-out and lunch-packing, and general kid time mean I can't work even close to my normal hours).  In other words, I'm in awe of lawyers with full-time children.

Why Women Still Can't Have It All

This Article is brilliant.

Yes, the majority of her analysis and discussion centers around women, careers, and balancing a family and how to raise children.

And yes, I've mentioned in the past that opting out of the child-rearing often leaves me feeling left out.

But, I've personally observed many of the realities Ms. Slaughter discusses in this article and I'm so pleased that she has brought them to the forefront of the conversation.

Much of my decision not to have children revolves around the reality that I just don't want to make the very real sacrifices that mothers have to make.  To pretend these sacrifices don't exist is to fail to support the mothers (and fathers) making them.

No one can have it all.  Our time is limited and our life is defined by the choices we make about what to do with our limited time.

Mid-Year Mandarin Check In

Amongst other things, one of my New Year's Resolutions for 2012 was to study Mandarin.

From the start this has been the most enjoyable of all of the goals I set for myself this year.  By March, I could laugh at simple jokes spoken in a language I'd never understood before, which has to be one of the greatest joys a human can experience.

I'm sad I didn't do this earlier.  I was intimidated by the fact that Mandarin is a tonal language (which is true, and definitely one of the more difficult things about it), but I had no idea how many other wonderful things there were about the language that would more than make up for the difficulty of the tones.

First, the lack of conjugation is a serious gift to learners of Mandarin.  Learn a new verb? Bam.  You are done.  You can confidently use it with with every subject in existence and, if you hear it, you know what it means.  AWESOME!

Second, the San Francisco Bay area has so much Mandarin -- I had no idea.  I have learned that every single ABC ("American Born Chinese") friend I have speaks more Mandarin than they'd ever let on.  It's only when confronted with my terrible Mandarin that they correct me and hint as to just how much they know and  understand while refusing to acknowledge a command of Mandarin.

Living in the Bay Area, I now know that I have the opportunity to listen and comprehend Mandarin every day.  I stop and listen to Mandarin speakers on the radio, on public broadcast TV, and, more often, in the street and local stores, every day.

Third, and a completely new linguistic bonus of fun for me, Hanzi are like a constant crossword puzzle at every turn of my life in Northern California.  I can't walk down the street or drive down any major thoroughfare without encountering characters.  Every day I stop (when walking) stare, and try to derive some meaning from the few radicals and characters I know plus the context of where the sign is.  Every day I think I discover one or more new "secrets" of this awesome code.

As someone who self-identifies as an auditory language learner, I had no idea I'd find learning the characters to be such a source of happiness.  I can't help but wonder if this is how fun it was for me to learn to read as a child.  Pure joy at recognition of written meaning is such a foreign concept to me at this point in my life.  What a gift to reclaim it through Mandarin study!

So, suffice it to say, this goal is going well.  Better than I expected.  The almost mid-year check-in is as follows:

- I've completed 34 newbie lessons on Chinesepod.com including listening to the Show, the Audio Review, and Reviewing the written materials for each one.  For a subset I can recognize all of the characters, but for the most part, with Chinesepod, I've focused on the auditory aspect.

-I can recognize and speak at least 100+ Mandarin words by sound alone and I can follow basic conversations about food, work, weekends, etc.  Every week, I have a Mandarin night with my teacher and a good bi-lingual friend.  Occasionally, we invite other bi-lingual speakers.  The ability to interact on simple topics in Mandarin has been one of my strongest sources of pleasure in this endeavor.

-I can recognize and write 57 Hanzi characters (as of tonight), plus I can guess at the meanings of others based on radicals.  I think I'd like to shoot for at least 200 by the year end.  Ambitious, I know.  But I think it's doable.

-Last week, I successfully hosted a party of bi-lingual Mandarin-English speakers and understood most of what was said in Mandarin, including jokes.

In short, this going better than I expected.  Every restaurant I go to, I hear Mandarin -- that's just the demographic of my life.  I hear it at In-N-Out, I hear it at Fiesta Del Mar, I hear it at the ramen joint.  It's just a question of whether I understand it.  Menus for Chinese restaurants, of course, are an additional welcome addition to the exposure.  And, I recently learned the bonus of Japanese menus as well... turns out, the Kanji and Hanzi are close enough that I can read them and understand a bit, too.

Mandarin 2012 -- going well! 

Summer Rituals

It's that time of year again: We got our first sunburns a few weekends back.  We planted the summer garden.  We emptied the shed of the summer furniture. And we've already had a few BBQs.

But we *really* know it's summer (despite the fact that it's raining today), because this weekend, we finished the one summer ritual that never fails to materialize:



We know we can finally welcome in summer when E, the great wasp warrior, sprays liquid death upon the nest that they build *every year* right at our front door.





Also, yes, we finally admitted that we *have* to get a new roof.  (We are hopeful it will proceed on a slightly faster schedule than the bathroom remodel.) 

White Trash is a Hipster Compliment?

This weekend, I found myself in line at the uber-hip Ritual while wearing black skinny jeans, a black tank top with sequinned words across my chest, a black North Face fleece tied around my waist and black men's Ben Sherman Shoes with orange stripes.  No makeup.  Greasy hair pulled back in a bun.  Sunglasses.

The short version of my attire's explanation? Pajamas with the indecent bits replaced with whatever was on top of the laundry pile.  It was pre-shower.  9:30 AM.  In the Mission.  The streets were empty except for a few folks obviously making their way home after unexpectedly sleeping elsewhere.  The line for Tartine was the shortest I've ever seen.  Given the lack of likelihood of public interaction with anyone other than the folks who'd seen me in my immediate post wake-up state, I put even less thought than I ordinarily do into my appearance.  (Is it possible to have a negative amount of thought?)

While waiting in line for coffee, V and I amused ourselves watching the elaborate dance of the barrista.  Imagine Tom Cruise in Cocktail, throwing cups, dancing, and spinning the espresso holder after each deliberate twist of the packer.  Oh, but extremely pale, with long blond hair, super skinny, and a trimmed beard.  So, if you take the actions of Cocktail Tom Cruise performed in a hipster coffee bar by a 70s rocker going for the Jesus look, then you've got a pretty good idea of the show.

Dancing barrista's sidekick was one of the lumberjack hipsters.  You know the type:  Plaid shirt.  Skinny jeans on some beefy legs.  Big unkempt beard.  Converse.

While we stood a few patrons back, I watched Lumberjack pull Cocktail Jesus aside.  He mouthed something and then motioned with his head in our direction.

