Berried Alive

Don't touch that! It's hot!

2011-04-10T20:45:00.000-07:00

You know when you keep doing the same thing...and it doesn't work out...so you try it again just to be sure? Yeah, I've been doing that lately. And I don't want to kill the suspense or anything, but it's still not working. Not even a little bit. So, what is this repetitively foolish choice I keep making? It is this: caring too much about my job. Now don't get me wrong, I LOVE science and think it is incredible and important and all that jazz. And, yes, I like to think my little contributions to science help out the ocean and it's critters in some way. But you know how they say that personal relationships in the workplace are not a good idea? Well, I think I have been trying to have a personal relationship with my work.

Like it's not enough that I spend 40-50 hours a week focused on it. No, recently I have come to think of it as a significant other. Right before I go to bed, I check my email one last time to make sure nothing critical has shown up. Sort of like saying goodnight, but in that is-everything-okay-at-least-until-I-wakeup-and-check-my-email-again way. Work is often on my mind these days and has started to crop up in ways that are (again) generally reserved for significant others: Can I have dinner Wednesday night with pals? Hold on, let me just check with work. Is this a good weekend to go out of town? Um, I think it's okay, but let me just check with work. I am beginning to think that I should have a family photo of me and my laptop on my holiday cards this year.

Now, in the past, this kind of emotional attachment has not gone well. Because, as much as you keep hoping that someday work will change, it really never will. It will always put itself first and even if it is willing to meet your family at the next reunion, you suspect that they won't be really welcoming about your choice of a partner.

And so, this weekend I decided to break up with work. Now, this doesn't mean I want to quit or am not committed to doing my job well, it's just that we are going to have to get to a place where we can be just friends. Sure, it will be awkward for a while, but we can go for coffee a few times, maybe have lunch, and we're still friends on Facebook. Plus, it gave me an excuse this weekend to watch movies, walk around with a box of kleenex, and eat bon bons (that's what you're supposed to do after a break-up, right?)

Not that it's going to be easy, but I am determined to not take work back this time. And, who knows, maybe I just might sleep better tonight not snuggled up with my iPhone displaying my Google calendar...

Oh, would you look at the time!

2011-01-27T21:00:00.000-08:00

Since I am already falling behind in the posting department, I thought I would share a little bit of what has been taking up so much of my time lately. As you will no doubt agree, I have been pursuing sophisticated endeavors that will lead to world peace, a resolution to the climate change crisis, and a new line of science wear that will hit the runways next season!

1. A possibly outdated (Dec 2009), but still seductive list of 50 of the world's best design blogs.
2. Becoming friends with Twitter and ways to make my Twitter homepage more pretty.
3. Falling in love with a new local pie shop.
4. And last, but not least, watching this video probably more times than recommended:

HMG Resolute 2011

2011-01-12T14:52:00.000-08:00

Okay, I am totally going to jump on the bandwagon and post my 2011 resolutions for all the world to see! Admittedly, I usually have the same boring ones every year (e.g. exercise, eat healthier, spend less $, etc.), so I am going to do my best to spice them up a bit so that a) I don't bore you to tears and b) I might actually keep some of them! Here goes:

1. Make like the Swedish chef - Well, not EXACTLY like him, but since I moved into an awesome new house with a great kitchen, I want to put it to good use! I even signed up for a local CSA so I can try to make friends with unfamiliar fruits and vegetables. (Hopefully nobody will be afflicted by food poisoning or malnutrition as a result of this one!)

2. Play outside! - Instead of thinking about logging a certain number of miles or climbing to the top of x number of trails, I just want to spend more time out of doors. Both in the city and out.

3. More creature, less habit - I keep a little list of restaurants I want to try, exhibits I want to check out, and local shops I want to peruse, but don't always get around to doing it. Now that I am not conducting research professionally anymore, I can turn my experimental skills towards this endeavor. (I wonder if I have to sign a release form for myself or complete any animal care training?)

4. Earn my librarian sidekick cred - As you may know, I hang out a lot with Librarian Girl and her fabulous library pals, plus I love books, but I don't often make much time to read them. So, this year I shall try to do that more...especially since I have my own personal cadre of highly qualified book recommenders!

5. Be heard and not seen - Which is kind of another way of saying that I hope to blog more.

Hello Biogirl. If that is indeed your real name...

2011-01-03T18:59:00.000-08:00

Just recently I was running a few end-of-the-year errands and found myself at the bank talking to an actual teller. Now this doesn't happen very often since most of my high rolling financial transactions can be done with an ATM, but this time I needed help from a real-live money handler. So, as I was standing there and doing my transactioning, the nice teller person (who looked about 12) tried to spark up a conversation by asking me about my plans for New Year's Eve. Not wanting to explain to a bright eyed and bushy tailed young lad that granny here was going to curl up on the couch, watch some movies, and reflect on the past year, I tried to throw him off the trail with a vague "Oh, the holidays were kind of hectic this year, so I am looking forward to some time to relax." My holidays this year were actually not in the least bit hectic, but it seemed plausible enough. However, our young whipper-snapper was not deterred! No, instead we ended up having the following conversation in which I create a fictional family:

Him: So, why was it hectic?

Me: Well, I had family in town visiting me this year and it was my job to host.

(Okay, so this is technically true, but it was just my mom and I. We mostly lounged around and ate good food. Not really, um, tiring.)

Him: Wow! You hosted? How many people stayed with you?

Me: Um, well, I have a pretty big family. (Again, technically true.)

Him: That's cool. It must have been a lot of work cooking for all of those people?

Me: (Crap! What's with all the questions, Doogie?) Yeah, but it gave me a chance to try out some new recipes.

Him: I can see that. Good practice for the next time you have to host a lot of people!

Me: Oh, totally. (At this point, I am thinking up names for my fictional siblings just in case he asks).

Him: You know, maybe after you rest today, you'll be ready to go out and party tomorrow?

Me: (Ai ai ai!) Hmmm. Yeah. Maybe.

Him: Okay, well we're all done here! Hope you recover from all of that hosting!

Me: Thanks! And have a happy new year!

Yes, this is how I chose to lead up to 2011. Lying to perfect strangers about non-existant houseguests. I wonder if this year is the year I really do become a spy?

The Doctor is In!

2010-03-15T18:38:00.001-07:00

Speaking of gelatinous cuisine (because really, who doesn't?), I have decided to let you in on a super secret family recipe. Okay, so it came out of a cookbook, but has somehow become tradition in my stepmom's family so I think it's now ours by squatter's rights. (Just to be clear, I mean that figuratively, not literally. No actual squatting has or will be conducted in conjunction with this dessert. At least not in my family.) Now that we got that cleared up, I present you with the mind-boggling list of ingredients for Ben Casey Salad. For those of you who didn't watch a lot of TV in the early 60's, Ben Casey was a precursor to McDreamy and McSteamy who had his own medical drama series. Not to rest on his surgical talents alone, Dr. Casey also contributed a little something to a celebrity cookbook of that era. I hesitate to use the word "recipe" as I am pretty sure he panicked at the last minute and just submitted a list of whatever was in his pantry at the time. I can find no other explanation for the following combination:

Cherry Jello-O (Okay, no surprise here)

Sour Cherries (I'm sensing a theme...)

Dr. Pepper (Um...)

Pecans (Sometimes you feel like a nut)

Cream cheese (And other times you just cook like one)

Green olives (Yes, I said green olives!)

What is perhaps even more baffling than this being in a cookbook is that people in my family LOVE it! Well, to be fair, I think it might be genetic. For some reason, it is only the women in the family who love it and since I am a step relative, I did not get the special Ben Casey tastebuds. A person must surely be able to go beyond salty, sweet, sour, & bitter to appreciate this concoction.

So, with that I will leave you to your cooking. I am sure you will want to whip up a batch right away! And perhaps you too can experience the joy of seeing it nestled in the buffet line right between the mashed potatoes and green beans every Thanksgiving and Christmas. Your family will thank you. Or something.

Helpful Hosting Advice

2010-03-06T13:30:00.001-08:00

Tonight I am taking a break from working on trying to convince people to give me money to do science (a.k.a. writing grant proposals) and instead will be hosting my favorite peeps - Librarian Girl and Nordic Boy - for dinner. This is extra exciting because it will be my first meal since I actually decided to be a grown up and buy a dining table! No more "won't you come over and sit on the floor so we can eat at my coffee table?" invitations from me. However, since I am not quite so experienced with this fancier form of entertaining, I decided to turn to a very helpful guide for some hosting etiquette. Enter my newly acquired 1959 General Foods Kitchens cookbook! This was actually an unexpected gift from my aunt last Christmas when I just couldn't get enough of it after she pulled it out of her cupboard for fun. It is one of those gems I could probably never find if I was looking for it.

And why do I love this book so? Well, for starters, the table of contents is organized by situations rather than types of recipes. For example, under "Daytime Entertaining" you can find Luncheons: "A real old-fashioned sewing bee" or "Mother's visiting us for a few days". Scaling up a bit, "How to Feed a Crowd" features "How to make 300 sandwiches - at least!" and "For the real party-going crowd." Heading outside? How about "The nose-bag picnic" or "Glamour with a can opener"? (P.S. What the hell is a "nose-bag"? Isn't that for horses?) I think my personal favorites can be found under "How to Rise to the Occasion": "Mrs. Russell's sick in bed", "Tommy had his appendix out!", and "I brought old Joe along for dinner." Because, apparently, there are very specific meals to go along with all of these occasions. And a lot of these meals have to do with Jell-O and whipped cream.

