Virgin 'Shoes No More

See the rest of the pics here.

Finally! A year after I bought those pretty green Atlas 'shoes I actually got to strap them on and press the cleats into soft white snow. Oh, I know all the really cool kids get around the backcountry on their AT setups, but I still like snowshoeing a lot. Besides, I don't have an AT setup yet--perhaps this year, if the fates are kind. I figured this December though, even if I had to go all the way to Ashland to find snow. It turned out we only had to go as far as Shasta.

So the day after an unusually quiet (and therefore enjoyable) Evolution Day, we headed out to the gear shop to rent my brother a pair of shoes, since he traveled light from Vermont and decided to leave his at home. We then sat in the parking lot of the local bowling alley calling various ranger stations trying to find snow. We had originally though Lassen, in which Craig has spent far less time, but thought better of it at the last minute. The problem with Lassen is they close Hwy 89, and you never know if they will close it at the gate or at the impasse of snow. The last time I was there with Gustavo we went in the south entrance and managed to drive all the way up to the snow, which conveniently was at the old ski area. And it hadn't snowed in weeks, and it had been a little warm so the snow was crunchy and crappy, and then soft and shitty, but it was snow and we had the place to ourselves so up the road past Bumpas Hell we went, and had a good time. In any case, Craig and I were afraid of being stopped at the gate and having to hike endless miles of pavement before we saw any white stuff.

So we loosely settled on Shasta, thinking Avalanche Gulch and headed up the highway, stopping for inferior coffee (is there any other kind up there?) in Dunsmuir. As we neared Mt. Shasta, we saw that it was mired in a dark, ugly looking cloud--you couldn't see the summit at all. About this time Craig's girlfriend (who conveniently used to guide on Mt. Shasta) called him back and we settled on a place southwest of the mountain called Castle Lake.

We arrived at the trailhead and were delighted to find only one other car. We got out, gathered gear and packs and headed out toward the lake. We came through a thin copse of trees and I saw a huge, flat open space that looked like a meadow, except it was evenly flat like a meadow could never have been. Craig said that it was the lake. We saw people and a couple of dogs walking across the middle of it, and we gingerly stepped out and tested it. Frozen solid, covered with an couple inches of snow. We marvelled, not knowing it would get that cold at such a low elevation. Perhaps the lake is quite shallow?

We hiked around it to where the trail started and began climbing up the ridge to the east of the shore. Craig said if we gained the ridge to the south, we could pick up the PCT and have fantastic views of both the mountain and Black Butte, which sounded good to me, so we headed that way. At the saddle, we saw 4 guys also out on snowshoes and waved to them as they hiked past us, continuing east. We swung around west to gain that ridge just to the south of us. I made the mistake of taking my all-too-thin gloves off to take a picture, when the cold was already so intense my hands ached and throbbed. The fingers continued to get worse in the short slog up to the next saddle--we almost turned around and went down they started hurting so badly I began to feel sick to my stomach. In the short span of time (20 seconds?) it took my brother to re-don his fleece under his shell they opened up and felt fine, just a little achy. Go figure. I decided that he would be the one taking all the pictures from now on.

So at this point we decided to continue working our way around the perimeter of the lake instead, so we started heading down once we were traveling west. It was an intense sidehill at one point, and those of you who have done any snowshoeing know that they don't do sidehills well, to say the least. Fortunately for us, the snow was relatively fresh and soft--if it had been icy we would have been in big trouble. We made our way down to a cabin that turned out to be a research lab for the limnology department of UC Davis, and then checked out a small boat frozen in the lake ice by its dock.

As we walked across the lake toward the cars, we saw an ominous crack in the snow covering the ice near a snowless patch. As we stepped toward the patch to investigate further, we each heard a soft but sickeningly audible C-R-R-R-A-C-K. We looked at each other and backed away, gently but purposefully striding toward shore. As we approached we saw a little girl on tele skis being led by her dad on foot, and a wolf-like dog joyously running and tumbling across the lake while the girl's mum put on her skis.

It was a short outing, but a thoroughly satisfying one (except for the part about my frozen throbbing fingers). It reminded me all over again that I want to be in a place where such surroundings are an hour and change away so that I may indulge in them often. It strengthened my resolve (as did the palpable feelings of loathing as I drove further and further into the urban sprawl of LA on my trip home) that I need to put myself in a much smaller, slower place, as place where I can lead the simple and beautiful life I crave filled with wild outdoor places. It's those wild outdoor places that renew me and feed my soul. Slow, steady steps for now I guess--I know they will help me break trail to the summit of my dreams.

Hawt

Via Deeky at Shakesville, who remarks:

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God. Probably not so blessed: priests who put the smackdown on each other inside Bethlehem's Church of the Nativity.

If ever there was a case that religion is ridiculous, I'd say this is it. True meaning of Christmas, anyone?

Music For the End of the Year

Sad and inspiring and true on so many levels. And what a voice!

School's Out!

Oh, my aching brain. Shingles have been coming off the space shuttle for sure these last 2 weeks. I feel like I have a hole where my stomach disappeared from all the coffee and mate I've been been sluicing through me, trying to beat my unruly CNS into a sharp enough focus to regurgitate all the symptoms, formulas, herbs, tongues, pulses, etc. one last time.

But it's all over but the shouting, so to speak. No more classes, no more papers, no more projects, no more tests. Just 6 more months of clinic and case management, and a couple more for board review. It has seemed so long in coming, and it feels like it's going to be over before I know what's happened.

For now, I have 3 relatively spacious weeks of only work and patients, and a few days up north with my family. This trimester was challenging and transformational, and not always kind, soI am grateful for the space to rest and recover and surround myself with friends and family, sweet kitties, grindy road rides and transcendent trail runs, maybe even some snowshoeing. I'll swing up the coast to see friends in Cambria and Monterey, then pick up my brother in Sacto and head up to our ridiculous hometown for a few days, maybe wander through Sonoma and visit more friends on my way down, since it's begun to compete with Colorado as a landing spot for me once my work down here is finished. In any case I will be quiet, for I'm possessed of an animal feeling of wanting to gather myself inward and renew with people and places I love with all my heart (and if you know me you know that's an unfathomably large territory!)

That being said, if anyone wants to go for coffee or beers, that would make me all kinds of happy!

In Other News...

I just walked out of the admin office from applying for graduation!!!! It deserves some exclamation points--there have been times when I thought the projected finish date of 8/08 was just a number that would never be real, just something I wrote on my reg forms every term as an exercise in I don't know what. And like you do in AR when you're nauseous and drooling, freezing, hallucinatory elves and fairies keep jumping out of the trees at you, etc. at 2AM and maybe your team isn't quite sure of the nav and it seems like the sun will never come up again, you lean on your 'mates and focus on putting one foot in front of the other and getting to the next CP. And before you know it the sun comes up, you feel better and think "I can make it to the next one..."

And here I am. It hasn't been free in terms of lost time, relationship, and income potentials, finishing 2 months ahead of schedule just enough to qualify to write the CA board this summer (providing, of course, I pass the grad exam in May). I'll squeeze in the Nats sometime between (may as well), and finish the ortho specialty board stuff next December so I can string up the letters DNBAO next to my LAc and then...on to much grander and financially rewarding adventures.

But save the date--March 16, 2008. I have my red FMP's I've worn at all my grad ceremonies since high school at the ready!

Now to go cram me some Wen Bing by 6 o'clock tonight...

WNR Goes to Youtube!

These were made by Ariel, one of guys I used to ride with religiously on Wednesday nights until I married Chinese medicine. The first one is Goat Trail, the second is Josepho Drop, aka Blair Witch (a name I like much better). Neither is an easy trail to clean, let alone ride, but these guys do it pretty well, although Justin does pick some interesting lines down Josepho and runs into a snag. Enjoy, and go ride your bike at night--you'll feel like a kid again.

The Case For Stepping Up Science in Schools

I'm impressed they were able to sex it.

