The Joy of Christmas

This holiday season, I once again find myself overwhelmed with thankfulness for all that I have: a loving husband, two wonderful boys, a nice home, a job that I like, friends that I adore and who help me to grow as a person. My life is brimming. So many people have to overcome bad memories or experiences before they can begin to try to find something to celebrate, and I try to keep this in mind. I don't know anyone in Iraq. My family (and extended family) are all in pretty good health. I don't know anyone who has been laid off despite the recent increase in layoffs in Seattle. At times, I feel like I live my life in a bubble--one that has been relatively impervious to severe hardship. I know at some point I will fall into one of life's valleys, but right now I am on a hilltop.

In the past (specifically, B.C.), even if I had a truly wonderful Christmas, there was always something that could easily sour my mood. It's a lot harder to sour my mood when I'm focused on making sure my kids have a great Christmas. Their excitement and wonder are contagious.

Obviously, we all know the true meaning of Christmas, and it's important to recognize its significance, but with regards to small children--I have to confess that I LOVE building and supporting the myth of Santa Claus. If you were to stop by my house on Christmas Eve, you would find me scurrying about, completing the following tasks:

• talking very loudly to Randy in the living room while the boys try to fall asleep ("Ran, did you hear Santa was delayed in Florida? Do you remember what time he got to our place last year?")
• chewing up baby carrots and scattering them over the front lawn (so that my boys will see just how messy those reindeer are when we leave them a plate of carrots);
• leaving a large, muddy footprint inside the front door (where Santa must enter our house) just so that I can complain about having to clean it up when I spot it in the morning;
• mashing up some cookie crumbs on the plate we left out for Santa;
• disguising my handwriting on the gifts to the boys from Santa;
• etc.

I am going to be upset when my boys stop believing. E has already started to second-guess Santa (he undoubtedly overheard something from older kids at school), but for now he believes Santa exists "but he doesn't really live at the North Pole." Randy and I like to tell E "It's in your best interest to believe in Santa." And honestly, I think this is useful advice for all of us.

Holiday Spirit

• The Setting: Approximately twenty well-behaved preschoolers standing in front of approximately 100 parents at an annual holiday concert in a church.
• The Song: Silent Night (rehearsals started in September in order to guarantee that all the children would know all the words to the first two verses of this beloved holiday classic).
• The Tempo: Slow, traditional Silent Night rendition.
• The Problem: One of these kids is not like the others--my kid.

When Your Best Simply Isn't Good Enough

So, today I ran the Seattle Marathon, after signing up for it yesterday. I have always said that I would not officially sign up and train for this marathon in advance because the weather here is too unpredictable, but today was a perfect running day--cloudy with a high of 55 degrees.

Because I didn't sign up for this marathon, I didn't train for it properly. I started to think about it the first week of October when a few friends were off running the Portland Marathon and I regretted that I wasn't prepared to go with them. Thus began my half-hearted training plan, which went something like this: 5 days a week--25 minute run, usually pre-dawn or at lunch time, and on the weekends, one long run. For three weekends in a row, I ran 17, 19, and 18 miles, respectively, and then I tapered to 13 and 10 and then it was race day. This is not a recommended training plan by any standards, but sometimes you have to work with what you've got, and the one thing I don't have a lot of is TIME. And while I don't think my disappearing for 3 hours on a Saturday morning is such a big deal, R does think it's a big deal. He tries to be supportive, but he has his limits.

So today I set out with the following thoughts in my head:

• a reasonable goal time would be 4:02
• man, I am so tired of GU (all flavors)
• all the big hills are after mile 20, so I should do my best to keep my first split time low
• I got my best half marathon time after minimal training, so maybe I'll surprise myself again, and maybe, just maybe I can cross that "Qualify for Boston" life goal off my list

Everything went pretty smoothly this morning. I had a minor pain in my right ankle, but I knew it was a result of my sciatic nerve, not an injury, so I wasn't too worried. I came close to cramping up a few times, but I avoided any severe pain and kept going. I crossed the first split line at 1:47:08--not bad. In fact, this gave me about 7 minutes leeway in the second half, but I knew I'd need every minute.

