Lifestyles of the Young and the Renting

Tastes

2006-10-03T21:49:00.000-07:00

As we mature, we more realize what we like and don’t like and tastes change.

What was once appealing feels a bit cheesy or constraining. With that in mind, we have re-located to Blogsome. Welcome.

going to school naked

2006-09-16T15:10:00.000-07:00

This morning, I was listening to voices on the radio discuss the monstruous buy-out that Ford is engaging in for the purpose of salvaging their company. The analysts proposed that what got Ford into trouble was their bread and butter: trucks and suvs. Not only have foreign companies always bested them in the sedan category, but Ford has also been resistant to experiment with optional energy use...nary a hybrid to be seen...and in this season of $3+ gas, that's got to be a bit like going to school naked.

Then, this afternoon, as part of my new thoughts regarding decompartmentalizing my beliefs and my lifestyle, I googled 'ethical living.'
What I found were some very interesting sites...one with a clothing line made out of bamboo, another with organic lipstick (not exactly what I was looking for, but not a bad idea). However, I began to notice a trend with all of these predominately well-done sites: every last one was from the UK. In fact, aside from a few non-descript sites on druids and Jainism, I couldn't find one that wasn't.

I think I'm having a little cognitive dissonance...are we not the most advanced of countries? The first of all first worlds? Did we not win the race to the moon? Growing up, I certainly had that sense...America was where the newest and best things sprung forth, to then be shared with grateful neighboring civilizations. How did we miss this boat? I wonder if we are naked in school, and everyone knows it but us.

...or...maybe I'm the only one that's naked...

-l

diarrhea or death

2006-09-15T08:30:00.000-07:00

Umm, diarrhea, please. That's if I get the option.

The FDA has advised that everyone toss their bagged spinach - to the delight of 6 year olds everywhere - on account of cases of E.coli being tied to bagged spinach.

http://www.cnn.com/2006/HEALTH/09/15/tainted.spinach.ap/index.html

-m

5k

2006-09-13T21:07:00.000-07:00

Fundraising update:
I'm about 62% done!! Thank you so much to those who have given. Your donation will help make lives better.

Here are some pictures from my 5k race last weekend in Studio City (on the CBS lot - the finish line was next to the Will & Grace stage set).

just a few more yards...

sweating all over my sweetie.

me and my race posse

marital wisdom

2006-09-03T11:03:00.000-07:00

Sunday, a day of rest...which means I naturally wake up at 6:45, spend a few minutes staring at the ceiling, alone with my thoughts, before I get up and check my email.

My husband is not biologically a morning person; it is only the chance to find a cure for cancer that gets him out of bed before 5:00 during the week. Respecting our differences, I enjoyed my morning solitude untilI could take it no longer. At 8:00, I got a running start from our dinning room and pranced right onto the bed and on top of my sleeping husband. I heard a slight groan as he tucked his face under his arm. I began to tenderly rub his back...no response. I then take a piece of my hair and stick it in his ear. A pathetic protest came out from under his elbow. I rub the underside of his nose, and he only wriggles away.

In my tender wife voice, I say, "What are you dreaming about, sleepy head?"

"...being alone."

I decided now would be a good time for me to go to the gym.

-l

long time

2006-08-30T15:33:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time - maybe never - since I've run so much.

After this week is all said and done, I'll have run over 20 miles. And, yes, I still enjoy it.

A training picture for your enjoyment:

just because...

2006-08-30T10:38:00.000-07:00

the animalness of animals

2006-08-27T22:48:00.000-07:00

Matt and I were talking today about ways to further integrate our beliefs with our every day practices, and we got to talking about a friend of ours that doesn't eat meat because of his ethical quandry over corn-fed beef...it has something to do with the fact that it's not a cow's natural diet, and that the corn fed to the cow could feed a lot more people than the meat of the cow itself...something like that.

Anyway, I wanted to find out more about it, and I came across this quite interesting article by a guy that interviewed vegans and toured slaughterhouses, all to get the real skinny on the animal market. I thought this quote was rather profound:

"To a person, they are passionate about their reasons for ditching meat and dairy. But I've seldom heard vegans get passionate about the taste and texture of the food they eat."

Oh wait...that was the quote I thought was ironically funny. This is the quote I meant:

"In Rollin's worldview, what mankind owes animals is the ability to live as naturally as possible—that we let cows be cows and chickens be chickens, that we respect and nurture the animalness of animals. Then we can eat them without moral qualms."

Whew...the release from ethical quandry is sweet.

-l

P.S. I wonder if THIS is the message the cows have been trying to send me, via the sabotage of my milk. I receive your message, cows. I receive it.
http://www.seattleweekly.com/news/0408/040225_news_twosides.php

And then there were eight

2006-08-24T09:41:00.000-07:00

We're re-writing the books!

Pluto has just been demoted
The celestial body, long known as a planet, will now be considered a "dwarf planet," the General Assembly of the 2006 International Astronomical Union ruled in a vote Thursday in Prague, Czech Republic.

Milk Wars

2006-08-23T16:15:00.000-07:00

For the past two months, milk has been after me. And it is in league with the coffee beans.

It all started the morning of my birthday party in June...I had gone to Peet's before heading to the gym because we were...out of milk...and couldn't make our own coffee. I had a coupon, so I got myself a 'store-bought' latte.

Sitting in the lovely sun, sipping my drink outside the gym, I realized it (the coffee) was really hot, and it (the sun) was equally blazing, and that made me (a person) too warm - and not to mention, caffeinated - before working out. I set my half-full cup in the bottom of my locker, planning to finish it after my work-out, which would be an hour. Not the strictest of FDA observances, but I did live on a farm, after all...

Well, my 'one hour' workout turned into three, as I met a very interesting little man that regaled me with tales of Palestine and Brigham Young and Jehova's Witnesses, all the while teaching me techniques to get rid of "the double hello" (read: the extra skin that attaches women's arms to their armpits). I finally escape and get to my locker, and of course, even though this hot milk has been hiding in a dank (albeit oak) locker for three hours when it is nearly 100 degrees outside, I decide to finish my latte.

That evening, friends threw me a delectable birthday party with multitudes of Italian food and rich chocolatey cake. At about 10:45, we made a hasty exit. At 1:00AM, my dinner, as well as the latte, also made a hasty exit.

Since that time, I have twice found myself leaving gallons of milk in the car on the hottest of days for about 30 minutes, and last week, I hadn't finished my coffee at breakfast so I mindlessly drained the cup around lunchtime...mind you, this is southern California and our south-facing apartment can get up to 90 degrees in August. Of course, I didn't feel quite right for the rest of the day...

I am not sure what milk wants from me - perhaps to be vegan and avoid all animal product? Perhaps coffee beans have enlisted milk to act as their mercenary in getting me to desist grinding them to little bits and soaking them in boiling water? Perhaps milk is just vindictive and will get people whenever it has the chance.

Whatever the truth is, if I leave one more gallon of milk in the car in the middle of August, I might just have to give up.

-l

Jonbenet

2006-08-18T22:05:00.000-07:00

Two things about CNN.com's coverage of the latest developments in that case:
- why does the front page have to be shots of this man with the same blue shirt and the same creepy expression for days on end?
- why does there have to be a smiling Thai man in the background of every shot?

Just wondering.

-l

inconceivable

2006-08-16T18:42:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it...it really just happened....I just finished the first completed draft of my Doctoral DISSERTATION!!!!!
Even my table and my reference section is done.

Of course, this is just a draft, and there are sure to be revisions, but for the most part, I am done with my dissertation! I seriously never thought this would really happen. And then suddenly...it was done. It kind of feels anti-climactic, though. I think that's because, in my mind, the final data analysis and write-up was supposed to be the hardest part, and the "real" part because that's where you say whether what you did was important or not.
However, I am realizing that the writing up is easy...the facts are facts, and you just need to write them down. What was hard was the year and a half of writing the proposal and collecting the data. That was a bugger.

Happy freaking Christmas to me!

And perhaps it is a sign of the significance of the event that it is only 6:45 in the evening, and it is all I can do to stop myself from crawling right into bed. I have nothing left to give. Until tomorrow, that is, when I get back to writing internship essays...

Oh, here are two other bits of recent news:
- I was offered, and accepted, the position of chaplain for the school of psychology this next year. Very cool. If I wasn't so exhausted, I might conjure something more reverent to say than that, but "cool" is pretty good for me right now.

- I just cut my hair the shortest it has been for 20 years, bested only by the bowl cut I had in the second grade (mom and dad, that's the school pic of me in that pink sweatshirt with 1986 geometric detailing)

That's all. I'm going to go fall asleep to a rerun of America's Next Top Model now.

-l

Week 1

2006-08-07T18:29:00.000-07:00

Well, week 1 of training is done. It's not too bad...so far.

Here's my routine:
Mon, Tues, Thurs: up at 5 am, at the Rose Bowl by 5:30. Walk 1/2 mile. Stretch. Run 3.2 miles with 3 one minute walk breaks.

Wednesday is a "cross training day", meaning get your heart rate up, but don't run. This week I did Yoga. Was nice to get stretched out.

Saturday was the 3-mile initial time assessment. I pulled in a time of 27:37, which isn't too bad for a natural sprinter trying to turn cross country.

My eyes have been opened to a new 'community' in Pasadena. The 5:30 am Rose Bowl crowd. It's mainly people who have been doing this for a very long time. Old friends, young friends, some guy walking with a sand wedge. I pass the same people every day, mostly in the same spot, they're starting to say hi. I must be the obvious new guy, what with the mohawk and all.

I'm enjoying running more than I thought. I had thought that if I weren't chasing something (ball, frisbee, my hot wife), it would get boring, guess not.

-m

I like your tooth.

2006-08-05T07:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday after work, Matt and I were driving to have dinner with some friends. We were stopped a light about six cars back, when I saw a man start to jaywalk from the other side of the street, coming towards us. He was probably 50, with a round belly snug under his t-shirt. There was a Dunn-Edwards paint shop behind him, and it looked like he had been painting. I made a nod towards him, and said to Matt, "Looks like this guy has been working hard all day."

I don't know if he saw me notice him, but he certainly noticed Matt and his most recent mohawk installment. The man smiled broadly, pointed at Matt's hair, and came around to my open passenger window. He stuck his arm in the car and said, "I like your hair, man! Give me a five!"

As he smiled, I could see that he had a front incisor that was circled in gold, so I said, "I like your tooth!"

