Monthly Archives: January 2010

I live approximately 20 miles from the beach, give or take a mile or two depending on the route.  As the crow flies, it’s a much shorter distance, but I am neither a crow nor do I fly.  Oh, I’ve tried.  So instead, I laced up the Asics (again), did some really lame stretching and set out this morning on foot for Santa Monica.  Here’s the thing about these long distances: you just never really know how you’re going to feel until you get out there.  If I’ve trained sufficiently for a marathon, the nerves I feel before the race aren’t about conditioning.  I’m nervous about what I can’t predict.  Did I eat the right foods the day before?  Did I drink enough water throughout the week?  Am I going to get a side ache?  What about the mysterious pain I feel in my ankle twice a year that makes me stop on a three-mile run and walk home?  Did I turn the stove off?  Did I close the garage door?

I’m happy to report that my 19-mile run after a cup of fully caffeinated coffee this morning (and a banana) went off without a hitch.  My only complaint is my hamstrings, which are tighter than my size 4 jeans size 6 jeans.  They require stretching that I seldom never take the time to do.  But wait, there’s still seven weeks before the big race so, like Obama, I still have hope.  If I continue to say that in five weeks, I’m in serious denial, but for now I’m keepin’ the faith.  I think that rolling-pin thing that’s been hiding under the coffee table for the last several weeks might do more good if I actually pulled it out, held it with both hands and kneaded my muscles with it, so I’m going to try that.  I also might attempt some crazy stretching.  If I promise to scratch their backs, the girls will probably give me a massage.  I don’t really think the hamstrings will ever be as soft as butter or as loose as Libi the dog once was, but there is tremendous room for improvement.  Tackling this issue could just get me across the finish line on March 21^st in less than four hours if I’m lucky, judging by the way I felt after today’s run.

If you’re running by yourself early on a Sunday, or any day, and won’t be staying close to home, I think it’s a good idea to carry some identification, a few dollars and, these days, a cell phone.  I don’t want anything banging around my body while I’m trying to get somewhere, so I found a great little elastic pouch thing at the Big Sur marathon expo last April (I was just doing the relay).  I had my iPhone in it this morning and, because it stretches around whatever you put in it, I wasn’t bothered in the least.  They’re called SPIbelts (small personal item) and I highly recommend.  Go to SPIbelt.com and check out their stuff.  I also recommend hot baths and spouses who will look after the kids for the day while you recover.

Tomorrow: Monday, further recovery

Our nation and the world: I hate watching the State of the Union (SOTU), no matter which President is delivering it, and yet I always do.  Wednesday evening, I hit fast-forward through the ridiculous standing ovation calisthenics, to enjoy a well-articulated response to our nation’s woes.  As opposed to Republicans, who voice their dissatisfaction loud and louder, I’ve complained that Democrats are shy these days about expressing anything encouraging or sensible about President Obama and what he is trying to accomplish.  Therefore, let me be the first (probably the 2730^th) to say that he hit the proverbial nail on the head when he explained his attitude toward healthcare reform:

“Now let’s be clear – I did not choose to tackle this issue to get some legislative victory under my belt.  And by now it should be fairly obvious that I didn’t take on health care because it was good politics.

I took on health care because of the stories I’ve heard from Americans with pre-existing conditions whose lives depend on getting coverage; patients who’ve been denied coverage; and families – even those with insurance – who are just one illness away from financial ruin.”

More than a majority of us voted Obama into office because we believed he sought the Presidency not because of political ambition, though that must surely be a qualification anyone seeking the highest office must possess, but rather to do good, to help others, to help us, to end wars, to keep us safe.  I believed him then and I believe him now.  And I never once imagined that he’d easily accomplish any of the change he pursued.  Ask anyone, anyone, about change of any kind.  The status quo is what we know.  Change is hard.  Obama is still my guy.

Some SOTU observations:  the Supreme Court shouldn’t attend.  Forget the Alito thing.  They just don’t look good as a group.  Ginsberg, in the front – yikes.  I thought her head was going to fall off her shoulders.  And what was up with that ridiculous small-scale version of the SOTU that the Republicans put together in Virginia with Governor Bob McDonnell giving the rebuttal?  Ridiculous.  And even though they were barely mentioned, I couldn’t help but think of the men and women still stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan, still fighting, still dying.  They’re off the front page but should not, and cannot, be forgotten.

And let’s remember Haitians continue to find their way.  A 16-year-old girl was rescued from the rubble two weeks after the quake hit.