Then at mile 18 we crossed another mat and my time was 2:40:01. Uh-oh. I had just lost 4 minutes of my wiggle room. I remember now that those five miles were lonely--not many folks around running my pace, and so obviously my gait slowed. Now I knew I had to really work hard to make it to the finish line on time, and now things (feet, knees) were starting to hurt enough to be a little distracting. Then the 3:45 pace group passed me at around mile 21 and I knew I was in trouble. I focused on the fact that I had only 5 miles to go ("Five miles should be easy!" I kept reminding myself), but once I lost site of the pacer on the hills I knew I was losing site of a goal. Still, I kept going. I didn't walk because I knew I'd kick myself later if I did. I tried to imagine being chased by a bear, my children needing immediate rescue from some perilous situation, winning a new car if I could just make it to the finish line by 3:45, but my body resisted any demands to go faster. When I did try to speed up significantly I felt violently nauseous, so I backed off.

I made it to the finish line at 3:46:28, or 29 seconds shy of qualifying for Boston. That's just over a second a mile. Surely I could have gone one second faster per mile, right? Nope. I really did give it my best. I'm disappointed, but also proud. I didn't train like I should have and yet I got a pretty good time and I finished 75th out of the ladies. Seattle is a tough course and marathons are tough races. I'm happy that my body held out, even though this result probably means I'll try "one more time" to see if I can make a better go of it on a flatter course.

After the race, I made a point of seeking out those people I followed along the course at some point to thank them (for inspiring me to keep going)--somebody did this for me after my first marathon and I've never forgotten it, because it really meant just as much to me as finishing. Then I grabbed my checked items, called R., and headed home.

I should probably take up a quieter, less demanding hobby (the mandolin, perhaps), but running is my meditation, my exercise, and it feeds my competitive side. So until there are competitive, aerobic mandolin-a-thons, R will just have to bear with me.

Quote of the Day

I found this quote in an advertisement for a children's shop, but I think I like it even more if you take it out of context:

" Everything in winter goes better with a friend. Oh, and a stuffed monkey with a sense of adventure too."

Musical Taste

This morning I was sitting at the kitchen table with my younger son, G, talking about music. I was telling him all about Beyonce, and how I used to discount her, but I think she provides some great music for running: upbeat, fast tempo, etc. G really likes music--especially pop music--but he has a limited field of reference, being four years old. Here is how the rest of the conversation went.

G: "Do you like Hannah Montana?" (I know he's assuming that because I'm a girl, I must like Hannah Montana.)

Me: "I don't know any Hannah Montana songs, G. And she wasn't around when I was a kid, so I never really got into her. You might like her though."

G: "I DO NOT like Hannah Montana!" (SOB! SOB! SOB!)

Me: "Okay, okay, calm down. I just thought you might because you like pop music."

G: (trying to catch his breath) "I do NOT like pop music. I like Daddy's music."

Me: "That's nice, G. You should tell Daddy."

G runs into our bedroom and wakes R up to tell him how much he likes his music. I should mention that R is currently taking beginning guitar lessons, and right now he can play Greensleeves and House of the Rising Sun (sort of). I'm sure he appreciated the compliment, even if he didn't appreciate being woken up.

Addicted to Facebook

I'm not sure how it happened, but I think I am addicted to Facebook. Unfortunately, many of my closest friends are also addicts, and the Seattle rains are driving everyone inside, so I can only see the Facebook habit getting worse.

I know what I like about Facebook though. It's easy to use, fun, frivolous, entertaining, and a great way to see what your friends are up to when you don't have the time to call or the motivation to write a full e-mail. On the downside, it sucks up your time and it encourages bad grammar if you're like me and you tend to click "Post Comment" before you've proofread your typing and then it's impossible to edit your own comments (you can delete them though, which is what I often end up doing).