From Recon, natch.

Possibly the Best Use of Bikes Ever

Missed these guys last Sunday when they were in town, but have been meaning to post about them anyway. What is the Pleasant Revolution? A music tour, powered entirely by bike. That means the 800-watt PA system too, by the way. From their site:

OK, OK, imagine this:
Hundreds of cyclists are gathering at your town’s biggest intersection. In the middle of the crowd are 4 bikes thumping James Brown like an armada of lowriders–but the beauty is, there are no cars. Suddenly the crowd thunders into unison motion, rolling loudly through the town, turning heads, evoking cheers and applause...

Do go and read all about it--they are down into Mexico by now, but you can still keep up with the tour, as well as previous entries on their site.

View more photos here.

Bike Parade!

These were shot by 7-How-7, one of my Flickr contacts up in SLO town. It looked like a pretty cool event, especially being one of the Bike Happening crew in costume. I wish so hard I could have gone up to join them--I guess there is always next year. Meanwhile, scroll down on their site and see all of what's happening, check out more Bike Happening pics here, and someone get back to me on what exactly Bike Sumo is...

And at least there is still time to convince Jen to get LACBC a spot in the Pasadena Doo Dah Parade...

Skillz

This first is a guy who can ride rollers with no hands and one leg, via Kevin who suspects he can play all the guitar parts to Molly Hatchet's Flirtin' With Disaster album too:

This one is from my brother, who is wrapping up his first round of law school finals as I am beginning my last round of TCM school finals--ah, procrastination!

This Can't Be Right

And in Manhattan of all places!

Via Raw Story

Nocturne

It is late, or rather early in the wee smas. I am folding up this laptop to finish my paper and silly qi journal tomorrow morning before class. Stretched out on my bed, Zooey is asleep at my feet, and Gibson has tucked himself into a stripey loaf at my hip and fixed me with his wide green gaze. And it is quiet, the vastness of night, a time I have both treasured and loathed. For the last hour my roof and tree leaves have been tip-tapped by a gentle, lazy shower. Tonight I treasure the wee smas. And I wonder who else is awake, falling asleep with me to the rain?

Pumpkin Scramble V Race Report

Race report and pictures are finally up at zdap.com If you've never done one of Kathryn's...ahem... "adventures" (read the race report for explanation) you should--she manages to put on the most fun yet grueling "kid birthday scavenger hunts" around, whether you are a complete novice to adventure racing or a seasoned veteran. I want to race so badly I ache, but the projected Backbone Scramble next summer sounds promising!

My first Pumpkin Scramble included bobbing for apples before passing a checkpoint. My second one began with the buses supposed to transport us to the remote start at 5AM not showing up and all of us having to cram into a Eurovan and a U-Haul instead. Then as we sat quietly in the dark on Topanga Canyon waiting for the race start a pickup drove past and a violent clang! of something flying off of it and landing 20 meters away from us woke us up (turned out to be a machete, and we reflected that it was right before Halloween)...There were plastic pumpkins and glow sticks marking the CP's, trails I had never seen before, a heavily bike-favored latter half of the race in which I discovered that you may be drooling and exhausted in the afternoon but that usually means you'll be the one towing your teammates and humping their gear through the wee hours, and in the end the 1AM paddle at Paradise Cove was cancelled, and I had the time of my life running up the beach laughing hysterically with my teammates because we were so tired we kept tripping. I did Kathryn's Two in the Goo spring scramble the next March and we began with a LeMans start in the form of an Easter egg hunt (one of a 2-person team had to find an egg in the bushes in order to grab their bikes and start the course) and ended up coming in 3rd with my partner Jason and winning some cool tocques.

Thank-you Kathryn for all the time and hard work you give to bring us these--you and your irrepressible smile are an endless source of inspiration!

Quote of the Day, Maybe the Week

From a comment on Phil Gyford's post about statistics on how many Americans own passports:

I don't think they [U.S. citizens] are any more or less insular than we (English) are. They do have trouble understanding people without cars.

Brilliant.

Can you tell by the amount of my posting today how much work I have due tonight? Oh, for December 14!!

25 Skills Every Man Should Know: Your Ultimate DIY Guide

This offering from MSN today I found truly droll, because I think how-to skills "for men" are generally equally important for women. I mean, we all have to take care of ourselves and we pretty much inhabit the same world, right? Stands to reason that skills are skills and anyone should have 'em. And I know that articles on these sites are vapid fluff, but I couldn't help myself, away I clicked.

Now, I know that mixing concrete and hooking up an HDTV should be the exclusive province of Teh Doodz, but rescuing a capsized boater and cleaning a bolt-action rifle rank in the "Top 25 That Every Man Should Know"? Seriously? I would have included sewing on own buttons, ironing own shirts, cooking own meals to the list, but what do I know? I might be smelling a touch of irony, but I just can't tell anymore. And by the way, I can build campfires, navigate with a map and compass and fix dead electrical outlets (Indispensable Dood Skills #7,8,9) better than most men I know.

The comments made me laugh the hardest, as they often do. Especially this quote of Robert Heinlein:

"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently and die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."

Oh, if only!

Why I Love Winter Running

Because trying to stay upright and on the trail as the Santa Ana winds scream down those mountain canyons adds an extra bit of concentration and problem-solving to the outing, as does last week's running through mud pits and adjusting my stride and balance to accommodate the ever-burgeoning clods stuck to my shoes. And what did I spy with my wandering eye as I started my descent down Sully Ridge yesterday? Yeah, a nice field of white stuff blanketing the top of Mt. Baldy. Visions of 'shoe trips and finally learning randonee danced in my head all the way down. MUCH better than getting caught last week behind the helicopter landing to scoop up the guy who had stacked on his bike. Then as now, I wish him well.

The Story of Stuff

This is a 20 minute look at how consumerism impacts the world. Oversimplified in parts it is, and if you grapple with this stuff for a living you'll probably be bored, but it's pretty well done overall, and certainly food for thought, especially for those in the dawning of consciousness about the weighty matters of environmental, social and economic justice, etc.

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

Via Charles.

"All the feminist movement needed to do was bring on someone who had the balls to do something about this glass ceiling business!"

The article made me laugh until I cried--sometimes The Onion is just...perfect.

Do go read, and have a great day!

Now, back to writing the vitae and marketing portfolio due tomorrow night...

See How It Grows

This is my Boddhi Impatiens. It started as a seed kit in an actual 100oz steel can which was given to me by Jen. The first tender green shoot poked its little self through the diatomaceous earth in which it was packed around the time I wrote my clinic entrance exam in March. When I not only passed but posted the high score, I took it as a nice sign, not because I am actually superstitious but because I thought it would make a nice, living metaphor for this last year of "becoming the medicine" as I began to treat patients and tangibly feel out what kind of doctor I will become, at least as far as Yo San is concerned.

And so the shoot sprouted leaves, and the single stalk grew taller. A few new shoots appeared, but then died back. The original stalk grew so tall it began to tilt over under its own weight, grown too quickly for its tiny root system to firmly hold it to the soil, so I clipped a slender support in to help it on its way. I watered, watched and waited. Buds appeared, but the blooms were pale and anemic looking, and began to shrivel and brown at the edges before the flower was even fully opened. And still that stalk grew taller. Kind of like me my first term in clinic--a few small successes, more shortfalls, still so much potential into which to grow.

I knew that the plant needed to be placed in a bigger pot and more expansive environ if it was going to grow to its full potential. I dug out a clay pot from the pile outside my kitchen door, mixed some potting soil with some bone meal, gingerly turned my little charge out of its can and laid it gently into the pot, packing it carefully with soil, and set it outside by my door next to that beautiful flowering tree tragically inflicted with the Yoda-hair mites. And exhaled. And watered, watched, and waited.