In fact, I am not so sure how much this is a "cookbook" as it is a list of ways to combine ingredients you can purchase from General Foods. Take this birthday cake for example. Is it just me, or does it pretty much consist of whipped cream and life savers? Oh, and a very large pinwheel, since it is always good to encourage as much spitting on the cake as possible before serving it to your guests. To be fair, this IS designed for a kid's birthday, so perhaps they have a more sophisticated version for the adult crowd? Indeed they do. I'd say tiramisu has nothing on this delightful combination of Jello-O chunks and lady fingers!

However, lest you think this cookbook is all desserts, rest assured that there are plenty of recipes for things like "Salmon in Aspic" and "Lobster Newburg on Toast Points". Sounds both architectural and delicious, no? But tonight, I will be going with an Italian theme and, thankfully, General Foods has some tips for me there too. Although I am not quite convinced that 1/4 pounder meatballs are a good idea. Maybe I should just take a "Julie & Julia" approach and just do what the cookbook tells me? Hmmmm...Bon Appetit!

Astronaut or Waitress?

2010-02-14T15:35:00.000-08:00

Whenever I tell people that I am a marine biologist and their eyes light up, I know the next thing that is coming out of their mouth will be: "I love whales/dolphins! Do you get to work with them?". And then I must crush the childhood marine biologist living inside of them and say something like: "Actually, no. I work on barnacles and halibut. In fact, most marine biologists have nothing to do with marine mammals." And then I do my best to tell them why my job is still exciting and awesome, but I can tell I lost them at hello. In fact, when I was a kid, I never dreamed of being a marine biologist. I have always loved the ocean, but just never saw it as a career path. Instead, my aspirations took a long and somewhat random road to my current position.

My earliest career choice was between two occupations: Astronaut vs. Waitress. Clearly, these two options would each satisfy very different sides of my personality. One would allow me to take orders and get free food and the other would provide me with an endless supply of TANG. Hmmm, maybe the two do have something in common after all. Especially when you consider that my next career aspiration was to work at a bank like my stepmom because they had a potluck at lunch every Friday. (You see, even then baked goods were a high priority...)

However, once I hit about 3rd grade, I decided I wanted to be a teacher. And was it because I wanted to have a scholarly influence on the young minds of the next generation, you ask? Um, no. It was mostly because I wanted to write on the chalkboard, take roll, and grade papers. The latter was largely driven by a desire to have control over my very own collection of scratch & sniff stickers. It was a sad day when I realized they would no longer be coming my way as a reward for a job well done.

Sadly, once the cynicism of junior high set in, I realized that a teacher's salary would not support the lavish life I intended to lead. (I blame nightly family viewings of Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous after dinner. Yes, I am admitting that Robin Leach shaped my future.) Shortly thereafter, I was on to the next big thing: a trial lawyer. I dreamed of dressing in a smart suit and pumps and shouting at witnesses that they couldn't handle the truth! However, not willing to totally give up on my ideals for a paycheck, I decided that I would go into environmental law. You know, standing up for old growth forests and snowy owls everywhere. This one actually stuck through most of high school and I wonder to this day if the law isn't my true calling. Mostly because I often say things like "I rest my case" and "Let the record show". Which, of course, are the essential parts of being a lawyer.

However, my junior year in high school I took a class in marine science and it was all over. When it was time to head off to college, I packed my bags in sunny San Diego and headed north to anti-sunny Seattle to study oceanography. This is somewhat ironic since Seattle is farther from the ocean and it is pretty much too cold to go swimming anyways. But, alas, this is where I have ended up. All in all, it's not a bad gig. I get to work with awesome people, occasionally get out into the field, and sport rubber boots and a little red hat. Well, the last one is optional, but highly encouraged. Now, if I could only get a sponsorship from TANG...

LOL

2010-01-25T20:45:00.000-08:00

Okay, let me just start by saying that I really don't care for the acronym "LOL". Why not just say "ha ha"? Or "hee hee". Or even the slightly sinister "heh heh"? I can't explain to you why I think these are better than "LOL". They just are. But I digress. Despite my personal feelings towards this palindromic acronym, I do appreciate the sentiment. Laughing out loud about something always makes my day. And for those days when nothing funny seems to be happening, I have a little stockpile of things that can always crack me up. Granted, I may be the only person who thinks these things are funny after the eighty billionth time. Or, in some cases, the first time. For example, I give you my FAVORITE joke as a child:

Q: What's orange and sits on a wall?

(Give up?)

A: Humpty Pumpkin!

(Yes, crickets, I hear you.)

For those of you who think I need some serious schooling to enhance my humor sensory capabilities, I shall give in and do what is expected of me. Here you go. Two of my absolute favorite videos on the interwebs. If these don't make you laugh, there is something wrong with you. And I'm a doctor. I know about these things.

Serenity Now!

2010-01-18T21:46:00.000-08:00

To continue the theme of over-reacting, I give you this little snapshot of my day:

Since today was a holiday (insert appropriate amount of cheering here) I took the day off and decided to head to a local coffee shop to have a serious meeting with a latte, a bagel, and a novel. (Do you see how hard I work? Even on my days off!) Everything was going quite well until I felt a tap on the shoulder and looked up to see Sally. Sally was a woman who happened to attend a class I took at a community center a few months before and I had occasionally seen her in this coffee shop since. Which is all well and good, except Sally struck me as a bit of a contradiction. You see, the class we were taking was all about learning to meditate and de-stressify your life, but Sally talked about taking things to a new level. She was not just going to practice meditation every day, she was going to learn how to be an instructor! And spread the word of sitting very still far and wide! (Don't get me wrong. I have the utmost respect for meditation as a practice, but I'm just trying to capture Sally's take-the-Brahma-bull-by-the-horns mentality.) However, I suspected that her plans may go awry when she brought her yoga mat to one class and didn't end up needing it. For the entire two hours, she kept chiming in about how she had lugged her yoga mat all the way to class and how this was really a hardship when we didn't end up using them. Really, lady?

So, coming back to today, these are all of the thoughts that flooded my head as I said hello to her. As luck would have it, the only table available was right next to me, so she and her friend sat down. Well, she sat down and her friend was awkwardly trying to squeeze into a chair that was blocked by the person sitting behind him. Seeing that Sally was paying no attention to her poor friend's plight, I chimed up and offered to switch tables with them since mine had two accessible seats. My hope was that we could all get settled in and I could get back to my book. Sigh. Wouldn't that be nice? Instead, I was treated to my own personal reality show about what happens when Sally encounters a real crisis (a la the yoga mat incident):

Sally (to her friend): Hey, for some reason I can't log on to the WiFi. Can you?

Friend: Um, yeah. Mine is working fine.

Sally: I think there must be something wrong with my Starbuck's card which is how I get free WiFi. I emailed them a question about it and now it doesn't work!

Friend: Well, why don't you go up and ask them about it?

(Sally goes to the counter and her friend and I have a few moments of blissful silence. Until...)

Sally: Well, they say they can't do anything about it! Oh my gawd, they are totally screwing me over! Can I use your computer to go to the website and try to fix this?

Friend: Sure. Go ahead.

Sally (as she boots her friend from his seat and then gives him the Spanish Inquisition about why he uses a particular web browser): I can't believe this is happening! They are screwing me over! This is what I get for asking for help. I can't F%&KING BELIEVE THIS! THEY DEACTIVATED MY CARD!!!

Friend: Um, calm down. Do you want to use my phone to call someone and ask for help?

Sally: Your phone? Is that okay? I don't want to use your minutes!

Friend: Well, I don't have a ton of minutes left, but I'm sure it will be fine.

Sally: Well, it's probably going to take a LONG time. I mean, they F*&KING screwed me over! I'M PROBABLY GOING TO USE ALL OF YOUR MINTUES! S*$T!

With that, Sally grabbed the phone and I quietly slipped away before she went all Alec Baldwin on some poor customer service agent. Because, apparently, the entire Starbuck's corporation is out to destroy her by causing her card to malfunction. I just hope that no one tried to intervene and suggest she take some long, deep breaths. Since, you know, she clearly has a firm grasp on relaxation and meditation. With or without a yoga mat.

Nobody Panic!

2010-01-14T15:53:00.000-08:00

Just as 2009 was coming to a close, I had a lovely wake-up call about how I would react in an emergency. Like most people, I would like to think I would be calm, collected, and display a MacGyver-esque aptitude for using the available resources. However, this is apparently not the case. Here's how it went down: I was minding my own business by wrapping holiday gifts in my PJs one Saturday in December, when the sound of carols was interrupted by a loud, high-pitched noise. I immediately knew it was not my smoke alarm and found that the sound was emitting from a small object high up on the wall. Still fairly calm, I dragged over a chair to read the writing on the source. In tiny black letters, it said "F.A." Um, fire alarm? Wait, FIRE ALARM! (Here is where I started to lose my cool.) I think I might have actually said out loud "Since this isn't my smoke alarm, this must be the building-wide alarm. Isn't that more serious? What should I do? I'm still in my pajamas!" At this point, I am trying to change clothes while wandering around my apartment wondering to do about my valuables. "This is probably a false alarm, right? No need to round things up and take them outside with me..."

Enter a knock on the door from my neighbor "Hey, um, we're just knocking on everyone's door because there is smoke billowing out of the apartment upstairs and it is so thick in the hallway that you can't see anything." Now, I shift into full-on panic. What do I take with me? Why didn't I think about this before? And so I begin a frantic race around my house a la Supermarket Sweep to gather up my most valuable possessions. Birth certificate? Check. Laptop and beloved iPhone? Check. Family jewels? (No, not THAT kind!) Check. Photos? Too many to carry. I suddenly realized that documents can be replaced, other people in my life have photos I could copy, and some of the other tangible items were just too big to carry. And then I knew what I really wanted to take with me. The following objects are of very little monetary value, but have HUGE sentimental value for me since they represent people in my life who are no longer here:

Exhibit A: My dad bought this for me in Oregon when I was in the sixth grade. It has lived with me ever since. And still makes me laugh.