As they started to look our way, I realized that my brain had read his lips, it had just taken a while to get to my head.

"White Trash"

I didn't really know what to do with this one.  I glanced around the cafe and realized that I was, in fact, the only person in the entire shop in a tank top, and most definitely the only one in sequins.

Also, I'm a little on the voluptuous side for me right now (Thanks to my Dad's family's genes, when I gain weight I get big boobs that are out of proportion to the rest of my body.  Thanks to my Mom's genes, I am very short, so a small numberical weight gain results in quite a bit of change.  Also, thanks to my Mom's genes, weight gain that doesn't go to my boobs goes to my bubble butt.  There are worse things in life.)

So, the sequins were actually splashed across my big chest.  If you know much about the Mission hipsters, you know that a) very few of the women have much in the way of cleavage, and b) the ones that do try not to accentuate it.  By glancing around, I realized I was one of the curviest people in the room, and my outfit screamed that I was obviously not uncomfortable about it.  In fact, if I'm honest, compared to the way everyone else was dressed, it probably looked like I wanted to draw attention to my tits and ass.

Finally, part of the partial transition from PJs to street clothes was that I'd deigned to put on a bra.  My brastraps, however, were not the right configuration for a tank top, so they were showing as well.  And cream.

Before I could decide if I wanted to compose a reaction to the name-calling, I watched Cocktail Jesus look back from my direction and lean back to Lumberjack with his hand over his heart.  "Looooove It."  They grinned at each other, obviously thrilled with their own coolness and that of the people they serve their fucking awesome coffee.  Blissful in their irony, they went back to the performance of their ritual of coffee making.

And that, my friends, is how I learned that at least on Memorial Day Weekend 2012, "White Trash" was actually a hipster compliment.

Holiday Weekend

Every once in a while I recognize that I have been doing too much.

Today was one of those days.

I set my "out of office" at 2 PM letting folks know that I wouldn't be back 'til Tuesday.  I only worked 50% of the hours of the day I ordinarily work (This is despite an early waking hour, a workout that was done by 8 and desperately wishing I could have taken the entire day off -- can you say, "burnt-out inefficiency?").

I finally committed to actually taking the Monday holiday.  I'll get to spend it running in SF, reading, and with friends, E, and my mom, her husband, and brother at the Giants' Game.

I'm so excited.

It's been a long time since I decided I wouldn't work at all during a weekend.  This is, my friends, one of the dangers of a) being your own boss; b) being married to someone who is their own boss; c) being 1/2 of a couple who is ridiculously driven; and d) not allowing children to force you to do things you should probably do anyways.

But this weekend, it's time.

Relaxation is here.  At home.  In our house.  Some gardening.  Some cooking.  Some running. But nothing too taxing.

I've got one more contract to get out (one of the recipients of the out of office actually got a real-time response -- it's better just to get it done, so I must focus...).

But I already wrote off 2 hours this afternoon to go visit a friend I hadn't seen in a long time, and even though I'm technically back at work at my desk, I've already started cooking an elaborate dinner, planning the weekend menu, and just generally checking out of work stuff and into pleasure stuff.

It feels foreign.  But good.

And necessary.

In fact, I think I need to do this more often...

On Motivation

Ben Casnocha's latest book review about chasing daylight hit me pretty hard.

Ever since I freaked out my poor babysitter with a crying fit in the shower over the realization that one day I was going to die (age 6 -- yeah, I was a fun kid), I've always kept the idea of my own death in the back of my thoughts.

It's a great motivator. Each day is a gift. Our time is limited. How we spend it is permanent.

But, I hadn't really given much thought to just *how* limited my time is until I read one of the comments to Ben's post. The commenter encouraged people to calculate their "Number" (aka, how many days you have left, give or take). If I assume I live to 75, I have somewhere in the ballpark of 14,000 days left.

Now that's some *serious* motivation.

On Writing

The fun of talk is to explore, but much of it and all that is irresponsible should not be written. Once written you have to stand by it. You may have said it to see whether you believed it or not.

-Hemingway (The Paris Review, 1958).

I wonder where "talk" and "write" would be divided for Hemingway in a world of email, texting, Twitter, Facebook, and blogging.

Travel Inventory

The first 5.5 months of this year are nowhere near last year, in terms of total plane flights (a temporary move to the Seattle area while maintaining a law practice in the bay area = lots of airline miles).

But, even so, E and I have been discussing how we much we are looking forward to the rest of the year, where there isn't too much travel left on the horizon.

Sure, last year, our trip to Europe was one of the best vacations we've ever taken, even when you include the working tail in London.

But, upon arrival home, we agreed that missing summer in California for travel elsewhere is not ideal.  So, we were already committed to staying home as much as possible this Summer.

Why, then, are we so excited about how many weekends we have scheduled for staying home? Oh...the calendar makes it clear.  

So far, this year, while ostensibly living in the bay area and leading a non-nomadic existence, I've done overnight or longer trips to Carmel, Palm Springs, Washington DC, my hometown area, San Francisco, Cambodia, San Diego, Oakland, San Luis Obispo/Pismo Beach/5 Cities, Savannah, Spokane, and Newport Beach.

E's been with me for most of those and has added 3 or so business trips to his list to make up for the missed ones.

Essentially, that's 12 trips for each of us in 19 weeks, not including day trips (for example, I spent today in SF, onsite at a copyright conference at the St. Francis and E regularly flies to western major metropolitan areas before 6 AM to return home before midnight).

So, of course we're very pleased to see big blocks of uninterrupted time at home for the rest of the year.  In fact, if we stick to the current plan, we've only got 3 overnight SF trips (super easy), 3 trips associated with weddings (fun!), 3 trips to visit family for the holidays/birthdays (extra fun, and double duty), and only 3-4 other trips for the whole year (which are all associated with races and friends/family combined).

That's just 11 trips in 32 weeks, or the lowest travel frequency we've had for the last 2 years.  No doubt, at least one or more work trips will sneak in there, but even so, it's on track to be a great California homebody summer and second half of 2012! 

Being Direct

There's a quote I heard years ago that I really like:

Why is it that all the people who pride themselves on "Keeping it Real" think real means being an asshole?

I like it for many reasons.

First, because I am very direct.  And, unfortunately, I often err on the side of overt directness and don't deliver messages in a manner that is just as clear but more gentle and compassionate when I could.  There is nothing gained by this error, plenty is lost, and it is an area of my life where I strive to improve.