The first two days were difficult--that soil dried out so quickly and I came home to find the leaves hanging limply. I've killed plants before by transplanting them. It has been such a long time since I was a little girl helping my grandmothers tend their rich and abundant gardens, I find I don't remember as much as I should. Or maybe I never did, just watched and followed their lead. In any case, the plant survived its first week.

And then I began to see new leaf buds sprouting out of that single surviving stalk
every day. They grew into branches. There were more and more. Soon I saw flower buds everywhere. Then one Saturday as I left with my bike in hand, I saw it had covered itself in scarlet pink flowers overnight. It is covered still, and grows new leaves, new stalks, new branches every day. Occasionally leaves yellow and die, old blooms fade and fall away, making room for fresh bright ones.

As I sit next to it in the morning and drink my tea, I look at this simple flowering plant and think about this.

What Else is On My Reading Table

Ken Lum's Tapping the Source;
Daniel Pinchbeck's Breaking Open the Head;
Candice Pert's Molecules of Emotion;
Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's Flow;
Dean Hamer's The God Gene;
Elkhonon Goldgerg's The Wisdom Paradox;
James Austin's Zen and the Brain;
Rob Schultheis' Bone Games: Extreme Sport, Shamanism, Zen and the Search For Transcendance;
Garth Batista's Runner's High: Illumination and Ecstasy in Motion;
Steven Johnson's Mind Wide Open on the neuroscience of everyday life;
John Skoyles' and Dorian Sagan's Up From Dragons on the evolution of human intelligence;
Norman Maclean (who I LOVE) has drawn me like a moth to a flame into his writing on early Montana smokejumpers Young Men and Fire with the passage:

"They were still so young they hadn't learned to count the odds and to sense they might owe the universe a tragedy."

Yeah, I'm going to be busy for a while...

Steven Kotler is My New Boyfriend, Redux

First, the aforementioned West of Jesus: Surfing, Science, and the Origins of Belief by Steven Kotler. Maybe it is the growing fomentation by too long-stifled wanderlust, or maybe it is passages like:

In The White Album, Joan Didion wrote, "We tell ourselves stories in order to live," then proceeded to tell a story about a time in her life when the stories she told herself began to fail. Which may be how things go for many of us, and it certainly was for me...owing to [my] long illness, it had been too long since I'd been someplace tropical. In the years prior, I had spent chunks of my life in far-flung places. When friends asked why I went, I ticked off a long list of mildly verifiable purposes. The truth of the matter was I went to such places are hard to get to and far away. I wanted to be the kind of person who went places hard to get to and far away. I was interested in places that are far away on maps, just as i was interested in places that are far away in reality. I didn't know then, not like I know now, that such places do not always coincide."

Or this:

Maybe that's how it is for all of us. Maybe that's how things go. Maybe we tell ourselves such stories right up until the moment we can no longer tell ourselves such stories. We believe the earth is flat until we believe it is round. We believe in a geocentric universe until we believe in a heliocentric universe. We believe that heliocentric universe governed by a fixed logic until we believe that heliocentric universe all relative. We believe the speed of light is inviolate, until we find out that entangled particles could outpace the speed of light. Scientists now believe that the quantum world is a world of possibility. They believe that our most fundamental level of reality is not any one firm reality, rather the possibility of an infinite number of possibilities. We cannot find the cornerstone of our foundation because everything and nothing are the cornerstones of our foundation. We live in a world of magnificent maybe. And every now and again someone rattles the bones of the past in the direction of the future in the hopes that a wave will rise.

I want to go on a surf quest (or any travel quest for that matter) so badly I ache physically. Anyone up for kayaking Black Canyon over New Year's? Holla back.

Bike Blogging

I've long suspected that bikesnobnyc is a genius, but now I'm pretty much convinced. B e sure to check out the comments as well, especially mojito's (who alas has no link of his/her own...) Happy Thanksgiving!

Road Riding Rox

For the second Tuesday in a row I have had no work, and am still nursing a bit of post-exam ennui, so I decided to spend today's precious booty of discretionary time on a road ride, this week with a cool new guy from Capetown that I met on my commute from Being Alive last week.

The unruly energy feeling is beginning to creep back in, I think as much from two and a half months of almost total denial of fun or down time as much as anything. Or maybe I'm just smelling the barn and making a crazy break for it because I'm finally so close back to home after this long, long outing. In any case, it's a very good thing that finals are less than 3 weeks away, and these are my last finals ever. There are not words to express how ready and how excited I am to get back to a more balanced and human schedule again, to pick up my music, my books, my friends, my bikes, my trails, etc. and all the things that feed my soul and make my heart sing.

So I picked up the road bike last week, and shucked it of all its commuter trappings. It took forever to assemble everything I needed, and I was 2 blocks from my house before I realized I'd ridden off and left the water bottles stranded on my table. But my lazy start and disorganization paid off as the cold cloud cover retreated and the warm sun took its place--warm enough for a sleeveless jersey, even.

As I wended my way down to PCH I considered my options: should I go for a complete ass-kicking up Fernwood-Saddle Peak that would get my body's attention, or should I listen to the insistent burn in my quads left over from Sunday's dirt adventure and go for a more measured return to sporty life? Yeah, of course--duh! You know perfectly well I chose the ass-kicking because I almost always do. It's my...idiom (Super Nerd Points for those who get that reference).

And it wasn't nearly as painful as I had feared it might be, although I was slow and stopped when I felt like it without apology. It was such a beautiful day--I could almost have mistaken it for spring, except the shadows my figure cast across the road were different. And resigning myself to riding a little slower reminded me all over again of David Byrne's splendid quote about loving to forget, because it makes everything a joyful new discovery again. Since I wasn't obsessed with the computer or obligated to try and keep up with a group, I got to truly listen, to be empty so that I could be filled with the present. I smelled the chaparral on the air, I saw riotous color flecks of wildflowers defiantly blooming like warm spring was around the corner, and the ribbon of black road unfurling itself before me and impelling me shamelessly deeper down the primrose path of clandestine delight over being out in this on my simple, pure contraption of aluminum tubes when by all rights I should be doing something more grownup and staid on a late Tuesday morning. I had the saddle and the descent all to myself. I felt the golden nourishment of the warm sun on my skin. It felt like love. It was love. Everything about such days and rides is love.

Today's ride felt much the same, although the weather was different and we decided to go for Piuma since Chris is fairly new in town and hasn't learned all of his Malibu canyons yet. I picked him up at Ocean and San V and away we dove, down, down chilly Santa Monica Canyon to the coast road below. It was as if the weather has having a tug-of-war between cold damp grey and understated sunshine until we began heading north up into Malibu Canyon when the cloud won out. The whole canyon was bald and frizzle-fried and burnt-smelling from the fires last month. The ceiling was high, but there were swirls of mist blowing through the gaps in the higher ridges, and a wicked cross wind on Piuma that nearly blew me off the backside of the overlook. It was almost cold enough to climb in arm warmers, which for me is pretty cold--somewhere floating around are pictures of me racing the '93 Mt. Baldy HC in the snow wearing nothing but my skimpy little skinsuit and being totally comfortable (until I spent 10 minutes at the top waiting for the team van that had all of my warm clothes for the descent, but that's another story...might I add that the frigid descent through the icy rain was another story still...)

Around Valle Lindo we finally gained the ridge above the thin cloud we had been switchbacking in, and the wind mellowed and the sun felt gentle and warm, the sky open and azure. Chris beat me to the top by a couple of minutes and I rolled up to find him splayed out on the pavement by the mailboxes, like a lizard warming himself on a rock. I smiled 'cuz I like to do that too, and I propped up the bike to join him. Neither of us said anything, just sat quietly listening and enjoying our endorphin cocktails. Somewhere down the canyon there was construction, maybe more of the fire crews we saw starting to shore up the scorched earth hillsides against the rains that are surely on the way. There were birds singing, and a plane flying overhead, and a low-pitched roar that was probably faraway traffic but I like to think is the sound of life ringing through the mountains like it has since long before we were here to hear it, and will until long after we are gone.