Exhibit B: A ceramic tape dispenser. This is the only object of my dad's I really wanted when he died. It lived on his desk for as long as I can remember.

Exhibit C: Skunks from my maternal grandmother's collection. Forget teddy bears and kittens and Precious Moments. Skunks were my grandma's very favorite and every day I look at them and think of her.

So, these are the things I (gently) threw in a shoebox before heading outside to join my neighbors. Although there were other people there in PJs or with their pets, I was clearly the only one who brought out her prized possessions. I was hearing lots of "Well, if the fire dept. thinks it's serious when they get here, then I'll just go back in and get my laptop." Just a warning for all those of you who don't watch way too many crime dramas, once the professionals arrive, your chances of getting back into your house are slim. Fortunately, in this case, it turned out to be all smoke and no fire. Apparently, my upstairs neighbor thought it would be okay to leave a pot of beans on the stove and then go run some errands or something. Mental note: the stovetop cannot serve as a substitute for a crockpot!

In the end, the building was aired out and we were all allowed back inside our homes. However, I think it took me a good few hours to calm down again. And what did I do with this nervous energy, you ask? What else, but make a list of things I would want to make sure and grab next time. Because now I know that I will NOT be cool, calm, and collected in the event of an emergency. But at least I'll have a list! And that's something.

Very Superstitious

2010-01-05T16:51:00.000-08:00

I consider myself a fairly practical person. I like making lists, fiercely believe in color coding, and have some evidence that my logic skills are enough to qualify me as part Vulcan. Hence, the whole science-as-a-career thing I have going. However, I must admit that old fashioned superstitions give me pause. It's not like avoiding certain things is a religion for me, but I still try to not do some things if I can help it. For example, why walk under a ladder when you can just walk around? Why not open and close an umbrella outside? And why not avoid objects in groups of 13 unless it is a baker's dozen? (Apparently I believe that evil spirits will give me a break if it involves donuts. See that logic at work?)

On top of these oldies-but-goodies, I have my own set of superstitions based on my life experiences. The biggest of these revolves around New Year's Eve. When I was growing up, New Year's Eve wasn't really a huge deal for me. I usually stayed up late with some friends, ate junk food, watched movies, and then slept in the next morning. That is, until the New Year's when it turned 1996. NY96 involved a disagreement between me and a bottle of tequila that ended my drinking career before it had really begun. (Yes, it was THAT bad.) This was my first lesson in how a NYE can set the tone for a year or even several years of my life. Don't get me wrong, I have had some great NYE's since then, but I have also learned that a bad NYE doesn't bode well for me.

My next infamous NYE was NY05. I was enjoying a lovely post-Christmas vacation with my dude-at-the-time in Costa Rica and it seemed like the perfect place to ring in the new year. And then...the fauna of Costa Rica hatched an evil plan to attack me. Yes, me specifically. During the 24 hours between Dec 31 and Jan 1 I managed to get stung by a bee (who somehow got stuck in my pants), get my first tick (Yes, I know. Ew.), and to round out the trio, I got a lovely puncture wound on the bottom of my foot from a sting ray. Apparently, I get no props from the rays for being a marine biologist. I think the most incredible part of all this is that on all three occasions, my aforementioned dude was RIGHT THERE with me! But did he get so much as a scratch? No! Sigh. From there, 2005 pretty much went right down the crapper. And although none of the suckage of that year can be linked to my very own episode of Wild Kingdom, I can't help but think the universe was trying to warn me.

Luckily, I managed to have injury-free NYE's 2006-2008 and those years went by in a fairly normal fashion. So normal, in fact, that I let my guard down and forgot to take extra safety precautions for NY09. On that fine evening, I fell down a flight of stairs and had a wee bit of trouble sitting on hard surfaces for the next few weeks. (And, yes, I was sober.) The moment I hit that bottom step, I knew 2009 was not going to be my friend. And I was totally right. Well, mostly. The one thing 2009 did remind me of is that when you are having a bad time of it, the truly awesome people in your life stand out. And stand out they did! Like with beacons and banners and everything.

So, when it came time for NYE10 I decided to enact a plan. A plan of minimizing the risk of any bodily injury or critter attack. I wrapped myself in a blanket, got some soft foods, and watched unscary TV. I sort of considered wearing my bike helmet too, but decided that beginning the year with helmet hair would not put things off to a good start. And you know what? I did it! I managed to have an injury-free NYE! And so (Are you listening to me, Universe?) I have high hopes that 2010 is going to be a dandy year. (Do you hear that? D-A-N-D-Y. Um, please?) I also hope that all of you found a fabulous (and safe!) way to start off the year and that no black cats carrying an umbrella or ladder cross your path. Because that would just be awkward.

2009 is so...2009

2009-12-31T18:03:00.000-08:00

There's no place like home. Or so it seems after my annual whirlwind tour of California during which I try to visit everyone I know in the span of a mere ten days. This year I finally decided to be a grown-up and just rent a car which made things SO MUCH EASIER! Seriously. It made the difference between actually enjoying time with my loved ones versus reenacting a scene from The Exorcist over dinner after not having any independence for a week. Plus, the rental car was brand spanking new which meant no worries of things leaking that shouldn't or accidentally going over 45 mph. (Sadly, these are not things I can say about my own beloved vehicle. Sigh.) During my trip I got to see family, friends, and the Pacific Ocean. All three are a huge part of who I am and I wish I could see them more often.

Now that I am back at home, I am doing a little Hallmark Original Movie reflection of this past year. Unfortunately without the unflattering floral print dress. (Mine's at the cleaners.) I can honestly say that 2009 was one of the best and worst years of my life. A lot got packed into those 365 days and things have profoundly changed since the last December 31. I wouldn't even know where to begin to explain it all to you, so instead I'll stick with the top ten lessons learned in 2009:

1. My favorite kind of bird is a giant one made out of newspaper.

2. Hallmark Channel movies are all based on one of a few plot lines and yet I still watch every damn one. Multiple times. Is there a twelve step program for this?

3. Mean people suck and should be avoided.

4. Sometimes books that start out slow don't get any better after 500 pages.

5. You are never too old to paint Christmas ornaments with your family.

6. Podcasts are both a blessing and a curse to someone with OCD tendencies.

7. Brussels sprouts are actually edible if prepared the right way.

8. Having only one pair of rain-proof shoes while living in Seattle just doesn't cut it.

9. Sometimes the things you try to hold on to the most are the ones you need to let go.

10. My friends and family seriously rock. It seems impossible that so many good people have come into my life and actually stuck around. Maybe it's the handmade holiday cards I bribe them with every year?

And so, I thank the departing year for all that it has taught me and perhaps some of these lessons will be helpful to you as well. (Especially the brussels sprouts thing. Who knew?) Whatever your plans for ringing in the new year, have a fabulous Eve and don't forget to yell out Dick Clark's millennium new year's cheer: "WHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEE!" Trust me, it works.

Something's missing...

2009-12-16T12:20:00.000-08:00

Well, now that my BFF Librarian Girl has gone and given me a shout out on her blog, I thought what could be better than greeting her readers with a ridiculous, embarrassing story about myself! Agreed?

This all took place many years ago when I was a wee research technician at a university. I lived not too far from campus and tried to get some outside time (versus my daily stint as a lab rat) by biking to and from work. Although this was a grand idea most of the time, the logistics involved were a bit complicated. Basically, I didn't really want to spend the day in my biking clothes. (Am I the only one who thinks bike shorts feel like wearing a diaper?) So, upon arriving at work I would change clothes and then take my biking clothes outside to hang on my bike. Now, although this doesn't exactly sound like a classy thing to do, I assure you it was far classier than storing said clothes in my closed-up, windowless office shared with about ten other people. (Insert your jealously of my glamorous biologist life here.) At the end of the day, I would once again don my freshly aired lycra and head home. With one exception. Without getting too graphic, the "base layer" worn in the morning would not be stored outside nor would it be re-worn on the way home. Because that would just be gross.

Now that I have set the scene, let's focus on one particular evening where I arrived home, put my bike away, and then began to unload my backpack so that things could be added to the laundry hamper. Generally, this is not a blog-worthy activity, but on this day I managed to pull my socks out of my bag. And then my sports bra. And then my...um. Where the hell are they? They've GOT to be here. All of the sudden, panic set in. I COULDN'T FIND MY UNDERWEAR!!!

What happened next was a frantic drive back to work where I searched high and low for the missing pair. They had to be somewhere, right? But, no luck. In fact, to this day, I have no idea what happened to them. I am hoping whoever found them very generously just threw them away. Or perhaps some squirrel decided to pretty up its nest? I'd prefer to leave other speculations unarticulated...

The next day at work, I tried to play it cool and not act like I had just lost my underwear at work the day before. Such a common problem, I know. I actually managed to make it through the whole morning, but finally broke down in the afternoon when I was working with my mentor. She sat there very calmly and sympathetically while she listened to my whole story. My portrayal of events was a combination of intrigue and sheepish laughter, but it felt better to let someone else in on the secret. That is, until she gave her reply. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I thought those were yours!"

Apparently they had been laying in the courtyard for some part of the day in the path between my office and my bicycle. Lovely. So, let this be a lesson to all of you bike commuters out there. Changing clothes at work is a fine idea, but just make sure you keep track of your unmentionables. Even if the squirrels try to convince you otherwise.

Are you there, Blog? It's me. BioGirl.