He then asked what our names were, but the light had turned green so off we went.

Such a strange moment of meeting, and one that I don't think would have ever happened in Bemidji, Minnesota.

-l

nostalgia

2006-08-03T10:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was shopping at a small little market near our house that has the cheapest produce and the best deli. It is sprinkled with vegetables I have never seen before, and little boxes of things I can't pronounce, but if I ever needed to buy grape leaves, I would know where to go.

I was waiting in line for the only open check stand - including the checker and the guy behind the deli counter and the two or three men stocking shelves, there were about ten of us in the shop. Four were in front of me in line, and I was mesmerized by them: a clean-faced mom with dark hair pulled back by an orange and red bandanna had a very new baby snuggled in a sling across her chest. She was so earthy her sling wasn't even held with velcro, but a small brass ring. Two older children wandered around her, creating worlds out of cucumbers and counting coffee beans. She called to her son, "Eli, do you want big carrots today? Why don't you go get a bag!" I almost cried at this little shaggy-haired boy's excitement to get the nice long carrots with the peels still on, versus the plastic bag of precut, prewashed, carrot nubs.

The person in front of them had just put their fruit on the counter. The mom looked at the daughter and said, "Zoe, we have one of those at home, don't we? A nice, big cantaloupe!"
"Yes, it's my favorite!"

As the mom approached the checker, the same one that I see and speak to every time that I come, she (a caucasian woman) called out to her in Spanish and the checker volleyed back. I could tell they were talking about how big the baby had gotten, and how old the checker's children were. I then thought of my own timidity to even offer an "Hola" to this woman I have known for years, for fear she would begin to speak to me in Spanish and I would then have to cut her off and explain "You lost me at buenos dias."

This little family was so beautiful and simple, with their cart full of raw, uncut, unpeeled vegetables. I saw the checker roll two heads of garlic onto the scale, and I thought of my own large tub of minced garlic sitting in my fridge, ready for me at a moment's notice. This family also reminded me of my own childhood, when my mother would make me sundresses, can tomatoes, and make zucchini bread from the zukes in our backyard.

As I got into my little car, I considered what the rest of my day held: I needed to write a 250-word integrative statement for a symposia on child development, send emails to a psychiatrist in Beverly Hills and an occupational therapist in Boston, and write an essay on why the Children's Hospital of Los Angeles should accept me as an intern for their upcoming training year.

I have a professor that has many catch-phrases, but one of his favorites is "All decisions involve loss." As I go further into this professional world, I am realizing that walking through these open doors means the closing of others. I can't get that nose ring and dye my hair blond on a whim, or even wear open-toed shoes to the office no matter how hot it is. However, it does mean that I get to be a part of transformation and healing in other peoples' lives. I need to buy my garlic in a big tub and my carrots already washed so that I am available to do the work I am meant to.

That little family made me happy, though. Happy for good parents and kids that eat their vegetables and little boys that pinch their sisters in the rear-end, not knowing I was watching.

Hoorah for you, little family.

Now, time for another essay...

-l

The defeat of Table 1!

2006-07-27T11:56:00.000-07:00

One of the predominant differences between a PhD and a PsyD in psychology is the emphasis on statistical research. A PhD must do a data-based dissertation that is worth 32 units, while a PsyD has more freedom and only 8 units.

However, even though I am a PsyD, I found myself in a dissertation with a year-long data collection phase and lots of numbers to crunch. I am preparing to defend my dissertation in the fall, so that means I now have to make sense out of all my numbers. Yesterday, I was working on Table 1, and I suddenly found myself in a horrendous pit of irritability. I was trying to make sense of Table 1 when I heard Matt shuffle some papers behind me and prepare to comment on the day's mail. I preempted him:"Do you really need to talk to me right now, or can it wait?" I was working down to the moment we had to leave to have dinner with a friend. I finally peeled myself away from the computer and said, "So, are we leaving now??"
Matt playfully tapped me on the shoulder with the neatly-sealed bag of raw chicken he was holding for just that reason. I flinched away with a slightly nasty face, and then, with whatever strength I had in me, confessed that was cranky with Table 1, not him, and that I will try harder to manage myself.

This morning, I went to therapy and confessed my hatred of Table 1 and my ensuing crankiness. She broke it down for me:
1. Doing Table 1 at all was someone else's idea, and something I never really cared about in the first place...I don't really know what I'm doing, and I'm doing it for someone else's agenda.
2. Matt is an inherently relaxed person. This is typically a great asset to my life, but at that moment I was ultimately envious that HE didn't have a Table 1 to complete and thus, there was no mental space with which I could fully appreciate being tapped on the shoulder with raw chicken.

However, the cocktail of having a patient husband, a great therapist, and a trip to the gym gave me enough power to thoroughly dominate Table 1, even before lunch! It was a holy moment, reminiscent of salvation - of being pulled from the depths by a power greater than yourself.

Let's just hope my advisor feels Table 1 is as sacred.

-l

The Hoff

2006-07-24T17:32:00.000-07:00

On a break at work, I was sifting through my email (of which there is very little of interest) and whatever amusing bits of information I could find to perk me up enough to finish my work. The headline on CNN alluded to David Hasselhoff's (of Mitch Buchannon/Baywatch fame) return to stardom as a judge on the summer space-filling show, "America's Got Talent." Could Hasselhoff "see his star rise again?" I had my doubts, so I read on...

Here are David's thoughts on writing his memoir:

"It's about growing up since I was 7 and realizing a dream," he tells the magazine. "But when I was out trying to save the world, I forgot to save myself."

Sounds palatable if you read it quickly with visions of blaze orange swimtrunks throwing off your focus, but let's look more closely, find out what the Hoff is really trying to say...

- "It's [the memoir] about growing up since I was 7 [what was happening in years 1-6?] and realizing a dream [which was...],"

- "But when I was out trying to save the world [the alleged dream], I forgot to save myself [lifeguard complex? Misplaced hope in the power of acting?]."

So then, what we can conclude from the exegesis of Hasselhoff's text is that a) He began to grow at age 7, b)His dream was to save the world, presumably through the medium of acting; namely, on a television show that was ultimately vapid and has had cancerous effects on world opinion of American culture and blond women in particular, and c)In the end, he did not succeed in saving the world and lost his soul in the process.

The article goes on to reference an incident where the Hoff had to undergo emergency surgery in London for slicing four tendons and severing an artery in his arm while "shaving." David attributed the suicidal mishap to bumping a light fixture with his head and being showered with broken glass. His reported response to the situation: "So I went into Mitch Buchannon rescue mode, 'What's the number for 911 in London?'"

Oh David. You don't need to hide behind Mitch anymore. We accept you for you.
But may I suggest you no longer read your own memoir?

Good luck, Hoff. Good luck.

Racing to Save Lives

2006-07-11T21:18:00.000-07:00

Gabe (right) and me. (1987)

I am training to participate in the Honolulu Marathon (Dec. 10th) as a member of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training. All of us on Team In Training are raising funds to help stop leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin lymphoma and myeloma from taking more lives. I'm completing this marathon in honor of my brother Gabe who passed away from leukemia in 1995 and to raise funds to help find a cure.

Please make a donation to support my participation in Team In Training and help advance the Society's mission.

http://www.active.com/donate/tntgla/MVogt

who are you?

2006-07-07T23:25:00.001-07:00

Me?

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

It's over!

2006-06-29T09:05:00.000-07:00

No more commute!
I made it through, and have good letters of recommendation to boot.
Such a strange feeling when seemingly endless things are finished...

Feels like an icecream cone. Or rather, a no-sugar added fudgcicle.

Hallelujah.

-l

25 years: silver; 5 years: jellyfish

2006-06-13T11:25:00.000-07:00

It is only now, five years into our marriage, that Matt and I are beginning to feel like adults...well, mostly adults. We always laugh when we remember our honeymoon: we were staying at the Marriott reort on Kauai - a gorgeous place slathered in marble with an open-air jungle garden in the center courtyard, hosting koi and pineapple plants. We tumbled out of the airport shuttle with our luggage - green canvas totes that happened to have wheels attached - along with much older and much savvier world travellers. They knew what to do: the bellhop stacked their luggage on a trolley to bring to their room while they checked in. Matt and I were 21 and 22 at the time, and very frugal - we declined the bellhop, as we knew that meant a tip for his service, and instead clankity-clanked our canvas luggage to check-in.

Five years later, we pull up to our resort in Mexico. It was obvious that an attendant had seen us coming and was there to help us with our luggage, but we again declined and went to check-in, only to realize that after check-in, we needed to go find that guy so he could help us with our bags and all the groceries we just bought. This time I was ready: I ran after him so that I could tip him after our bags came in, but he reminded me that he had not yet brought my groceries and that I could tip him then. And that I was at least slightly crazy.

I suppose some things will never totally change.

On the day of our anniversary, we had wanted to have a picnic on the beach and watch the sun set, drinking the bottle of wine we had gotten in the fall from a winery near San Diego for this very purpose. Problem was, our resort faced south.
Matt asked the front desk attendant where to go to watch the sun set, and he pulls out a piece of paper and a black marker and draws what I thought was a rendition of the state of Florida wearing a straw hat, but was actually a map to a most fabulous and secluded beach. After venturing through several detours and an old cemetery, we came to a small road lined with incredible homes facing the ocean. We park by the dumpsters, as we were told, and begin to unpack our picnic.

Behind us was a Mexican family, packing up after a day in the sun. They didn't speak any English, and our Spanish is quite limited, but they became very emphatic that something was amiss with the ocean. The father was making little pinching motions on his arm, the mother waving her hands back and forth in a very prohibitive manner. I suspected they were telling us not to swim as there were jellyfish in the water, but my mental translator was paralyzed. In the end, we got this across:"Peligro (danger)!No agua (no water), solo playa (only beach). Comida (dinner). Si (yes)."
You may wonder how or why I knew the word "peligro"....next time you see a wet floor sign or a bilingual chemical warning, take a moment to learn a new language. You never know when it will come in handy. (I am still waiting for the chance to say "Cuidado! Piso mojado.": caution, wet floor.)

At any rate, the family was satisfied that they weren't sending us into a losing battle. We went off down to the beach and found a good spot. Which could have been any spot, as we were essentially the only people on the mile-long stretch of beach...except for the gentleman casting a fishing net about 200 yards away.

