Ramblings

Bike Culture

2009-05-09T00:20:00.000-07:00

While discussing the topic of American bike culture with our new found friend Geoff, he explained how no such thing existed while he lived in Amsterdam.

Huh?

How can that be? How can the city where bikes have the privilege of having roads made specifically for them, where every one rides a bicycle, have no bike culture. Further discussion on the matter lead to some enlightening conclusions that come at you like a bus full of Vegas bound retirees. And it seemed so obvious in hind sight, in a way not so unlike the cartoon light bulb going off.

The discussion started with a simple question not unfamiliar to American cyclists: "What kind of cyclist are you?". Most American cyclist will have a natural answer at the ready. The terms "weekend warrior", "roadie", "mountain biker", "downhiller", "BMXer" come to mind. Yet that very same question would perplex someone from Amsterdam. The bicycle is so ingrained into the every life of the Amsterdamer, that they no longer think of it as a facet of their lives.

Suppose I posed to you this multiple choice question: "What kind of driver are you?", with the available answers as "off roader", "race weenie", "mileage counter", etc. It would seem rather absurd wouldn't it? The bicycle is such a large part of the average Amsterdamer's life, just like the automobile is a part of the average American life, that the very idea of "bike culture" just doesn't make sense to them. It's just part of their culture, much the same as American culture is car-centric.

So to have Americans integrate bicycles into their lives, all we need to do is rid ourselves of bike culture, right? Until then... Down with bike culture. Long live the bike.

Micro Blogging

2009-05-08T23:19:00.000-07:00

There! Now back to your regularly scheduled (meaning few and far in-between) programming.

Tippy Canoe and O'Chans, Too!

2008-07-08T12:02:00.000-07:00

Two years ago, the whole family became hooked on kayaking. Cameron had expressed an interest in kayaking around the San Juan Islands after seeing a story about it on TV. So for his birthday, I took him to Tomales Bay for a lesson and paddle. He loved it so much, we sent him to a week long kayaking camp (which he will go to again this year). The dilemma has always been whether or not we should get our own equipment. Renting equipment for the whole family is expensive, but purchasing is just as bad.

While searching for a part for our bicycle rack on Craig's List (what a fantastic thing that is!!), James accidentally found a listing for two kayaks, with almost all of the equipment and rack parts that are compatible to our system, for $800! The boats are hardly used and in perfect condition. The two of them together, new with none of the equipment (paddles, life vests...) would have cost us $1500, so we jumped on it.

We pick them up on Thursday. We have to clean out the garage so that they can be stored properly (something that has needed to be done for a very long time). I refuse to allow us to use them until the garage is done, so Saturday is clean up day!! Sunday, we will paddle into the horizon!

Catch Up and Other Condiments

2008-06-27T19:06:00.000-07:00

My goodness, it has been a long while! So much has happened, recently, it is hard to know where to start. How about a breakdown?

James-
After a whole lotta years, James' job has finally come to an end. He was layed off a few months ago and has been on the search for a new job (which began, today, in Mill Valley). It was an interesting journey- because James is self-taught, finding work can be challenging. Everyone wants someone with a 'degree'. I know that there is some fabulous reason for this, but it seems a bit short sighted to me. So many of these companies were started by guys who dropped out of college! This new job feels that James' lack of formal education is an asset! Enlightened corporation.

While looking for permanent work, James was working a temp job in downtown San Francisco. Instead of trying to find parking everyday, he started riding his bicycle to work everyday and has rediscovered his great love of bicycles. Since the beginning of the year, James has built or redone 4 bikes, and is planning on racing one of them later this year!

Adrienne-

Well I have been busy! I have decided to reduce my driving by 80% over the next year, which is challenging. I have been riding my bike to work as often as possible (that, alone, can take up to 150 miles a week out of my driving!) and have begun to ride around town for errands and things. As we live smack dab in the middle of a mountain, it is a hill in every direction! My knees are not as young as they once were! The greatest challenge is learning how to negotiate traffic- cars are really damn big!

Earlier this year, I started reading "A New Earth", by Eckhart Tolle as a part of the Oprah Winfrey Book Club. There was an on-line web class involved with it. I now find myself in the interesting, and improbable (for me) position of spiritual seeker. Through this experience I have found an interesting community of people who are seeking a deeper understanding of the Universe beyond our vision. I have begun meditation, I am undertaking an informal study of Buddhism (primarily the teachings of Thicht Naht Hanh), and have even gone so far as to start a blog for those on the spiritual path. I have to admit, I am not sure where this is all going to take me, but I am sure it will be somewhere interesting.

Cameron-

Our oldest boy, has managed to grow to 6' with size 13 shoes! He hasn't hit that big growth spurt that should be coming up soon. I can't imagine what it will be like to have to look up to him! James having to look up to him will be too much.

Despite a refusal to do his math homework, Cameron has graduated from middle school and will be a high school freshman in the fall ( I shake my head as I write this). He will be attending Balboa High School which is a measly 5 minutes from home on his bicycle (he has to bug, too) and wants to join the fencing team. He will not be able to join the orchestra until his sophomore year, so he and I are thinking of taking night classes at City College to learn guitar.

Úna-

Úna is growing up so fast, it is dizzying. She has been offered a full scholarship to the San Francisco School of Ballet and is currently a blue belt in Hapkido. She has the bike bug, and has learned how to negotiate the streets like a true native.