2009-11-20T15:45:00.000-08:00

So, um, it's almost the end of November, is it? Well, if it makes you feel better, Blog, it's not like I have been creatively writing behind your back or anything. The last two months have just been weirdly busy, but all in good ways. Basically, my laptop and I have been spending so many hours together during the workday that we generally decide it's best to have some separation time when we're at home. (And if you think this is just from my end, you should hear the whiny noise it makes when I have been typing for too long...) I could give you the song and dance about how sorry I am and that I'll never neglect you again, but, quite frankly, I don't think either of us would believe me. So, instead, I will give you a few of the highlights of things that have increased the awesomeness of my life lately:

1) The Fall this year has been deliciously rainy and colorful. Although I could do without it getting dark at 4pm and the occasional brisk wind, my newfound love of my fireplace makes up for it. (Seriously, how did I go all last winter and NEVER EVEN USE IT???)

2) You know those random emails about Nigerian bankers and other offers that are too good to be true? Well, I got one offering me travel and accommodations for Puerto Rico and it is TOTALLY real! Okay, granted I have to give some sciencey lectures and educate some graduate students while I am there, but still. FREE. TRIP. TO. PUERTO. RICO!!! My flip flops and swimsuit got so excited when they heard the news that they immediately jumped into my suitcase. I haven't yet had the heart to tell them that we won't leave until the spring...

3) Indulging my addiction to Starbuck's warm beverages. I'm not trying to give them free advertising or anything, but Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Peppermint Hot Chocolate are just about the best motivations for getting out of bed on workdays that I can think of.

4) For the first time maybe EVER, my holiday plans are shaping up just the way I want them to. Plenty of time to relax, see family and friends, and do things on my own schedule. I am seriously so excited about this that I am having to restrain myself from using all caps and 80 pt font right now. You're welcome.

5) Adventures with Librarian Girl and Nordic Boy in which we carved pumpkins, coordinated our Halloween costumes, and improved our knowledge of musicals. As long as we have known each other, the first two of these were actually firsts in our friendship!

There are many more lovely things I am sure I am forgetting right now, but hey, I've got to start somewhere, right? So, with that dear Blog, I hope our relationship can be on the mend. Or at least give us a reason to meet for a cup of coffee...

Say What?

2009-10-01T20:59:00.000-07:00

There are certain phrases I grew up with that I just take for granted that other people have heard. And it's not until I say them out loud and get raised eyebrows that I realize maybe that's just something people related to me say. So, here's a little list of some of my favorites. Feel free to adopt and/or modify to your liking as applicable.

"Up and at em', Adam Ant!"

-How my mom used to wake me up in the morning.

"We're off like a heard of turtles."

-Because, well, I take a long time to get ready to go somewhere.

"Let's blow this popsicle stand."

-Ominous words of impending departure.

"Okey dokey, Artichokey!"

-When a simple "yes" just won't do.

"Sounds like a plan, Rubberband."

-Apparently, pseudo-rhyming is a key factor in our lexicon.

I'll keep adding more to this post as they occur to me. Also, contributions from the audience are encouraged...

Foiled Again! And again.

2009-09-28T18:11:00.000-07:00

I should start out by saying that I had a lovely weekend. It was everything a weekend should be with time to relax, hang out with my favorite peeps, and rewatch early episodes of Alias. Dreamy, no? However, there were several times yesterday where I had a baby grand plan that turned out to be (you guessed it!) foiled. Fortunately, I find all of these situations humorous, so I didn't mind the foiling all that much.

Incident #1: I was excitedly talking to Librarian Girl and Nordic Boy about some point I was trying to make and all of the sudden I came up with the perfect corresponding movie reference. However, I completely blanked on the title so I started saying "You know, it was that animated movie where the government asks these monsters to fight the aliens. Dang it! I can't remember the title. Do you know what I mean? With the monsters? And the aliens?" At this point LG is looking at me blankly, but then Nordic Boy pipes up with "Do you mean Monsters vs. Aliens?". At this point, we all cracked up because, um, I had practically said the title a million times already and STILL couldn't remember it.

Incident #2: After a nice Sunday morning drive, we decided it was time for some lunch and headed to one of my favorite eateries in town. I was particularly excited because the last time I had been to said establishment, it was in the company of someone who is no longer in my life and I wanted to cleanse my dining palate. As we settled in, we were all quite hungry and I had set my sights on my usual: a lovely vegetarian French Dip Sandwich. But, alas, when our menus arrived my old favorite was not on it! What?!?!? After a few rounds of meditative breathing I managed to calm down and order something else quite tasty. It was no French Dip, mind you, but it did the trick. Crisis averted.

Incident #3: LG took me to a hip little boutique shop I had been wanting to check out and, in the process, managed to find a ring she liked. Now, you should know that pretty much whenever LG takes me to a shop, she restrains herself like a grown-up while I can't resist a purchase. Or two. Or...So, when she tried the ring on for a few minutes and then put it back I thought "This is my chance!". You see, LG's bday is coming up and this way I knew at least part of her present would be something she really wanted. I stealthily picked the ring up and casually sauntered over to the cashier. (Once again. Spy skills. See?) I then commenced a very whispery conversation with the cashier lady that involved many gestures indicating I-was-buying-this-ring-for-my- friend-over-there-and-it's-a-surprise-so-shush! To which she very kindly responded by gift wrapping said item just before LG joined me at the counter.

Here is what ensued:

LG: Hey, what are you buying?

BG: Oh, just some earrings and a barrette for myself.

LG: Neat! I'm buying something too! (As she proudly holds out...the ring she liked.)

BG: Um, I think you should put that back.

LG: Why, just to keep the tradition that you always buy something and I don't?

BG: Um, well, no. (Clears throat uncomfortably.)

LG: Then why?

BG: (Momentary indecision, then points to gift wrapped box on the counter.) I really think you should put it back.

LG: Oh? Oh!

BG: Um, happy birthday?

This is especially appropriate because I am known for being almost aggressive about verbally expressing affection sometimes. But that is a story for another day...

In the meantime, I might avoid making any plans for a while. Although I can't stop thinking about that French Dip Sandwich. Sigh. A girl can dream, can't she?

Tell Me More! Tell Me More!

2009-09-22T20:24:00.000-07:00

Way back in the fall of 1998 was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Those were the early days of my BFFness with Librarian Girl and to this day I am amazed at how supportive she has always been. And I'm not even talking about being there for me when the crappola hit the fan (which, of course, she was), but I think she is the only person who could listen to me talk about some things and not be bored to tears. Not only does she not get bored, she usually jumps right off the platform of stimulating conversation with me, just to keep me company.

Exhibit A: My junior year in college I was taking a ridiculously hard math class and the homework was always due on Fridays. So, inevitably, on Thursday nights I was knee deep in procrastination and would call my new pal to give her updates on my homework progress and see what she was up to. (Riveting, no? Wait, please tell me more about differential equations!) And EVERY WEEK, she picked up the phone and kept me company. We even termed these calls our "Thursday Math Break Chats". What can I say, calculus and canoes brought us together.

Exhibit B: Fast forward about a year and we find me once again mired in academic nonexcitingness. (See how that English degree paid off?) This time it involved the rather painful task of reading Robinson Crusoe. And did I suck it up and keep it to myself? Hell no! Once again, LG was called in as a reinforcement and, this time, a weekly chat was not enough. No, I think we had daily check-ins about what was up with that book. Generally, this involved LG making insightful comments and postulating why it might be worth reading and me responding with things like "But it's BOR-ING! I can't take it anymore!" and "Why does it have so many pages? Is he going to be on the island the WHOLE TIME?".

Exhibit C: This one is my favorite. For my senior capstone project, I did research on Aldous Huxley. I was swept off my feet by Brave New World in ninth grade, but this was the first time I had really dug in and learned more about him. And so, instead of complaining about my work, I started to gush about it. A lot. Like I am pretty sure LG was forced to learn more about Aldous than she ever imagined. But did she ever complain? Or try to change the subject? Or suddenly claim to spend a lot of time organizing her sock drawer? No indeedy! She took it the extra mile. Soon, he became known as "Aldy" and she would ask about him as if he were my personal acquaintance. "Hey, what are you up to? Hanging out with Aldy?" or "Did you and Aldy have a good weekend?". Seriously, if true friendship isn't politely asking about one's imaginary literary companions, I don't know what is.

So, there you have it. The incredibly true story of how I managed to not scare someone away with tales of integrals, castaways, and psychedelic-induced literature. Now do you see what I mean about Librarian Girl? Just. Plain. Awesome.

Falling for Fall

2009-09-21T14:48:00.000-07:00

I love Fall. I don't think I've ever realized until recently exactly how much I love the last quarter of the year. I liked to think that I was fair and equitable. Appreciating each season for its own merits and adjusting my wardrobe and activities accordingly. But, sigh, now I see that it just ain't true. I have a favorite. (Sorry, Winter, Spring, and Summer. Can we still be friends?) The air turns crisp, the leaves change, baked goods and warm beverages are plentiful. Calgon, take me away! I have to admit that it really isn't a fair fight because the end of the calendar year totally hogs all of my favorite holidays. October's got Halloween, November has dibs on Thanksgiving, and December has a firm hold on Christmas. Then the whole thing gets topped off by New Year's. Fall is one of the main reasons I really love Seattle. This city gets right into the Fall spirit with grey skies and chilly mornings that say "You don't need to go anywhere! Get thee inside and read a book! And have some cocoa!" (Apparently Seattle is a bit confused about what century we are in.)

This year is especially exciting because although last year was my first Seattle Fall in five years, I feel like I didn't really embrace the magic. But now I have learned from my mistakes and shall not be deterred from the celebratoryness! However, I have a little longer to wait since we are having our typically warm and sunny September this year. The kind of weather that makes visitors say things like "Does it really rain in Seattle? It's always so nice when I come here!" Truthfully, I think this is just Seattle's way of apologizing for not allowing summer to show up until after the4th of July. If then. And so for now I am gazing longingly at the sweaters in my closet and donning a t-shirt instead. I mentioned to my officemate this morning that I spied some enticing Halloween decorations this past weekend and he looked at me warily. "It's not even October yet!". I am interpreting this to mean that on October 1st the decorations can go up. Just ten more days to go. I can't wait!