I hate to say this, but if you're not on Facebook, you should be. It's where all the cool kids are hanging these days. Come join us, but don't blame me when you can't find the exit.

Wassssup, California?

As thrilled as I was with the election results last week, there was one BIG letdown: Californians passed Proposition 8.

In case you've been living in a cave, Proposition 8 bans gay marriage and it marks the first time the state Constitution has been amended in order to TAKE AWAY rights. I keep hoping it was a mistake...a result of confusing wordplay that caused people to vote the opposite of their beliefs. I generally trust California to lead the liberal front, and now I'm worried that the small state of Vermont is going to have to carry this title (without the population to back it).

Earlier on this fall when I was watching the debates, I was upset that both the Democratic and Republican candidates came out and defined marriage as being a union between a man and a woman. How nice. How nice that this works for them, but not for the hundreds of thousands (maybe millions?) of gay people living in this country--a country that promises equality and justice for all. To me, the idea of equality means that people should maintain the right to marry ANYONE--preferably someone they LOVE.

This Proposition is a perfect example of why church and state should be separate, and I mean completely separate. What does this country have to lose by allowing gay marriage? What are people so AFRAID of? Maybe we're worried that the gay divorce rate will be lower than the straight divorce rate. This wouldn't look good now, would it?

Why do I care? I have a lot of gay friends. I feel guilty that I enjoy rights they don't simply because I'm straight. Of course, they're used to being treated like second-class citizens, so many of them are not as interested in promoting gay marriage as I am. Who can blame them for not wanting to take up another cross?

Time to Rock the Vote/Boat

Friends, have you ever in your adult life been so excited about politics? Have you ever wanted so desperately to affect change? Tonight is a momentous point in history, and we get to be a part of it.

I have some Republican friends who I respect and admire tremendously, but tonight...tonight my competitive streak is coming out and I am brimming with anticipation as the polls close and Obama is in a strong lead.
http://elections.nytimes.com/2008/results/president/votes.html

Frankly, I don't know how you can deny that this articulate, intelligent, and level-headed man is the best man for the job. Our country needs him, and we're lucky he decided to enter politics, because most people of his caliber stay away from this scene.

I will never forget the first time I heard Barack speak...it was at the Democratic Convention in 2004, and I was blown away. I continue to be blown away and I can't wait to see where he takes us. My only hope now is that we can keep him safe.

Dance Like You Don't Care Who's Watching!

Last weekend I took G to the Pacific Science Center while E was at a birthday party nearby. With Halloween coming up, they had all kinds of special activities going on, and pop music was being piped through the outside gathering spaces. Well, G couldn't help himself. The beat took hold and would not let go. His creative energy was further fueled by Laffy Taffy (you'll see this in his mouth--nice).

Pepitas!

We have just started the process of carving some of the 11 pumpkins we bought this year, and we're all hard at work in anticipation of the nummy little pumpkins seeds. At one point, during a frenzy of pumpkin-guts removal, Randy dropped some on the floor.

"Careful, DAD!" E exclaimed. "You don't want to drop any of these delicious things on the floor. What are you...CRAZY?!"

Run, Baby, Run!

One of the great things about Seattle is that every weekend there is always a plethora of happenings for kids. Last weekend, although we already had a lot on our calendar, I asked the boys if they would like to run in a Spooky Sprint race, and to my delight, they both said "Yes!" They didn't even change their minds when I mumbled something about the race being early on Saturday morning, when they would normally be watching cartoons. (E will tell you that Saturday is the boys' day to "kick out.")
Saturday morning arrived and the weather was GORGEOUS. Perfect running weather. I swilled some coffee and checked and rechecked shoelaces, and then we headed to the park where the race was being held. G, who is 4, was signed up to run a 1/2 mile sprint, and E was signed up to run a mile run (this was E's second race, but he seemed more nervous, perhaps because he was sizing up some of his 12-year-old competitors).