Starting in the fall, she has decided to take violin lessons at school (I am not looking forward to it). I keep trying to get the kids to start an electric hillbilly band. I think it would be cool, but I think I am alone on this.

Declan-

He is three. He is very articulate. He is very dramatic. He is a little metal head and wants to have a 'big guitar that plays loud!'. He loves scary movies. He embodies the fullness of three.

That should just about do it. There have been many things happening and keeping up with it is difficult. But I will try to do better. The writer's strike has cured me of 90% of my TV watching, so I have more time!

From the Ludite

2008-02-27T14:16:00.000-08:00

Today I write from the comfort of Cameron and Una's Hapkido class. I am typing with my thumbs on a tiny little pocket computer via someone's unprotected wi-fi connection (thank you, whoever you are. No one keeps their connections open anymore, and I don't want to pay for a media package.) For most people of my age group this is not terribly unusual. I, however, am fascinated by this possibility. A computer in my pocket? How did I get from wanting an electric typewriter to having the internet in my purse? When did it become expected that I could carry around an entire encyclopedia at the same time I am shopping for shoes (theoretically), all from my hand held electronic device? I am living the Star Trek dream, minus dating captains! Fascinating.

Ruminations

2008-02-21T22:50:00.001-08:00

It is interesting just what comes to mind while you are parked on the tarmac, in an over crowded tuna can airplane. Mostly, I find myself ruminating on things that I would otherwise never notice- how large my feet are (in comparison to what is described as ‘ greatest legroom in the industry’), the breathing pattern of the person behind me, what the odd sounds the plane are making are, how greatly this experience differs from the first-class experience to Paris I dream about daily...

I have already been through the security experience that inevitably makes no sense and makes me want to run through the airport yelling ‘shoebombershoebombershoebomber’. Sitting here does not necessarily dampen that desire. In fact, boredom seems to increase my destructive tendencies and I am now ready to start mumbling, loudly, about god’s plan being ready. I could get cagey and repeat over and over, ‘now is the time, now is the time. get ready, get ready’. This would be just vague enough to cause some excitement, but not enough for actual imprisonment.

What if we could just fly off somewhere else? SFO doesn't want us right now. Maybe the Virgin Islands would take a plane full of frustrated Americans in need of umbrella drinks. Bellarouge? Topeka?

There is a TV in front of me as i am on Jet Blue (A+ for the TV, F for the tarmac parking). I find my self watching an add for ‘full figured’ Playtex bras. Never thought it would take sitting in an extra long mailing tube to find out big boobed girls can have lace undergarments. Of interest here- there is no language censoring on airplanes that play ‘South Park’. ‘Asshole’ is less offensive when the censor knows you are stuck on a fucking tarmac.

How cool is it that I can blog in this situation? Can we quantify this?

I really want a shot of my beautiful Manacmore. 120 proof, single malt, Scottish gift to humanity. A couple of shots of that would make this a great deal more interesting. If I gave some to everyone on the plane, maybe we could get some karaoke going. Or even turn into a plane full of soccer hooligans!’

If I call ‘Domino’s’ for a pizza, and they can’t get through security in 30 minutes, do I get the pizza for free? My goodness, I am hungry.

We should be landing by now, and yet we are still parked. Maybe we could all perform Chinese fire drills.

Now and Laters

2007-09-11T10:31:00.001-07:00

For once, I am at a loss for words.

As most people who know me are aware, seven weeks before my 17th birthday, I gave up my first baby for adoption. Suffice it to say, I took a great deal of trouble to find her wonderful parents, I kept in touch with her over the years and we both moved on with the job of living. This was a task that, I think, was harder for me than her- but that is always the way of it with children.

When I first gave Rachael up, her parents lived in Campbell, CA. It never occurred to me they might move far away, as they had said they wanted to settle in the Bay Area. By the time Rachael was two, she was living in Long Beach. I was so angry at their departure, I couldn't put it into words. One of the things that made giving Rachael up livable was having her close enough to see her from time to time.

When Susan and Robert told me they were moving to Pittsburgh, PA, I cried for two days. It was like giving her up all over again.

Going to visit Rachael has always been challenging, largely because despite it being the good thing to do, I have never been able to convince myself that giving my child to others was the right thing to do. Having my kids didn't soften that feeling, either (although many people who had never experienced anything like this assured me it would.) I am always acutely aware of where the kids are when they are not with me. I am always aware that Rachael is very far away.

After twenty years of waiting, I finally got to spend some time with my first born daughter without her parents. It has left me with thoughts and feelings that I have difficulty expressing. There is no lexicon of language for something like this. Maybe that is why people make movies- so many things can only be expressed in pictures. Maybe it is the pictures in my head that I should describe. But which ones?

Then - I am lying in my hospital bed, with a large window to my right. Rachael is sleeping on me, in a sun beam. She is so small and the light makes her hair sparkle. I am, briefly, blissfully happy and all seems right with the world. All I want is to stay in that moment, with no one else there to remind me she is only mine for that moment. We are both content to lie together in the warm sunlight, breathing and dozing. I know we are in a bubble, and that very soon it will pop. I can hear the nurse coming to take her away and even though I ask her not to, she insists.