Toyota did the right thing, finally, by recalling millions more of their vehicles and suspending production on certain models in the wake of their gas pedal/unintended acceleration problem.  I’ve been driving Toyotas since 1992 and have always sung their praises.  I’ll have to keep my mouth shut for awhile.  On the upside, GM just announced the addition of 1200 new jobs at their Chicago-based manufacturing facility.  Jobs!

Steve Jobs and Apple rolled out their newest gadget this week, the iPad.  All of their products are a ton of fun but I can’t help thinking that the absence of a built-in camera, and therefore no video chat, will be its downfall.  I also still heavily favor books with pages you can fold down in between covers you can feel and then place upon shelves for the library/den-like atmosphere it gives a room.  I love not only to read books, but to touch them as well.  What can I say?

I can’t help but be excited about the $2.25 billion California will receive from the federal government to start building our high-speed rail from Anaheim to San Francisco.  In about eleven years, I might be able to hop on a train to get to S.F. in just over two hours.  I know flying is faster, but trains are more fun.  The rest of the $8 billion the stimulus package will distribute goes to twelve other rail corridors throughout the U.S. including a Chicago to St. Louis train.  Fun.

From the absurd file: I heard on some radio station the other day discussion about legislation taking place regarding bulletproof vests.  I only caught part of the conversation, but did you know there are laws against the wearing of these?  And if you’re caught with one on during the participation of a crime, you’re in really big trouble.  Imagine, you’re going out to rob a bank and your partner sees you donning a vest.  “Yo, buddy.  Take that off.  It’s against the law.”

Sports: at 12:30am tonight (Saturday morning), Serena Williams takes on Justine Henin at the Australian Open.  Tomorrow night (Sunday morning) same time, Andy Murray of Britain takes on Roger Federer.  ESPN2.

I can’t help but think Phil Mickelson and every other golfer who may win a PGA tournament during this period of “Where’s Tiger Woods?” will have an asterisk next to their name, indicating that their victory was somehow tainted without Woods as a competitor.  It feels a little like the Soviet boycott of the 1984 Olympics.

For the first time, the Pro Bowl is being played the week before the Super Bowl, which means none of the Colts’ or Saints’ players will be in the game.  I’m a huge football fan and I don’t care.  I’ve never cared about the Pro Bowl.  Sunday on ESPN, 4:15pm PST.

CBS will not back down from airing a commercial during the Super Bowl funded by Focus on the Family that features Tim Tebow and his mother essentially pitching for the anti-abortion movement.  And on that note, Scott Roeder was found guilty today of pre-meditated and first-degree murder in the killing of abortion provider Dr. George Tiller.  This debate will rage on until the end of time.

Miscellaneous: is there anyone out there who didn’t read Catcher in the Rye?  J.D. Salinger died Wednesday at the age of 91.

John and Elizabeth Edwards announced their separation this week.  I’d be okay to never again hear the details of their personal lives.  It’s just too sad and icky.

Contemplate.  Discuss.

We adore thee.

If you’re a vegetarian, I’m sorry.  I apologize because, even though you’re likely healthier, on the occasions I cook my special bacon, I am happier.  This is not opinion.  This is fact.

I could focus my entire site on the feelings I have for bacon.  I briefly considered calling it DailyPoundofBacon.  When God created the heavens and the earth, on the ninth day He created bacon.  I bet you didn’t know that.

Bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon.  I just like saying it.  Like a puppy, it is perfect.  The first time I tasted this recipe was during a holiday PTA meeting at my daughters’ school.  Before I made my pitch for volunteers to help me on some damn committee I was chairing, I wiped a joyful tear from the corner of my eye, swallowed the bacon I had in my mouth, and proclaimed, “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”  It’s quite a statement to make, I know, but I was hungry.  After the meeting ended, I made a beeline to the kitchen to ask Chef Chris, of Harvest Moon Catering, how to make it.  Since I neglected to ask if it had a name, I’ll just call it Joyful Bacon.

Joyful Bacon

1 pound sliced bacon (thick or regular, NOT maple)

¼ cup brown sugar (about)

Coarse ground black pepper

Parchment paper

Preheat oven to 350°.  Line a baking sheet with sides (so the grease doesn’t spill over and start a fire in your oven) with parchment paper.  Place bacon slices, one next to another, on the parchment paper.  Sprinkle with brown sugar (dark or light), and then coarse ground black pepper.  (You can also use a peppermill, or pure ground pepper for different results).  Bake for 15-20 minutes (I found perfection at 18).  I transfer to a brown paper bag (cut open and laid flat) rather than a paper towel and I can’t remember why – something to do with the way the grease gets absorbed.

If you must, share some of this with whomever sees (and smells) you making it.

Tomorrow: Friday fodder.  I have so much on my mind.

Libi. No longer turning tricks.