G's race was first. I was a little nervous to let him run alone, but I couldn't leave E alone and I knew that race monitors would have an eye out on the course. Now, G has not got a natural runner's build, but he does have an abundance of energy, and when the starting horn sounded, he was off at a good clip. Then I watched helplessly as a parent accidentally tripped him. My heart sank. I really wanted this to be a positive experience for him. Well, after being slightly trampled by another kid, G popped up and kept going and E and I raced to the finish line. After about 5 minutes, we saw the first kid crest the small hill that lead to the finish chute. Then we saw about 12 more kids. I was just starting to worry when E caught site of G. G was winded and slowing down, so I told E one of us should go and finish the race with G. E didn't hesitate...he was off like a rocket and I was sobbing with pride as he took G's elbow, cheered him on, and ran/escorted him to the chute. This was so worth the price of admission!

My kids have given me another reason to run: I get to share one of my greatest joys with them. Watching these little people, who just yesterday were taking their first steps, fly across the finish line with giant smiles on their faces is an awesome thing. And watching them encourage each other is simply one of the most rewarding things I've experienced as a parent.

The Upside of Divorce

No one is going to argue that divorce is a good thing. It's not. Even in the best cases, where the split is amicable and no children are involved, the details are messy, the cost is high, and two people walk away scarred. But not everyone was meant to be together forever, despite their best intentions. Marriage is work, and it is harder than anything you've ever had to work for. If people commit to this work and they still aren't gelling, I truly think it is best for them to walk away.

There can be an upside to divorce. My parents divorced after 21 years of marriage when I was 10 years old. They both went on to remarry (and they both have been with these "new" spouses for 25 years now), and in the process I gained a stepsister who is the same age as my genetic sister and three step brothers who are about a decade older than myself.

Honestly, I can't imagine my life without these additional people. I love all of them. My stepmother served as a mentor for me when I was an angst-ridden teenager and couldn't always effectively communicate with my parents; my stepfather is one of the most intelligent people I've ever met...with a dry sense of humor and quiet demeanor; my stepsister is a loving, warm, and beautiful person; and while I'll admit to not knowing my stepbrothers as well as I would like because the age difference, I feel a kinship with them nonetheless. In fact, my stepbrother P recently read this blog and announced that he too shares the unique ability to find four-leaf clovers--so we're still getting to know each other, as time and circumstances allow.

Few divorces have such happy endings, I know, and this is why I am truly grateful for these "step" (such an ugly preposition) relatives who comprise my extended family. I wish everyone could be so lucky.

Hilarious Clip

My best friend sent me this clip last week and I cannot get it out of my mind. Warning! You might not want to watch it at work.

The Great Catsuit Debate

Every year when Halloween rolls around, my husband starts suggesting I go as Catwoman. Why? Because he'd like to see me in a head-to-toe pleather catsuit. Why? Because it's sexy.

Apparently it doesn't matter that I'm not built like Halle Berry (see example on the left) or that my sidekicks would be waist-high versions of Ironman and a silver Power Ranger or that the entire pleather ensemble would cost about $200 and would be horribly uncomfortable. Nor does it matter that some women, including those that are in their mid-30s and who have given birth not once, but twice, probably are best viewed fully-clothed (see unfortunate example on the right).

In R's mind, the only acceptable alternative to Catwoman is a "dead zombie ghoulie" complete with many flesh wounds in various stages of decomposition. As you might surmise, I'm never happy with my options...and the only way I can avoid the Great Catsuit Debate is to come up with something that I want to be far in advance of Halloween. I must be armed and ready with a costume idea that I can back like it's a higher calling. If I hesitate when defending my idea R will sense the hesitation and exclaim "Go as Catwoman!" and the debate will be on. And I don't know about you, but I've had my fill of debates this fall.