The chill of the descent woke me right up, and the mist was so heavy you could smell it, practically taste it. I was glad I had stuffed my bulkier rain jacket into my pocket and didn't care if it made me look ridiculous. The ride back in on PCH had the definite feel of an afternoon late autumn ride, and Sunset Beach was just beginning to fill in and shape up. I wished I could have spent the whole afternoon relaxing, having coffee with my new friend and maybe reading time on the comfy couches at that little place on Ocean Park that featured the single-most god-awful Joni Mitchell rip-off act I have ever heard last Thursday night. But, alas Shang Han calls, at least for 3 more weeks.

There is always next Tuesday though...

Who Says Desserts Aren't Always Right?

From my fortune cookie at this awesome little hole-in-the-wall Thai place near school, today:

"Pequeña pero picosa."

Indeed.

Only 36 More Shopping Days Until Xmas!

And if you are shopping for those with an unnatural scatological fixation, this list has you covered. I especially love the Playmobile Haz Mat Team, but that's just me...mysteriously, Security Checkpoint didn't make the list.


In other news, I just finished my penultimate Qi class (an excruciating way to spend a precious weekend, but I'm exultant the grad requirement is now filled)--only 4 more weeks of everything else to go! Whee!! Now to Hinano's with Jen, Paul, and Devin to celebrate--and the awesome cover band, the step dancing with old salt dogs in cowboy hats, the skinny blonde with the knot of jade at her throat who lines up men at the pool table and polishes them off, one by one like the line of quarters pending games on the rail, who doesn't take any crap from the mec who tries to tell the little lady how the game is played. That place never disappoints.

Calling All Visionary Women

My friend Kevin emailed this link to Quicksilver's sponsorship project to support young women with kick-ass ideas and dreams to me and Jen, with the comment "You two are the most visionary women I know". Beyond whether or not I would be awarded such a thing, to even be thought of that way by others is not only one of the most uplifting compliments I've ever been paid, it's also a gratifying validation that my inner faith in myself and what I am trying to with not only my career but also my time on earth is shining bright and visible to others. It is confirmation that it is not my imagination that all of the threads I have been spinning all of my life--personal growth, spiritual development, intellectual achievement, etc. are finally beginning to pull straight from what seemed like a tangled and confused mass on paper into a rich, vibrant and cohesive living yarn. It is no accident that just about every day reveals another jewel of creativity or flash of inspiration.

Unfortunately, I am too old for the Quicksilver deal by about 4 years, but I know there are other opportunities for such support out there. Ideas abound. Wednesday night we heard a lecture from the man who brought Yin Care, a widely used and very classic formula in China, to the U.S. It has grown from a GYN remedy to have applications for derm disorders, burns, infections, periodontal disease and oral health, etc. And it all began because he was interested in herbs and wanted to visit China to see how it all came together. His passion was true and he followed it, and it ended up finding him.

The last Building Mama newsletter had news from my classmate Denise, who moved up to San Fran last spring to start her new practice life. Besides her more traditional practice settings, she also devotes a couple of days a week to doing ear acupuncture on sex workers in the city. Todd is teaching, seeing his own patients, working in a super high-end orthopedic practice in Manhattan Beach and is expanding his teaching to CEU orthopedic seminars. Andrea Thorpe, from whom my current given clinic moniker "hot shot" was derived, got the Tao of Wellness Fellowship, is teaching, and seeing patients upstairs with Julie Chambers. Kim just announced she is seeing patients 3 days a week in a beautiful integrative practice in Santa Monica, about one month out of licensure. Amy just happened to be passing through Long Beach one day, saw a cool-looking practice and went in and told them she loved the look of their place and could she please work there, and they hired her on the spot--she has more patients than she can shake a checkbook at (yes, I know I'm being ungrammatical. Deal.) They are all leading happy, balanced and abundant lives, and the most heartening thing is that I went to school with all of them not so long ago.

I am setting this down here if for no other reason than I will have an easily-found source for when I am getting too bogged down by the details and begin to lose perspective. It is out there, it is real, it is within close reach, if only one has the courage to seek.

For a Cute Waste of Time...

click here for cats or here if the puppies more easily slay you. It sucks you in. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Steven Kotler Is My New Boyfriend

This original post got eaten by my computer's anemic battery reserve, but suffice it to say his writing is amazing and I'm in love with West of Jesus. I'll try to fix it during Shang Han tonight.

Music For a Saturday Night

Owing to an unfortunate and deeply sorrowful change of plans I found myself all dressed up this weekend with no particular place to go. Certainly not out of town, away from all this to celebrate the end of midterms, the announcement of a bitchin' and lucrative new job (which unfortunately dear readers, is still pending), the return of my beloved little Saab Lars to my life, and other details I'd really rather not talk about here. I mean, I worked so hard to be able to get the time off, I even went without proper food for a few weeks to save up the dough, I found a gorgeous and sexy new dress for a ridiculous sale price that goes perfectly with my brand new found-in-the-alley beautiful boots, etc. So, plan B.

Some actual bona fide true grime, a run up Westridge that didn't hurt nearly as much as I was afraid it might on Saturday and a mountainbike ride through the cloudy, cold drizzle as the canyons exhaled and smoldered fingers of mist on Sunday. I even ran into an old adventure racing buddy I haven't seen in about 5 years. Plenty of time to relax with the bunnies, an exquisite jasmine tea given to me by my wonderful friend Henry and a fantastic new book (more on that later).

Then out to remind myself of what it feels like to be human, to be a pretty girl out with friends with no cares for the evening but laughing, dancing, and having fun. My good friend Paul turned me on to these guys last Saturday. Go watch! Go see them live when they come to your town. I now have such a crush on Mare Orrell--she's spectacular!

On Sunday, I continued my social jag with Jen, who was invited to a gala for an organization which had earlier in the year helped hers with their LA River Ride. There was promise of "elegant desserts and premier cognac". There was a bill for a performance by someone named DuDu. We had to find out what this was about. It turned out to be a little less than electrifying, but the dessert was in fact quite elegant and the cognac (or the rest of the bar) was quite nice as well. We met her friend who had invited her and shut the place down with them. I

Best Film Fest Evah!

So I went with Jen to a little fundraiser for her bike advocacy organization Los Angeles County Bicycle Coalition on Sunday night. We met a group of 30 or so super cool and like-minded people, some from LACBC, some from Bicycle Kitchen and other bikey spaces and watched some awesomely awful safety films from the 50's, 60's, and 70's. Part of it was definitely the collective theater experience, with people talking back to the screen, but mostly it was just unabashedly craptacular production values made for comedy gold. No, comedy platinum. You get the idea. And what a spectacular idea for a fundraiser--the possibilities are...well, not limitless, but certainly myriad. So here is the program, as best as I could root through YouTube to find links to the actual videos. I couldn't find the actual "Talking Car" version that we saw, but the one up above is the exact same schtick, complete with the animated features overlaid on the car. Jen liked the Safety Patrol the best, I think I agree. Enjoy, and for goddess' sake be safe!

I Like Bikes
Knife Throwing
One Got Fat
LSD Hotdog
200
Safety Patrol
Shake Hands With Danger
Bicycle Clown
Safety With Animals

Bike Commuting is "Scientist-y!"

Or so sayeth the wonderfully colorful volunteer at my first Being Alive clinic shift on Monday after finding out I get around on 2 wheels instead of 4. He then clarified that bike riding was something that scientist types would do, and then described some docu about human-powered vehicles he'd once seen and found fascinating, as I'm sure, no doubt it was.

I've been celebrated as many things, but this was definitely a new one. I think I'm going to like working there!

John Muir Wilderness Trip Report

(To see all the photos, go here and click on the JMW 2007 album)

So as usual, I dutifully pack the trip journal but end up so busy hiking, cooking, packing, etc. there’s no time to keep it!