Sittin' on the Dock of the Lake

2009-09-12T18:33:00.000-07:00

Today we had a bit of a summer reprise in Seattle as the temperature climbed up over 80. I took the opportunity to wander around a nearby shopping center, eat lunch outside, and then headed home to contemplate my next move. That's when I hatched my sneaky plan. You see, I live in a modest apartment complex right next door to a super swanky neighborhood. Upon one of my many evening walks around said neighborhood, I discovered a while ago that they have their VERY OWN lakefront park tucked away at the end of one street. Being the law abiding (i.e. big chicken) that I am, I had always respected the sign on the gate reading "Members Only". I mean, what if you had to show a membership card? Or there was a secret password? Or stringent regulations on the color of beach towels? But today I decided to toss caution relatively nearby and check out the fancy people's digs.

So, after adopting my best "Of course I belong here!" attitude (who says I can't be a secret agent?), I took my mystery novel and beach towel to the secluded spot and settled in. Can I just say that if I were a kid that place would have been summer heaven? There is a huge grassy area to run around on, a combination tennis/basketball court complete with a bin of sporting equipment, and a sandy spot with swings and tons of stuff to climb on. Even more exciting, there is a huge dock (where my beach towel and I found a nice spot to hang out) complete with a slide into the lake (!!!), a diving board, AND a high up diving platform! When I was a kid, I could have spent every day in the summer at a place like this and not been bored. Alas, the lake water was a bit too murky for my grown-up (i.e. picky) swimming taste, but it was a lovely spot for reading and catching up on my podcasts. Plus, you'll be happy to know that no one suspected a thing. Probably because, um, people probably aren't there to scope out intruders. But I like to think the success of my mission was due to my skillful nonchalance. In the words of Monica Gellar, I'm breezy!

Move Over Esther Williams!

2009-09-09T20:29:00.000-07:00

I am the first to admit that gift giving can be a challenge. And finding a gift for a teenage girl can require Herculean effort...especially if you want her to like it. So, when I was a young lass I always tried to be very gracious and appreciative of gifts that came my way, even if it wasn't quite to my taste. This tended to mostly happen with relatives I didn't see often, but it was always clear that they really tried to pick out something I would like and I loved it for that reason alone. A Christmas sweater with bells that jingle? Sure! An illustrated guide to underwater basket weaving? Oh, I think I heard someone talking about this just the other day! Etcetera. But then, one Christmas, there came a gift that stopped me cold. I was stunned. Speechless. Upon opening a box from a family friend I had only met once or twice I found (pause here for dramatic effect): a silver lamé shower cap. My unflappable gift-receiving-game-face faltered. What was I supposed to do with THIS? I took a deep breath, collected my thoughts, and said something like "Oh, thanks! I don't have one of these." And then I quickly made an excuse to leave the room so I could recover with an extra helping of fantasy fudge.

Now, you might think that a teenage girl would need to own only one such waterproof head cover, but alas, that was not the case. No, apparently my pseudo-gratitude was all too convincing because the next Christmas took it to a new level. That year my mother and I received MATCHING swim caps decorated with brightly colored three dimensional plastic flowers. (I have to admit that I got a little satisfaction from this since my mom had teased me about the shower cap the year before.) I began to wonder if this particular gift giver had some sort of phobia about wet hair. Or perhaps she was trying to point me in the direction of a career as a synchronized swimmer? Actually, these gifts did have one long term effect on my life. To this day, whenever my mom stays at a hotel she brings home a souvenir shower cap for me. Hey, it's nothing fancy, but it does the trick. And a girl just can't have too many, right?

Secret Cajun Man

2009-09-07T18:35:00.000-07:00

For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated with movies or shows where the plot involves a complicated heist scheme. In a parallel universe, I fancy myself as some sort of international spy or bank robber living out my life in a world of intrigue and technical gadgets. I'm not so much into the weapons and ass kicking, as in coming up with a plan where such things aren't needed. My BFF once sent me a horoscope that declared that I was an "ingenious strategist" and I like to think it was a confirmation of my unexplored sneaky superpowers. And I wouldn't work alone, but have a team of talented, yet quirky, accomplices a la Sneakers, Ocean's 11 (but without the jail time), or The Italian Job (go with the 1969 Michael Caine version here). You see, stealing things from bad guys makes it okay, right? And then, there's my personal all time favorite, Sydney Bristow. Sigh. She gets to dress up in fabulous disguises, travel the world, and work with the very lovable Marshall. He takes geeky awkwardness to an art form!

Alas, I'm afraid my espionage dreams are not to be realized. Why, you may ask? Well, for one, super spies probably don't write about being spies on their blogs. (Or maybe I'm just trying to throw you off the trail...hmmmm.) And, perhaps more importantly, I have a hard time walking in heels, much less running in them at top speed to get away from gunmen in hot pursuit. Maybe Easy Spirit can come out with a Getaway line of shoes for me? After all, my mom did always tell me I could be anything I wanted to be. And I might be looking for a new job in the relatively near future. And I already have my secret code name born of mistaken lyrics to the song "Secret Agent Man". Alright, who's with me?

(Don't worry about leaving a comment. If it falls into the wrong hands, this post will self destruct in an Inspector Gadgetesque fashion.)

Friday Night Rites

2009-09-05T20:32:00.000-07:00

The last few hours of work on Fridays are always the hardest for me. Okay, let's see, check my email...Is it time to go yet? No? Um, what if I sharpen this box of pencils? How about now? This is because Friday nights are probably my favorite time of the week. They are my beacon of two glorious work-free days to come. Not that my work is so terrible. Quite the contrary. But give me a chance to sleep in and then do whatever I feel like and, as a general rule, I'll take it. And how do I celebrate such an occasion, you may ask? Well, my idea of a perfect Friday night includes the following elements: a couch, DVDs, and take out. Glamorous, no? It is the perfect time to settle in, tune out, and think about plans for the weekend. And yesterday was especially exciting since I had THREE weekend days to plan for this time! Woohoo! (See, I'm even cheering in retrospect.)

However, my Friday nights were not always so low key. When I was a grad student, my colleagues and I would gather on a weekly basis for a sort of TGIF celebration that generally involved watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean and then huddling around a campfire. We all took turns hosting which meant putting the drinks on ice and stretching our food budget as far as it would go (usually necessitating a trip to TJ's). But sometimes people got creative. There was the time we dug an enormous sea water hot tub in the sand. And the karaoke parties complete with costumes. The time we projected Barbarella outside, so even the seals could appreciate the big hair and shiny fabric. And the time that I (brilliant marine biologist, at your service) became half convinced that a penguin had showed up on our beach. Even though penguins don't, um, live in California. I miss those Friday night gatherings and I miss even more my peeps who use to gather at them. But even then, after I finished my veggie burger and the crowd started to thin out, I would listen to plans being made for the rest of the night and then quietly head up the hill towards home. After all, Netflix was waiting.

Coffee Anne

2009-08-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite memories from growing up is time I spent with my paternal grandmother, who I affectionately called Little Grandma. You see, she was under five feet tall and came from southern Italian parents. (Think Sophia Petrillo, but with a much gentler disposition.) This was in contrast to my maternal grandmother, Big Grandma, who was at least taller than me. Granted this isn't saying much, but still. Anyways, when I would stay with my LG she would serve me these teeny tiny glasses of orange juice in the morning along with cereal and raisin toast. To this day, I feel like juice is a precious commodity that is not to be wasted. Why else would I only be allowed to have 2 oz at a time? And although she frequently complained about my aunt's dogs, who inevitably came along with living with my aunt, she always managed to sneak them a bit of toast with a barely suppressible smile. At lunch time, she would fix me PB&J or egg salad sandwiches and we would watch her "stories". At that age, I don't think I had a clue what was going on in those soap operas, but I just loved getting to have time with her all to myself.

However, the real fun came when my LG got together with three of her sisters, my great aunts. The four of them would tell old stories and laugh until their eyes watered. They could also drink coffee like nobody's business. It could be midnight and one of them would get up to brew a pot to keep the party going. And usually the coffee didn't appear alone. They had this tradition of having some sort of a dessert with their late night coffee that they simply referred to as "coffee an' ". Coffee an' cookies. Coffee an' cake. You get the idea. But all they ever said was "coffee an' ". So, the first time my stepmom heard about this, she wondered who in the heck was Coffee Anne? A family friend who only came over late at night? Of course, the confusion was quickly cleared up, but my stepmom and I decided we liked Coffee Anne being a person too much to give her up. Although my LG and two of her sisters have passed on, I still try to spend time with Anne on a regular basis. I tend to drink tea or cocoa instead of coffee, but she doesn't seem to mind. As long as there is laughter involved. And baked goods.

But What Will I Wear?

2009-08-18T15:52:00.001-07:00

When I was a kid, the first day of a new school year always felt a little bit like magic. I always had the idea that I had grown and changed over the summer and the first day was a chance to reveal the new me. Of course, in my younger years this often had to do with my latest fashion obsession and picking out my outfit for the first day was a serious undertaking. In fact, I didn't consider my re-debut a success unless I could put together smashing new outfits for the entire first week. And I always loved those (granted very unrealistic) teen movies where the heroine gets a makeover and all of the sudden her life is wonderful and exciting. Silly, yes. But, secretly, wouldn't it be nice if that could happen more often? As I got older, New Year's Eve took the place of the first day of school as my annual fresh start. A time to look back at the past year, pack up the baggage, and ship it off...while keeping a few souvenirs from the good parts.