Now - I am lying in my king sized bed here at home, reading Harry Potter. The kids are in their room, pretending to be annoyed with one another. Rachael asks if she can come in and read with me. She lies across the foot of the bed and opens her enormous book. She asks if she can read some of it to me. As she reads, I think that her hair still has that little hint of red it had in our sunbeam. I think that the last time we spent time like this, all I wanted was for it not to end. Now I realize that a part of me is still in that day, stuck in that moment. I think how strange it is that she is old enough to describe how amazing it is that this book is so "maximalist". How strange to be alone with this person who is no longer a baby and how that day in the hospital was the last time she thought of me as "mother". I think it is wonderful that she is so much like Cameron and my father. I am so aware of what twenty years can mean. Just how deeply you can bury something if you really want to. Rachael keeps reading, she has no idea what flies through my mind. She is so happy with her book and the chance to share it. I dropped out of college, once, because I loved books like that. Loved reading them out loud to other people. Funny thing to pass on. Part of me wants the moment to last, the other wants the other shoe to drop because it is damn hard to keep all my parts together.

Then - Rachael is sitting on the living room couch of her home in Pittsburgh, PA. She is seven and a half. She doesn't look like me any more. We are visiting so she can meet her little brother (we haven't figured that part out quite yet). Rachael wants Cameron to sit with her and I have to show her how to hold him because three month old babies don't sit very well. She has him on her lap, and she is beaming. She isn't old enough to feel awkward about having half siblings. She wants to read a book to him and Cameron is happy to be read to. I am taking pictures of the two of them together, musing over how little they look alike. I wonder if they will ever have a true relationship with one another? I hope so but don't know how to make that happen, because these trips to Pittsburgh always hurt. For now, they are awfully cute together and Cameron loves the book.

Now - We are all sitting in a restaurant in Santa Cruz. James, Dirk and I are on one side of the table. Rachael sits across from us with Cameron, Una and Declan. Una insists on sitting next to Rachael. After years of Una hero worshiping Cameron, he has been usurped. Rachael can do no wrong in Una's eyes. Declan sits with Cameron (his hero) and the two of them play race car with the pepper shaker. We discuss the possibility of Cameron visiting Rachael at school for a couple of days this year. Una wedges in closer to her sister. Declan tries to drive the pepper car over Rachael's hand. They are siblings! They have all accepted one another without condition. It is almost hard to look at them, because this is exactly what I wanted for them all. I don't want to break it.

Now - Rachael, Dirk and I are talking about how Dirk and I answer the "how many kids do you have?" question. Dirk and I differ on this point. Dirk hasn't figured out how to answer that question because he has told so few people. I say there are "three people" and there are "four people". What determines the difference is quite complicated and depends on how much time/ desire I have to describe why my oldest isn't here and that I am indeed old enough to have a twenty year old daughter and that yes I was young when she was born and no...... More often than not, I say I have four children and leave it at that. Rachael smiles and says she is glad I say four. Her reaction is like a salve on a very old wound.

Then - There are too many people in my life. All of them want me to make them feel better. If I am having a bad day, I get a constant flow of "What's wrong?", "Are you OK?", "Are you sure everything is all right?"... I want to throw things at them and yell at them and tell them to fuck off. Of course I am not all right. No, there is no way that I am OK. I am so far from OK I don't know what it would feel like to be close to it. And there is nothing anyone can do, because I am giving my baby away and it does not matter that Susan and Robert are wonderful people. I am going to feel like shit about it for a long time and if that makes anyone uncomfortable too god damned bad because you couldn't feel a thousandth as horrible as I do and it is my right to feel bad. That is what I get. That is mine. I don't have to make you understand. I don't need to make you feel better. But... I wasn't brought up that way. I get up for old people on the bus. I say please and thank you all the time. I do not air my feelings because I am stoic and that is what I was taught to be. If I say I feel wretched and minuscule and invaded you will ask questions, and I will get uncomfortable because admitting weakness is not the British way. So I keep it in. Really I am fine. This is the best thing I could do. We will all be better off.

Now - I still find people want me to make them feel better. No one ever really wants to know what it was like to be me in 1987. Sometimes someone will ask me a question, awkwardly. They are always fearful of hearing, of knowing, what it was really like. Most people want to think that everything ended up great, with no sadness, no shame, no guilt. No regrets. So I let them think it. My life now is only because my life was. There is no possibility of change. Still, my sadness, my regret, my memories are mine. Maybe others can't hear it because this is what is supposed to be mine. This was the road I had to take to know how to hold on to my life now.

Then - Susan and Robert have their blue Ford Escort parked in front of my apartment. I hate that car. Before, I hated the way the stupid shift light would flash on at exactly the wrong time to do anything but drive 15 miles an hour. Now, it seems like Hades' chariot sent to take Persephone back to hell. Except it isn't. Persephone only went to the Underworld for three months of the year. Rachael is going to live with her... parents. Forever. Everyone wants me to put Rachael in her car seat. Why? I hope this isn't some kind of honor being bestowed upon me. It sure as hell better not be a reminder that I promised to go through with all of this. Some stupid ritual to help me "let go" and get "closure"? The back of the car is too tight for me to be comfortable and I have never done this before. I strap her in and she is ludicrously tiny in this huge car throne. We have crossed the line. Everyone is patient, but I know that they all want to get on with life, even if it is just a tiny voice in the back of their heads telling them so. Can anything I tell her now find a small space somewhere in her conscience so she can access it in the future? Just the feeling would be OK.

"I love you. I always will. I don't want you to go, but we have to do this. Don't forget. I love you."

Susan and Robert hug me good-bye. Susan is crying a bit. I can't handle it. They need to leave now. Right this moment I hate them and I am not sure that will ever change. Right now I hate everyone.