Second, because whenever I'm on the receiving end of a too direct message that stings, I try to think of this quote, and when I do, I smile.  It brings levity and perspective.  It has, on occasion, stopped me from responding with my own (not welcome or helpful) "real" response.

And Third, I like it because it reminds me that my faults are funny.  People's faults, in general, should be viewed through a prism of hilarity.

Most of us are not evil.

But damn, most of us, on occasion, are ridiculous to the point of extreme.

To generally laugh at this reality, instead of responding with immediate anger or harm, seems to me to be one of the greatest things we can do.

So thanks, random quote person.  I really like this one.

A Silicon Valley Culture Snippet

Last night, E and I were eating dinner at our local favorite Mexican food joint when a man walked in with a pin-striped button up shirt (very common) hanging over what appeared to be boxer shorts (very uncommon).

He stood in line and joked with other patrons, several of whom were in biking gear or spandex (also, very common).  E evaluated the situation and decided, "He must have lost a bet." 

Eventually, he was seated at the patio to eat by himself, walking through the restaurant in what to me, appeared to be a half-dressed state.

After we finished, my curiosity (plus the margaritas) got the best of me, and I convinced E to let me go talk with him.

I had seen enough pointing and joking and discussion while he was waiting, that I knew he'd be a good sport.

"Hi.  I'm just curious, how come you are in a dress shirt but not dress pants?"

He laughed and said, "I'm not from around here."  (Umm... yes, we could tell.)

"I wanted to go for a run and so I parked my car in the lot, went for my run, and then changed into my dress shirt to avoid eating in my sweaty shirt."

He paused.  "I guess these running shorts do sort of look like boxer shorts, though."

"Huh."  I said. "Where are you from?"

"Colorado."

"Interesting.  Well, thanks for chatting.  Have a nice dinner."

I'm fascinated to learn that in Colorado, it's apparently much more acceptable to walk around in only the top half of the Sand Hill Uniform (pin-striped blue shirt, khaki pants) than it is to wear a full work-out uniform if it's sweaty.  To me, he looked half-naked, and a little creepy 'til it was obvious that he was embarrassed.  My perception of the inappropriateness of his attire is even more interesting because I had these thoughts while he was standing next to a guy in full cycling spandex.   

Apparently the social rules are different here than what this Colorado dude expected.  In my experience, walking into a restaurant in your workout clothes, even in a sweaty post work-out state, as long as you were willing to sit on the patio so as to avoid being stinky near other folks, wouldn't be considered odd at all.  Whereas being more clothed, but in a way that most folks in the restaurant seemed to perceive as half-dressed, made this guy stand out horribly.

An Awesome Sunday at Home

After last night's fun with the college roommate and a ridiculously early bedtime, I woke at 6:50 for a local 5K, the Mission City Fun Run.

B, a good friend, was supposed to join me, but she's sick, so that was a bummer.  Even so, it was a fun event, and very much the fun-run that was promised.

This morning was a perfect example of why I love racing.  There is no way I would have been up and running hard by 8 AM without the race to motivate me.  Instead, I did a respectable 27 minute (on the dot) 5K, which was a pleasant surprise since I was running without my Garmin and last weekend's 10K with my sister had been almost a minute per mile slower.

When I got home, I attacked the garden for hours and did Mandarin lessons on my MP3 players.  There's tons more to do in the garden in the next two weeks, but it felt great to get 2 beds and 6 varieties of tomatoes finished.   Plus, I caught up with R while finishing gardening and heading out for a nice walk.

E and I had a wonderful brunch downtown and watched the world walk by for the festival that had shut down traffic.  We hit up the hardware store and bought necessary bits for the garden.

The menu for the week is planned and I'm reading for fun to hide from the afternoon heat (it hit 91F in the eaves today!).

I was feeling pretty good about my productive day -- So many tasks accomplished and it's only 4:30. Then I realized I'd done half of those tasks in public with my shirt on inside out and a large tag hanging from my waist. E, of course, was surprised when I asked how he didn't notice and clue me in at brunch, at the hardware store, or while chatting with the neighbors. So, on this perfectly relaxing Sunday at home, I'm reminded that E & I are made for each other.

Also, I'm reading 867-5309 -- Jenny, the song that saved me (note to self, I should really sign up for Amazon's referral program).  The best bit I've encountered by far?

New Orleans, just like I pictured it.  America's Alcoholic Disneyland, where the normally straight-laced Protestants of the Midwest and the South funneled on down the Missouri, Ohio, and Mississippi rivers to become momentary Catholic-Voodoo worshippers at the fire-fountain altar of the Big Easy.

So much description, history, hints of cultural depth and movement in a single passage.  Of course he wrote songs that topped charts!

Trip of the Tongue

Just forgive me in advance, please. I can feel that this is going to be one of those posts that results in E gleefully interrupting me in public and letting people know that I've developed yet *another* girl-crush.

But, seriously, Elizabeth Little's book was one of the best reads I've had in a long, long time.

E and I have fairly divergent reading tastes.  The only real places where we overlap are modern science/technology books, economics, science fiction, futuristic fiction, and historical novels relating to war or technology.  His pleasure reading tends to be much more empirical than I enjoy.  Additionally, he is much less picky about the writing.  So long as the data or analysis is good, he is happy.

I'm a sucker for words.  Topics like science, technology, travel, language, food, sports, economics, law, and policy all interest me and I do specifically select books to learn more about them.  But really, I'm a language slut.  If the writing appeals to me, I'll read anything.  If the writing is extremely engaging, I'll re-arrange my life to maximize my book time (See REAMDE).  


As you probably know (since my only readers are close friends or niche Internet meme-sharers), one of the things I love to learn about is language.  Accents? Dialects? Foreign language? Usage patterns?  I haven't been formally trained in linguistics at all (unless you count the French Phonetics class I took in college, which, I don't, because much to the shock of the instructor, it's not the most important thing in the world, and the only application I've found for phonetic representation is pronouncing dictionary phonetic spellings when learning a new language or laying down Scrabble words).  But, like many areas of my life, a lack of formal training doesn't stop me from spending a good bit of my time thinking about (and thinking I know stuff about) language, paying attention to the way people speak, and studying and trying to communicate in foreign languages.

Within the first dozen pages of Trip of the Tongue, I was laughing out loud, and thrilled to find that this book's words could yank me in and entertain me.  Even more satisfying, it's technical and academic enough (there are footnotes and an index of citations!) for it to feel like an equal bedside book to E's Cold War Submarines: The Design and Construction of U.S. and Soviet Submarines, 1945-2001. (Yes, that's actually on his bedside table right now).