Quick Update

Thank you to everyone who wrote to inquire about my dad. While the formal test results aren't back yet, everything appears to be fine. The biopsy, it turned out, was not even as serious as I had thought. When I hear "biopsy" I assume the test is being done to rule out or detect cancer, but in this case it was a biopsy in the strictest sense of the term...a removal of tissue to test for any abnormality and cancer was never the #1 suspect.

Again, thank you for your concern and well wishes.

The Good Card

I recently received an e-mail from a friend that provides the perfect holiday gift solution for those who are otherwise impossible to buy for: The Good Card.

What is The Good Card? It's a gift card for charity that allows the recipient to donate to his or her charity of choice. It's an ideal holiday gift, especially for parents and grandparents who are tired of receiving things that they will either never use or eventually just pass back down to you.

You can purchase the card in any dollar amount (up to $250) and it allows the recipient to give to any charity; there are over 1.2 million charities to choose from. Whether you send it via e-mail or mail, you can customize the card in order to make it personal. The Good Card also qualifies as a tax-deduction.

I've had to do a lot of plagiarizing in this blog entry (sorry Jono), but it's for a good cause. For more information on The Good Card click here.

Why Texting Makes Me Testy

I recently read an interesting article on texting in The New Yorker that basically explained how texting was a giant leap back in communication: "...a huge amount of trouble relative to the results." I couldn't agree more. This explains why I don't text. I'm no good at the multiple keystrokes it takes to create one character on the tiny buttons on my phone, and I hate what texting has done to the English language. I don't like words that look like an acronym and a simple math equation collided (GR8T). And are we now so lazy that typing that one extra keystroke isn't worth the reward of a correctly-spelled word?

Some coworkers and I have had this conversation several times. Why text when it is so much easier to call? (The only reasonable answer seems to be that you're someplace where it would be extremely rude to pick up the phone and talk out loud.)

Another phenomena that I don't understand is the desire to have a phone that does everything, but is no larger than an a square of chocolate. This article made the same point:"...although cell phones keep getting smaller, thumbs do not."

The article goes on to provide some interesting explanations as to why people love to text, but the conclusion basically says that texting is a fad, and when the numeric keyboard is replaced by the QWERTY keyboard (by the way, "QWERTY" is my new favorite word) on most handheld devices, we'll probably see the return to e-mail. My plan: stick with corresponding via e-mail and consider myself ahead of the technology curve.

Hard Day

Today was one of those days.

• First I learned that the 6 containers of bright orange frosting that I rushed out to get for a Halloween party at E's school were no longer needed--and I couldn't think of any possible backup plan for this much orange goo.
• Then I was driving to work and every single light on my dashboard lit up and stayed lit up.
• Then I interviewed two people for a tech writing position and in both cases I knew pretty quickly that we were not compatible. One resume handed to me actually reeked of cigarette smoke.
• Then I took the car to the Les Schwab (famous for their "free beef" giveaways when you purchase a full set of tires) and was informed that I needed a new battery (big sigh of relief).
• Then I get the call that despite the new battery, the car is still not running correctly and it probably needs a new alternator to the tune of $500.
• Then I'm late picking up the kids, and when I do reach E's school, he's waiting for me but he's missing his coat for the fourth time in one month. We search every nook and cranny and come up empty handed and I threaten E with the biggest threat I can muster: the cancellation of Christmas if he loses his coat again (should we be lucky enough to find it again).
• Then I learn that my dad is being biopsied tomorrow.

Obviously, this isn't the worst day ever. I returned the frosting, I accept that unexpected car repairs are an annoying and inconvenient and expensive fact of life, and I have an extra coat for E because I know he is prone to coat loss, and I believe my dad will be okay. Still, days like this remind me of Paul Simon when he sings, "Why am I soft in the middle (when) the rest of my life is so hard?"