Then - Una and I are buying shoes together. She is seven, and she has "the gene". Aside from being beautiful, smart, funny and very put together, Una loves shoes. She loves shoes the way I love books. We are in Nordstrom, looking at racks of sale shoes when we realize that Una wears a woman's size four shoe!! She is beautiful, with enormous feet. True to form, Una starts trying on Ferragamo, and Prada, and even a pair of Jimmy Choos! "Oooooooh, Mommy! Look at these! They fit and they go with my jeans!" She's got it bad. On sale those shoes are two hundred dollars, and scattered on the rack like they are, they are the equivalent of the candy racks in the check out aisle. I tell her we are going to Target.

Now - Rachael and I are at Target. Looking at shoes. She has "the Gene". There is a huge rack of five dollar sale shoes, most of them dangerous in their alttitudinal potential. She is trying on a pair of turquoise, platform, slingback... stilts. If I were by myself, I would be a tad less judgmental about them, but there is a biological connection here that can not be denied, so I have an opinion about them. I limit my comment to "My God! You'll break you're ankle!". Una would get a sound "No way!". Rachael informs me her mother would hate them and shake her head in disapproval (knew there was a reason I liked Susan). They do look nice on her. And they are only five dollars... where do you think she got "the Gene" from?

Now - I am watching Rachael wind her way through airport security (she is wearing the turquoise stilts). Still just a little bit of red in her hair. Dirk is hanging on the partition that I guess is supposed to prevent shoe bombers from... whatever it is that shoe bombers do. I don't want her to go, but it seems right that she is leaving. I am so happy that she was here. She is all I could have hoped for. I see my Dad in her. My Mom, my Grandpa. Rachael is smart, and confident and herself. All I want for any of my kids is for them to be themselves. And maybe just enough of me to come home from time to time - to offset those good-bye's. They are awfully hard. I am surprised to realize I don't mind that I am not her "Mom". I haven't been for so long, I am used to that. It is clear that she is my daughter (she has my sharp tongue, god help her), but what am I? The term "birth mother" has always been distasteful to me. We have been jokingly using "Alternate Parental Unit". "Friend" is inadequate. I guess it is just, Adrienne. Hope it is enough, 'cause it is all I got.

This may seem like a long post. Lots of words. But there is no way I can put what flashes through my head into this. The pictures run by too fast, the feelings kick a bit too hard. It all leaves me a bit breathless. I start to write, and the pictures take over...

The Adventures of Pinky

2007-07-20T00:43:00.000-07:00

Declan often goes to the grocery store with his mom. He likes being able to pull things off the shelves and ride in the big rolling cart. One day he went to the store with his best friend Pinky the pink zebra, whom Declan loves very much.

As usual, Declan was very curious about everything and had to touch all the fun things on the shelves- the candy, the mop heads, the sports drinks... He looked at all the colorful fruit and tried to help put them in the cart. He came across the boxes of juice and asked if he can have some. And then Pinky spotted all the fun new toys by the cookies and he just had to go see.

Pinky played with the bouncy balls, and the balloons, and the shiny trucks. Declan was so excited when it was time to pay for the groceries, he left Pinky sitting in the truck that he was driving.

That night Declan was very sad. Pinky always went to bed with Declan at bed time, and sleeping in a big bed just wasn't the same without Pinky.

The next day, Declan and his family looked everywhere that they could think of. They went back to all the places that they had been, and still they could not find Pinky. The alarm was put out to all in the neighborhood. Pinky was lost.

Pinky had all but given up when he heard a familiar voice. Una's friend Margaret was playing with the toys in the same area when she spotted Pinky. There was no question that this was the one and only Pinky as there is no other like it. Margaret told her mom about what she saw, and soon Declan and Pinky were reunited.

Pinky was happy to be sleeping in a nice warm bed with his favorite buddy that night. And so was Declan.

What comes around... comes around again

2007-06-18T00:16:00.000-07:00

Bella came to us on a west wind. She was hanging off one of the shingles and peering in though our window to check us out. After deciding that she liked what she saw, she flew though our window and chose us as her new family. We put up fliers all over the neighborhood, and posted an ad in Craigslist.

The window that she flew in is usually open, and for over two years, she had never shown any interest in flying out of it. That was true until a couple of weeks ago. For some reason, Bella decided she needed to explore, or chat with the neighborhood birds, and went out the opened window.

For the rest of the evening, Adrienne tried to coax her out of a tree down the street. We would leave the same window open for the next few nights, hoping she would find her way home before she froze her tail off. Being a tropical bird in origin, her species doesn't do well in cold weather, and the kids were sure that she wasn't coming back.

Four days later I found a post on Craigslist from someone in the neighborhood giving temporary shelter to an obviously tame bird. Sure enough, Bella had once again found herself some good people who would house and feed her. And once again, she had found her way back to our home.

I guess this means she belongs here with us.

I Am the Reason My Mother Drinks

2006-11-25T22:07:00.000-08:00

As you may have previously read, Cameron had a science project that we helped him to complete a couple of weeks ago. While the point was to further the knowledge base that Cameron will need to survive in the world, I found the behavioral observation to be quite entertaining.
It was the job of all of the adults that are in Cameron's regular life to help in this effort by getting drunk.