For someone like me, this book is like finding a new best friend who shares my interests, but is much more focused on them than I am.  Thankfully, she's nice enough to give me an inside view into what it would be like to spend time formally pursuing and understanding cool stuff about language that I've always wished I could take the time to learn.  (The fact that my mother is a watercolor painter of a certain age who appreciates Sante Fe didn't hurt at all.)

Ms. Little's reference to Inigo Montoya and the impossibility of defining creole uniquely made me smile at the synchronicity.  Only a few weeks earlier I'd noted on my (semi) professional blog that I find myself thinking of his catch phrase on a daily basis while playing/battling with the language of contracts.

When Ms. Little mentioned the strange fact that she'd been to Elko before commencing her inquiry into American Basque culture, I smiled again, twice.  I, too, had been to Elko, just last spring, on E's and my Northwestern US Washington-Yellowstone-Bay Area loop, and, I also have a bit of a gambling problem (blackjack is my second choice to craps).

This book reminded me I'd actually been to Basque Country.  My work colleague from the summer I worked in Bordeaux was Basque and her parents insisted on sending us by train to the Basque festival in their hometown.  Her grandparents hosted us and I couldn't understand any of the Basque and only 50% of the French and Spanish, but I've never eaten and drank so much in 48 hours in my life.  I kid you not.  I was instructed to clean my plate and take naps repeatedly.  I'd never been told to take naps by a host (to rest up for the next big meal and walking in the center of town with, of course, copious amounts of drinking in the streets), either prior or since.  It is important to note that I was a collegiate athlete at the time and was often pointed out and laughed at during my stay in France for how much I felt I needed to eat -- but not in Basque Country.  I'd completely forgotten the richness of these memories and now, thanks to Ms. Little's descriptions of the colors, the clothes, the dancing, and the culture of the American Basque, part of it has come back and I've added a todo list item of, "Dig through hand-written diaries and find France summer of 1994.  Locate all you can about the Basque Festival and the friend who took you (with whom I've completely lost touch)."

The Gullah and Creole portions of the book reminded me about my experience in Anguilla with the fishermen.  We went to the docks to buy some lobsters and fish, and E, P & M couldn't understand a word the Anguillan fishermen were saying.  At dinner when they asked me, I thought about it and realized that to my brain it sounded like a bit of Hawaiian pidgin grammar attached to Puerto Rican accented vocabulary overlayed on a dialect of English that was new to me but not incomprehensible (Not for a sales transaction regarding fish, anyway).  When they turned to speak privately to set the price, I couldn't understand a word, but when they turned back with the offer price, I looked to the group and said, "That sounds fair, right?"  They laughed, and I was confused. E explained, "Babe, I have no clue what he is saying.  And frankly, you've been talking a little funny, too, for the last 5 minutes or so.  You look like you think you understand what's going on, so let's go with your version."

After reading this book, and thinking about how confused everyone was, including M, who was raised in a Spanish speaking household, I'm now convinced that what the Anguillan fishermen spoke was a much more interesting language than I realized at the time.  I'm a bit sad I didn't know that then, I would have loved to spend more time parsing it and asking about the history and language of the people I was speaking with.

Each of the other sections of the book challenged me to think in new ways about language in America and the histories of the peoples who've kept and lost their words.  But, truly, the best part of this book for me was that Ms. Little did all the hard stuff related to learning about new langauges.  She did the flights and the long haul drives, the hotels, the motels, the getting lost, the chasing down of the knowledgeable folks, the research and the compilation of the interesting facts.  Then, she packaged up all the good stuff from her trips and gave it to us in this book.

So, if you are an American who enjoys language or linguistics or words, I guarantee you will love this book, and, as a bonus, it may even trigger memories of linguistic experiences you'd forgotten.

The World's Slowest Remodel

Back in July of last year, one morning, I pulled the bathroom door open and caused an explosion.

Termite pellets! Wood dust! Paint chips! Oh my!

Bonus, I was naked at the time (dis-gus-ting).

We did what you'd expect.  Oh, I mean what you'd expect from us, and not what you'd expect from normal, sane people.

Did we call the termite inspectors immediately?  Uh, no.  I yelled to wake up E and claim that we had termites who had eaten everything except the paint on our bathroom door jamb, he woke, insisted it was *dry rot* and went back to bed. 

Then, I took a shower, and we stayed busy and totally ignored it except to show off the party trick that E discovered where you could tap on the wall and cause the soldier termites to bang their heads against the wall to sound the alarm. (It sounds like Rice Krispies in milk.)

About 3 months later, once the dryness caused by the explosive intrusion to their massive mud-tube had killed the ability of the termites to perform the party trick, we finally got around to having the termite inspector come out.  The news was not good.  They recommended opening up the bathroom floor and doing all sorts of inspections plus pouring poison into holes they drilled in the slab. Immediately.

Yup, we ignored that too.

About 4 months after that, we finally got around to scheduling the demolition of the bathroom floor.  We admitted that we'd never take care of it unless the bathroom was literally destroyed.  So, we paid someone to do that for us.

I'm disappointed that we didn't at least enjoy doing the demo ourselves.  I feel like that could have been cathartic.

Eventually, we hired some contractors to come give us estimates and one of them confirmed that the owner prior to us had some questionable DIY skillz:

Normally, I don't take on things this ugly. It never turns out well in the end. There's always something else I discover that's been done with cut corners that's fucked up and needs to be fixed and the homeowners are never happy to learn of it.

Thankfully, one of the estimates was easier on the pocketbook (and came personally recommended). He was happy to take a week off to let the termite people do their poisonous thing. E reported that the termite treatment guy said, "Don't worry. I put a *ton* of poison down those holes." Ummm... Thanks? 

The drawback?  The General Contractor we hired, while reasonably priced, has *tons* of other projects.  So, we're getting a deal, but we're definitely being treated accordingly.

Today, he was scheduled to stop by at 11:30 AM to pick up a large check, and he couldn't even be bothered to do that.  You can imagine how quickly things are progressing when there's actual work to be done.  Of course, we are so busy that we don't really follow-up or push the timeline either.

Despite the almost complete lack of momentum on our part, all that's left is the final door installation and some trim clean-up. 

And, we love it.  It has a fan (a bathroom with a fan, imagine that!).  We picked out tile we like and fixtures and a bigger window and overall, it looks great, it's constructed to code (what a luxury!) and is a huge improvement over the poor excuse for a master bathroom our handy-previous-owner sold to us.

