The Joys of Local News

Who says that news is always negative? I particularly enjoy local news as it makes me feel safe and snuggly in my microcosm.

elmo is stuck

(photo:www.balloonanimal.com)

'Twas 630 pm and I had just finished a most excellent yoga session. I stepped into a crowded elevator which included a young mother, her (presumably) husband, and a small child carrying a red balloon animal miraculously twisted and tied into a perfect rendition of Elmo.

It's seldom an occasion when I am amused by children. I'm much better with sinister adults, but once in a while I will be completely taken by a precocious youngster.

The elevator doors shut. For a moment it was completely silent, until the two year old announced in a calm, and almost patronizingly adult tone "elmo is stuck." For a moment, she was brushed off (as childspeak often is), but as my eyes shifted their gaze to the bright-eyed red mess, behold! elmo was stuck! His arm had been savagely sucked into the elevator door, though, by the crux of his left appendage, leaving his fragile body perfectly in tact. This was a true medical miracle I was witnessing. I couldn't help but cackle unabashedly as the child valiantly struggled to set her friend free; the elevator did not relent.

POP! child screams, cries. i exit, amused.

you, that consumes me, will at last be in my hands

finally, my love is on the way 

baby, may

                 

                     i

 

                   take 

 

                                 your picture?

Happy Birthday, Mr. President

Chin chin in honor of these revolutionaries 

 

Priorities, people!

Today while I was walking down University Avenue I saw a bum wearing a bluetooth.

Ok, so that didn't actually happen, but I was at the sporting goods store this morning and bared witness to a man with no legs asking to try on a pair of size ten shoes.

Crap. I lied, again.

Ok, what did actually happen this fortnight was me failing to escape the ubiquitous media coverage of Ms. Suleman, proud mother of now fourteen children. The woman, who has clearly undergone too many restylane injections and is evidently suffering an identity crisis mistaking herself for Angelina Jolie, receives $490/month in food stamps, plus additional federal assistance for three of her disabled in vitro babies from her first sextuplet. Suleman claimed in her interview that once she was finished with her masters program, she would be able to financially support her babies on her own. You know what else she wanted to do on her own? According to a family member, the biological father of her children (who were all conceived in vitro) is actually her boyfriend. "He was in love with her and wanted to marry her, but she wanted children on her own".

What the hell?!

In vitro fertilization costs between 12,000 and 15,000 dollars which is a lot of money, unless you were fortunate enough to receive a disability fortune after being injured in a riot at a mental health hospital.

So where do we draw the line? Where do personal freedoms infringe upon ethics? When is it right for science to trump nature? At what point should the feds quit bailing everyone out? At what age does one realize his mother is cuckoo?

the counterpoint

Every story has two sides. Last week I wrote about the consequences of living in a world/country/society where ambition is so highly regarded that it becomes oppressive, rendering us zombie-like and out of touch with life. Some of us, particularly the over achievers, would likely benefit from being committed to one thing fewer, thus less hurried, and more available to stop and smell the  lilies. Furthermore, these individuals would be more happy, more productive (ironically), and overall, less manic. While I wholly believe in said thesis, it is imperative I make one thing clear- this theory does NOT apply to those who lack ambition, nor those without any sense of time or urgency. Case in point- the North Park Post Office. This is most certainly not the place to visit if you have 1.) another appointment within the hour or 2.) an empty stomach. (It is however, the place to go if you have an entire afternoon to kill, or enjoy some fantastic people watching). Here are some more facts about the North Park Post Office.

1. The people who work the desks are very nice, to a fault. They are much more interested in the details of your day than getting your package stamped and sent out in a timely manner.
2. 1 in 3 people (male and female alike) come in to the NPPO donning false hair. This ranges from the spray on type, to the long, curly, very blonde type.
3. All the attractive people I have ever seen in the NPPO are very openly gay.
4. There is never a line with fewer than 18 patrons.
5. Even the ladies who run the front counter adhere to fact #2.

6. One cannot expect to spend fewer then 40 minutes in line.

So perhaps this makes me a bit of a hypocrite or idealist, or preoccupied with my own self interest, but I really would appreciate it if while I lived my life thoughtfully, patiently, and frequently stopping to sniff the flowers, everyone else could hurry the eff up.

Another one bites the dust

Today marks Day 1 of my official road to Boston, or qualifying for Boston rather; I'm off to a bit of a shaky start. The fun began when I woke up at 5am feeling like someone had lacerated my throat and stuffed it with cotton bunnies. How is it that I've escaped falling ill all autumn and winter, even escaped parasites in Asia and tetanus from Mission Bay, but still managed to wake up alongside death this morning?  C'est ma vie...

I peeled myself from my warm nest and stumbled to the bathroom to clean out my plugged ears with a warm q-tip, only then to discover fresh blood spewing out of my ear. "Hello? hello? hi, ok". I think I can still hear out of the left side of my head.  On the bright side, at least hearing loss isn't a detriment to running fast, and perhaps now I will have an excuse for my selective listening.