The entertainment factor came when Cameron tried to keep all of us on task as we became looser and looser. Because we were all supposed to monitor our own times to begin drinking, take our breathalizer tests and record our results, Cameron was left to make sure that everyone did just that.

At first, this was fairly simple. Cameron gave us our sheets to fill out after each time we took the breathalizer tests and we filled them out with gusto. Of course with more and more wine, this became more challenging and Cameron had to do more prompting to get the adults to comply. As some folks hold their liquor better than others, some required more prompting than others.

The first of the group to drop, was Cyndy (followed closely by James), however, before this could happen, she became very loquatious, as is her want. I guess it was time for her to blow into the meter, and Cameron was apparently having difficulty with focusing her on the task. From somwhere just to the side of me I could hear him becoming quite frustrated and turned around just in time to see him channel his inner Woody Allen and say to Cyndy, "Could you stop being drunk for just one minute and focus?!"

It would seem that Cameron was learning all kinds of things about intoxication that day.

Moral of the story- "Grasshopper, when you can hold back the ocean with a broom, you may leave", or "When your parents and their friends are getting drunk around you, give up and play Nintendo".

(This entry was started the day after Cameron's experiment. It was finished 6-24-07. No, it is not because of a very long hangover.)

Cameron's science project

2006-11-15T22:59:00.000-08:00

Thanks to everyone who volunteered to be guinea pigs, Cameron's science project came together very nicely and was a smashing success. He still has some more work to do before its completed, but I've put up some pictures anyway.

His project was to study the effects of alcohol on a person based on his/her physical attributes. The experiment involved everyone drinking wine (thanks Neil) at a prescribed rate, and taking breathalyzer and field sobriety tests at certain intervals. Only two subjects did not reach the legal limit of drunkenness at 0.08% BAC.

From the data the we have, the only real contributing physical factor is weight. Gender is suppose to have a small effect, but our sampling is simply too small to determine that. The most interesting data that I think we gathered was how drunk a person really is at 0.08% BAC. All of us was surprised at how incapacitated you had to be to be considered legally drunk. I personally would not get behind the wheel at a BAC level of 0.03%.

It was a fun experiment, and I think we'll be taking the breathalyzer to every party from now on.

New Pictures

2006-11-13T00:17:00.000-08:00

I've uploaded a few pictures that's been sitting on my camera from a while back. I also have a few from Halloween. Now all I have to do is wait until I can post to the flaky Blogger RPC. The picture and post for Cameron's science experiment will have to wait a bit, but those should be up pretty soon.

Minor Updates

2006-09-06T00:40:00.000-07:00

I know we haven't posted in a while. Declan has been keeping us busy. There are some new pictures in the picture blog. OK, I didn't even take those pictures, but I promise I'll get something up soon. Really.

As another minor update, you may have noticed that I've removed the password requirement for our blogs. It was simply too frustrating to send someone a syntactically correct URL, only to have a broken browser (stupid MS Explorer) reject it.

More later.

Fair is Fair

2005-11-22T01:05:00.000-08:00

Why the hell am I posting at 1:00 in the morning? Because my inner monologue that carried on while I was washing dishes lead me to an interesting thought, and I want to capture that thought before it's forever lost in my inability to commit things to memory.

Cameron had mention "reverse racism" in one of our conversations the other day, and Adrienne pointed out that there's no such thing. Racism is racism, regardless of who's doing the discriminating. I was thinking about that and it occurred to me that there is "reverse racism". It is effectively the opposite of racism, otherwise known as "preferential treatment". It is the "secret family discount", and the "buddy pricing" that we're talking about.

In this day, you wouldn't think of denying service to someone who is black. But I'm sure many of you have experienced the indifferent sales clerk who barely notice your presence, but jump up and greet a customer who happens to have a common skin tone as the clerk. And no, I'm not talking about a white clerk since that would somehow make him/her a racist. I'm talking about a clerk generally of a foreign decent which I won't name (hint: it starts with "Philippine" and ends with "O", but just as often starts with "Chin" and ends with "ese").

And to extend that logic to other "isms" - There's no way you can get away with charging more for the same goods if the customer happens to be a twenty something, yet senior discounts are everywhere.

Racism is defined as the discrimination or prejudice based on race, but isn't the reverse just the same thing? Instead of preferential treatment to a particular group, aren't you just discriminating against everyone else?

So what's fair, and good, and just, and all of those things? My guess is that it boils down to the majority rule. So how does that end? It's not OK to discriminate against the 45%, but it is OK to give preferential treatment to the other 55%? What about 30/70? How about 10/90? Damn, now my head hurts.

I suppose that's what lawyers are for. Let them sort out the ethical issues. Oh how ironic. Lawyers sorting out ethical issues. What do you call 20,000 lawyers on the bottom... Oh never mind.

First Words

2005-11-06T20:55:00.000-08:00

There's an episode of The Simpsons where the clueless Homer Simpson exclaim that baby Maggie's first word was "burlap" when Maggie innocently belched.

The boys have those first words. In the same vein, Cameron's first word was "elbow", and Declan's first word was "Iowa". I don't remember if Una had a first word-like sound. However, both Cameron and Una's actual first word was "balloon". And in Cameron's case, it was contained in a full sentence.

Now it looks like Declan is breaking tradition. His first word that he uses regularly now has been "Mum mum mum", synonymously meaning food and Mom. Adrienne says that doesn't count as his first word since it not an actual word.

Maybe I should bring home a few balloons.