Libi came at me this morning with unbridled joy.  She’s Wendy and Marco’s yellow Labrador retriever who they found through a rescue several months ago.  She spun in circles when I arrived to get Wendy for our run, and then quickly fetched her sock monkey so that I, too, could enjoy its dirty, smelly, squishy pleasures.  No surprise then that, for the first fifteen minutes of our jaunt, Wendy and I talked about the dog.

Over the last few years, I’ve noticed that no one, NO ONE, talks about their sick pets, followed by vet visits, without adding the tag, “three hundred dollars later.”  Or, in the case of my brother-in-law’s golden retriever Chester and his bad eye, “After an MRI, blah, blah, blah, he can see now…two thousand dollars later.”  Well, Libi had been suffering lately from some mysterious behavior, small seizures and such, and Wendy pursued treatment, “seven hundred dollars later”, that revealed Libi was afflicted with a sexually transmitted disease.  (No, I don’t know which one.)  You see, Libi was liberated from the streets of Taiwan, apparently in the red-light district.  When Wendy and Marco “adopted” her last October, she’d recently given birth, evidenced from the size and color of her nipples.  She seemed a bundle of joy combined with overwhelming relief to have left her call girl life behind, finding herself in the warm embrace of Toluca Lake.  And yet, the STD only served to remind her of who she used to be.  Fortunately, the three-month antibiotic protocol ($250 later) will allow her to once and for all put the devil behind her, and move on in her emotional and physical recovery.  We’re all relieved.

We love our pets.  Some could add “to a fault”.  And yet, no matter how deep the love, how far we will pursue their immortality, we must tell anyone who will listen how much money it costs us to keep them alive.  I sing the praises of my vet, in the bowels of North Hollywood, because he doesn’t charge “Ventura Boulevard prices”.  Just imagine how awkward it would be if, when my oldest daughter slipped on the stairs last year and cut her head, requiring six staples to close the wound, I added with a sigh, “four hundred dollars later”.  You see the humor.  You get the joke.

My friend Jackie Kashian is a stand-up comic and thankfully, very, very funny.  I told her she should do a routine about this pet thing, and she said she already had because, I told you, she’s very funny.  Listen to her performing an early version of this bit here – and then go ahead and buy her CD, which is more recent and also includes her caveat that she really, really is an animal lover.  You can laugh at all the rest of it, too.

I was interested in talking to Wendy this morning about time management, which I’m having difficulty with these days, but we ran out of time.

Watch Obama’s State of the Union tonight at 6pm Pacific time.

Tomorrow: what should I cook?

I’m the youngest of five children.  By the time my parents had me, they were exhausted.  And yet, it had its advantages.  I got away with a lot.  I never had a curfew.  But there was a downside, too.  I vaguely remember, as a baby, being thrown into the dishwasher to get clean and sudsing around with bowls and cups.  Sometimes they’d forget to feed me, so I’d crawl over to the dog’s dish.  I stayed home one year from school because my parents neglected to sign me up for third grade.  I’M KIDDING.  Mom, seriously, I’m kidding.  It was second grade.

Okay, honestly, I have few complaints about my childhood.  (Mom, I’m human.  I have to have some.)  There was a lot of independent discovery because I was often left to my own devices.  There were, however, a few things I would’ve liked to learn before I hit thirty, like getting whites white with bleach.  (Thank you, Paul Schouten).  Or the proper way to tie shoelaces.  I still tie mine funny.  I grew up with a pool and yet didn’t learn how to dive until I was fifteen.  Isn’t this tragic?  And then, there were the bloody noses.  I was prone to them as a child, and so too is Bun-Bun, the middle one.  She’s suffered from them since she was about four.  Rather then have her use my remedies, i.e. toilet paper twisted and inserted into nostrils, direct pressure, “put your head back!”, I decided to call my pediatrician.  “It has to do with the drying of the nasal membranes”, he said.  “Especially in the winter, they’ll crack and then bleed.”  The solution: rub some Vaseline around inside the nose, morning and evening (when necessary), and no more nosebleeds.  That’s it.  Totally works.

And that’s not my only Tuesday tidbit!

I’m old enough now to realize I’m not as unique as I once imagined.  Surely, there are others who weren’t told about blood and cold water until well into their 30s.  Hello, I know you’re out there and I know it’s written on the inside of every washer hood ever made, but I never read that.  Did you?  I also didn’t know how to cook a baked potato until I called my mother around the age of twenty-five.  The longer this post gets, the more pathetic I feel.  Okay, so after the bloody nose, soak the stained article of clothing in cold water.  Rub it a little and then wash as usual.

I’m going to go practice tying my shoes one more time.

Tomorrow: I really hope Wendy can go running.