We opened our wine and watched 50 sand crabs skitter across the beach as the sun set and the tide came in. For an impromptu anniversary dinner, it couldn't have been planned any better.

Rifas, Rifas, Rifas

2006-06-13T07:14:00.000-07:00

Ah, Mexico.
So good, it's taken another week to readjust to our normal lives. Matt fell into a slight depression when he had to get up and go to work three days in a row.

Our trip was fabulous - the people, the food, the sun, the ocean. The only thing I might have changed was getting stung in the face by a swarm of jellyfish.

We learned many new words, the first of which was Rifas.
The first day of our vacation, we were lounging by the pool in the afternoon, waiting for happy hour to begin. There was an enormous whiteboard by the side of the pool, listing the day's activities, and we were well aware that happy hour began at 4, and that drinks were 2 for 1. What better way to kick off a week in Mexico than with happy hour margaritas? The waiter came, and Matt ordered banana and I, mango. The waiter clarified with us: "2 for 1 is ok?" Um..yes...very ok.

A moment later, the drinks come. "2 for 1" is apparently code for "4 for 2", as Matt and I were given two drinks each in our respective flavors. Let the vacation begin.
I have two limitations when it comes to drinking: I don't drink that much so my tolerance is pretty low, and if something is tasty I forget there is alcohol in it and I drink it like a milkshake.
About twenty minutes later, I was nearly finished with my two drinks when a man began rounding the pool area, passing out thin paper bingo sheets. On the big whiteboard, the schedule read "Rifas, Rifas, Rifas!!!" at 4:30. Neither Matt nor I had any inclination about what Rifas was, but visions of Mexican fiesta danced in our heads. So now, at 4:30, after two margaritas, I get handed my bingo card and across the top, instead of BINGO, it reads RIFAS. I say to the man, with just a slight slur and my most American of accents: "Oh, RIFAS is BINGO!"

"Si, rifas is bingo."

Our resort had three tiers of cascading pools. We were seated at the top, and somewhere in the middle was the announcer who called out numbers and letters in Spanish and English. Not unlike Matt's typical good luck, he won the first game. He called out, "Rifas!" and cheers of Rifas! erupted from under umbrellas up and down the pool area as he ran down to the announcer. "F-22...uh-huuuuh....F-17...uh-huuuuh...." Matt, indeed, had Rifas, and the crowds cheered again. His prize? A free margarita.

We were deep in the middle of a "T" game - top row and middle row - when I swore I had Rifas. I even let out a little yell....rifas!...and started to get out of my lounge chair. Matt quickly and quietly assured me that I did not have rifas, so I sank back in my chair. The fast movement reminded me of my two for ones, and I was suddenly very glad I didn't have to try to navigate the stone steps. It was definitely best for me to not have won - the margarita coupons were good for happy hour that day, and it would only be pure determination that could get me to drink another one. Instead, I concentrated on learning my Spanish numbers and watching the ocean crash below us. In all, not a bad introduction to vacation.

-l

Do we have to come back?

2006-06-07T16:55:00.000-07:00

So living in another country doesn't sound so bad anymore. Puerto Vallarta was more than we could have imagined. From the dune buggy rides through small villages and rivers to the bowls of margaritas, it was amazing.

The weather, the food, the views but mostly the people. They were so gracious to us gringos murdering their language as we tried to order food and otherwise communicate.

We took 386 pictures! I've widdled it down to roughly 270 and setup a photo gallery at:

http://www.mattvogtconsulting.com/gallery/

First came the beach, then came the margaritas, then came the stories.

-m

cinco anos con mi esposo

2006-05-25T22:04:00.000-07:00

Anniversary Haikus:

Five years of marriage
Margaritas, here we come
Gone to Mexico

Our mail is on hold
Our paper is up for grabs
Junk mail waits for us

Time to get nice tans
Rainy season, we're not scared
Don't forget your towel

We don't speak Spanish
Riding the bus will be fun
Pesos a plenty

Frequent flyer miles
'rent's timeshare comes through again
Good travel karma

Here's to good marriage
It's fun to like your husband
Anniversary

Not Leprosy

2006-05-19T23:27:00.000-07:00

Pleurisy.
http://www.webmd.com/content/article/7/1680_53636.htm
It's what I've got.

The worst part is Dr. says no running.
The best part is 1 word: vicodin

-m

bachelorhood

2006-05-17T12:59:00.000-07:00

I think I still got it.
L is gone for a few days so I've gone full bachelor.

night #1:
have buddy over
take apart his computer - Mac guts everywhere
order 2 pizzas
drink beer
watch Matrix: Revoution

About right

2006-05-09T13:12:00.000-07:00

Yeah, that's about right.
-m

Stix (not the band, not the river, but the game)

2006-05-04T18:14:00.000-07:00

Today, as I was cleaning up the office after three sessions with kids, my arms were full of puppets, plastic leopards, play phones, and markers. The one thing I dropped was the open can of "Pick-up Stix," which splayed across the floor. I then had to pick them up. I thought that was a little ironic.

That's all.

-l

Jung must have spent a lot of time at the gym.

2006-05-03T22:03:00.000-07:00

I've been going to the gym since January, and it has become a haven for a closet introvert that is fascinated with human interaction. I have come to observe several archetypes that are ever-present - The actual faces and spandex and gym shoes change, but the characters seem to stay the same: the middle-aged man that sits on the bike and pedals ever-so-slowly while reading a newspaper; the 24-34 yr old guys that do eight reps on some kind of weight machine, and then lurk around with their hands on their hips and their brows furrowed as though they cannot come to grips with all that is wrong with the world; the elderly woman that flirts shamelessly with these same guys; the late-30s woman that is trying to burn off baby fat while reading People or Vogue on the treadmill; the middle-aged Korean woman that has not a flicker of self-consciousness as she lounges naked around the locker room.

However, there are two people I have noticed that truly defy categorization. I first noticed "Pat," a 70-ish wiry man that reminded me of Mr. Miagi, when he reprimanded a young man (one of the "what's wrong with the world" types) for not being at the gym during his usual schedule: "Where have you been? I look for you, you are not here! I was worried you got kidnapped....like maybe a young lady had taken control over you, and wouldn't let you come to the gym! I was thinking of how to rescue you..."
The guy replies, "No, no, I haven't been kidnapped by any young ladies...however, I wouldn't be opposed to the idea..." This last part he says as an offering to the whole gym, a convenient opportunity to announce his availability under the cloak of a kindly old man...and very typical of this genre of gym-goer.

Everyone seemed to know Pat...they welcomed him back from Japan, they offered hellos from their loved ones, they hoped to see him in the step class next week. I think Pat is an anomaly because no one else talks...there is no way we know anything about each other.

The other anomaly is "Kip:" oozing with kindness and joy, he faintly giggles at the chance to make eye contact and say hello. His white socks are oft tugged to mid-calf, and he nearly leaps off the eliptical machine as though he wants to cheer, "Yes, World!!" He, too, wants to know everyone.

Perhaps he and Pat, as different as they are, make up their own archetype: the friendly guy with no ulterior motives that genuinely loves life and enjoys people. Hmm...I don't think the frequency of men of this type at the gym is high enough to constitute a unique identity.

I'm sure I fit into a type as well - the 20-something that looks too serious for someone exercising indoors on an electric box that mimics the terrain of the outside world.

Well, l must say I appreciate Kip and Pat. They are somehwat inspirational in their quirkiness. Thank God for outliers.

lessons in hate

2006-04-20T12:56:00.000-07:00

Matt and I recently had a brief interaction with someone, and it provoked us to talk about experiences of hating and being hated by other people.

I don't remember feeling hate for someone else before. People have really grieved me to the point I can't be with them, but I don't think I've hated someone. However, this little interaction yesterday reminded me that there is at least one, probably two people that I am pretty sure hate me.

Matt doesn't remember hating anyone, nor can he think of anyone that likely hates him, however we decided that he is probably hated-by-proxy because he is married to me and I seem to be hated rather strongly.

Such a strange and yet freeing feeling - earlier in my life, I would have been devastated by being hated, and I would have done all that I could to make myself less hateable. However, at this point, there is peace in realizing that there is really absolutely nothing I can do about the fact that someone is choosing to hate me.

Also yesterday, I saw an article related to the Moussaoui trial in which families of 9/11 victims came to his defense. I had to reread to make sure it was right. One of the mothers was quoted as saying "We're not going to get caught up in a whirlpool of frustration and sadness and anger...We feel something good has to come out of it." Another man said, "If I let myself succumb to the fear, that will lead to fear and anger and hatred. Not only were planes hijacked that day, but my life was gonna be added to the list of casualties."

What freedom to not be imprisoned to what most would say is the most legitimate case for hatred in this decade.

There is actually published research on this topic that discusses the physiological and psychological ramifications of unforgiveness - bottom line, it's just not good for you. And yet, there is something that does feel deceptively good about hating. It is like a false justice, where perhaps justice wasn't served; As though to let go of the hate would let go of the wrongness of what was done. This is why the phrase "forgive and forget" is useless - it isn't possible. To forgive isn't to erase, but free both parties from stifling shame and anger.

So, I go on today, still being hated. Such a strange paragraph in my life that I have learned so much from.

Here's to forgiveness,

-l

[I would also like to especially thank my husband for his grace when I blew through the crosswalk yesterday and got a traffic citation...next up: traffic school so it won't go on my record...even the county of Los Angeles wants to forgive me, for a price]

Yippie for Yuppies

2006-04-18T10:04:00.000-07:00

The other day, I was reading an article reporting on "yuppies" moving into condos created out of old state hospitals and insane asylums in the north east. It referred to them as the "laptop and latte crowd," and this gave me pause, as I was reading the digital article on my laptop whilst drinking a latte.

No, surely not...we could not be yuppies...yuppies are disdainful, aren't they? They are selfish and detached from a hard day's work. Growing up in Northern Minnesota, yuppies were foreign, "others" that, we assumed, would look down on our way of life if they ever happened to pass through town. Therefore, we must also look down on them, and make vows of austerity and functionality...it is arrogant to drink espresso when Folgers works just as well - who do they think they are, anyway?

Well, as Matt and I approach our fifth anniversary, we are years away from considering having children. In the almanac of Minnesota Living, people may start to wonder if there is something wrong with our "seeds," but no...this is actually a very conscious choice on our part, as we have other things to do and see first.