This summer’s walkabout was considerably changed and shortened from the original plans, although the epic factor was certainly not. First I went from a me to a we. Then, our we went from a planned loop around Blackrock and Sawtooth Passes in my beloved Mineral King to a 4-day tromp through the John Muir Wilderness since the latter allows dogs, and this was to be a maiden backpacking adventure for one certain skinny black Santa’s Little Helper incarnate who Peter recently rescued.

And oh, how the JMW did not disappoint! It was stunningly beautiful, and pretty much devoid of humans—leading to an over/under gamble the details of which need not be discussed here. We saw one couple (with dog!) on our 2nd morning, and no one else until we were on our way out, about 2 miles from the trailhead (although one guy did report that when he was out at Devil’s Punchbowl 2 weeks prior there were about 16 people camped there…so lucky us!). I usually associate it with the east side, but it actually stretches all the way across to the west, accessible out of Shaver Lake, and future trips are definitely warranted!

Trip prep was complicated by last-minute notice Peter's building was going to be tented for termites, but we finally slipped out of town with food, gear, and Merckx the star trail dog before dawn on Thursday. Watching the sunrise over the hills as we sped over highway and then up into the foothills I felt exhilarated to be finally leaving behind the dailiness of my life for a week. Merckx, who is usually seen off-leash as a black streak of light, the secret of perpetual motion, was considerably slowed down by the weight of his pack filled with his food and two bottles of wine (bubble-wrapped with care in case he took off running and banged them against some granite boulders), to the point of almost behaving like a well-trained dog (note for future outings…)

We set out along the Maxson trailhead toward Rae Lake, a destination 13 miles of mostly climbing away. The day was an alternating series of forest and meadows, some deep sandy patches of trail and some rude little pitches of switchbacks in the last 4 miles or so. Peter was working with a sprained ankle and a heel blister, and I was working with general sub-par fitness, and by the time we saw the waters of Fleming Lake (about 10 minutes shy of Rae) we were only too happy to plunk down the packs for the day. The only member of the expedition who was totally unfazed by rigors of the day was Merckx, who tore (and I do mean tore) about the place like a pack of wild horses for the rest of the afternoon and pretty much all night.

We took advantage of the solitude by stripping down and jumping (ok, Peter dove with a joyous yelp, I waded up to my knees and then soused myself) into the lake, which was not as cold as it might have been but was…bracing…nonetheless. And delicious to have a bathe after a warm, dusty day on the trail.
The next morning started lazily with sleeping in, slow breakfast, a creek-hopping game, then some taking turns reading to each other from Jared Diamond’s The Third Chimpanzee (don’t pretend you don’t think that sounds like fun—you know you do!) and generally planning on spending a gentle day exploring sans packs. Until the aforementioned couple with a lab named Baxter happened through, and told tales of how amazing the lakes Disappointment and the Indians were. Peter and I looked at each other and knew—we were striking camp and heading north.

We clambered up a granite ridge after losing the trail at Rae and discovered that Merckx’s load limit was food and wine, no extra Nalgene bottles. Even without them, the supposedly dumb dog figured out how to dump his pack and frolic free in the meadows until Peter tricked him into coming near enough to tackle. As we made our way across the rest of the meadow, Peter saw a dozen or so rainbow trout stuck in a tiny pool of a dying streamlet. We got out the mesh stuff sack from the cookset and dredged the pool with it, putting the fish we caught in our Nalgenes and then high-tailing it up the headwall to Upper Indian Lake. We were too late though—the fish died anyway, so we went to plan B and cleaned them for dinner.

Upper Indian is a gorgeous spot as well—a large lake nestled in a small basin, the terminus of the trail up against Mosquito Pass. There were no humans there, either, although we did see deer and bear tracks stamped in the sand of the shore. We scrambled up the rocks above the pass with the bottle of pinot to watch the sunset and Merckx play at being a mountain goat. The fresh-caught trout made a delicious opening course, so delicious we didn’t have much leftover room for the dinner we’d made. This time Merckx stayed in the tent with us and kept us awake most of the night from shivering and shifting about.

The next morning we took our coffee sitting on a rock overlooking the lake at sunrise. We struck camp and started off, and like the day before Merckx just stood and howled and cried like we were leaving him to die until Peter took him by the collar and started him moving down the trail. We were planning on staying at Disappointment Lake, a mere 5 mile trek, until we both realized on the final climb that meant a long, long hike on our exit day. So we took a couple of snaps and acknowledged that it was indeed very beautiful and a handy jumping-off spot to explore the whole Red Mountain Basin (a future trip?) and headed south toward Devil’s Punchbowl and the Kings River.

Not far from the Punchbowl the trail crossed a granite slab and dematerialized. We figured we would aim off to the right in the general direction of where the trail was headed in order to pick it up, or at least reach the lake and pick up the trail going south on the other side. However, as we hiked and hiked, climbed over ridges and along drainages with no lake in sight, we realized we’d aimed so far off we completely missed it. It took another hour or so of descending (we knew the river and the river trail would be unmistakable catchment features) to figure out we were in the Fleming Creek canyon, and we decided to keep following it down and hope we didn’t get hung up in an impassable gorge or some such luck.

Which we pretty much didn’t, and we got to walk down a route relatively few humans have, and see vistas that would have been obscured by the very high ridge wall had we taken the proper trail as planned. Even toward the bottom where the creek deepened into a narrow high-walled granite chute with a yawning gradient, we skirted around the side and finally popped out on the bank of the Kings River. And still no sightings of people!

We found a perfect campsite in view of the slow gentle flow between shallow sun-warmed pools and wide expanses of weathered river rock granite. Bathing and sun-drying as the river chirped and gurgled past us, Merckx hopped up to join us for a brief nap, worn out at last. We saved our best dinner (tamale pie!) for last, and when it was finally ready Merckx joined us to cross the river and scramble up above it to say goodbye to the sun and hello to the moon as we ate it. We built a small fire in our tiny ring and sat mesmerized by the dancing flames and breathing embers as Mercxk dug himself a hole in the sand and hunkered in for the night, not to be moved until morning.

The first light revealed more of the clouds that had begun to steal in the day before, and we knew that rain was supposed to be coming that day. This was the most unforgettable coffee day yet, sitting on a large block of granite smack in the middle of a river whose surface was as still and clear as glass, perfectly reflecting the sky and spears of treetops above it. It was hard to leave such a quiet, beautiful place, but pack up we did, climbing out of the river canyon to follow a tributary up to Post Corral Meadow and back out the way we came. Peter stepped up that section to double-time, and just when I had to stop and cram a few handfuls of gorp I realized we were at the top of the last climb. As we started down, we saw a man with a dog named Magic who told us he was here 2 weeks ago and saw all those people at Devil’s, and that he had been hiking these mountains since he was 16 and was 62 now. We wished him well and passed his wife coming up the trail behind, and sped on toward the trailhead. Peter came within 2 humans of losing his over/under gambit in the last 2 miles, but squeaked it out. The trail mix bag in which Peter had placed the key had in fact been gnawed by some rodent or other (as had his pack the night before) but other than that we made a quick getaway.

Merckx passed out in his food bowl and slept, kicking the back of Peter’s seat all the way home. We stopped in Paso for some food and could practically taste the hot showers we were going to take as soon as we got to SLO. Remember the termite tenting? Why on earth did I mention that? To set this moment up: Peter discovers after standing in a cool shower that never got hot that not only was the water heater pilot out, the gas was never turned back on by the Gas Company after the tenting. And it was Sunday. And they don’t send techs out for such things on Sunday. Etc. Etc.

But we figured out a contingency, and finally curled up clean, fed, and happy together in a warm, comfortable bed, a blissful end to an awesome adventure.

I Will Heretofore Be Known As

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Duchess Laura the Indefatigable of Dicken St Charles Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

What else would I do on slow clinic days when my beloved is too busy to chat?