However, recently my life has been turned somewhat upside down (hence the gap in blog posting) and I don't particularly want to wait until New Year's for the next chapter to begin. So, I am officially declaring right now as my next new beginning. Why not? There aren't official rules for this sort of thing, right? (I mean other than having to pick out a spectacular outfit to wear tomorrow.) Now, if I can just get the rest of the world to play along, I'll be all set...

Why would you go to summer running camp in Arizona?

2009-08-02T19:29:00.000-07:00

Why, indeed. Yet, that is exactly what my x-country team decided to do the summer after 10th grade. Granted, the camp was in Prescott which means that the higher elevation cooled things off a bit. But, still. Arizona? Really? To this day, I think that trip was worth it if only because of the many stories we got out of it. Like how it feels to drive across an 118 degree desert in a van with no air conditioning. And how this situation results in searching all over a gas station for your team mates, only to find them hiding in the ice cooler. However, it was really the camp itself that deserves most of the credit. My team and I had driven across state lines to hit the trails and learn training strategies! What we found was perhaps the silliest camp ever. First of all, they woke us up in the morning by running between the cabins with a megaphone shouting "Rise and shine! It's workout time!". So not kidding. Then we would all gather on this big concrete slab and warm up before the morning run. What kind of ingenious moves did they teach us to strengthen our muscles and prevent injury, you ask? Let's just say that I think Richard Simmons would have felt silly doing those exercises. Especially one called "The Freddy", which certain people in my life have forbid me from ever doing again.

In between our morning and evening runs, they had us do other sport-like activities. There was the game of softball in which we had to use a ball of duct tape (because apparently a real ball was over their budget). And then there were a few trips to the pool for "water aerobics" (i.e. they basically told us to tread water for 30 minutes). For some unexplained reason, I managed to lose one of my contact lenses every time we went to the pool and spent the rest of the afternoon like a one-eyed pirate, but without the menacing patch. But the real highlight was The Bonehead Award. At the beginning of every meal, people were encouraged to stand up and nominate fellow campers for this award by telling everyone something dumb they did that day. Congenial, no? This was especially riveting since the nominations went something like this "Um, today, in the shower, John accidentally used the conditioner before the shampoo. Bonehead!" And then there would be much laughter and pointing at John. Well, except for us, that is. While everyone else seemed to think this was the greatest camp ever, my team was in a constant state of incredulity about what was going on around us. Who are these people? Where did they come from?

Towards the end of the week, some of my team mates could take it no longer and decided to do the unthinkable. They stole the Bonehead Award. And for their efforts did they receive hearty congratulations? Cries of appreciation? Sadly, no. They were, in fact, bullied into giving it back! You see, the camp organizers had threatened to cancel The Dance on the last night if said bone was not returned. And, apparently, this was to be the social event of the summer, according to the henchmen sent our way. It was really all too much. By the time we packed up and were headed home again across the sweltering desert, we were certainly no more prepared to take on the x-country season ahead. Instead, we were armed with ridiculous tales to tell people back home and a firm commitment that next summer, we would come up with our own running camp. No Freddys allowed.

Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, Sophia, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch

2009-07-29T19:56:00.000-07:00

I should start off by saying that I am not a morning person. When I was a kid, I think my mom had to wake up a half hour early just to have enough time to pry me out of bed before school. It might not be too much to say that occasionally a crowbar or some sort of wedge device was needed to accomplish this. If left to its own devices, my body would stay up late and then sleep in EVERY DAY. However, since I am trying to be somewhat of an adult these days (notice I said "somewhat"), I have a perpetual goal to get up early and mosey into work at a reasonable time. Lucky for me, one of the perks of being a nerdy academic scientist is that I get to set my own hours. Generally, a weekday morning for me goes something like this:

7:00am

Alarm goes off and I hit snooze or just give up and turn it off.

8:00am

I realize that my goal was to be on my way to work by now and I am still in bed.

8:30am

I am still in bed, musing about how to make getting up in the morning more pleasant.

8:35am

I frantically leap out of bed and perform a chaotic combination of getting dressed, making a lunch, eating whatever is handy, and flying out the door to run to my bus stop.

9:30am

I arrive at work totally exhausted and extremely tempted to take a nap on my desk.

So, as perhaps the ultimate testament to my commitment to see the glass half full, I have devised a plan to enjoy my mornings that seems to be working. I still have to get up at 7:00am and be mostly ready to go by 8:00am, but then I get to settle in front of the TV for a half hour with my breakfast and watch The Golden Girls (thank you Hallmark Channel!!!). No rushing around or crazy acrobatics. Just four nice retired ladies, my bowl of cereal, and me. Not only does this make me happy and relaxed before starting my day, but it gives me a chance to ponder life's big questions. Where will I be when I am their age? What would it be like to grow up in St. Olaf? How can Dorothy wear all of those layers in Florida? I'm not saying that this works every morning or has me skipping to the bus stop with glee, but if it can get me out of bed on even a semi-regular basis, I consider this a huge triumph. Besides, it serves as a reminder that if I don't go to work, I will not be able to realize my biggest dream: To retire. Leisure wear, here I come!

Sleigh Bells Ring

2009-07-28T20:31:00.000-07:00

Continuing on the theme of music-inspired happiness (and dreaming of cooler times during Seattle's current uncharacteristic heat wave), I found myself humming some Christmas tunes today. There is just something about that holiday music that I am addicted to. I have a playlist on my iTunes titled "Winter Wonderland" and it gets plenty of airtime all twelve months of the year. Okay, maybe not all twelve, but at least six. It's like Christmas music has this protective shield where it is perfectly acceptable to just have your emotions out there and ask for what you want with no apologies. Theodore wants a hula hoop, Bing wants a white christmas, and Eartha Kitt wants pretty much everything Santa Baby can buy. At the "proper" time of year, ahem, wherever you go these songs are playing and you can sing along while you finish up your holiday shopping, stock up on red and green cookie sprinkles, and indulge in salted caramel hot chocolates...Sigh. What? Oh yes, Christmas music. Sorry, I think I nodded off there for a minute.

Anyhoo, all consumerism and religious connotations of the holiday aside, that time of year just makes me happy. And the music representing that time of year, in particular, has unexplainable powers to put me in a good mood. Let's just say that you are dealing with someone who has no fewer than five versions of Jingle Bells. I must admit that I am partial to the classics sung by my old favorites (need I mention Aretha again?), but occasionally a new version sneaks in. However, let's face it, once you hear Dean Martin sing "Baby, It's Cold Outside", what else can compare? So, on this night when it is 87 degrees in my apartment, I think it's time to que up a little chilly holiday cheer. All of the sudden, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

Hey Bartender

2009-07-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

There are many awesome things about my mom, but right up at the top of that list is that my mom taught me to rock out at an early age. She didn't go so far as to get me a teeny leather jacket and ripped up jeans or anything, but we often had rock n'roll (and sometimes pop or classic rock) playing in the background at home. When I was toddler, she came up with this brilliant idea for us to turn up the music and dance for a half hour before dinner to get our exercise. Sadly, my lack of, well, grace and coordination kept me out of early training in plies and jazz hands, but shaking my booty to Bruce Springsteen was something I could do straight out of the crib! However, this unconventional lifestyle occasionally caused me to create awkward moments on my mom's behalf. There was the time we were in the waiting room at a doctor's office and Total Eclipse of the Heart came on the radio. While other people quietly flipped through their magazines, I apparently channeled Bonnie Tyler and sang out every word. I think I was four. Or the time when my mom came to pick me up from preschool and found that while all of the other children were singing "Ring Around the Rosy", I was off to the side doing a little Blues Brothers' "Hey Bartender". My mom's excuse to the teacher was that I liked the counting in the song ("Draw one, two, three, four glasses of beer"), but it still raised a few eyebrows.

As I grew older, my mom and I continued our quest for music appreciation. She took me to my first big stadium concert (Bon Jovi when I was twelve) and sat through countless sets by The Beach Boys after Padres games in the summer time. (Hey, I was a kid, okay? It's just what you do growing up in San Diego.) We saw the Eagles when they finally got back together to do a reunion tour, rocked out with Chris Isaak and his shiny suits, and caught Kenny Loggins at the county fair. I think my favorite one though was the time my mother, grandmother, and I went to see Harry Belafonte. And, let me tell you, when he played "Jump in the Line" all three generations were on their feet dancing and singing along! I loved that. So, while my music tastes may have changed over the years (sorry Kenny), I still like to dance around my house every now and then. What can I say, it's a family tradition.

Can't See the Forest for the Trees

2009-07-24T13:04:00.000-07:00

Usually this expression is used to make someone see that they are missing the big picture. It says, "Forget about the trees, will you? Don't you see what's going on here?" But I have always had a hard time with this saying. Because I love trees. Yes, I love them. How could you not focus on the trees? They are these crazy photosynthetic things that look at everything else around them and say "Ha ha! I'm bigger than you!". Okay, so maybe most trees are too dignified to say such a thing, but I promise you they are thinking it. It's not like I grew up in a forest or come from a family of orchard farmers or anything. I just find them aesthetically pleasing and strangely comforting. And I'm not alone here. Have you ever read Shel Silverstein's "The Giving Tree"? Sigh. My opinion of any town or city is generally directly correlated with the number of trees it contains. I think this is a big part of why I love Seattle so much. Trees everywhere! Not only do I like actual trees, I am always drawn to art that depicts trees. Photographs, prints, cross-stitched pillow covers, whatever.