Dinnertime Quote

About 45 minutes into dinner tonight, R asked our son, E, if he was going to have dessert. E replied, "Yes, if I can ever get these carrots out of my life!"

Got Yogurt?

Yesterday I was returning from a short run and as I approached my car I was taken aback. Apparently a large bird had exploded while flying over. But as I got closer, I realized that this was not the case. My car had been yogurted. In other words, someone had thrown three Yoplait Light yogurt containers at my car (vanilla on the side windows, raspberry on the back window). I was shocked. The drive to the car wash was like a walk of shame. I could feel people staring at my yogurt-dipped car, and I couldn't help but put thoughts into their heads. Surely, I must be a bitch to deserve such a dairy disaster.

My husband, R, immediately chalked the yogurt up to a random act of vandalism by some bored teenagers, but to me this still doesn't make sense. For one, yogurt is expensive...at least a lot more expensive (and less harmful) than eggs. Second, no other cars on our street had been hit. Wouldn't teenagers try to hit two or three cars?

I started to search for clues. Right now, the only coincidence that I can go on is the fact that the night before the yogurt incident we allowed a local Democrat to post one of his signs in our yard. Other neighbors have the same sign, but they don't park in front of their house. I pondered this a lot as I was falling asleep last night. Would I fall victim again? And if so, what would they use next, eclairs? My mind began to race and next thing I knew I was envisioning effigies in the front yard and fire bombs coming through the window.

In an effort to calm me, R kept recounting the many acts of random vandalism he committed as a teenager. This did not calm me, but at least I now know I have my own "Director of Countervandalism" if the need ever arises.

Recollecting Kierkegaard

During my final semester at college I took an intensive class on S. Kierkegaard (often referred to simply as "S.K." in literature). For those of you who aren't familiar with Kirkegaard, he was an existentialist philosopher in the late 19th century, unpopular until two decades after his death, and someone with a profound struggle as he examined the role of religion (and more specifically, God) in his life. His questioning and close examination and cross-examination of what it meant to be religious influenced many later philosophers, and continues to do so today.

Interestingly enough, it was a young agnostic critic who originally unearthed S.K.'s works, and after reading and translating the works, he felt he was confirmed in his agnosticism. This is because Kierkegaard has a lot to teach everyone. S.K.'s constant questioning resulted in some truly beautiful, and sometimes threatening, observations. In my opinion, he is the quintessential example of a person who chose to live "the examined life."

I've forgotten much of what I once knew about Kierkegaard, but there are pieces that have stayed with me: one was the belief that men were divided into two great classes--those that lived in hope and those that lived in recollection--yet he also stated that only healthy people lived in both at once. I remember studying S.K.'s Either/Or intensely for a period of time as the author grappled with multiple dichotomies, including the relationship between the aesthetic and the ethical. Lastly, I recall a quote that Kierkegaard made early in life, and I just looked it up to make sure I haven't distorted it too much in my head over time...here goes: "I must find the truth that is true for me--the idea for which I can live and die." What a quest, eh?

It saddens me a little bit that I haven't made more of an effort to find my own truth. Like most people, I'm just too damn busy to devote even the smallest amount of time to reflect on such things. That said, I guess recognizing the problem is the first step, so I've got this going for me.

Run in What You Love

If you know me, you know I love to run. I haven't always loved running, but I've been at it for over 20 years now and I think I'm finally hitting my stride.

Last month I set a PR (personal record) at a local half-marathon race, the Super Jock n' Jill half marathon in Woodinville. I hadn't trained for this race, so the victory was all the more surprising. My time was 1:45:48. What excited me most was the mere possibility that if I could do this again and double my distance, I'd easily qualify for Boston. That said, I don't know if I could keep that pace for another 13.1 miles, especially on one of the local courses, because these are HILLY.