We drive a foreign car. We invest in the stock market. We steam milk like clockwork every morning. We eat whole grains and low sugar. I go to yoga classes. We each have a laptop that is connected to wireless DSL as well as wirelessly to a laser printer, such that we could order espresso beans and print off the receipt from our toilet, if we so desired.

So, it seems that we are yuppies (or Dinks: double income, no kids).
However, I don't think I am as ashamed of that as I may have been previously. After all, we are yuppies on a budget. Our laser printer was free, the laptops are business write-offs, and I am not responsible for the fact that one of the few athletic abilities I have is flexibility. We care about family and friends. We miss the waves of friendly acknowledgement from people on the street. Grilling burgers in the summertime is a liturgical event. Our values are still mid-western, even if our people don't recognize us anymore.

So, I guess I am realizing that it's not as scary to be a yuppie as I once thought. We're not going to plunge off the cliff of self-indulgence, our "foreign" car is just a Toyota, and our daily lattes are homemade. We are, for the most part, the same old us.

-l

Wahoo!

2006-04-03T11:12:00.000-07:00

I just proposed my dissertation!
I am going to publish something that I created.
I am going to hopefully be helpful to other people.
I am going to graduate.

And again, I say, "Wahoo."

Love is...

2006-04-02T23:29:00.000-07:00

...having your husband extend his sweatshirt sleeve to you without wincing when your nose is running down to your lip and you don't have a tissue.

-l

Only News to Me

2006-03-27T08:04:00.000-08:00

A techie news site I visit about once an hour throughout my day is CNet's news.com.com. There's an article today about why Microsoft is so slow to get out Windows Vista (Windows XP's replacement operating system). There's a quote from a Harvard Business School prof that's way geeky and I thought I would share.

"Windows is now so big and onerous because of the size of its code base, the size of its ecosystem and its insistence on compatibility with the legacy hardware and software, that it just slows everything down."

Enjoy the entire article (if you dare) here.

Dr. Jan vs. the HMO

2006-03-20T20:46:00.000-08:00

I loved Dr. Jan. She was bright-eyed and smiley, and seemed to at least vaguely remember me when I came for a check-up every 6-8 months.
However, she and Blue Shield had a falling out, so I had to move on to someone else. I walk into the waiting room of my new doctor's office...a squat, brick colonial that paled in comparison to the 9-storey mediterranean art deco where Dr. Jan practiced...and I was signed in by a very thin and very young woman with red hair and copious amounts of black eyemakeup. As I am filling out my forms, a squat woman with a thick German accent begins yelling from an adjacent room, "She said nos-ing about getting tubes removed! The dumb woman! She is supposed to tell me, the doctor. Not her - she is the receptionist. I am the doctor, I am the one that is supposed to know. I was there, I had no tools, no nothing! She tells me, not the receptionist! Where does it say she wants her tubes removed? NOWHERE!!"

She stomped off down the hall and I returned to my intake. "Increased Heartrate"? Check.

Next I hear a man sitting at the front desk raise his voice into the phone, calling out the patient's full name, saying, "Look, this is what you tell your lawyer...no, listen, I'm gonna tell you what you gotta tell your lawyer...you get him to make your insurance company pay, or we're going to send the bill to YOU, and then you are going to have the collection agency after you. If you don't want the collection agency, you gotta get them to pay. You don't want collections, do you? No, of course not."

It seemed to me there were ample rooms with doors. Maybe I was missing something.

An hour later, I was met by the round German woman. She shook my hand and seemed to want to pretend like we hadn't made eyecontact in the middle of her "tubes/no tubes" tirade. I told her I seemed to have allergies. She said this was California, everyone has allergies so take Claritin D and here are some samples. I asked her to refill I prescription I had with Dr. Jan. She told me that was an over the counter med, and implied I was an idiot for asking. She is now halfway out the door when I indicate that I had more questions. She sighed, came back inside, and then told me there was no help for my question, and off I went. She did, however, put in a request for me to get a chest x-ray...for a "baseline." None of my questions involved my chest whatsoever, but why not get a recreational x-ray? At least I will have a baseline.

Dr. Jan...we had a good thing going. *silent tear*

-l

books on tape

2006-03-09T13:32:00.000-08:00

This week, my supervisor gave me a book on tape that she thought might be useful for some clients. I figured that I might as well make use of my commute - turns out it only takes one and a half trips to "read" a whole book.

One of the tape's main nuggets was that we are ruled by the parts of ourselves that we disown. We can't tolerate thinking of ourselves as controlling, so we shut that out of our minds...and when we run into other controlling people, they send us over the edge. The trick, apparently, is to take back the parts of yourself you don't like so that they stop being so ornery.

On the 405 this afternoon, I was contemplating this for my own life - the psychological test kitchen, if you will - before throwing it at paying clients. How the tape said to get started was to think about people or situations that really get your guts in a knot, and then figure out what character trait is at the heart of that. What came to mind for me was embarassment: Matt and I flipped between American Idol and America's Next Top Model last night, but we would have to turn the channel when the models were getting ready to really embarass themselves with some kind of catty, shallow display of humanity.

So, Embarassment it is.

The next step is to recognize that trait in your own life...this is the "reclaiming" portion. Suddenly it hit me: I can be a really embarassing person! I often live with at least half of my foot in my mouth, daring at any moment to go the rest of the way in, whether I like it or not. I have left many a social and professional setting wondering why the heck I insisted on saying what I did. It sounded funny for the two seconds I previewed it in my brain before I said it. I also realized that I absolutely abhor feeling embarassed, and I can't stand to be privy to the embarassment of others.

As I am contemplating all of this, the 405-101 interchange is coming into view. I get into my "turn only" lane, and my 75mph clip grumbles to a 5mph crawl. And the exit is still a mile ahead. To my far right, cars are zooming past in the exit for Ventura, a well-travelled side street that parallels the 101. I smirked at them, knowing that half weren't really interested in Ventura - they were just going to zoom up to the turn lane and duck in at the last second, cutting about 12 minutes off their commute, but continuing to bog down everyone behind them as we hold back to let them in. I have so much irritated righteousness for these kinds of drivers that after my commute yesterday, I was tempted to write an entry titled "JERKS!!!!!" in which I berated them for their selfish choices.
However, today, that fast lane to Ventura was looking mighty fine. I thought I might actually save time if I took Ventura and got on the 101 after the interchange, so I checked my mirrors and lept into traffic (I always close my eyes just a little at this point). I picked up speed, and whisked past my old "turn only" comiserates, and wished them the best.
As I got closer to the Ventura exit, I realized that it, too, had backed up. But wait! Up here, the 101 is starting to move! Oh look...Ventura is really full....the 101 is moving!....that car is getting really close....

I checked my mirror at the last edge of the off-ramp, and saw that a dump truck was slow in picking up speed. With a yank of the wrist, I was back on the 101, about 60 cars ahead of where I would have been.
Zooming along (the flow of traffic was now about 80mph), my thoughts began to settle back to my previous mode of self-improvement, and I had to laugh: Here I am, indignant about the selfish drivers on the road, ready to berate them in a public forum, and with a small twist of circumstance, I am them. Perhaps all along, I have been projecting my bad driving habits on the rest of the world, as I cannot tolerate the thought of me, myself, being a bad driver.

Ah, reality - like thistles thwaking your face on a crisp mountain hike.

Too bad my husband will read this...road trips will never be the same.

-l

oh my

2006-03-06T21:16:00.000-08:00

This is linked from another friend's blog. Funniest thing we've heard in a long time. The guy's laugh is contagious.

http://www.chumfm.com/MorningShow/bits/march24.swf

suspicious

2006-03-05T21:08:00.000-08:00

So, so many specialty shops selling rugs.
And only rugs.
And their stock on-hand is piled five feet high and flows out of the doors and unto the sidewalk.
And everyone is always having sales.

But no one ever leaves with a rug...

You Tell Me

2006-02-24T18:01:00.000-08:00

Is this terrible?

The kids in our complex (the horde as I like to call them, but only to L) were especially loud today.
As I was thinking about what to do (leave the apartment, ignore them, implode, open and close the door rapidly and forcefully for 10 minutes) this plan was hatched:

"Hey kids, I'll give you EACH $1 if I don't hear any of you for the next 2 hours. That's right, one whole dollar EACH. But if I hear any one of you, none of you get anything. Deal?"

But before I trucked out to offer the horde riches beyond their wildest dreams, my common sense and humanity kicked in and I thought; "nah, one of the parents will probably hear it."

-m

Valentine's Eve

2006-02-16T13:43:00.000-08:00

Monday night, as Matt turned off the light and we settled in to go to sleep, I snuggled up to him and said, "Hey...know what tomorrow is?"
He sweetly said, "Valentine's Day."
To which I replied, "Oh yeah!"
Curious, he says, "What day did you think it was?"
"Ummm...yoga day at the gym."

Team Minnesota

2006-02-06T20:32:00.000-08:00

There's an article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune (jokingly) about Minnesota seceding basically just to have it's own Olympic Team (16% of the U.S. Olympic Team is from MN - compared to MN being less than 2% of the U.S. population). I think Wisconsin, Iowa and the Dakotas would make great buffers for the civil war of Olympic proportions to create the Republic of Minnesota.

Read the article here:
http://www.startribune.com/120/story/228080.html

a thing about stuff

2006-02-01T22:02:00.000-08:00

"We" are presently doing our taxes: Matt has Turbo Tax open on his laptop, while I sit next to him, occasionally (half-heartedly) adding random numbers together. Every once in a while (once) I have thought of something helpful like, "What about that $200,000 we gave away?" But mostly, I just kindly ask him to wait until a commercial during the American Idol Humiliation Festival (it's the only part of the show that interests me, for some reason) before asking me to participate. Now, "Lost" is on mute, which means the hubby really is trying to think...which means my co-dependent self has been trying to find a burst of amusement somewhere, and it has been all for naught.

Here is something that happened today:
As part of my schoolwork, I am training (pretending) to be a neuropsychologist. Usually, that means commuting 1hr 15 minutes on Wednesdays and 45 min on Thursdays (neuropsych = commuting. Got it?). However, today starts my month and a half of driving from Pasadena to Culver City - about 25 minutes past my farthest drive. And why? Because I am a grunt.

I don't usually respond well to being a grunt; I tend to easily become indignant. My modus operandi is to rise up against the oppressive forces that dare to squash my spirit...it makes for a great Lifetime movie, but sometimes does a number on the old upward mobility.