I actually don't have a favorite kind of tree. I believe in equal opportunity tree appreciation. However, there is one tree that I do feel the need to single out. It's a red cedar (who I have quite creatively nicknamed Red) living on the property of my good friends a few hours north of Seattle. Back in high school, at a time when I felt the need to declare my uniqueness and independance (gee, how unusual for a teenager), I announced that when I grew up I was going to marry a tree. I have never been clear about how that would actually go, but I figured I could work out the details later. Anyways, my above mentioned friends were there to witness this declaration and so, when they became the proud owners of some tree-laden land years later, they introduced me to Red and that was that. Granted, it is a long-distance relationship and Red is not so great with correspondence, but he still holds a little place in my heart. So, the next time you are out for a walk, take a look around you at the trees. Maybe even say hello. Silently, of course. I mean, it is just a tree after all.

The Queen of Soul

2009-07-23T18:02:00.000-07:00

Since I have already admitted that I often belt out Camelot showtunes while I am driving alone in my car, I might as well tell you about my other singing passion. Like a lot of people, I am sure I started hearing Aretha Franklin songs in the womb. If it wasn't timeless classics like "Think" and "Respect", it was because I had my childhood in the era of "Freeway of Love". But I do remember the moment I first really heard Aretha. I was riding in my dad's camper on the way to the woods and had rummaged through his tape collection for things to play on my walkman (remember those?) during the drive. I came across an old cassette of hers and, for some reason, the song "Baby, I Love You" totally knocked my socks off. From that point on, I was a fan. Albeit a somewhat lazy one. I am not the type of fan who now has all her albums, has read her biography, and could quote every interview she ever gave. Still, I know she's there for me when I need her. I have this CD of old timey love songs she recorded when she was about 18 that is incredible. Whenever anyone asks me what superpower I would have if I could choose one, I always answer "To sing like Aretha".

Sadly, outside of long distance road trips where I convince myself I sound exactly like her, it is probably best to not subject others to my renditions. But maybe I could try to adopt some of her fashion sense? Yes, I am talking about The Hat. I mean there was really nothing else to do, but be in awe, right? As excited as I was for the inauguration, a part of me just kept thinking "But did you see the hat?". Anyways, I digress. The important thing to remember is that the next time your dog chews your slippers or you burn your grilled cheese, try putting on a little Aretha and see if that doesn't help. I think Greg Brown said it best when he sang, "Cause that'll do as much good as any medicine to make you feel alright."

Reptile Hide and Seek

2009-07-22T15:36:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, my mom and I were asked to house/pet sit for some relatives while they were adventuring in Australia for a month. So we packed our bags and headed north to meet our charges. There were some beta fish, a spider or hissing cockroach of some sort, and then there was Spud. Spud was a very large and very cranky iguana. My aunt was the only one who could approach his enclosure without him putting on his most aggressive airs and he bit my uncle on more than one occasion. Still, we just had to slip a little food and water in when he wasn't looking and that would be that. Or so we thought. On a sunny day, we dropped my aunt and uncle off at the airport, spent the afternoon at the pool, and then returned home to find that Spud was, well, gone. This wasn't supposed to happen. As far as we knew, he hadn't escaped before. Could he really know that my aunt had left the country and now was his time to break free? After some sleuthing, we determined that he had pushed aside the heat lamp at the top of the enclosure and somehow climbed out through the hole. But the real question was "Where the hell was he?".

Skip ahead a few hours when my mom, a visiting pal, and I had exhausted ourselves by checking every conceivable place in the house a 4-foot-long iguana could hide. We nervously crept room to room armed with brooms and mops (our means of protection should Spud decide to attack) and looked under beds, behind doors, and even in the toilets. But he was nowhere. Finally defeated, we decided that someone had broken into the house and stolen him. What other explanation could there be?

Later that night, my pal and I were watching TV and suddenly heard a rustling nearby. We looked at each other wide eyed and yelled for my mom. She came rushing in and checked the offending cabinet where we thought the sound was coming from. Once again, no iguana. About ten minutes later, we repeated this scenario, but this time my mom was weary of our reptilian imaginings. So, she marched over to the bookcase (where we swore the sound came from this time), yanked out a biography of Bob Dylan, and screamed. There, looking through the empty space, was a very guilty looking iguana eye.

Needless to say, none of us were in very good humor to try to muscle Spud back into his cage, so we just taped up the shelf with some cardboard and called a local pet shop the next morning. I don't mind saying that it took two trained animal handlers to get him back in his enclosure. Luckily, the rest of the time passed uneventfully, and Spud lived grumpily for many more years. Although it didn't seem so at the time, this is one of my funniest memories ever. I wonder if Jessica Fletcher ever had to solve a case like this?

A More Congenial Spot

2009-07-21T15:40:00.000-07:00

In my experience, a lot of people have a favorite musical. Even people who don't like musicals per se seem to have learned all of the lyrics for at least one of them sometime in their past. The Sound of Music, Grease, and West Side Story are common culprits. I have a friend who does an incredible version of a number from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. And, if you ever find yourself in a situation where there is an impromptu sing-along (you'd be surprised how often this has come up in my life), picking some popular showtunes is the best way to get the most people involved. However, there are some of us who have fallen for a more obscure musical. One that few of my generation have seen and to which far fewer would know the lyrics. So, for people like me, we generally belt out the songs in secret. For my musical of choice is the 1960 Broadway cast recording of Camelot. (I promise it is a real musical! Julie Andrews was in it and everything!) Yes, Julie Andrews, Richard Burton, and Robert Goulet as Lancelot. Ah, I'm humming some of the tunes right now. I mean, what can compare to ditties such as "Fie on Goodness!" or "The Seven Deadly Virtues"?

When I was growing up, this soundtrack was the one thing my grandmother and I could agree to play when we were in the car together. For as long as I can remember, going anywhere with her meant popping the Camelot cassette into the tapedeck and singing along. I actually still have it somewhere, although these days I tend to rely on my recent iTunes download instead. Not only do I get to have my own personal karaoke show when I am headed to the grocery store, but I get to reminisce about my grandmother too. In short, there's simply not a more congenial spot than heeerrrree in Cam...e...lot.

Out of the Office

2009-07-20T14:28:00.000-07:00

Ah, vacation. Oh yeah, I um, forgot to mention that I would be disconnected from blogland for a while. Leave it to me to just sneak out without saying goodbye. Oops. Don't be mad! Okay then, so where was I? Yes, vacation. For at least one week every year I find it essential to plan a trip to go somewhere with my favorite peeps and do nothing. I mean, I enjoy time with my family over the holidays and the occasional site-seeing getaway, but I can't live without some good old fashioned sitting down time. (See what I mean by embracing my inner geriatric?) The idea is that for a whole week, I sleep in until I wake up and then spend the day doing whatever. Reading a book. Taking a walk. Alphabetizing my coupons. The usual. I know I am incredibly lucky to have even one week a year to do this, but I have to say it always makes me a bit jealous of people who are already retired. Sigh.

However, since I guess I have a good 34 years to wait, for now vacation will have to do. For the past week, I went to visit old friends in the midwest and spent the rest of the time hanging out with my BFF's family in the town where she grew up. Her mom made it a personal mission to stuff us full of good food several times a day. And I don't use the word "stuff" lightly. I'm lucky my pants still fit. Now I have returned home, mostly recharged, and ready to rejoin the real world. At least until my next vacation.

Inglebob Slaptydash

2009-07-06T21:41:00.000-07:00

Some people have a gift that almost seems impossible. Albert Einstein. Leonardo da Vinci. Eddie Izzard. In case that last one doesn't sound familiar, please immediately direct yourself to YouTube and prepare your laugh muscles accordingly. And I am not just talking about the occasional chuckle. Eddie Izzard can have me in a full-on, holding my sides guffaw in ten seconds flat. What is it that makes certain things so much more hysterical if the right person is saying it? Sometimes I wish there was a health care center where you could go in and instead of taking your blood pressure and prescribing pills, they would just give you something to crack you up. I mean, not crack up like you're losing your marbles. Well, maybe just a few marbles wouldn't hurt. (Now do you see why they only let me be a doctor of sea creatures?) In any case, Eddie Izzard. Funny. You get the picture.

When I think about it, the ability to make other people laugh (you know, with you) is really an amazing feat. It makes you happy, it makes them happy. Pretty much a win-win in my book. I feel like my greatest comedic talent is that I can make myself laugh. That's something, right? I mean, I can be walking along and think of something I heard or saw the other day and can't help but crack a smile. Or, even better, I come up with silly responses to things that I know wouldn't be nearly as funny if I said it out loud. But, for the rest of you who don't have the good fortune to tune into my running inner monologue, Eddie Izzard is your man. Especially if you like your comedians like you like your coffee. Covered in bees.

Speedy Delivery

2009-07-05T17:22:00.000-07:00

Say what you want about the ease and efficiency of electronic communication, when it comes right down to it, I still get excited when I get actual paper mail from someone other than Citibank or my electric company. Don't get me wrong, I can sing the praises of email, Facebook, texting, and (more recently) blogging. I am very glad that smarter brains than mine have worked all that out for us. But, getting a card or (gasp) hand-written letter is still one of my favorite things. For a while, when I was in grad school two states away from my BFF, we sent each other a piece of snail mail once a week. Once you get into the habit, it doesn't take much time except for the occasional trip to the post office to pick out pretty stamps. (Why do ATMs and stores only ever have the most boring kind?)

As you might expect, I am one of those weirdos who loves written correspondence so much that I save all of it. Since like elementary school. Yep. I have two big plastic tubs with everything from "Joey wants you to meet him after 3rd period by the cafeteria. I think he likes you!" to "Congratulations on getting your PhD!" mixed together inside. I like to think of it as all of the parts of my life getting to know each other. Someday I hope to go through it all and take a humorous, sweet, and sometimes awkward trip down memory lane. But I think I'll need to steel my nerves a bit first. I mean, who knows what is lurking in there. So, in the meantime, I will keep sending out birthday and holiday cards the old fashioned way and smiling to myself when I receive a little something in return. You know, I wouldn't even mind if I had to invest in another plastic tub...