Anyway, in the "recovery area" of this last race I saw all the usual vendors and one new one: Oiselle Running. Now, I've never been a running gear or clothing junkie. I usually run in one of the race shirts I've collected over the years, Asics running shoes, and running shorts from the REI outlet. But I will say that the Oiselle line was very impressive. At the time they were selling election running shirts (a novel idea) that said things like "Obama: The Kenyan Advantage" and "McCain: Not Bad for his Age Group" and I would have bought one in a second, if I had had cash on me. Their other running items looked remarkably comfortable and well-made, so I am already eyeing things online to put on my Christmas list. It's definitely a company worth checking out, and I expect we'll be seeing a lot more Oiselle products popping up at our favorite running stores in the next couple of years.

Life Goals 101

A few years ago I started to think more seriously about the things I'd like to accomplish in my lifetime. At the time, I was already reflecting on all the things I had: a family that loved me, a good education, a happy marriage, amazing friends, a home, a job that I liked, and two incredible children.

It would be downright greedy to ask for more--especially when you consider how fortunate I've been, and how often I take all of these things for granted. Still, I have things, lesser things, that I'd like to do.

Here is a smattering of an ever-changing list of goals that I keep (usually in my head, although sometimes I write them down), and the items are in no particular order. Some are big, some are easy, some are inconvenient and expensive, but this is a "dream list" and it's often in a state of flux.

• Qualify for the Boston Marathon.
• Learn to write left-handed.
• Teach my children to read.
• Volunteer in Africa.
• Take archery lessons.
• Learn to silk screen.
• Attend my 20th college reunion.
• Visit the Azores.
• Complete one one-armed push up.
• Invent something useful.
• Learn to speed read.
• Take my children to New Zealand to meet their relatives.
• Read A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking
• Raise a golden retriever puppy.
• Buy a place in Skaneateles, NY.
• Run a 50K race (approximately 30 miles).
• Meet Christiane Amanpour.

Everyone should keep such a list. It's motivating. It serves as a constant reminder of just how much more life has to offer, even if your life is full to the brim.

If I Could Just Get Rid of Just

I've stumbled across an unsettling find: I use "just" in just about every sentence I write...even when I'm conciously trying not to. So starting tonight, I'm just going to say no to "just." Just like that. You'll just have to bear with my while I attempt to ween myself.

How Smart are YOU?

Tonight we were gathered round the dinner table when I commented to E on what a nice boy Evan (a new friend at his school) was. E couldn't have agreed more. In his own words: "Evan is super-smart. He's so smart he could break concrete with his brain."

This brings up a good question: just how smart are YOU? I've always considered myself slightly above average, but I confess I have my Sarah Palin moments. Put me on the spot, and I can go either way: insightful and direct or flustered and gibberish.

Unfortunately, there isn't always a correlation between my response and how much I know about the topic being discussed. Most times, I have just enough information to be dangerous--and certainly nowhere near enough information to stand up in a court of law. As discussed on This American Life a few months ago, I am a perfect example of the Modern American Jackass.

My husband, R, reads The New Yorker every day. I envy him. He is able to make this ritual a priority. I truly believe that if you read The New Yorker from cover to cover each week, you get to consider yourself pretty well versed on most any topic. If you can't find The New Yorker, you can substitute The Atlantic or Harper's. Granted, being intelligent is not the same thing as being informed, but being informed is a good start.

I went to a good university, but you can only ride this wave for so long. I'd like to see how I stack up against my peers today, or maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I'd just like to be able to break concrete with my brain.

She's Baaaack!

It has been a while since I've blogged. Okay, it's been a year. But I'm starting to feel the need to write again...there's just too much going on in the world that I feel the need to comment on. Plus, everyone else gets to post their ramblings online, so I may as well do the same.

I loved the concept of the blog I started with my best friend last year (see http://seattlesmostoverrated.blogspot.com/) but we just got too busy to make a go of it. Plus, we were starting to feel overly-critical of the city we love. So this time around, I'm leaving the focus of my blog unfocused: anything is fair game.