Music Doth Sooth the Savage Breast

2005-08-12T21:30:00.000-07:00

Having not posted for a while, it feels like it is time. So why not tell everyone about our summer music adventures, thus far?

For the last 30 years, I have attended concerts at Stern Grove, here in San Francisco. When I was a kid, the Sunday concerts were usually the SF Symphony, or the SF Opera or a production of a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. Over time, the Grove has become much more hip and now features a lot of jazz and world beat musicians (all for free!). This season has been great and thus far we have seen 4 shows. Quite a feat as we have to be there by 10 am to get space for the 2 o'clock show!

June 19th- Lucinda Williams and John Doe- This was a great show if for no other reason than the last time I saw John Doe he was still with "X" and was kicking the crud out of an over zealous fan that had climbed on stage. He has a great rockabilly band that on the surface is a great departure from "X", but isn't too far off if you really listen. This was the first time I have seen the traditionally older crowd that attends these shows realize the whole thing is changing. It was the first time they got a lot of swearing and anti-Bush rhetoric with their show.

Lucinda Williams was alright, but I would rather hear her in a road house.

July 10th- Cheb Kaled. This man is called "The King of Rai". It was a fun show. Lot's of Morrocans and Algerians in the audience (wonder if there were a lot of CIA, as well). There was also a dispropotionate number of white people with dreadlocks. There was a lot of energy coming from this guy and the audience was eating it up. Lot's of belly dancing. Once again, shock from the elders. The highlight of the show was the sudden appearance of Carlos Santana on the stage (although he shows up just about every where).

July 17th- Ladysmith Black Mombazo and Linda Tillery and the Cultural Heriatge Choir. What an amazing group. These guys have been together forever and they just keep getting better. We had a great spot on a rock that allowed us to sit above the crowd and take it all in. The harmonies that come out of this band are better than almost anything in music, today. Sitting on the rock and letting it all just hit me was a truly other worldly experience.

September 7th- Green Day!!!! Wow. I haven't been to anything that loud since the Ramones in 1984. This show came complete with swearing, on stage simulated masturbation, Mr. Rogers-like King Friday puppet, Bush-bashing, Journey covers, tattoos, pot smoke... It was like being 16 again- except that I can't scream like I used to and there is no way I am going stage diving or slamming. It was so loud, my earplugs weren't enough. Man, it was goooood!

What's a Git

2005-08-04T22:54:00.000-07:00

On my long commute home, a light bulb went off in my head. As a play on words, I thought the word "BlogGit" would be a funny name to use, as in a Blog git, instead of "blog it".

No luck in registering that domain name though, as it was already registered by "blogit.com" as a preventative measure against mis-spelling/mis-typing their domain. No clever domain name for me I guess.

No luck in getting that Blogspot home either, as that name is taken by someone who has posted exactly once back in May. Darn it.

On The Road Again

2005-07-10T23:55:00.000-07:00

There was a time in my life when I ate, drank, slept, worked, and played motorcycles. I have owned more bikes than I have well fitting underwear. I have ridden more miles than the average motorcyclist will ride in a life time. I had never imagined my life without motorcyles. That was a life time ago.

Last week when visiting my in-laws, I borrowed my father in-laws' bike and went for a ride. It was the first time I went for a leisure ride for 8 years. It was every bit as much fun as I remembered. And it also made me aware of how sloppy my driving had been when compared to riding, when all of the little self-defense techniques started to fall back into place. Being a rider gives you a much sharper awareness of dangers on the road, and my not riding has certainly dulled that edge.

Then the next day, I took Cameron out for his first ride. We have been talking about that for years. And he took to it like duck to water. By the end of our first ride, Cameron was hanging like a seasoned veteran. And he loves it. He has been going with his grand-father on his weekly rides, and he can't get enough. I see some family riding in the future.

I told this to a riding friend of mine the other night, and he said to me: "I don't think I would introduce my kids to motorcycles. Doesn't that make you a bad parent?" Without hesitation, my response was: "You can't shelter kids from every possible danger in the world. You can only teach kids about them." I can only hope that Cameron uses that head on his shoulders.

The Accidental Tourist

2005-07-02T22:48:00.000-07:00

OK. So we kept the bird. Her name is Bella Donna. She has taken over.

Bella likes to be fed by hand while sitting on your shoulder. If you provide her with the incorrect substance, she is happy to scream at you until you give her what she wants. And, of course, we are suckers and give in. Her favorite food is whatever you are eating. She likes to sit at the table and eat with everyone else. Bella also likes to be present whenever there is any cooking going on. She will sit in her cage, calling to us to let her out to join the fun.

She loves to taunt other animals into chasing her. Dogs, cats, children. She isn't picky. She has even chased/ been chased by the ceiling fan.

James and I have endeavored, with each of the animals, to get them used to travelling in the car. That way, trips to the vet aren't so traumatic, for the animal or us. Bella has now been in the car 5 or 6 times and behaves like a dog the whole time. She wants to see where we are going and she chirps questions to us about the trip the whole way along.

Because our trip to Los Angeles was going to last for a week, we were forced to bring Bella with us on vacation. She is not yet fully grown, and immature birds get very wild if they do not have consistant attention paid to them daily. Much to my suprise, Bella is a traveller. She is also a Houdini.