Sticking to My Roots

2009-07-04T21:09:00.000-07:00

For at least the last ten years, I have had no fewer than four constant housemates. They are the few, the proud, the potted that survived my care once I brought them home from the nursery. Sure, I've had other photosynthetic pals come and go over the years, but these four have stuck it out through several moves and being driven (twice) across three states. When my BFF drove me to California to start grad school many years ago, we packed ourselves into my car with an incredible amount of my belongings and all of the plants nestled in between. There were a few tense moments with an agricultural border control officer and Myrtle (the fern) was very droopy by the time we reached our destination, but we all pulled through. And just last year, when I brought them back to this rainy city, they didn't complain one bit that I was taking them away from the California sun. They just lean a little closer to the window than they did before. Even Amarillo (the amaryllis) whose bulb I watered for YEARS before I got so much as a green shoot out of it, did me the favor of blooming last year in my new home.

My other two plants are of the "I don't know what kind they are, but they look nice" variety. Narcissus got its name by happily growing in front of a full length mirror for years and the other is either named Hndel or Bars. You see, this plant had a sibling that went with a former roommate when we no longer cohabitated and I can never remember which one I ended up with! (Plants are surprisingly forgiving about such things. Especially if you occasionally water them.) And so, despite the risk I have of one day turning into Aunt Gladdy in Home for the Holidays, for now I'm happy with the lot of them. And, based on how little they complain, I can only assume they are happy with me too. Or at least very, very patient.

Murder, She Typed

2009-07-03T16:52:00.000-07:00

You may start to see a theme in this blog which I affectionately call "getting in touch with my inner senior citizen". I have never been someone who wants to be younger than I am. The good, the bad, and the ugly in the past have made me who I am today and now it is time to move on. I do, however, find myself looking to the future. In my future, I own a lovely old house in a small town and start a new career as a fiction writer in my 60's. And when I sit down to type, I laugh heartily to myself and am surrounded by incredibly catchy theme music. The down side is that everywhere I go, someone seems to kick the bucket under mysterious circumstances, but for some reason, people keep inviting me places anyways! This is probably due, in part, to the fact that I have a limitless supply of nieces and nephews to visit. Or at least a lot of young people who call me "Aunt Jessica".

Okay, okay. So my ideal future is somewhat loosely based on a TV show from the 80's. I can't help it! I was probably the only kid in elementary school who looked forward to going to grandma's one night a week for frozen pizza and Murder, She Wrote. Oh, and did I mention my Angela Lansbury scrapbook? Yes, I said scrapbook. I wasn't one for collecting celebrity paraphernalia even in my younger days, but I made an exception for J.B. Sadly, it was lost years ago amidst many moves, but lucky for me, there are twelve seasons of MSW to relive one DVD at a time. Talk about a happy place. Can someone please pass me the popcorn?

I Scream, You Scream

2009-07-02T21:13:00.000-07:00

I have always said that ice cream is not a seasonal food. It's all well and good to have a chocolate cone with sprinkles on a sunny afternoon, but the dedicated few will be there in the dead of winter too. Huddled in front of the fireplace with a blanket, holding the chilled ice cream bowl with gloved hands. My personal theory is that this is why hot fudge and caramel were invented. For me, ice cream is one of the world's great creations. Well, ice cream and its twin sister gelato. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good sorbet and sherbet too, but it's just not the same. When I was a kid, I would stand behind people's chairs at family gatherings, wait until they weren't looking, and then steal their bowl. (Seriously. You can ask my mom.) I would like to say that I grew out of this, but mostly I just don't think I can get away with it anymore.

I will admit that all of this ice cream consumption has made me a bit of a snob. I want the basics in there and not a lot of things I can't pronounce. I get especially excited over local ice cream shops that come up with crazy flavors like balsamic strawberry and honey lavendar (yay for Molly Moon's!). If you happen to be with me on a sunny day where I think I can reel you in, you will probably be strongly encouraged to take me to such a place and not be embarrassed when I dance around with my cone. (Sort of like Balki's Dance of Joy, but with less jumping). So today, when I did a spectacular over-the-handlebars tumble on my way home from work, my first thought after I untangled myself from my bike was "Hey, I think I have Ben & Jerry's at home in the freezer!". And, once again, all is right with the world.

Um, are you going to finish that?

Learning to Let Go of the Rope

2009-07-01T21:23:00.000-07:00

Today is my dad's birthday and even though he's not here to celebrate it, I like to take some time this day each year and think about all of the adventure and fun he introduced into my life. Like the time when I was 6 or 7 and he convinced me to try water skiing, but forgot to tell me to let go of the rope when I fell. Or the time my training wheels "mysteriously" became loose when I had been resisting his suggestions to try riding without them. More than anyone in my life, my dad taught me to get out into the world amidst the dirt, bugs, and large bodies of water. Don't get me wrong, I am no extreme outdoorsy lady who can catch my own dinner with a stick or make myself a poncho out of reeds and ferns. I just know that when I do get the rare chance to get out of town and be amidst the trees, I am calmer than at any other time in my life. My dad had a certain awe for the natural beauty of this planet and paid his homage by dragging the family out into the woods and then making sure we had a damn good time. I know of no one else who could fill his shoes as camp activities coordinator, master chef, and bartender. Now that he is no longer here to lead the charge, I admit that I have been lax about getting out there as often as I should. So this summer I think I owe it to him to make sure I spend at least a few days hiking up something ridiculously steep or taking a trail "shortcut" that ends up being twice as long. And just like I knew he would do, I'll laugh my way through it.

Songs of Summer

2009-06-30T20:22:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, I hear about new music that immediately becomes a part of my life. I am admittedly not a music buff, know nothing of music theory, and welcome everything from classic rock to hip hop. Basically, I like what I like. So, I was getting my daily news fix with Morning Edition the other day (hello, nerd points!) and I heard an interview with Regina Spektor. I had heard a song of hers before, but the interview made me want to give her new album, Far, a listen. Since then I have become addicted to it. When I'm not listening to it I find myself singing lines like "Come and open up your folding chair next to me..." and thinking about being on a beach in the summer. The songs range from upbeat and quirky to slow and heartfelt, but what really gets me is that everything feels very intentional and genuine. Life is a mix of all of these things and listening to this album takes me through the whole range in about an hour, then leaves me wanting to start it right over again. Plus, it makes me wonder how one would go about making a computer out of macaroni pieces.

It's not often that I hear something that I want to recommend to everyone I know, but Far definitely fits that bill. It actually made me dance around while I was doing labwork today. And there is no higher rating of approval than that! Just ask my coworkers.

Chariots of Dire

2009-06-29T22:02:00.000-07:00

In order to not get all carried away with this "looking on the bright side" thing, I will start with something that makes me happy in sort of a complicated, somewhat painful way. Of course, I am talking about running. Now, before you go thinking that I am some kind of health nut, I assure you that I am not and there will be no espousing about the finer points of wheat germ and active cultures on this blog. (No offense to those of you who enjoy such things.) For me, running is about focusing on the essentials. I used to be a purist about running. No music or casual conversations while I was working on my mileage. It was a time to put on some shoes, push my limits, and think. I am not a very fast runner, so it was never really a competitive sport for me. The goal was to get to the point where I could go for a long run and actually enjoy it. Ironically, running isn't really about going anywhere. It's more accurate to say that it is about returning to where you started out, but with a completely new perspective. Sort of like a spiritual awakening, but with wicking fabric and sore muscles.

Now that it has been years since I was a regular runner, I find myself once again wanting to get that feeling back. To know that I can still push myself and come out better for it on the other side. Today I stepped into the running shoes that have been vacationing in the back of my closet since I bought them, grabbed some music, and headed outside. Like many things in my life, I am no longer so strict about limiting my distractions when I run. When I felt like I didn't want to keep going today, George Michael and the Black Eyed Peas convinced me that I had to. And though I know I will be paying with wobbly legs tomorrow, for a while today that old feeling of accomplishment and strength came back. After all, just six years ago, these legs carried me over 26.2 hilly miles. The thought of never doing that again should make just about anyone happy, right?

Things are looking up

2009-06-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

I am, and have always been, a worrier. I think "What if?" might have been my first phrase as a child. The Precautionary Principle has served as something of a religion for me and, while I think it comes in quite handy for things such as protecting the environment, it doesn't exactly encourage fun and a reasonable amount of risk taking in a young person's life. So, now I find myself in my early thrirties, realizing that the glass has been half empty for far too long. A basic sense of responsibility is way too ingrained in me for there to be any chance that I'll quit my job, stop paying my bills, and jet off to the Greek Isles. But maybe it is time for some relaxation and (dare I say it?) outright joie de vivre.

Of course, old habits die hard and it is therefore of no surprise that I am developing my own tailored program of seizing the day. To give you fair warning, there will not be outrageous examples of throwing caution to the wind on this here blog. More like a moderate tossing of caution that lands somewhere relatively nearby. An electronic traipsing through the tulips, if you will. In a sense, my idea is to take a few minutes, as close to daily as I can manage, and put something good out into the world by writing about something that makes me happy. A reminder that even on crappy days when the Cheerios get soggy and my shirt is on backwards (hey, it happens sometimes!), there is a way to accentuate the positive. As my BFF would say, I am "practicing happiness". Plus, this new rosy disposition of mine will be a nice compliment to my newfound addiction to the Hallmark channel, where every cloud does indeed have a silver (if incredibly cheesy) lining.

So starting tomorrow, I will be providing numerous examples of things that put a smile on my face, ranging from the old expected standards to a few which might seem a little more quirky. In any case, it's probably the closest an A-type like me can get to being spontaneous. At least for now.