So, knock on replaced wood, it looks like we will be done with the teensy-tiny bathroom remodel just shy of the 1 year anniversary of the original destruction.

At this rate, we could complete the full house remodel in a little more than a decade!  Onward!

Not my lucky day

I did not win anything in the Largest Mega Millions Jackpot Ever.

Last night, someone who was not me won the Nenana Ice Classic (although I did predict an evening break-up!).

And, today, I did not win a spot in the lottery to compete in the NYC Marathon.

What's more, the NYC Marathon has changed its policies so there's no longer guaranteed entry if you don't win the lottery 3 years in a row.  I guess if I really want to do NYC, I may have to suck it up and pick a charity.

A Very Enjoyable Evening

My work todo list had 15 items on it before Monday AM.  Not a good way to end the weekend.

But, if I'm honest, I had 15 items on it on Friday PM, which was not a good way to end the week, either.

Thanks to emotional burn-out, coupled with literal electricity blow-out, I had reason to take some time off this weekend.  So, in a welcome change of pace, Monday AM wasn't so bad (when viewed in context).

After today's lunch (aka almost mid-week), I was down to 13 items on the todo list, which, though it appears to be a small decrease, is actually awesome.  This includes the 5 new items that arrived on my queue since Monday AM, plus several minute items that didn't quite make the list but took tons of quick response time, nonetheless.

In other words? I have evidence of forward progress! I love it.

Today, at 4 PM, I met my running buddy for speed intervals.  Okay, technically, I hit traffic and showed up at 4:08, but you know what I mean.

Even if you suck and are a late arrival, a running buddy is still good for forcing you to commit to something you should do.

So, H and I basked in the gorgeous California weather and probably didn't push enough but very much enjoyed a ladder of sprints in amounts of 2, 3, 4, 4, 3, 2 minutes with recovery between each one plus a nice warm up and cool down all along the San Francisco Bay trail.

Sure, speed intervals hurt (LIKE CRAZY), but the recovery time is some of the best bonding time available for friends.  H and I share things we'd never otherwise share simply because we don't have enough oxygen to know better.  We may err on the side of recovery, physically.  But, emotionally?  Psychologically?  It just feels like the right thing to do.

Once the intervals were done, I raced home, showered, finished some work, and crammed for Mandarin night.  I had to review my last two lessons and ensure that I hadn't lost too much vocabulary since my last lesson (always a danger).

Upon arrival, LittleL clapped with joy when he saw me and ran up to give me a high 5. He was so excited to see me since the last time (likely a month or so ago) he couldn't stop dancing around.  A few minutes later, we high-fived all the way to 70.  How fun!

Add in a delicious night of perfectly spiced yidali miàn (Spaghetti) with niúròu (Beef Sauce) prepared by HotMamaL before and after an awesome Mandarin lesson night with my 2 teachers and good friends, plus giving voice to the travel plans for China in 2013 that are in the process of solidifying?

I'm feeling down-right well-balanced.

(Thirteen work todos? Shmirteen.  Please.)

Fireside Chats

Our electricity went out on Saturday night.

We immediately stood up and walked into the street, wine glasses in hand.

Very rarely do we hang out with our neighbors. We all live busy Silicon Valley lives. But, one of the great things about our neighborhood is that it has this unspoken rule that when the electricity goes out, we all walk into the street and catch up.

Sure enough, our pause for wine meant we were one of the later folks to join the crowd across the street. Beers were in hand and introductions were being made -- it was an instant social occasion.

As it became darker, one neighbor built a bonfire. I ran into our pitch-black house and, with the help of the mag light that we leave by the front door, easily found the marshmallows.

It's amazing how much the simple act of sharing marshmallows, fire, and the darkness can bond you to folks.

The fire (and marshmallows) attracted other neighbors like moths and we met new folks, caught up with others, and just generally enjoyed the change of pace and scenery. I called brother and left him a voicemail, telling him that I missed having him here to make us laugh around the neighbor's bonfire in the dark.

Sometimes, it's nice not to have the modern conveniences (especially when you know they are a bike ride away and the electricity comes back on in time for you to get ready for bed).

Almost Summer Garden Time!

Yay!

Lotteries

I didn't win the MegaMillions, but I'm still waiting to hear about 2 open contests:

1. Whether I got in to the New York Marathon

2. Whether Arvay and I won the Nenana Ice Classic.

I find out about the Marathon on April 23rd and the Ice Classic in the evening of April 25th.

Wish me luck!

Feeling Left Out

I've always been told that there's a feminine clock and that one day, I'd really, strongly, *want* nay *need* my own baby. It would appear that my clock is broken.

Pushing closer to 40 than 30, I have to admit that while I love my two nieces and one nephew, and, in fact, I love kids in small doses, I've never felt an honest longing for my own child.

Quite the opposite, in fact. I love the week I spend with my oldest niece each year (and I recognize how lucky I am that her parents let her visit us). But I relish my free time alone with my husband when she leaves.

I figure I'll arrange for 2-3 weeks per year for the family and friend kids we want to sponsor. Even if oldest niece decides we're not her gig as she gets older, I'll still be back-up babysitter and Auntie for other family and the local friends' kids we love and adore.

You'd think the time I spend with others' kids should trigger something, but I still don't yearn for my own child. Lately, though, I feel completely left out of the whole kid thing. Conversations turn the kid corner and they don't return. The obvious aloneness that I've chosen for myself hurts, so by some rights, I guess there is a building feeling of something for a kid.

Given my mother-in-law's offer to come to California and live near us for a year if we have a kid, coupled with all of my close friends' pregnancies, miscarriages, toddler dramas, etc, [OH AND THE REALITY THAT I AM PUSHING 40] -- I'm feeling strong pressure to get pregnant.

When I look at it, it's not the biological drive to propagate my genetics. I feel fairly confident that my siblings and cousins are bound to manage that one without my help.

And it's not that I actually want to be pregnant or raise a child.

Nope, this one is all about social ostracism.

And, as a female on the later side of child bearing age who is happily married, my husband's and my choice to not have children feels like I have intentionally chosen to be removed from a very important portion of the normal social dynamics of my cohort. Which, of course, sucks.

This weekend, at a wedding in Savannah (which with 28 weddings on Saturday, was essentially the stereotypical wedding capital of the U.S.), we were not the kids partying 'til 3 AM and unable to remember the night, but we were also not the families who left at 10 PM to remove their screeching babies or to relieve their babysitters.