While driving back home. Bella and Declan were having a bit of an arguement and it was getting loud. Well, we can't put a blanket over the baby to shut him up, so we put one over Bella's cage. A few minutes later I heard some flapping from the seat behind me. I looked back to see what was up, and there was Bella, sittng on James' headrest! She had not only managed to open the cage door, she had tuneled out from under the blanket and inbetween the cage and the baby's car seat! There was no way we could get her back in her cage and she was content to stay on the headrest quietly. She drove in the navigator position for about an hour and a half before she went back into her cage to eat. The whole time she looked at me with an expression of utter challenge. She made it very clear that she would go "home" when she was good and ready and there was nothing I could do about it.

Perhaps the bird was sent to us so that we could practice for when the kids hit adolesence.

Green Acres is the Place to be...

2005-06-28T12:38:00.000-07:00

For most of my life I have been under the illusion, that people move to the suburbs for the quiet (among other things). This week we are spending time with my folks in lovely (also flat and hot) Chatsworth, CA. Chatsworth is a suburb of Los Angeles.

It is not quiet. Not in the least. It is an f'ing war zone!

One expects to wake up to the birds and neighborhood dogs. One does not expect to be woken up by leaf blowers, howling muts, doorbells, chainsaws, back-up beepers on heavy equipment, roofing teams, singing Iranians, slamming doors, paint blowers and mariachi music. All at once.

James and I have lived under one of the busiest Highway 80 offramps in the state. We lived under it while they were demolishing it with small explosives. This is noisier.

It seems that everyone leaves for work during the day and relinquishes the town to every Tom, Dick and Harry (or in this part of the world Jesus, Pedro and Ramon) that has every portable cleaning/blowing/fixing machine known to man. As long as it is finished by 5 pm, we are all ok.

I would finish this entry but I am unable to think over the monster truck engine racing up and down the street.

P.S.

Interestingly enough, Chatsworth is also the Porn Capital of California.

The Many Names of Katie

2005-06-21T23:24:00.000-07:00

When we first rescued the litter that Katie came from, the kittens received names according to his/her markings. Her brother was named Zipper for the white stripe that ran down his belly. He lived up to his name for zipping around the house though. The very little and very vocal female received the name Apron for the white apron marking around her neck. Since then she has had many different names.

She's been called "Chicken Hawk", for her attentiveness whenever we had chicken for dinner. It was as though she was actually hunting for scraps. "Vulture" is another name that comes to mind. Although she was equally attentive when we ate Sushi, or short bread cookies. I'm not sure you can hunt wild short bread cookies.

Adrienne often called her "Katie Lou", as in "Katie Lou Hoo, who was no more than two". Except she was. She was 15.

Cameron often called her "Katie Face". I'm not sure why.

When we decided to keep her, it was my responsibility to name her. The only condition Adrienne placed on the matter was that I could not name her after a motorcycle. And since an edict was declared, I had to name her after a motorcycle. How could I not? Her purr sounded like a two-stroke engine on a bike.

Let the record show that Katie was actually named "K.D.", like a Kawasaki two stroke dirt bike made at the time.

We miss that little thumper.

Our First Baby

2005-06-21T17:57:00.000-07:00

Today is a very sad day in the O'Chan household. After a couple of years of steadily declining health, our wonderful cat, Katie, finally got too damn sick and we had to have her put to sleep. For anyone who has never been really attached to an animal, it would be impossible to understand just how lousy a day like today is. For those who have had that special pet that becomes family, the one that you just can't bring yourself to say you "own", you know exactly what I am talking about.

Katie was a ferral kitten I rescued from our backyard, almost 15 years ago. When we got her, she was covered in fleas and ear mites and had a nasty upper respiratory infection that cost us almost $400 to get fixed (along with her brother and our other cat, Fe'los who of course got all of their stuff right along with them). After being told that we would never be able to tame her, because she was just "too wild", it took us exactly 24 hours to completely fall in love with one another. She slept in our bed (once the fleas were gone), followed us around like a dog, and insinuated herself deep into our hearts. She taught us how to speak cat, and definitely understood a lot of english - "Let's make the bed" always sent her running to the bed to play "blanket monster".

Katie always knew when we didn't feel well, and would sit with us for hours, purring like an animal twice her size, to make us feel better. When Cameron's seizures happened, she always came to be with him to help him come back to himself. In the months after getting hurt when Cameron was a baby, she was my constant companion.

Because Katie was "the baby", when we brought the kids home from the hospital, one after the other, she exibited a great deal of sibling rivalry. She got over it. Katie would usually go to bed with the kids, not coming out until they were asleep. She also had the most stubbornly patient facial expression when the kids would grab fistfulls of fur or bang her on the head when they were babies.

Her favorite spots were on our shoulders and in a sunbeam.

She loved coffee and donuts. No joke.

She always managed to push James and myself to the edges of our king-sized bed so she could have the whole thing to herself.

No matter how awful the day had been, she was always there to remind us that we were loved and needed.

In the last weeks, she had the great joy of chasing the bird around the house (she would have been a wonderful huntress if she had teeth). After years of our calling her the "Chicken Hawk" she was happy to try to live up to her name.

We had the great honor of being able to be with her when she died. James got to hold her in his lap, and the kids got to say goodbye. She went quickly, and without pain, but true to her intelligent nature, she knew what was happening and I can't help but think she was as sad to leave us as we were to see her go.

Katie's passing also marks the passing of a part of our youth. James and I found Katie in 1990, when we were just 20 years old. She was a part of our life from before our kids and our careers, when we went everywhere on our motorcycles and James had his long hair and black leather. When we were thrilled to live in our first apartment together and our best friends lived up the street.