The day o' fun didn't stop there. I coached practice, then bounced off to school, where I proceeded to fall asleep in the front row, and right in front of the projector. And for the record, when I say "fall asleep", I mean it's a wonder I didn't electrocute myself because I woke up cheek and sleeve and desk covered in slobber, mere inches from the fancy piece of powerpointprojectoring.

I apologized to my professor, left lab early, and dragged my feet to the bus stop. Usually I ride my bicycle to school, but San Diego has been hit with such wild weather of late, and I have learned from previous bad decisions that it's better to ride the bus than cycle in the rain. I stood there for a while, letting my brain wander about such topics as deafness, my neck to toe neon green fleece ensemble (seriously), whether it would be possible to convince my teacher I was not in fact as moronic as she probably thought, etc. I checked my watch. Why had I been standing there for forty minutes? Usually my bus comes every 10. How did so much time just pass by? And why was this the fourth time the number 7 had rendered me exhausted? I leaned back to peer at the bus schedule, promptly to realize I had been standing in front of the entirely wrong bus stop while the rest of the world was passing me by. 

I managed to make it home without injury, but then like a gun draw in a shitty western film, came the rapid onset of my cookie craving. When they come, they hit me hard and there's absolutely no escaping the wrath of these inner monsters. Which brings me to the present- throat still feeling as though it were grated alongside my block of parmesan, ear needing a feminine hygiene product, physics neglected, type II diabetes- check, and now too stuffed off cookies to roll over, much less do an hour of steady state and yoga.

Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.

evil devil bus

devil cookies

riding tandem downhill in a monsoon in korea is probably not a good idea if you plan to lose your brakes and shoes

finishing my most recent marathon

When one door shuts, another door opens

Last night I had planned a girls night out with two of my friends from last semester's biology course. Priscilla is a vivacious and garrulous Brazilian while Becky is a wonderfully wry and fantastically coarse midwesterner. Though seemingly opposite (with my personality lying somewhere in between), together we have an unassuming and harmonious companionship.

Despite my love for these girls, we have a tendency to flake on each other. Last night was meant to be our "FINALLY we are going to follow through with plans" night. I curled my hair, put on gobs of mascara, tried on a few too many outfits, did all those girly things that I have fallen somewhat out of practice doing, and finally after a little more than an hour felt like I didn't look completely masculine (although I did somewhat bare semblance to a drag queen). Anyway, it was 8:15 and I was about to start blending my first margarita when I heard the little dingle my cell phone makes when I have received a new text message. It read "sorry, my stomach is hurting, I'm just going to go to bed". WTF?!! Thanks Priscilla. I just wasted an hour trying to make myself socalclubsceneworthy, bought a bottle of tequila, tried on about six outfits, and now you're telling me you're canceling? Mind you, not even having the courage to call, rather text? And fifteen minutes after you're supposed to be at my apartment?!

GRRRR. I was fuming, but mostly just disappointed. I reached for an eye makeup removal wipe, but before giving it the initial swipe across my lids, heard again the chime of my cell phone. "Going out downtown. vip list, no cover, no line. want me to pick you up?" Thank you Trevell Quinley for swooping in and saving the day! I ended up at a notably pretentious, yet very pretty tri level club, getting treated by staff, clinking glasses late night with olympic gold medalists, and making the usual scene on the dance floor.

Home Brewing

It's never a dull moment when I'm in the company of Elyse and Vince. Elyse: a beautiful, fair skinned creature who to strangers, appears as a quiet, polite, domesticated, and softly spoken female. But looks can be deceiving as out of nowhere she will shock you by bellowing the most vulgar phrase or complaint, or commenting on her digestive system at the dinner table. Vince, her partner for the past 5 years, is superbly kind and patient, but also possesses what may arguably be the most unique sense of humor I have yet to come across (as marked mostly by his uncanny non-sequiturs and subtle commentary.) Part of what makes his humor so fantastic is that I can never quite tell if he is funny by accident or by purpose. Irrespective of this, together they are just, zen.

Last night I went over their condo for some pizza and beer. Vince is always up to some sort of shenanigans, and his projects hold testament to his true DIY personality. He really is good at all the random shit he pursues. Last night it was home brewing. He began cultivating his first batch of beer last week, and last night it was time to siphon, add the yeast, and bottle. What a beautiful process that was. We tried a sip and it was delicious, even warm and sans carbonation. I can't wait for it to be cold glass worthy next weekend.



siphoning

mmm yeast

bottling

capping

I'm famous and $50 richer, (but $120 more poor)

Npr/ Garrison Keillor, This American Life,Car Talk,etc. have been a part of my life since as early as I can remember. What was once too loudly projected noise whilst riding shotgun in my parent's ride on the way home from ice skating practice, (or worse, insisted upon even when mom was driving me to high school parties with all my friends in tow) is now the noise I can't live without while drinking my double soy mocha upon rising. Considering the Tappet Brothers practically raised me, I decided to cease leeching the system and contribute $120 to their membership drive. Five minutes later, I became famous, and not just once, but TWICE! They thanked me on the air, acknowledging my contribution by reading my name with a tone of regality (maybe I made that up, but it sounded good!). Thanks mom and dad for giving me a nice English ("worldly" as you say) name. (Though I still carry animosity for the middle name you chose for me). Of note, my gift for having contributed to the drive was a $50 gift certificate to Cafe Sevilla-my favorite spanish tapas restaurant and salsa club.