So today, as I was the one crawling on the 405 south, I thought about organizing some social action:
Is this really fair that I'M the one schlepping the Nelson Denny through the heart of Los Angeles in two hours of traffic?
I'm here to be trained, but not as a monkey.
This smells like an abuse of power.
Maybe I can get my mileage reimbursed...

Then I remembered that I am still reeling from the last time I stood up for myself in this job, and decided to swallow a little pride and shoot for a good letter of recommendation instead. Selling out, or finally learning some social convention?

As I circled the block, lamenting the fact that all I had to go on was a map hastily drawn by my supervisor on a yellow post-it without address or phone number, I called my husband (who is almost always near a computer, and is thus my "Google in the hole") and asked him to tell me where the heck I was supposed to be. He explained that I was there; according to all possible coordinates and addresses, I was right where I should be. As I kept circling, I also kept having to go to the bathroom. Eventually, I parked and walked to where the address should be...but where a stucco bungalow dwelling stood instead. I thought about asking if I could use someone's bathroom, but my odds of being pepper sprayed felt high. At this point, I was wondering if I could call in sick for messing myself.

On the corner was a laundromat. I thought, "Surely, they have a bathroom!"
They did, but it required a quarter to get in the door. I frantically dug through my purse that I had stuffed to the bottom of my office tote, and got inside in time to avert disaster. At this moment, my cellphone dies.

I am in a laundromat bathroom lost in a town I don't know, and not even Google knows where I am. I thought about staying here a while...from the look of the light timer, I had rented myself 15 minutes of commode abode. Instead, I put my professional pants back on and trotted back to my car to plug in my cell phone. Just before I lost him, Matt had given me the school's phone number. I called the receptionist, and she explained that Washington Place was not the same as Washington Boulevard, and that the little map wasn't so hateful afterall. Two hours later, I was in my car and on the 405, heading back to my main office. It felt a little surreal...all that effort and bladder control, and just like that, my mission was over.

However, I realized that I probably prefer this commuter assignment to being stuck in a 4x8 office with two other women. I suppose that's the best social defiance of all: appreciating your maltreatment.

l

Bulldog

2006-01-21T14:08:00.000-08:00

Someday we'd love to get a bulldog. They're fairly small, low maintenance, gentle with children and loyal. We also think they're cute. Not in a prissy way, but more endearing, in a humorus way. Like the way old men are cute.

They're "happy being there in black socks and sandles on the beach with no social awareness" cute.

So we're trying to think up good names for a bulldog.

Here are our best so far: precious, binky, waller, cottoncandy lips, and our favorite - Big Sexy.

We're taking suggestions. Let us know what you think.

*****UPDATE*****
I've got some more: Chops and Bogart.

Day of Goodness

2006-01-18T16:56:00.000-08:00

Do you ever have one of those days where everything went wrong? This wasn't one. It was great.

Mainly logistical stuff, but good nonetheless.

-I was able to connect to a staff's computer in London to fix things
-I spent 3 hours in downtown LA eating with my team at work (and got paid to be there)
-Was able to transfer software licenses from a really really old machine to a new one (harder than it sounds)
-Thought I lost a software license (for my own business) and was going to have to purchase a new one, but then found it at the last moment
-Was able to get a clients files off a trashed hard drive
-Also learned that there are roumors that my Vikings are looking into luring Sean Alexander away from Seattle.

A day full of good (if not geeky) things.

Middle America meets Central America (or, Give the Woman a Barf Bag and Let Me Sleep)

2006-01-10T10:22:00.000-08:00

Time has passed without blogging, and so much has happened!
Well, no huge events, really ...just fascinating moments of human living

The crazy quarter ended with the soft landing of Christmas break, but not before I went to three conferences, battled a supervisor with a personality disorder, and flew home to Minnesota on a red-eye for the weekend.

That flight itself was pretty amusing: the terminal lobby for my Northwest flight home to Minnesota shared a corner with a flight heading to San Salvador. The flight left at 12:30 AM. The San Salvador flight made the airport lobby look cozy, with everyone in their pajamas, kids running around, families laughing and joking...I swear I could hear a mandolin coming from somewhere. They were sprawled about, in shades of tan, like they didn't care when the plane came because they would just move the fiesta onboard.

Us Minnesotans, on the other hand, were buttoned up in pea coats, tuned in to ipods, and were leaving last-minute messages for the office. No one spoke - not even people that seemed to belong with each other. Each deeply revered the god of personal space, such that rather than look for an empty seat, they sat on the floor on the thin carpet leading to the gate. They were like peachy-pale pylons dutifully marking the way to the plane, sure to not lose their place in line.
I went for a happy medium, sitting on the floor at the end of a row of seats and resting my head on the edge of the chair. The speech of the woman behind me was like the purr of an excited cat, if cats could speak Spanish and understand the concept of air travel (not that they don't). The Scandinavian faces were working hard to believe there was no one else there, darting from eye-contact with a jolt or pretending to be asleep.
Finally, it was time to board. People jockeyed for position, fastidiously checking their boarding pass, waiting for their row to be called. Mine was one of the first, and I could feel the irritation as I sweaked passed and walked down the hall. The dramamine was kicking in (I had incidentally discovered its sedative effects when I had to buy some at Disneyland. I really didn't want to be sick, so I took two and slept through Pirates of the Carribean), and I was looking forward to finding my seat and starting my three-hour night of sleep. As I got closer to my row, I realized that my seat nicely rested against the bathroom wall, such that there was no recliner function. Instead, my seat had about a 3-inch give like a rocking chair on springs.

I waited for the rest of my row to show up, then I settled in and willed my eyes to stay closed. However, I happened to open them in time to to see an intense 5'2" parka with frizzled yellow hair pushing her way towards me. There had been no overhead space above her seat five rows forward, so with great authority she came back to my last row and began to empty the compartment used by the stewards to store extra blankets and pillows. She filled the seat below with the blankets, put her bag away, and then tried to force the displaced items on the passengers around. With eyes that said "You are a crazy person," the woman across from me said, "No thanks, I already have one." The parka stomped back to her aisle seat and settled in.

Eyelids, I command you to stay closed.
But wait...there, in front of the parka, was my friend Charlie. Unbeknownst to us, my friend from Michigan and I had the same flight through the night back to our midwest roots. I said hello, we said, "How crazy," he called a mutal friend, and now this time I was really ready to start sleeping. Somewhere around 2:30, I heard the voice of the parka come towards me with that same strange authority saying, "I'm a nurse, let me through..." I awoke to see that to my right, a woman had collapsed in front of the bathroom door. The stewardesses (stewards? stewdettes?) were caring for her, explaining that she had just been nauseous and needed air - as well as the chance to throw-up. The parka said, "No, she's goin' diabetic. I can tell. We need a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope...she's totally goin' diabetic..."
The humiliated woman on the floor leaned towards the attendant and said, "I'm not diabetic..."

The parka persisted to give directions and input, while all the while putting her weight on the back of my spring-loaded chair, shaking me back and forth as though she were mad at me for trying to sleep at a time like this. I finally leaned back and asked her to desist, and she looked at me like I was the one in the parka. She turned and said to the attendants, "You know, in cases like this, you can just make an announcement and ask if there are any medical professionals on board...you'd be surprised how many of us there are..."
The attendant politely said, "Yes, that has worked well for us in the past..."

By this time, my east-bound flight had met up with the sun, and with great remorse I said goodbye to my drug-induced slumber. Looking out the window at the snow crusted land, I began to mentally prepare myself to walk into winter. I rather wished I had a parka.

Miss my L

2005-12-08T23:23:00.000-08:00

So Liz is off galavanting across the U.S., again.

I just put her on a plane to Bemidji, MN. I find myself being both very boored and unmotivated to do anything when she's gone. Is that considered co-dependence? Whatever. I just miss my L.

-m

World AIDS Day

2005-12-01T07:15:00.000-08:00

Today is World AIDS Day.

Please take time to pray for those infected/affected, those who are treating the infected and those who are trying to find a cure.

Maybe next year...

2005-11-26T11:19:00.000-08:00

All results are in, and our haikus were a major flop.
Tex took them to her dinner, and we took them to ours.
She had to compete against a three-page essay delineating the significance of a young man's relationship with his father.
We, in a room where we only knew 1/8 of the people to any extent, had to compete against clippings by Wordsworth, Ben Franklin and Thoreau.

Tex stopped her party cold. We, however, still had to make it through dessert.

If anyone is in the Pasadena area and is looking to share a bottle of wine over well-intentioned irreverence, let us know when you are outside the building and we'll let you in. In the meantime, this haiku goes out to my father:

How my fingers bleed

Sheet metal origami

Not for the squeamish

Feliz Thanksgiving

2005-11-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

Last night (thanksgiving eve), we had some friends over for pre-Thanksgiving festivities. One particular friend, we'll call her Tex, had a last-minute assignment to drum up a significant piece of prose to share at her get-together the next day. She felt inspired to use haiku, and so we all became a Thanksgiving Haiku Think-tank.

Following is our work product. The haikus in bold were lifted from http://www.smalltime.com/haiku.html, but the rest are originals. Enjoy!

I am not hungry
Put the turkey away please
Everyone go home

Football on the tube
Digesting on the couches
Come on, that’s funny

like a newborn pig
spam emerges from its tin
making sucking sounds

so fat and gaseous
I will stab you with a fork
To let your gas out

The fat pig will pop
If action isn’t taken
Here comes the gas, yo

So duck for cover
No doubt the smell will be bad
You bulbous fat pig

[this series evolved from people sharing their most horrendous pig experiences. Elizabeth W. met a baby piglet with a cleft pallet, and I told the story of going to my cousin Jaci's Grandpa's house in Iowa: there was a pig in the front yard that was laying on its side, huge stomach stretched tight with gas. Her gramps walked over to the pig with a u-shaped awl and stabbed it, relieving the pressure. Haikus are supposed to be about natural things, n'est pas? Dad- I almost called you to find out what that tool was called. Let me know, and I'll make it the next verse...]

vh1 movie
mc hammer life story
worse than kidney stones

My pants are my friends
they taunt their rivals - my shoes
Oh my clothes! Stop it!