We probably answered the "Do you have kids?" or "When are you having kids?" question at least 20 times. Usually to very confused faces.

As the majority of our friends start to enter the family phase of their lives, they want to share their experiences with others who are going through the same thing. This makes perfect sense.

I, too, would like to share my current experiences with others who are going through the same thing. The difference is, there really aren't very many people I know who are in my boat.

When I look at successful professional women, most of them have children as well. A majority of their professional conversations about being a woman are all about balancing their children with their career.

I can't deny that the miracle of life is a fascinating thing and the fact that women can have children is definitely one of the more cool things about being a woman. But, I'm also pretty sure having a kid because I feel left out is not a very good reason.

I'm putting this out there because, lately, I do feel the pressure of time with respect to getting pregnant. Not in the biological clock, "Oh my goodness, I might not be able to have a child which I desperately want" sense, but rather in the, "You are slowly losing your opportunity to be what the majority of society thinks is a true woman" sense.

I'm not sure what to think about that, but I do want to think it through while I still have time.

Over 4,000

As promised, IQ84 and REAMDE were on the reading list for this year.

The big surprise for me is that I put off the big books thinking they would slow me down and prohibit me from reaching my arbitrary goal of 30 books for last year.

This year, here were are, about 1/4 in, and I've cleared 12 books, including REAMDE and IQ84.

This puts me at 12/30 (for the historical book-based goal) or 4,164/9,000 for my page goal, with slightly less than 75% of the year to go.

Not bad on either scale.

Of course, IQ84 was on vacation and REAMDE has been an exercise in recovering from the close of the quarter which resulted in me altering my workout schedules so I could read during cardio. This was really only possible because I'm not training for anything.

In short, I'm impressed with where I am and have enjoyed this year's reading, but I doubt it's sustainable if I want to live my life on all axes.

That being said, REAMDE was awesomely distracting, entertaining, and worth the work-out re-alignment if you're looking for a great (long) book.

As my workout modifications suggest, it was one of the most addictive books I've read in ages. I substituted much more time on the recumbant bike and stairclimber than originally planned so I could turn these pages. This is no doubt due in part to the author's commitment to linguistics (if you just started studying Mandarin, this book has tantalizing bits to taunt you), and his commitment to the 2nd Amendment Gun-Nut Pacific Northwest culture, which I probably almost understand inherently due to my California 2nd-amendment-friendly family, but recently, experienced first hand during our 2011 tour of the Pacific Northwest (including Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming).

In other news, I'm ordering Stephenson's Baroque Cycle trilogy, soon.

The Little Things

It's the end of the fiscal quarter, so, of course, my work is a madhouse. I've let my sleep, exercise, and eating patterns regress each day for about a month now.

So, today, after E headed out for a 6:30 AM flight, I decided I, too, could have some discipline and made some time for Bikram yoga. It was my first time back in the studio in 4 weeks, and, as I expected it was ridiculously hard.

We had a visiting instructor from Bikram Yoga Harlem, Derrek, and he ran a tough, hot class. As I always do, I felt great afterward, and I walked out of the room with a renewed commitment to taking care of myself.

After class, I spoke with Fernanda, a visiting teacher from a Bikram studio in Mexico city. She and her son are here for 12 days, visiting her sister's family, and her daughter who is doing her Junior Year as an exchange student at a local high school.

When I asked how her daughter was enjoying her time in California, she said,

Well, it's just such a wonderful experience for her. To be in high school and to be safe to walk and bike everywhere? It's so much independence. So she's very much enjoying the freedom to walk and bike and to not to have to rely upon someone to drive her everywhere.

A much needed perspective.

I may think there are stressful events in my life. But really? Not so much.

I am very lucky to live in a very safe part of the world and I have no excuse if I don't make the most of that safety.

MegaMillions!

Daddy loved to buy lotto tickets.

Typically, I do not. But, today, after seeing that the MegaMillions jackpot had crested $500M, and realizing it was the type of hype that Daddy would definitely have enjoyed, I had to join the fun.

I so rarely take part in the collective pop culture of my community, that when I can, it's extra fun! Plus, there are just some things that feel like Daddy is with me, and a big lotto jackpot is one of them. $1 is nothing compared to feeling like he's right here.

When I asked if they were selling the "big lottery tickets" (because I only barely know what's going on), the clerk pointed to the sign behind him listing the various jackpots, sighed, and said, wearily

MegaMillions. It's too big. But good luck.

I have no idea what that means. I presume it's some hard won convenience store clerk wisdom?

Conveniently, before I could ponder that one too long, the owner of the store sent us home with a complimentary bottle of wine from one of the distributors that's trying to get their business.

Can you tell us if this is good? Would you buy it for $7.99?

Um, yes...We can be that kind of hero. (Much to my surprise, the Camelot was lovely and enjoyable (not remotely the over-oaked, super sugary, or terrible $8 chard I feared) and we actually will be happy to buy it for $7.99).

Getting back on track, though, let's be honest -- I come by my gambling honestly. Until she was hospitalized, after Grampa Jack passed away, Gramma took the bus to Reno to play slots every other weekend (and she'd win, all the time!). Daddy, of course, loved his lotto -- every time I see a ticket, I can't help but think of him and the scattered faded tickets that we kept finding when it came time to let his belongings go. Then there was Brother, who spent 25% of his income on lottery tickets the first month he lived with us after the hospital and with whom I can go to the Indian Casino the day after Christmas and play a poker tournament and blackjack. My mom has recently discovered craps & she swears it is the greatest thing ever -- I'd make fun of her, but I actually agree.

And, of course, the trip to the Indian Casino for Gran's 80th Birthday is the ultimate example.

So yeah, while I normally don't partake, tonight, I bought a single $1 lotto ticket for MegaMillions. The idea that I'm part of something bigger than me makes the $1 worth it. The fun of the collective game. All my ancestors enjoyed it. Who am I to say no?

The math, however, is less cool.

56 (1st number) * 55 (2nd number) * 54 (3rd number) * 53 (4th number) * 52 (5th number) * 46 (Mega!) = 21,085,384,320.

[Update: this is too conservative, actual odds are 1 in 175M because the order of the balls doesn't matter and there are 120 different ways to order 5 unique balls. That's what I get for thinking I remembered how to do probabilities without looking up the formulas.]

The population of the U.S. is roughly 313,265,000.