For those of you who have had that special animal, go have a pastry or a piece of tuna sushi for Katie. For those of you who have not expeienced this bond, try to find yourself that special cat/dog/horse... Like having kids, it brings so much to your life. It brought way more to ours than we could have guessed almost 15 years ago.

Mrs. Garrett!

2005-06-18T23:04:00.000-07:00

It's true. I have become the den mother.

Earlier this month, we aquired new downstairs neighbors. Over the years that we have lived here (13 in all!) I have only ever hoped that whoever moved into the middle apartment was NOT a couple of college students. My hopes were realised, until now. We have a pair of very young men living under our feet. They have no furniture, a love of Snoop Dogg, and a lot of friends.

We don't get the worst of it. Our poor neighbor, John, on the first floor gets his head pounded in, all the time. One of the guys is well over 6'4" and has very heavy feet. That and his equally large friends like to lean out their window and yell at their friends on the street at 1 a.m. Their window is right over John's studio.

John called the police at 2 a.m. after the last party got a bit out of control.

Tonight they are partying again.

In the hopes of not having the police ring our bell in the middle of the night again, I decided it was time to go join the party. The journey downstairs offered up empty beer cans, shaking stairs and the front door to the building wide open (wouldn't be an issue if people didn't take advantage of the opportunity to steal everything out of the garage when it happens). So off I went to bang on the door.

When the door opened on to the ensuing revelry I knew I was about to become the "lady" upstairs. As I like to do things right, I embraced the role, gave a shout to listen up ( got to love that "mom" voice), and a resounding NY taxi cab whistle and laid down the law. No slamming the doors until the chandelier swings, no screaming out the window (especialy the one under my bedroom window) and no beer cans in the hallway. I let them know that adherance to the rules would prevent one of the neighbors from calling the cops (I prefer neighborly intimidation, myself).

It was pretty cool, because the party stopped dead in its tracks. That is the power of the mother. Or in this case, the den mother as I have inherited a small fraternity.

Of course, it all reminds me of the parties I have been to in my life. The back doors I have fled out of to avoid the cops at the front door. A lot of those kids reminded me of the people I grew up with and partied alongside. It was a blast and I loved every minute of it. But now it is time to take up the reigns of the tired, older guy/lady next door. The one who always wanted us to shut up. I remember that person always being a great deal older than I am.

Mrs. Garrett had that huge bun. I wonder if my hair would do that?

Addendum: It's 1 a.m. I'm calling the cops.

The Medium Haul

2005-06-11T23:07:00.000-07:00

June 11, 2005. It is our eleventh wedding anniversary today (steel or jewelry. Odd pairing). In our group of friends this makes us very... odd. Most of the people we meet, in our age group, have been married only a couple of years at the most. Most of them haven't started to have children yet. Whenever they ask how long we have been together (17 years, more or less), we get the inevitable, "Wow!". Then we get this look of awe. Not that they aspire to this, so much, but because so few of them have achieved it and wonder how it is done.

We get similar reactions to having three kids. This makes us very different. How could we possibly manage with three?

Why don't we both give our two cents (one cent, each) on this subject.

Adrienne says:

I can't say I have any response that anyone else would find helpful. It is what it is, and we like it. That's how we "manage". There is no question that it will work, simply because we know it will. There is no one method, no one secret. Either it works or it doesn't. Either you are open to it, or you are not.

I saw an old interview with Anne Bancroft and Mel Brooks, the other day. They both felt that love was the smallest part of their relationship (40+ years!). They didn't say it was unimportant, only that there are so many components to a good relationship that trying to push all of it into "love" was impossible. They both said, essentially, that a relationship has to function on many different levels to keep it going for the long run.

I think you have to want it to work, more than you want all of those things that inevitably break relationships up. It has to be more important than promotions and houses and vacations... It has to be big enough to contain all of the chaos of daily life, and flexable enough to move with it, and strong enough to withstand the neglect that occasionaly comes it's way.

Some good wine and fancy knickers don't hurt, though.

James says:

I don't know if I even have half a cent of opinion to give. Adrienne covered most of it. A relationship is a lot of give and take, sometimes you give more, sometimes you take more. You can't take a moment in time of who doing the giving and who's doing the taking. If you're committed and you know your partner is too, it'll all work out in the long run. Focusing on what's unfair right now, can only lead to disappointment.

As for managing kids? You just do it. More so than any marketing slogan can convey about passion for a sport, taking care of the kids just happens. You have to make it happen. There's no two ways about it. You just do it, because you love them.

We Are the Champions, My Friends....

2005-06-09T22:34:00.000-07:00

Just a little bit of bragging needs to occur. Cameron and his two partners have won the 1st prize in the 5th grade at the Edison Charter Academy Science Fair. I am especialy proud because Cameron did about 65% of the work. It was an experiment on the effect of temperature change on crickets. They hypothesised that the the chirps would change with fluctuation in temperature - more chirps for higher temps. Too bad the crickets we bought them for the experiment were "chirpless"! The kids rallied, and decided to record the behavioral changes in the bugs, instead. They did a beautiful job.

They were one of the few groups who did everything themselves, which was what got them the prize, in the end. The teachers liked that the work was theirs.

Cameron has also received the President's Education Award for his outstanding academic performance, this year. He was one of 10 kids in the school to get it.

James and I are, of course, terribly proud of him. He's a good kid.