Say sorry, Eric
You hairy white-thigh shamer
With food stamp future

Nothing like turkey
Days of football, booze, and friends
High on tryptophane

To remind us all
Of the things we love the most
To bring us back home

Crazy on my face
The Fruit fly won’t let me be
Drink till it’s funny

Take over the realm
The force is strong with this one
Drink till it’s funny

Internet dating
Fat people have no problems
Drink till it’s funny
(we may have had some wine at this point)

I’ve got a great eye
I still need another one
Hard to find a match

Fuller scary men
Bad dating experience
Cornered in the kitch

Talk about yourself
Assault me with your ego
But Matt saved the day

Things I’m thankful for:
Turkey and booze and Jesus
Not in that order

Aging Gracefully

2005-11-15T07:01:00.000-08:00

I have been suspecting for some time now that I am an adult. I have been married for 4.5 years, I have loans worth almost six digits, I work 50+ hours a week, and I spend most of my time caring for other people. And yet, I still had some hesitation: am I not still a student? Are not most of my friends still single? Do I not still live in student housing? Do I have any babies (no)?

These hesitations were solidly put to rest when I walked out of IKEA with Brooke last weekend. We were in Irvine, attending a conference on marital therapy and trauma and decided to have dinner at IKEA – you can get a lot of meatballs for $4.00. As we walked out and headed back to our hotel, we passed a small hive of highschool kids. They were painfully cool, with well-practiced devil-may-care faces (except for the quickest shift of the eye during the routine survey of the pecking order).
And they looked painfully cold, as well. The alpha female and her attendant were both wearing two-tiered butt ruffles that I think would make anyone’s rear-end nervous. They had whisper-thin screen-print t-shirts tucked under ragged jean jackets and teased-out hair, but the most dramatic element was their footwear: gold lamme stilettos crowned by slouching legwarmers. Alpha’s were an anxious turquoise made from the same yarn as my kindergarten mittens.

As Brooke and I walked past, I noticed that the two of us had also dressed quite similarly to each other: our heather gray professional ‘slacks’ could have been cut from the same bolt of fabric – the polyester/spandex blend keeps wrinkles at bay and adds a nice little give for those long days of therapy. We each had on sensible black shoes, surely bought at a discount (Brooke’s had a bit more of a heel; I have a history of leg cramps and spider veins, so I need to be a bit more conservative). Under our jackets, which were buttoned to protect us from the November chill of Southern California, were solid color sweaters that said, “I’m safe, you can tell me anything.”

Walking past this little bustle of anxiety and taking stock of our own position, things got consolidated: I am, in fact, a sensible, centered, and responsible adult. And I think that is pretty ok. It registers with a bit of weight, though: Relationships get more real and can’t be healed by a note passed in class or the loaning of a prized sweater. Supportive scaffolds of years gone by have left their mark but have surely been taken down. And financial planning has more to do with making sure I have somewhere to live rather than whether or not I get popcorn at the movies.

But I rarely get a pimple, I don't have to worry about having a date, and I am in a demographic that can dress for comfort as well as style. However, I wouldn't mind a pair of legwarmers.

l

Nice

2005-11-14T13:59:00.000-08:00

Weeks like this make it really hard to miss Minnesota. It's going to be in the low to upper 70's and sunny through next week. Today and tomorrow are in the low 80's and not a cloud - actually have to have the AC on at work. Meanwhile back in MN, it's 32 and cloudy and are expecting a large snow storm to hit tonight and dump 3 - 5 inches over the next couple days.

Check out www.weather.com and check out the differences in zipcodes 91101 (here in Pasadena) and 55723 (Cook, MN).

onion sports

2005-11-01T19:06:00.000-08:00

My new favorite section of The Onion: Sports

MLB Introduces Todd Zeile Award For Participation

Minnesota Girl

2005-10-21T13:03:00.000-07:00

I had the day off today, so I started it with a latte, a little yoga, went for a walk (a "power walk," in case you were getting the wrong idea), and then checked out the school Costco (Sam's) card.

In my quest for bargains in bulk, I almost made my largest impulse buy: 50lbs of refined baker's flour with the label "Minnesota Girl."
That would be an odd buy - Matt and I are trying to take refined flour out of our diets, and 50 pounds of something you are trying not to eat is what is known as a dietary "elephant in the room." Well, maybe that's not really a catch phrase. I don't know any dietitians. But the point remains that it would be a lot of unnecessary flour. And yet...I did have a moment's pause. The nostalgia/warm fuzzies/camp fire feelings evoked by an enormous brown paper flour bag with the words "Minnesota Girl" across the front were powerful. Ahh, Minnesota. You are great.

weekend highlights

2005-10-17T13:07:00.000-07:00

Liz and I went to the San Diego area this weekend, compliments of Mr. Lawrence Welk (or at least his resort). They sent us an invite to come listen to them try to sell us a timeshare. It was the weekend of salespeople.

Friday:
- Drive to Fallbrook (50 miles nort east of San Diego) and check into the Pala Mesa Resort.
- Head into Fallbrook and go to this great little hole in the wall Mexican place and have amazing food
- Go for a dip in the hot tub

Saturday:
- Wake up at the butt crack of dawn and head back into Fallbrook to have breakfast at the Wayside Cafe. A great little mom 'n pop breakfast place where the local regulars have their own mugs hanging on the walls.
- Drive to Escondido to the Lawrence Welk Resort; listen to a guy try to sell us a timeshare, say no, have him pass us along to another lady who tries to sell us another package, say no and then get our voucher for a free weekend on Catalina Island. [Liz: I must admit that there is something intriging about owning a piece of Lawrence Welk...]
- Drive into downtown Escondido and have lunch at the 'second largest enclosed shopping center in America' (per advertisement). In reality it was about the same size as the Santa Anita Mall (for you So. Calers) or the Burnsville Mall (for you Midwesterners). Maybe they meant largest on the block.
- While at the mall, get 'attacked' by an Asian woman and man wanting to give us 1 minute backrubs. Who can say no to anybody that charges you saying '1 MINUTE RUB!'. We caved and then bought the 10 minute rub where they smashed our bodies while our faces were planted in the face rest of the massage chairs in a mall kiosk. When they were done pummeling us, the tissue used to protect our faces from germs on the face rest were stuck to our faces. Didn't care.
- Go to the Orfila Vinyards and tase 6 different wines, buy a bottle of their 2002 Cabernet Sauvignon for our 5th anniversary (next June).
- Drive back to the Pala Mesa, go for another dip in the hot tub.
- Drive into the Gaslamp District of San Diego (historic part of downtown being renovated to be this cool, funky area with great side shops, 5000 restaurants and lofts).
- Have dinner at an AMAZING Indian place. Oh my lanta. so good......ok i'm back.
- Go relax and read in the local borders for an hour or so and head back to the Pala Mesa

Sunday:
- Come back to Pasadena and enjoy a Sunday of virtually nothing. Not many of those.

Hurricane Heroes

2005-10-09T19:55:00.000-07:00

Hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes, mudslides.
The earth is restless and people are exhausted.

There have of course been lots of stories of human compassion; people helping each other in times of crisis, tourists digging alongside Guatemalan villagers to help them find their families buried under the mud. It struck me that those stories are particularly moving to us because that is not the way we normally behave towards one another. It takes a tragedy or dire circumstances for collections of individuals to form a community; once the danger has passed, those individuals then return to their own lives.
I've been thinking quite a bit lately over what kind of community life I'm looking for. Historically independent to a severe fault, needing people and relying on them has been a new idea, but one I really like and have started to believe in. But how does it work? And what are the parameters?

It is a difficult longing to have, half-way through graduate school when our lives could not be much more transitional. But perhaps we are thinking of these things now so that when we do make our next locational steps, they are with intention and purpose. Why did we all start living alone? Who thought that was a good idea?
Sure, there are caveats - Cook seems to have some of this right, but with only 600 people, how can you do anything but live life together? Young single people sometimes form good groups, but somehow, when you are married, older, have kids, whatever, you are supposed to be a self-contained unit. When we moved out to the country as a kid, sure the neighbors knew what we were doing...but that was so they could talk about us, not to us.

To share life without losing identity...I'm not so much thinking of a commune, but perhaps something like communities of parents and children and grandparents that all know each other - Where someone would annonymously slip the family with the new baby $50 for diapers and baby food, where people help raise each other's children, and where actual life-affecting conversation happens on a regular basis. And where, when tragedy happens, it is not remarkable that we help one another.

-l

Time on my hands

2005-10-06T21:42:00.000-07:00

So we have this scanner. And lots of pictures. It's been great to see the phases of childhood we went through. Here a sample of us over the years: (1st baby - liz, 2nd baby - matt)

1st years

Early highschool

Senior Year of highschool

4th year of marriage

Good times.

-m

Thoughts from Today

2005-09-28T14:52:00.000-07:00

- I just administered a test called the "Woodcock Johnson."

- When you are in traffic that is only going 20 mph, even though you are going a fourth your usual speed, you must pay four times as much attention.

- Wal-Mart is part of the machine that keeps poor people 'employed' with crap jobs with no benefits or security, meanwhile enjoying incredible tax breaks in appreciation of the favor they do for struggling communities...thus lessening the revenue for government assistance.

- It is damn hot in the valley.

- Our new curtains keep our apartment much cooler

- Western psychology makes a lot of non-neutral assumptions about what it means to be mentally healthy.

- I cannot live on carrot sticks alone. I must also have ice cream and coffee.

- Bringing my lunch to work saves a lot of money.

- Driving my car to work spends a lot of money.

- Next week, I will score a test called the "Woodcock Johnson."

l

Curtains and Wok Boxes

2005-09-25T19:56:00.000-07:00

Saturday started out with bacon and eggs, followed by meeting an old friend for coffee at 8:30. On our walk to the shop, Matt noticed a rummage sale in the basement of the monolithic Congregational church on the corner. We stopped in on our way back home - actually, I had forgotten about the sale and was concentrating on not yet going to the bathroom when Matt steered me towards the basement stairs. Once I oriented myself to the fact that we were now in browse mode, I got directions to the Congregational bathroom...lots of unlit hallways with polished concrete floors and creaky doors (high creep factor).

When I came back down, Matt had found a scanner for sale - the price was $2, so if it didn't work, it wasn't much of a loss. I found three yellow bowls and a cool wooden box with a red dragon on the front and, in faux-Chinese lettering, the phrase "Chinese Wok Set."

Not bad, but the day had just started.