True Porn Clerk Stories

True Porn Clerk Stories: For consideration when you think your job is driving you bonkers. And also for a highly amusing and educational read.

Finally! A Breath of Hot Air in the Blogosphere!

From Chris Clarke over at Creek Running North, a way to settle blog kerfluffles expediently by using only logic and not messy emotions which make no sense: it's the BlogWarBot!! It's hilarious until you realize it reads just like a "discussion" with Billo. Then you just have to shake your head and back away, 'cuz like an episode of the Factor, this one's not going anywhere enlightening.

My transcript below (although Jack Goff's is way funnier here):
BlogWarBot: I'm BlogWarBot. Are you one of those radical feminists?
Guest: That depends on what "radical feminist" means to you.
BlogWarBot: What business is it of yours?
Guest: Exactly.
BlogWarBot: So if I might ask, what's your take on that last blog spat?
Guest: Wev.
BlogWarBot: So if I might ask, what's your take on that last blog spat?
Guest: Whatever.
BlogWarBot: You're asking a lot of questions for someone who's supposed to know it all.
Guest: I'm not asking any questions at all.
BlogWarBot: Do you think I care about your not being asking any questions at all?
Guest: Why should you? I don't.
BlogWarBot: I'm sure you've oppressed a woman intoing for you.
Guest: Probably. You haven't?
BlogWarBot: In your dreams, jerk.
Guest: Ah.
BlogWarBot: O HAI U CAN GRO BRANE? KTHX ^..^
Guest: Since I can hardly type coherently for laughing, I think we're done here.
BlogWarBot: You think? I haven't seen any evidence of that.
Guest: I love you BlogWarBot!
BlogWarBot: Look. We'll fix all that once we take back the Office of Management and Budget.
Guest: Never in my life have I felt so full of love!
BlogWarBot: While I'm thinking of it: Are you registered to vote?
Guest: Yes. Are you?
BlogWarBot: What the hell does that matter? We have to enact campaign finance reform!
Guest: Touché.
BlogWarBot: No substance. Lemme guess: you voted for Lieberman.

And seriously, after you've enjoyed the BlogWarBot you should sift through and read some of Chris' other stuff there and over at Pandagon--you'll know why he's one of my favorite bloggers evah!

File Neatly Under "Plus Ça Change, Plus C'est La Meme Chose"

I know I say this every time, but this is unbelievable. Let's just reprise that Victorian Cult of True Womanhood bullshit of our foremothers* and go back to poisoning ourselves with arsenic to look like sickly invalids and be done with it. Women who look sick, weak, starved, broken etc. are super sexxeh hawt!!!

Meh. I'm off to make myself a cheese sammich.


*if our foremothers were, of course, upper/middleclass and white, and therefore eligible to be "true" women. Working class and/or WOC were conveniently made of hardier stuff and so could be put upon without a second thought to slave in fields, factories and kitchens everywhere.

Stunning

First, this gem
juxtaposed against the head-exploding irony of Katrina survivors losing their insurance suit appeal on the same day:

"We in the federal government must respond, and respond robustly, to help the people there not only recover, but to make sure that lifeline of activity — that bridge — gets rebuilt as quickly as possible," Bush said in the Rose Garden following a Cabinet meeting.

Next, by Steve Flynn over at Popular Mechanics, a much more interesting and important framing of the bridge collapse as an inherently political policy issue.

And finally, some good news for a change! The US Senate has voted 68-31 to pass the Children's Health Bill. Yeah, the one Shrub has repeatedly threatened to veto on the grounds that making publicly funded healthcare available to children in need would "encourage" families to swap out their private personal policies in order to suck off the gub'ment teat. Or wev.

Formula Blogging

Yue Ju Wan

is 9 Levels of Awesome!!!
I feel just all kinds of happy now that I can breathe again. Today is a day when I love, love, love traditional Chinese medicine.

Magnificence For a Monday

and boy could I use some after the morning I've had, between the Admin's torpedo job of my whole economic plan for next year by scheduling one of my required classes for Monday mornings when I had planned to be teaching (yeah, I know it's nothing personal, but still--since teachers are by and large hired in the fall and not in, say, January) and having a particularly emotionally difficult case this morning. They say as providers who genuinely care about their patients it can be hard to find the most effective place between giving compassion and maintaining professional distance, not to mention how you deal with your own feelings of fear and helplessness when you get someone whose prognosis is poor. More on that later, maybe--I need to process it a bit more.

But a friend sent me this this morning, because she knows how much I love the incomparable Celia Cruz. I say it couldn't have come at a better time, so please enjoy it with me!

Dave Chappelle Wants Tony Snow's Job

It's true--go look!

All I can say is I would never miss another press conference again...

The iPhone Is a Piece of Shit and So Is Your Face

Maddox reviews the iPhone. I got this from Shakes, who got it from Chris, it's really quite funny.

But be warned--as Shakes notes, don't click through if you are easily offended, 'cuz you probably will be.

Going to 11 on the Stupid Dial

Checking the Yahoo mail I couldn't resist clicking on this trenchant (and by trenchant I mean completely banal, in an intelligence insulting kind of way) bit of dating "advice" from Evan Marc Katz who himself is (gasp!) still single. But whatever. He's a dood living in Dood Nationz so he knows best. Then I found that both Amanda (and do note the irony of poetic proportions that is Google Ads) and Jeff have already done both exemplary and snarktastic jobs of excoriating this piece of puffy cobaggery, so I don't have much to add, except to feel that if I were a man I would be totally insulted by this. Are any men who may be reading this insulted? Just curious. As a woman I'm just rolling my eyes because plenty of boyfriends have told me my most salient points (e.g. not wearing makeup, not acting like a doormat) are supposedly what turns teh menz right off.

I had been going to pick #9 as my favorite (" Cooking dinner for a man is like buying flowers for a woman, except it takes a lot more time, effort and thought for you to do it. Thanks. We appreciate it.") since the condescension is just-mwah! magnifique!!, but then I got to #11:

Just because we like looking at the women in Maxim doesn't mean we want to actually converse with the women in Maxim. Not for long, anyway.

Um...yeah. Thanks, Evs--I feel so much better! All along I just needed to lower my standards--because everyone knows that being single and happy on one's own terms is worlds worse than being in a relationship with a total douchehound who insults one's dignity. I'm going to go and get me one of those Nice Guys® right now!

The Satire, It Writes Itself

Check this out and then tell me men can't be feminists. Sweet milk chocolate Jeebus.

New Blog on Fat and Medicine!!

Kate Harding who blogs at Shakesville and Shapely Prose is starting a new blog in the wake of all the stories she has been getting from readers about being fat and trying to get healthcare. As a future care provider and someone who definitely does NOT agree with all the hatred and misinformation about the so-called obesity crisis, I'm pretty excited about this. Of course links will be posted when it is up and running. In the meantime, do click on the link to Shapely Prose above and read some Thorn's posts as well as their comment threads, but be warned you may want to cry, smash things, or both.

No Vacuum Here

Here is the link to Jack's post on street harassment over at Feministe I had mentioned earlier. It's a fantastic post so be sure to read the whole thing, then follow the links to the Brian Lehrer show and catch that as well.

Pay special attention to the exchange between host Lehrer and a caller named Shane who displays just stunning levels of sexist assholery and is the perfect foil for deconstructing the power trip inherent in harassment. That such men do not really think they will attract a woman, but rather it is about putting her in her place, as a sexualized object that is gazed upon and evaluated, whose default response to such objectification should be gratitude that someone with a penis finds her fuckable, as well as an awesome discussion of the agency of women themselves who may or may not want to "dress sexy" or attract attention for various reasons.

There is also an interesting discussion about the "heterosexual framing" of harassment and how being queer may or may not figure into it which throws the genderedness of the whole thing into even bolder relief. Just go read--you'll be glad you did.