So, if every single person in the U.S. bought 68 tickets and they were all unique, one person would be guaranteed to win the big jackpot. [Update: thanks to the lack of an order requirement, if everyone bought a unique ticket, it would only take 175M purchasers to guarantee a jackpot winner]

Hmmm.... I don't love those odds.

But I do love being part of the fun.

Yay! Fun!

[UPDATE: As Matt pointed out, it doesn't matter what order the balls are drawn, so my original math was too conservative.

The actual odds are the 1 in 175,711,536 (my original calculation divided by 5*4*3*2*1, or 5!, the number of possible ways to order the 5 drawn balls before the mega).

So, it is likely we will have a jackpot split 8 or 9 ways given the expected sales of 1.5B tickets before the drawing.]

The Oakland Running Festival Kicks Ass

I ran the Oakland Half Marathon today with two friends.

It was the farthest I'd ran since CIM 2011.

I expected a sopping wet, raining, run-walk slodge of a race from an event that is only on its 3rd anniversary.

Instead, I was rewarded with some of the best crowd support, community pride, local home-made entertainment, and just general awesomeness I've ever experienced at a race (and this one is *tiny* compared to some of the large races I've run).

The weather's cooperation (overcast but dry) coupled with the environment encouraged M and W and I to push ourselves to a much faster finishing time than we had planned with smiles on our faces. If that isn't the sign of a good race, I don't know what is.

Today's half marks 26 half marathons completed for me. Less than the numbers reported by hard core runners, but, enough that I have a clue about what your average runner likes and enjoys.

My prediction? If they stay on track (and perhaps manage to mediate the elevation in the full marathon), the Oakland running festival will build an awesome community experience that rivals some of the best and biggest local pride running events in the country.

I'm already blocking off next year on the calendar. I can't wait!

California Nachos

At 5 PM last night, my phone rang. A good friend from NYC and his partner were in town and had time to go to dinner near SFO if we could fit it in.

I offered two options:

1. El Super Burrito -- a classic California taqueria that's been around since 1977, complete with orange booths, Mexican tile tables, pinatas hanging from the roof and a swiss-style roof.

2. Shanghai Dumpling Shop -- Xiao Long Bao. Need I say more?

Good California-style Mexican is hard to come by in NYC for some completely inexplicable reason. So, they opted for El Super Burrito.

Mmmm.... I love me some Mexican food. In a show of strength and discipline by me, this would be only my 3rd Mexican meal of the week.

While standing in line, we saw that they had a special titled, "California Nachos."

I *love* nachos. I order nachos for lunch from my favorite taqueria entirely too often. My version of nachos has no sour cream, no meat, just cheese, black beans, salsa, guac, and lots of jalapenos and salsa. I think this sounds fairly Californian -- vegetarian, with an avocado component, that's what Californian food, is, right?

After a brief discussion, we decided we needed to order California Nachos for the table. I tossed out the idea of avoiding the refried beans but was shot down. I didn't even bring up the sour cream or the carne asada.

We ordered and sat, enjoying the time to catch up.

When our order was ready, I laughed hysterically.

At El Super Burrito, California Nachos means carne asada, cheese, sour cream, refried beans, salsa, and guac, all over... wait for it... some of the greasiest french fries I've ever seen instead of chips.

It was delicious.

And painful about 15 minutes later.

I think I may have cured my insatiable need for nachos.

Some Linguistic Laughs

Tonight marks the first night of Mandarin lessons where I was able to both tell and laugh at jokes. Egregiously silly jokes. Obviously basic jokes. And definitely nothing too complex given my ~70 word vocabulary.

But, even so, it felt great. I actually had some spontaneous un-scripted conversations, for the first time. Poorly (of course), but I did. Up until now, I really haven't been able to freely converse about anything, and it has been frustrating.

It's felt like it's taken longer to get to the functional conversation place in Mandarin than any other language I've ever studied. This is probably because with Japanese and Arabic I was purely CD/listening based for at least a year before my first conversation, so by then, I had many tools to draw from.

Even so, I'm shocked to learn that the tones aren't my biggest issue. The rigid sentence structure and grammar is much more difficult than I realized. Tones? I can handle the tones. And all this time, I put off Mandarin, as a *tonal* language thinking this would be the big problem. And here I am, floundering through grammar, which is usually my place of superiority. Comedy.

I can't even explain how lucky I feel to have friends who are willing to come to my house and speak Mandarin and go over my lessons and explain all the nuances (even if they weren't in my lesson). This week, all I had to do was cook pork chops over brussel sprouts (covered in a fancy dijon taragon mustard olive oil and rice vinegar sauce to be cooked down).

I feel so blessed and happy -- as if there's confirmation that I did something right with my life choices. Bonus, This is what my fridge looks like after tonight's lesson:



Apparently, in terms of conducting conversation, one of my biggest issues is time-related nouns: Last week. This weekend. Tomorrow. Next Year.

So next week, if all goes well. I'll be able to talk about last week, last weekend, next month and next year. Wish me luck!

Travel Data

On 1/29, cheapest one day mid-April rental car from Savannah, GA to ATL was $40. Today? $112.

Apparently, 1 month out is a bad time to rent a car.

We'll be waiting to see what the last second deals are. Here's to hoping we find a way to get to our ATL return flights...

My Best Shopping Day

I hate shopping for women's clothing.

First, it takes time. I'd rather be doing just about anything on my list of things to do.

Second, I'm short, as in too short for many petite sizes, so many things that I'd love to wear are out of the question.

Third, I have extremely broad shoulders and I'm barrel chested. When I'm fit, I'm built like a giant cone cut off above the point and mounted just above two small half-spheres (my bubble butt) and two relatively small legs. When I'm at my least fit I'm built like a giant cylinder perched atop two larger half-spheres that hover over two medium size legs.

Lest you think I'm exaggerating -- when I had to order my lab coat at University, I was an NCAA division 1 athlete and my lats and shoulders and pecs were so big I needed a 42 so it would button across my chest. This meant I had a larger lab coat than most of the men in the lab. Of course, the sleeves were ridiculously long and I had to roll them up into a 2-inch thick cuff, because, as I mentioned, I'm short.

You will note that neither of the geometric configurations I've described is common for female mannequins. So, generally speaking, women's clothes look much worse on me than on the hanger. Add florescent lighting, my general dislike for smalltalk, and a generalized feeling like I just don't understand women in groups and you can understand why shopping is not my idea of a party.

This is why I'll put off shopping until it's unavoidable. In fact, the majority of my wardrobe is composed of travel purchases. If I forget to pack something, I treat that as a need and I buy it. Then, when I come home, I donate the old version of whatever I forgot to Goodwill.