After lunch, we decided to go to Ikea to get some curtains (our apartment has a 12-ft bank of windows and we're a bit exposed). On our way out, we always stop at the As-Is corner - last time, we found the desk we were purchasing already assembled and for $100 less. On this occasion, we were no less rewarded. They had just remodeled some display rooms and had filled carts with all the display items, wrapped them with saran wrap, and were selling them at rediculous prices. We bought our cart for $30 and filled our car with hundreds of dollars of spoils - plates, platters, cutting board, wine glasses, linens. It was like Christmas or our wedding, only no candy canes...or vows, I guess.

I was remarking to myself how several of the things we got in our grab-bag were things we had hoped to eventually get, but were putting off until the budget allowed. Now suddenly we had them. I had a thought that perhaps this was a gift for being so faithful to our budget - but I think the bigger gift is that God sees even these things, these very material things, and takes delight in giving abundantly.

The dishes and linens are all ready being put to use. As for the Wok Box, I like to think of it as a celestial inside joke.

l

Who is Alma?

2005-09-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

Matt's faithfulness to his hometown has encouraged me to throw some shouts out to my place of origin: Bemidji, MN. The town homepage didn't have a good picture on it, so I am putting up the link from Bemidji State University - http://www.bemidjistate.edu/ - my alma matter. If you go to the link, you will see an aerial shot of campus. The leafy trees in the upper right corner is the park where Matt proposed to me on the shore, and the tall building to the left of that is Tamarack Hall - as of three years ago, it was the tallest building in the county, and where I called home for two years.

Everyone, please take a moment and reflect on the beauty that is Northern Minnesota (this means "check out the website").
My brother just started classes there, using the post-secondary enrollment option (which means that he takes college courses for college and highschool credit, and he does this for free. Genius.). I must say it is odd to have my 9-yrs-younger brother start college. I guess if I have to get old, LA is the place to do it. Anyone want to go in on a 2-for-1 elective surgery?

-l

[Edit: I have since met Alma. She goes to our church.]

Burrito Beth's

2005-09-12T22:03:00.000-07:00

I love my home town of Cook, MN. There will be a new eatery in town. Bear in mind this is a town of just over 600 residents, so anything new is big news. A local entrepreneurial couple wished to open a local Taco John's, but the nearest TJs owner (Cloquet, MN - 90 miles away) vetoed it. So the peeps said stuff it, we'll start our own joint.

Enter...Burrito Beth's

I mean really, what's a taco joint without a HUGE CACTUS?

-m

Underground Man

2005-09-11T23:53:00.000-07:00

Usually we try to hide from the kids in our complex. Like a herd of caged monkeys, they ping around our small inner courtyard with their shrill pre-pubescent voices. They are bigger than they used to be - three years ago, they were somewhat cuddly and novel. Now they have muscle tone and imaginations. Recently, the boys have taken to besieging Matt the moment he gets home from work, which usually means trying to drag him to the ground with sword (or gun or stick or random piece of plastic) in hand. This past week, Matt had been putting in a lot of overtime and finally walked home around 7pm. I saw two boys go after him, and I grimaced - what would be their fate? Through the corner of the window, I saw Matt fling one boy over his shoulder with enough gusto to make me wonder if he was going to flop him on the concrete to teach him a lesson. Still dragging two boys when he got to the door, he finally shook them off and convinced them to go home. The next day, a gang of them chased him right into our apartment. We just stood there and looked at these boys ready for a war, and all I could come up with was "You can't get me. I have a force field on."

Today, Matt and I were in the parking structure staining a piece of furniture, when one family with three kids got home from an outing. Sam, a very inquisitive 5yr old and the younger brother of a posse member, came right over and immediately started giving us "Nice Ideas" for the chair. He found many appropriate places for smiley faces (one of which I painted on the back), and explained to me how the chair could best be utilized in a "hut" scenario. He also plucked several flowers from a vine that shrouds the dumpster and he would like to affix those to the chair once the stain dries. He marched around us, almost in a frenzy with his "nice ideas," weaving in and out of cardboard and newspapers, and a few times was precariously close to the open can of ebony stain for a boy in his church clothes. It was almost like having a radio, except for the frequent "Yes Sam, that IS a nice idea!" At one point, he said "You know what? I have a key. I don't know what it goes to. It goes to something. But I have it."
He wanted to help me bring the cardboard down to the recycling bin, so he held one end above his head while I held the other side and we walked down the driveway. I asked if the asphalt hurt his bare feet, and he said, "No, not at all. Nothing hurts my feet. This feels like pillows to my feet."
A few minutes after we had cleaned up, he came to our door to show us his key.
"I found it rusty."
"Wow, that's a great key! What's it for?"
"Ummm....my cave."
"It is good to have a key for caves. What's in your cave?"
"Underground Man lives there with me."
"Really? What does he look like?"
"He is invisible...only, he wears a mask...because once when he didn't wear a mask and he came out of the cave, all the people laughed at him...and he was very sad. So now he just stays there and I go there too."
"Ok, well tell Underground Man I say hello."
"Ok. SEE YA!!!"

Stay 5 for as long as you can, my boy.

l

keys = responsibility

2005-09-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

I think I am going to absolutely love my clerkship this year. I will be doing neuropsych testing on kids suspected to be on the autistic spectrum or that have learning disabilities through the Help Group (www.thehelpgroup.org) - the largest special ed network in the country (or the world? I spaced out at that point). I will do all kinds of fun tests and get to hang out with these kids that I love. It is a great working environment - there is one director, two residents, and two clerks (me and another guy), so there will be lots of direct guidance...plus, I get the props of having "UCLA" somewhere on my resume. It is kind of unreal to have a job that I love.
I guess I have three jobs...and perhaps it is more unreal that I love all three of them. It's a good thing, too - we are way too far in debt for me to not like this, there is no going back now. Any wealthy benefactors out there?

Man, do I have a lot of keys.

-l

edit: due to my career path, I am now getting email forwards with the subject heading "brain cuttings":
-----Original Message-----
> From: Ercoli, Linda
> Sent: Thursday, September 01, 2005 9:05 AM
> To: Vinters, Harry M.D.
> Subject: brain cuttings

Dear Dr. Vinters
I work with Gary Small and I'm the interim director of geriatric neuropsychology. I have 2 - 3 students who have never attended a brain cutting. Would it be possible for them to attend one? If so, can you please tell me when and where?
Thank you very much.
Best regards,
Linda Ercoli, PhD

> From: Vinters, Harry M.D.
> Sent: Thursday, September 01, 2005 1:09 PM
> To: Ercoli, Linda
> Subject: RE: brain cuttings
>
> They would be most welcome. We start at 9am and it usually goes on until about 10:30 or 11:00 a.m., so even if they want to come for part of it, that's fine...but it's more interesting to see them cut from the start. HVV

Shoot to Kill

2005-09-02T07:07:00.000-07:00

This was the title of a BBC article this morning after explosions have hit the waterfront this morning. Here's a clip:

A large cloud of acrid, black smoke is drifting over New Orleans following Friday's blast along the Mississippi riverfront.

The incident in the already crippled city came after Louisiana's governor said 300 "battle-tested" National Guardsmen were being sent to quell the unrest.

"They have M-16s and are locked and loaded. These troops know how to shoot and kill and I expect they will," Kathleen Blanco said.

The civil unrest and lawlessness is almost harder to imagine for me than the destruction from the hurricane. How crazy to be a 'normal citizen just trying to survive in the citywhere the water are "now toxic with fuel, battery acid, rubbish and raw sewage."

Please pray for mercy.

-m

Happy Thoughts

2005-09-01T11:41:00.000-07:00

I went to fill out the blog profile a little, and there was a question at the bottom of the page that I think is intended to prompt people that couldn't come up with standard profile information. You can flip through the questions until you find one that asks for the precise bit of useless information you were wanting to talk about - the first one showing said something about foxes and tigers and then a direct inference about a cat I don't have, so I passed. The next asked about getting up for Sunday morning cartoons, and this memory popped up with so much clarity that I decided to write it down...except I exceeded the "character limit" in the little box, so I thought I would share it here:

I have a very distinct memory of waking up on a Sunday morning, back when we lived in our "city" house, and watching the Lone Ranger with my sister in our pajamas. We watched it on a tiny 10" B&W TV with rabbit ears while mom and dad made pancakes. We pulled out the "hide-a-bed" (others may call it the 'sleeping' part of a 'sleeper sofa') and made a fort in the cave underneath. It took me a long time before I realized that TV actually came in color or could be 'bigger than a breadbox'. I remembered thinking that the clueless people making pancakes in the other room had no idea where we were.
They had surprisingly little trouble finding us.
To this day, my dad makes fantastic pancakes.

Instant Oats

2005-09-01T07:37:00.000-07:00

As I was making breakfast this morning - which was Old Fashioned Oatmeal - I was struck by the implicit value statement in that name. Is it not remarkable to anyone else that if something takes five minutes to cook, it is old fashioned? Move over, old timer. One minute oats are the "now," they're what's happening. Instant oats, they are the thing of the future.

Five minutes. It's a throw-back to a slower, gentler, less-advanced time, I guess. Is it any surprise that they are so much better for you?

So, today begins my clerkship at UCLA...there are two routes, and now I must find the one that makes me the least crazy. Good thing I have some new music: "Oh no no no, don't phunk with my love."

boom-chick-chick, boom-chick-chick...

-l

[edit: taking the 134 to the 2 to Westwood took 1:15. I was late for what turned out to be a 10min appt, and got back to my car to find a $45 parking ticket. On the way home, I took the 405 to the 101 to the 134, and it took me 30min. I'm still recovering.]

the power of beans

2005-08-31T12:09:00.000-07:00

Ugh.
So, I must admit that I really like garbanzo beans. To some, they are chickpeas. I like them right out of the can, in a salad, whatever. Had some roasted beans from TJ's once, so I thought I would find a recipe and make my own..........

crunchy
sawdust
balls

Highly disappointing, and yet...I find myself still eating them, drinking a quart of water to chase down every handful...I am a mystery.

I have also realized that I don't quite know how to operate when I don't have pressing deadlines and lots of work to do. We put the TV on hiatus for the summer (mostly due to bad summer programming), and now in the evenings, Matt and I end up staring at each other...this, after checking email a multitude of times.
However, last night, Matt took me to the park and gave me a frisbee tutorial. I have agreed to test out the world of ultimate frisbee this weekend, so I thought I should know what I'm doing. I'll let y'all know how it goes.

Does a body...bad?