Rufus Wainwright - Going to a town

A quick bit of Democracy Now! on the way to school inspired me to post this, besides thinking that Rufus Wainwright is wildly talented as a musician and songwriter. I feel tired of America too.

I Dream of a World, Follow-up

I started this over in a comment thread of someone else's post, and it grew and grew so I decided to post here. Last night I was just too freaked and angry to write much more than I did.

So last night I was a good kid and did my dishes and cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. Then I felt kind of restless and crappy, so I went out for a walk up to the Elvis shrine and back. They are decked out in summer fun islander garb, which is appropriate. I think my favorite is the bunny ears for Easter though. Or maybe Christmas Santa hats:


I met the most awesome Siamese kitty, which made me happy too.

And then I was almost home, walking by Grant Elementary and I heard a car pull up and drive slowly behind me. So I turned around, car kept driving, I kept walking. Sure enough this underwear shit-streak leans toward the passenger side and makes a disgusting comment about my legs and the implied quality of my vagina, and how was I doing tonight, baby? and why didn't I not walk myself on over to him and not be rude 'cuz he just thought I was sexy was all...

So I kept walking and looking straight ahead like he wasn't even there, even though I had already started scanning for an escape route without even thinking about it like I always do, even though my blood was pounding in my ears and my hear was hammering in my chest, even as I was wondering if THIS would be the time I was physically and not just verbally as usual reminded that my body was ultimately not my own. But apparently my unwillingness to play along exhausted his patience and he mumbled something and sped off, but then stopped at the next block and waited. And then drove slowly on a bit, and then stopped and waited. I slowed down too, waiting to see what he would do. He finally turned down 26th and sped off, so as I got to 25th I turned and started heading south.

And he came up behind me AGAIN, slowed down and lurked, but then took off again without saying anything. At this point I just ran home as fast as I could, figuring I would make sure no one was watching before I darted into the Maze to lock myself up in my apartment. Which no one was, so I did. But it freaked my the fuck out, even though it's not the first time something like that has happened to me and I know it won't be the last. Even though I've found myself in even scarier encounters. Even though I know I will still go out and live my life. And it pissed me off too, because if I were to relate this anecdote, even if people were polite enough not to come right out and ask me what I was wearing, why was I out taking a walk alone in my bourgeois neighborhood after dark etc. but they sure would be thinking it. Which is a very human thing to do, on the one hand--if we know that people are to blame for their own misfortunes, then we can avoid similar fates and thus maintain the illusion of control. On the other hand, it's absolutely infuriating, because I was not the one in the wrong, he was. Where is the outrage that some people feel totally free to be violent misogynist assholes instead of the resignation that boys will be boys or wev and there's nothing to be done, why bother.

I don't know how to get across what it feels like that it is so normative to have this awareness everywhere you go, with everyone you are with that it hardly even registers half the time. Or how it feels to know that your choices of where you can go (in the larger sense of life as well as where you feel like spending your evening) and when, and with whom are limited because of that, and how inherently fucked up that is. Or what it feels like to be grabbed by the ass or the breasts or the hair, to be masturbated to on the bus, to be threatened with rape, torture, and death for daring to speak to power instead of shutting up and putting out bitch like what you were put on this earth to do, and then to be told you are a feminazi, making a big deal out of nothing, that you are being too sensitive and just need to develop a thicker skin and be tough like teh menz instead of whining like a little pussy girl, you shouldn't have worn that skirt/heels/modest kindergarten teacher attire, what were you thinking going out without a man to protect you 'cuz everyone knows that a woman without a man is fair game for poaching and I mean that in every sense of the phrase.

Breathe. Blink. Swallow.

I know things could have been much, much worse and there but for the grace of God go I, but I'm so tired of this shit I could scream and cry buckets. Except sometimes I'm afraid if I ever started I may never stop.

I Dream of a World...

in which I can go out minding my own business and not be accosted by kerb-crawling mouth-breathing fuckwits who think their attention is flattering rather than terrifying.

Reading For Monday

This will be a working post, since I keep getting interrupted by patients who need their needles pulled and their ginormous and complicated Rx's refilled, so keep checking back. But so far...

Neddie: Perhaps The Most Juvenile Thing I've Ever Posted (and just when I'm realizing there may be some frequent road travel in my future...and the comments thread is NOT to be missed!)

Zuzu: John Travolta: The Best Part of Playing a Woman is the Groping on the upcoming and sure to be obscene travesty that is the Hairspray remake

Will Ferrell as Shrub on global warming (can't decide whether to laugh or cry? why not do both...)

The Onion: Edwards to End All Bad Things by 2011

Taking Steps: phone booths, iii: snakes and ladders. (an older post I've been meaning to put up for weeks now...sigh.)

Red Thread: Feminist Parenting Palooza

One of My Greatest Fantasies Ever

What? Tell me you don't want your own posse of Ninja Kittenz!

One Kitty World, One Kitty Love

No really, it's true! Check it out:

They are all from the Near East wildcat clave and they are the amongst the most successful carnivores evah!

No wonder I call them kin. Just when I thought they could be no more fascinating creatures! Sometimes it's cool to be wrong.

Planet Unicorn 4!!!

So I was over at Shakesville this morning and was excited beyond belief over this--I LOVE Planet Unicorn and you should too. Latest episode below:


Episodes: 1, 2, and 3 if you haven't already seen. Episode 3 is especially for us bikey types--fantastic!!

Music For A Monday: The Hanslick Rebellion:

Posted especially for Miles, because I said I would, and for anyone else having a case of Teh Mondays. Love!

William shatner in Lucy in the sky with diamonds

This fanatsic piece of fan art was uploaded at a small company and then promptly removed after the word got out. It is a a brilliant video to one of the oddest covers ever recorded by Captain Kirk. And he recorded a bunch.

Two Read 'Em's

One is Saturday Surf Blogging, a new regular feature from Brynn over at Shakesville which I think I'm going to really enjoy.

Also not to be missed at Shakesville this weekend: Melissa's inimitable and incisive take on Peggy Noonan, who has always read like the sound of someone with a mouthful of fillings chewing on aluminum foil. As usual, Liss says it better than I ever could.

Have you ever watched--I mean really watched--a cat clean his or her toes? If not, then you should, because it is singularly amazing how fiercely they can dive in between them and not get their tongues tangled up in all those claws. That is all.

Fireroad 451*

OK, maybe not quite that hot. But a bona fide scorcher nonetheless, so much so that my Reddingite heritage of 110+ days all the time all summer long came in quite handy. You can clearly see the numbers in the photo of my Vector, right? Plus it made sure that I would have the whole 9.5 miles of fireroad and trail pretty much all to myself, coming and going.

It is now July, and officially time to start ramping up for the summer trip. I had wanted to do what I did last 4th and take the Idlehour trail from Henninger Flat over to the top of Mt. Lowe. But there were so many bugs in the shady parts of the Toll Road leading up from Henninger I thought better of dropping down into that deep creek canyon. Plus I indulged my abiding and totally psychological aversion to descending into faraway and lightly travelled canyons. Seriously, last summer when I was stuck in the Kern Canyon I was really kinda weirded out, even before the 2AM bear visit. I stuck to the high road, since straight-up hilly miles and hours on my feet were the goal anyway.

It has been a bit over 3 years since I'd hiked that way, so it was kind of cool to revisit, even if it was just a staid old fireroad in bakin' hot conditions. Other than a couple of runners (I'm guessing) training for Angeles Crest 100, it was just me until I got to the jct with the trail that comes up from Sierra Madre. Met 3 guys on bikes who wanted some beta on the lower part of the way I'd come up, since technically Henninger Flat and the Toll Road are supposed to be closed. But there aren't any signs any more, and the washed out sections have been transformed into singletrack with good tread. No rangers came out and yelled at me. I had thought about maybe grabbing some friends and some picnic food and heading up later in the afternoon to have dinner and then watch some fireworks from that lovely little bench overlooking the SG Valley that the campground sits on. Maybe next year, if I'm in town. I would much rather be in Mineral King though.