Today, after putting it off for quite some time, I headed to our local mall with a grim task -- buy a professional outfit to wear to a new client pitch tomorrow.

Thankfully, I've learned a few tricks over the years to ease my shopping pain.

The best trick is online shopping. But, that requires thinking ahead and actually committing time to shopping, which, even online, I dislike. Given that I needed the outfit for tomorrow, you can see that this was no longer an option.

The next best trick is to take a friend or family member that likes shopping. This one can backfire, though. I want to get in and out in as little time as possible. Friends that like shopping often want to linger. Also, I hate to trade quality friend/family time for less-awesome (for me) shopping time.

The third trick is going to a small store that carries a limited selection of stuff where I've liked stuff in the past. Assuming something they have works, I'll just buy it and be done. (In other words, unlike everywhere else in my life, when it comes to women's clothes, I'm a salesperson's dream. I just want to close the transaction as quickly as possible and move on.)

Today, deploying the last of my tricks, I headed to my trusted White House Black Market. They are the source of the last dress I bought (almost a year ago) and I've received tons of compliments on it, so I figured they would be a good option. I was shocked to arrive at 11 AM and find the store closed.

Turns out, this was a good thing.

I left White House Black Market and headed over to Ann Taylor, another goto smaller store where I've had some success in the past, which was open.

I picked out a few items and they informed me that today's special was 40% off any one item. Now that's something I can get excited about! If I have to buy a professional outfit, 40% off the most expensive piece helps.

Then, they informed me that they'd done mark-downs just last night. So, they encouraged me to check out the sales racks. Ordinarily, I hate sales racks -- disorganized collections of reject pieces desperately trying to worm their way into your closet when you really don't even want and definitely don't need them.

But, these sales racks were pristine. I was the first customer to have touched them since they'd been arranged -- identical items were grouped together and ordered by size.

Much to my surprise, I easily found several very cute sale items that fit me well and would be much needed supplements to my meager professional wardrobe.

I wondered, "Is this what it's like to be one of my friends who enjoys shopping? Is this how you go into a store wanting one thing and come out with 3 unrelated things?"

And then, I met Peggy.

Peggy enjoys shopping and thinking about putting outfits together more than anyone I've ever met. She announced to me that she'd looked at my selections before I got to the room and she felt like she knew me.

You trust me. I pick things for you. You will like.

Oh, thank you, Peggy.

20 minutes later, I was at the check-out counter with Peggy's recommended options: a gorgeous professional dress, a killer pair of heels, a necklace, my own-hand-picked sale items, and a very nice professional blouse that Peggy had insisted I try on.

The teller informed me that the on-sale sweater I'd been thrilled to see marked down to $29 was actually $9.

And there it was. The glimmer of joy. "This might be it," I thought, "This might just be why many women love shopping."

But wait, there's more. The teller asked me if I wanted an Ann Taylor card. I responded with my standard, "No thanks." She asked if I was sure, because I'd get 20% off of everything, even the sale items and the shoes that already had the 40% off. 5% back on everything. A birthday bonus. I did some quick math and realized that the credit card benefits maximizer in me had been hooked (plus, I love eliminating options.) So, I now own an Ann Taylor card and will likely go straight to them every time I need clothes until frustrated enough to change loyalties.

And that's how I walked out of Ann Taylor with a dress I love, some awesome shoes, a necklace, a long sleeve sweater, a tank sweater, and a professional blouse for $320.91 including tax.

Also, this may be the first time in my life I was happy about shopping for women's clothes.

That Long?

I just realized I haven't interviewed for a job since 2004.

Crazy.

Siem Reap & Angkor

The Angkor temples are the most impressive landmark I've ever seen.



The pyramids of Giza were amazing, but I felt like I saw enough to be satisfied in one day. After 2 days of visiting Angkor, I felt as if I needed to come back at least one or two more days to get the full experience.

The first day, our guide took us through the entirety of Angkor Thom and a couple smaller temples he selected.







Holy crap Southeast Asia is HOT! I was so thankful I'd done my self-imposed Bikram challenge -- the 95F and 80% humidity was *much* more tolerable than it otherwise would have been.

That afternoon, I went for spa treatment #1 -- a traditional Khmer massage.

That evening, E2 and I agreed to take the next day off. My stomach had been mildly cramping all day and I really wanted to relax and recover, which, in typical American form (as I was reminded by an Aussie on my Seoul layover tour) I hadn't actually taken a day to do since my arrival.

Unfortunately, E2 came down with an intestinal bug that night. So, after it became clear that she was sick enough to need antibiotics, I made a trip into town to the fancy pharmacy and picked up so German Cipro for the low low price of $6.20. (This fact is worth its own entire post.)

E2 took her drugs and slept, and I went to the FCC and then walked around 'til I found a spa where I had an amazing 90 minute Thai massage (the best spa treatment of the trip) for $28.

K also was coming down with some sort of intestinal issue, so, overall, we were quite the team of travelers. We acknowledged this reality and canceled our Saturday tour of the Angkor temples.

Saturday AM, E2 was feeling much better, so we headed out to Wat Bo.



We also walked around the elementary school (zoom in for the helpful larger than life diagram of proper uniforms!).


This part of the trip was probably my favorite cultural experience. Several monks stopped to chat with us as we walked through Wat Bo.

Much to our surprise, it was very clear that not many tourists made it to this part of Siem Reap. Everywhere we went in this area, school children in uniforms would yell to us, "Hullo!" "How are you?" "Wot is yur name?" They were so sincere and excited to interact with us, it was surprising. Their parents (if around) smiled with pride when we responded, obviously happy and proud that their children were able to speak English well enough to engage us. It was surprising given the masses of tourists on Pub street and markets less than 2 Km away -- but given what we saw and experienced, we could only conclude that very few tourists venture the extra mile from the tourism center to the actual functioning Buddhist monastery (we only saw 8 tourists during our visit to Wat Bo, *many* less than the monks and female construction workers).

To cap off the day with a proper indulgence, E2 and I walked through the heat 'til we found a local hotel that had just opened and enjoyed an indulgent reflexology treatment before calling for our tuk-tuk and dinner in our room.

Sunday, we woke at 4:40 to watch the sunrise at Angkor Wat. Later, we returned with a guide to get the full tour. Simply magnificent.



And then, much too quickly we were in a tuk-tuk ride to the airport and the trip was on its way to being over.