Every time they say "tapas bar" on air, it sounds like they're saying "topless bar". I find it amusing.

I am anticipating an imminent girls night out...

spicy stuffed peppers

Whipped these bad boys up for lunch today. I stuffed them with a mixture of brown rice, parmesan, tomato sauce, caramelized onions, garlic, jalapenos, and a few egg whites. Cover with foil, bake at 400 degrees for 45 minutes and voila!

Thanks for all the lovely emails I've received re:ramblings. Please post your comments here rather than emailing so I can keep my life organized and your comments in close proximity.

Dropping o-chem has proven a very wise choice- it's added about 20 extra hours of free time to my week. I slept better last night.

the more you hurry, the further you fall from perfection

Mau-ry! Mau-ry! Mau-ry!





I am baaaack per the unrelenting demands imposed on me by friends and family missing my memoirs. Ok, not really, more-so  as a therapeutic mechanism for me to treat my seeming inability to be mindful in a world always in a hurry to get things done.

My return to the blogosphere comes at a time when, after speaking with my trusted cohorts, I realized I was unhappy, stressed out, and disconnected from the environment, myself, my friends, schoolwork, and life in general. We live in a culture that encourages (imposes) ambition, to the degree that (especially) those of us who are intrinsically motivated zealots (conformists), are too easily pulled into becoming burdened by the very things that interest us, and thus prematurely grayed, wrinkled, and hypertensive. Is it really possible to indulge my curiosity and still maintain time and energy to drink a glass of wine in the bubble bath without feeling guilty? The answer is NO. Not when there are derivatives and alkanes and protists to be learned. 

That said, with the counsel and careful ear of some of my most trusted peers, I have decided to withdraw from my organic chemistry course in exchange for being more thorough in everything else, as well as a little more self indulgent. In case you're not up to speed, I'm presently in San Diego, living in my own dreamy apartment in North Park. As my livelihood, I'm the head coach of the Master's Women Program at ZLAC Rowing Club- an endeavor in need(ed) of lots of love and labor, but now blossoming quite nicely. Furthermore, I'm the manager and rigger of the rowing club, which lends itself to a flexible yet predictable schedule  of me up at 1am browsing shell parts. Outside of the boathouse, I'm pursuing prerequisites for medical school and studying for the MCAT. I'm hoping to apply to howtobeadoctor school this year, but it's somewhat ambiguous as to whether my withdrawal from o-chem will delay me another year. (Be that as it may, I will remain happy coaching, reading leisurely, studying French, and doing yoga). A la carte, I'm volunteering at a health clinic, training for the Rock and Roll Marathon (where I hope to go sub-3:40 and qualify for Boston), working on a revision for my second rejection from Hepatology, cooking and arranging produce as an art form, making lists, and trying to start a book club, along with a health focused philanthropic foundation. 

Of note, I recently purchased health insurance which although I consider to be the biggest scam known to man, is still somewhat of a psychological relief. 

Things with the family are good. My dad is presently in Europe competing in the Monte Carlo Rallye.  Speaking of which, my most notable xmas gift came from dad- a pair of fire retardant shoes for when we rally the Jaguar together this summer!  Pretty cool eh? I will be driving and he will be navigating.... more to come later.

As seen below, I spent the first days of my 24th year in Seoul. Since then, I've ran two marathons,  gained 8 pounds, danced around a pole in Vegas with my (*cough*, olympian) friends, spent two (separate) weeks in New York (where I attended a live taping of a who-yo-babydaddy Maury Pauvich show and the Thanksgiving Special of Conan Obrien, ate a late night hot dog in central park, ran along the Hudson, went to a slew of museums (including the bodies exhibit), left early from a painful off-broadway show, volunteered at a GLAAD art auction (where I made friends with gay porno producers and speedo designers,) drank beer, ate NY pizza, and talked a lot of IR with Wiss and Laine), moved into my own apartment, took a semester of calculus in four weeks (hateful), dropped my first course in school EVER, and accumulated less dust than normal on my acoustic Hohner. I guess I'm about at zero, though I hope my most recent decision to abort cis and trans will put me back in the positive quadrant of life.

Stay tuned... I've already got a quickly expanding repository of funny shit that happens to me on the city bus. Last week I made friends with an MTVthree rapper named Decimal (because "I'm to the point").