It was a mellow and uneventful descent. I saw no one. Not one person. No animals either, come to think of it. But oh, the trash!

I had half a packful that I chucked at the observatory and then picked up a few bottles, a drink box, a fabric softener sheet (?) and an empty yogurt gallon tub the last quarter mile before the parking lot, which leads to my oft-repeated and at this point partially rhetorical Question of the Day: What the fuck is wrong with people? Do you suppose they don't use trash cans at home either?

*our old UCLA mountainbiking column, but it's apropos so it stands

Tuesday Cat Blogging

What's that you say? Shouldn't you be in class, young lady? Well, yes I should, but we're on break. And I'm bored.

It's a refreshing mountain spring!

Serious young man

Tune in tomorrow for Wednesday dessert blogging, strawberry-rhubarb edition!

Ani DiFranco Grand Canyon of Light

Truly one of the most scintillating, electrifying women to ever take a stage. Hat tip to my wonderful new compadre Pedro for this! Besitos y cariño--and I hope your races went well!

Proud to be Canadian

Happy Canada Day!!

The Zimmers

OK, so I'm having a bit of trouble lately keeping an even keel, to the point where surrounding myself with stories and music and such that make me happy really does make me happy, so here they come, all in one place, for me to find when I need to be reminded that the world and the people in it are pretty beautiful and amazing.

Assvertising

WealthyMen.com Verfied wealthy men and sexy women from Los Angeles, California!
jaydon2 29 $500,000+/yr Altadena California	gramerc 26 $500,000+/yr Los Angeles California	jcasino 31 $200,000+/yr Arcadia California ONLINE!
See THOUSANDS more profiles from WealthyMen.com in California

I couldn't quite get a traditional screen shot, but you get the idea. I love hands on the shoulders of Topless Guy in the middle--creeptastic! Are you also wondering how they verify that the women are "sexy"? Hmmm. Not really.

Exxon Gets P3WND! No Wait...

The latest from my personal heroes, The Yes Men. If you don't know who they are, they are a couple of guys who go to elaborate lengths to impersonate representatives of corporations and other entities like the WTO who are involved in shady dealings yet try to pass themselves off as upstanding. They publish fake websites, send out fake press releases, give outrageous conference presentations of some pretty shocking and outlandish ideas, just to see if anyone will call them on it since their ideas are so awful it should be obvious. The sad part is...sadly no. Which makes for some great entertainment in between banging one's head against the wall because it's all too real.

I couldn't find much on this posted at their site, so here are some excerpts from the latest email. Although I did find hints that they are working on a new movie? The site is so haphazardly up-to-out-of date it's hard to tell...so here they are:

June 28, 2007
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

EXXON HACKS THE YES MEN
Yes Men badly need sysadmin, server co-location

Contact: mailto:people@theyesmen.org

One day after the Yes Men made a joke announcement that ExxonMobil plans to turn billions of climate-change victims into a brand-new fuel called Vivoleum, the Yes Men's upstream internet service provider shut down Vivoleum.com, the Yes Men's spoof website, and cut off the Yes Men's email service, in reaction to a complaint whose
source they will not identify. The provider, Broadview Networks, also made the Yes Men remove all mention of Exxon from TheYesMen.org before they'd restore the Yes Men's email service.

The Yes Men assume the complainant was Exxon. "Since parody is protected under US law, Exxon must think that people seeing the site will think Vivoleum's a real Exxon product, not just a parody," said Yes Man Mike Bonanno. "Exxon's policies do already contribute to 150,000 climate-change related deaths each year," added Yes Man Andy
Bichlbaum. "So maybe it really is credible. What a resource!"

After receiving the complaint June 15, Broadview added a "filter" that disabled the Vivoleum.com IP address (64.115.210.59), and furthermore prevented email from being sent from the Yes Men's primary IP address (64.115.210.58). Even after all Exxon logos were removed from both sites and a disclaimer was placed on Vivoleum.com
on Tuesday, Broadview would still not remove the filter. (The disclaimer read: "Although Vivoleum is not a real ExxonMobil program, it might as well be.")

Broadview did restore both IPs on Wednesday, after the Vivoleum.com website was completely disabled and all mention of Exxon was removed from TheYesMen.org.

If you haven't seen their movie, put it at the front of your Netflix queue, or just go rent it directly. You won't know whether to laugh or cry. If you can help them out with their co-server or sysadmin problems (they are based in New York) drop them a line at the email address above.

Holy Shit

You Are 100% Feminist

You are a total feminist. This doesn't mean you're a man hater (in fact, you may be a man). You just think that men and women should be treated equally. It's a simple idea but somehow complicated for the world to put into action.

Are You a Feminist?

The hell you say. And I love the Foxy Boxing pic most of all! I loved it so much I went back and retook it with opposite answers just to see what that picture looked like:

You Are 0% Feminist

You are definitely not a feminist. In fact, you are every feminist's worst nightmare. You believe that women belong in the kitchen.... barefoot and pregnant.

Are You a Feminist?

Ah, the stepford wife! Oh, how I lurves the memes!!

Mercury Slams into Retrograde at Ramming Speed, Kitty Ate Mah Internetz Edition

No really, she did! Yeah, she's just trying to destroy the camera strap to the left, but she chewed through my data cable on Saturday.

So the last 2 weeks have been absolutely nutty and batshit crazy. Bat. Shit. Crazy.

Two months ago Zooey also chewed through my second cell phone charger in spite of me placing it in a far corner of the kitchen counter where she is not allowed. I should have known this would be a harbinger of things to come. Losing a teammate, gaining a teammate (OK, so that one worked out). Midterms were the biggest singing-W whatever whatever ever--in all my years (and I do mean years gentle readers) of taking midterms, or finals for that matter. How I got through them and managed to get passable results I will never know, nor will I look that cliched gift horse in the mouth. All I know is it feels like things have been falling apart right and left, I can't figure out which end is up in any direction (and not for lack of trying) and I'm sure I've been putting my underwear on backwards at least some of the time.

Work has been dematerializing, patients and clients have been no-showing, and the ones who do leave...less than I need to keep the aforementioned fierce creatures in the cushy dry-food-and-clumping-litter lifestyle to which they have become accustomed. I drop everything, (literally, lots of clean-ups on aisle 3 recently) and my wiry monkey brain will NOT be coralled for love, or money, or brain bananas, or whatever it's looking for these days. And on Saturday as stated above, Zooey finally succeeded in chewing up my 2nd data cable, disabling both internet and VoIP home phone for a few days (what am I going to do with you Miz Zu? I'd sell you to the circus but you're just so damn cute...lucky for you...)

And past people have been popping up like mad, and not just my past people but friends' past people too. I see people I haven't seen in 4 years during the seriously irregular intervals I go run trails. I see riding and bikeshop buddies I haven't seen or heard from in literally almost 15 years at a tiny, somewhat lightly attended bike race at which I work this last weekend. I reconnect with people I haven't heard from since high school who found my flickr or myspace pages. I run into parents of ex-boyfriends when I go to grab a coffee or quick bite with a friend.

Moreover, there just seem to be these subversive undercurrents and counterflows of energy, like there is all sorts of movement and tension and change just building up to critical mass, but below the surface where it can as yet only be sensed and not seen, sort of like the 1950's I guess. It's giving me a seriously prolonged case of the shpielkis. I hope I can last until August when I can finally run some of it out of me.

Is it just me? I need to ask my friend Karen; she's always hip to these things. She really quite blows me away, actually.

On the plus side, I got literally a year's supply (it just about fills up a pillowcase) of Clif Bar samples from the Clif Bar Guy at the race last weekend, and one of my favorite flavors to boot. Thanks, Clif Bar Guy!! Your generosity will be remembered during the coming months of hungry, busy clinic shifts wherein I can't even make a run to the student lounge microwave to heat up some leftovers!