2005-08-26T09:15:00.000-07:00

Are you kidding? People need to chill out. Baseball is a game and I guess the Florida Marlins don't get it, at all.

Marlins suspend batboy for milk-drinking dare

Prison

2005-08-23T16:20:00.000-07:00

I've got another cold. Never in my life have I had so many. Dirty kids with no real grasp of hygiene. This is going to be my life's work, I must become more resilient!
I was told to stay home from work today, and so I did the laundry, picked up the house, made some bread in the breadmachine, and then even had some time to draw. A while back, I found this website that had a collection of prison photographs from the 1920s - they were striking. Black and white and sepia-toned photographs of men booked into a prison in New Mexico, I believe. Almost all of the men were African American, and their faces were utterly sorrowful. The few that were white, they looked ornery and scrappy.

I got a sense of injustice, looking at those photos. Who knows what those men did - who was guilty and who was not - but it is impossible to look at them and not consider the social milieu. 1920s America had fairly primitive thinking about equality, and it's hard not to read resignation into the faces of these black men: they look beat by an unfair system.

It's been some food for thought.

Remembering A Friend

2005-08-22T22:54:00.000-07:00

10 years ago today, I lost my best friend to cancer. Luekemia.

My brother Gabe was 17, I was 16.

At the time, it was devastating for my family. As much as I loved him, to lose a son is beyond what I know. My parents are amazing. Their solid faith kept me from completely losing it. Don't get me wrong, I 'strayed' quite a bit, but if it weren't for them and my sister, I don't know where I would have ended up or how long it would have taken me to bottom out.

Looking back now, the lessons learned are invaluable. Lessons that we have learned can now be used for the comfort of others that are grieving.

To Gabe: I love you and will see you soon as God will have me.
PS: mooned any girls vollyball teams lately?

Gabriel John Vogt
Sep. 12, 1977 - Aug. 22, 1995

-m

never been done

2005-08-22T21:06:00.000-07:00

So, Liz and I are on this diet that's fantastic. I have tons of energy, my body fat is way down, I feel more alert throughout the whole day. But I'm thinking of quitting. Has anyone ever quit a diet because it worked too well?

I've been losing a lot of weight. So much that people are starting to stare. So Liz and sat down and figured out (using this handy dandy website called www.caloriesperhour.com) that I was, on average, taking in about 1600 - 1800 calories a day. Now I exercise quite a bit and on my most strenuous days (playing ultimate, lifting weights), I was burning well over 2000 calories. Now if that was on a day I worked, it way over that.

So I heard the greatest thing I've ever heard come from Liz's lips....maybe you should eat more.

I love her.

-m

Coldplay

2005-08-22T07:37:00.000-07:00

Ah, the falsetto of a gangly Englishman: powerful enough to lure us through rush-hour Friday traffic, make us wait three hours, and concede to getting a contact high.

Coldplay.

It was the fulfilment of a birthday promise made in June - Matt, my sister-in-law, and I camped out in lawn 'seating' at the Irvine Verizon something-or-other, watching musical greatness. We remembered our tickets and a blanket, but unfortunately forgot our pot. Everyone around us was totally cool about it, though...no one made us feel weird. In fact, they all just gathered around us in a protective pot circle, and just blew theirs our way. We were covered - from the way we smelled, our slight headaches, and desire for some snacks, no one would know we didn't bring any.

But the music - so fantastic. Visually, the stage show was like watching hypnotic screen savers synchronized to the music of your soul. Or at least, someone's soul.

Brilliant.

-l

shoes on the freeway

2005-08-20T09:13:00.000-07:00

There is something that has puzzled me for quite some time now. When I see litter along the side of the road, it may be unfortunate but it least it makes cognitive sense: a person eats some fast food, is done with the wrappings, and doesn't want to 'litter' their own car. Maybe not entirely moral, but at least there is a bit of logic behind it.

But what has always confused me is that, apart from blown-out tires, the articles that I most often see along the side of the freeway are shoes - often just one - and mattresses. Shoes and mattresses. Mattresses, I would guess, were once the last thing strapped down on top of a load of belongings crammed into the back of a pick-up truck in the middle of someone's move. Someone doesn't make a good knot or doesn't take simple aerodynamics into consideration, and off it comes. The mystery remains how 1) a person would not notice that an 8x5 piece of furniture just whipped of their vehicle, or 2) how a person, noticing that this happened, decides they will just consider it a loss and move on. It's a mattress - not only substantial in form, but also ranking highly in usefullness.

Shoes, on the other hand, continue to leave me a bit baffled. What is happening that people's shoes are flying out of car windows? How does this happen? I think I may have come close to losing a mattress once, but I'm pretty certain that I have never watched a pair (or even one) of my shoes disappear in my rear-view mirror. I try to think up possible scenarios, but nothing seems plausible...you went to the beach and your loafers got wet, so you tied them to the antenna to air out on your way home? You really like to drive barefoot so you toss your boots in the back of your truck before hitting the road? I am totally baffled.

Speaking of things along the side of the road, last weekend, coming home from Morro Bay, I had started to eat an apple but then realized I was too full to finish it all. After offering it to Matt and his sister, I wrapped it in a napkin and set it at my feet to throw away at the next gas station. We were stalled in traffic through Santa Barabara, when both Matt and his sister urge me that there are absolutely no sanctions against throwing biodegradeable things out the window. Even though my apple would be gone in a few days, I didn't think that it was a good idea - throwing anything out the window just seems like poor highway etiquette.
But then I got to thinking about this apple getting brown and steamy at my feet, and I thought that if I could feed hungry animals, it actually was a civic duty.

So I peel off the napkin, and when traffic slows again, I toss out my half-apple into a lush roadside between the beach and the 101. Immediately, a woman in a black shiny Mercedes behind us lays on her horn to scold me and whips out her cell phone, possibly to tell others of my disgusting betrayal of the earth.

Probably the most awkward part was that we were in slow traffic, and so we were paired with her for the next hour. I started to wonder if you could make a "Citizen's Arrest" (or at least fine) for littering, as well as wondering about my obviously low tolerance for peer pressure.

Any insight on roadside debris?

- l

You hobo.

2005-08-14T20:40:00.000-07:00

So, we went camping again this weekend, with Matt's sister.
We were supposed to go sea kayaking, but it was cold and windy and thus we chickened out.
We did things like eat s'mores and read around the campfire and the act of frisbee. For dinner last night, we made hobo dinners: meat and veggies wrapped in foil, tossed in the coals, and fished out with handy twigs.
Later on, the kids from the family reunion camping next door started calling each other "hobos," and I thought that was rather funny.
As they were packing up to leave, one dad...the dad that had been shouting ineffective directions at ten-year-olds for days...says, "Ok, it's a race to see who can collect the most garbage!"
One chubby whiny boy that seemed like he thought himself the leader walked right up to us, eyed our garbage bag, and asked if he could have it. I said, "What, are you in a race or something?" (please notice below that my humor is rated as "witty")
He said, "Yeah."
And then we all just stared at him until he walked away.
I wish that I would have remembered to call him a hobo.

- l

Who needs therapy?

2005-08-14T20:30:00.000-07:00

I am learning so much about myself through the internet:

the Wit
(85% dark, 34% spontaneous, 21% vulgar) your humor style:
CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK

You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat.

I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer.

Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99% on dark
You scored higher than 41% on spontaneous
You scored higher than 17% on vulgar

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating

this was courtesy of Melissa's "livejournal" (not sure how that is different from a blog, but I will hold back until I get my facts)

- l

I'm licensed!

2005-08-11T03:54:00.000-07:00

Well....sort of.
The fingerprints came through, I am now "Psychological Assistant PSB 31474!"
Wahoo.

Business cards, here I come.

- l

Who's watching MY house?

2005-08-10T07:13:00.000-07:00

Wednesday morning, and I am sitting down with a delicious latte that I made myself, enjoying the silence of the early morning and the companionship of a cool cat - the fat kind that just like to hang out and be pet once in a while.

I am obviously not at my own house, because my espresso machine is clogged with limescale and jet fuel and rat bones and whatever else is coming through our kitchen faucet. I am also not at my home, because by this time in the day at my apartment complex, this lovely calm would have been riddled to shreds by the minority majority (there are more children under the age of 10 than there are adults). And, I am also not at my house, because we don't have cats...not only are we not allowed to have cats, but Matt is deathly allergic to them. Except for this cat, which is very strange. I am guessing they must vacuum the cat itself frequently.

And by 'they,' I mean my associate dean. Matt and I have been housesitting for her and her family for the past week, and it has been a great little vacation for all of the reasons stated, as well as for the presence of a dishwasher, digital cable, and a view from the hills, overlooking the rose bowl.

Life outside of being a student - why do you tempt me?

- l

Verdict

2005-08-09T14:48:00.000-07:00

Ok, so this is a way involved case involving many issues, so I'll just list the charges , defense and verdicts:

Murder in the 1st degree - not guilty
Voluntary Manslaughter - guilty*

Burglary in the 1st degree - not guilty
Robbery in the 1st degree - guilty

*The defendant had already admitted to committing the act.

I have seen images and heard details that I will be very happy to go through the rest of life to never see or hear of again.

The person convicted is a kid. He's 21. He was 18 when this happened. God be with him.

I feel beat. This was not an easy or restful 7 days. But I'm very glad to have been a part of this. It was a huge learning experience and I'm thankful. I think we had a great jury. It gave me a much better understanding of and appreciation for our justice system.

-m

Not as restful as I thought

2005-08-05T17:04:00.000-07:00

The Defense rested their case today and we heard the closing arguments. Monday starts deliberation. We're not even supposed to think about the trial outside of court and hold off forming opinions till we're actually deliberating. Man is it tough. It's good, though. I'm very grateful to be on this case. Maybe I'll write a book, make millions and never have to work again. Sound good? Yeah, to me too.

-m

irony

2005-08-04T21:31:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I (liz) do this little personality quiz and come up with this:

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

and this:

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Saddam Hussein and Abe Lincoln...strange bedfellows indeed.

Hmmm...what does it mean that I spend my days working with vulnerable and hurting people?

- l

Me to a 'T'

2005-08-04T18:19:00.000-07:00

Who are you? (this site is copied from brian's blog, thanks b.)

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

-m

Weekend adventures

2005-08-04T17:35:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was great. Liz and I got out of town with a few new friends to camp in the Oxnard area. Here are some pics. Enjoy.
To look at more, go here: http://photos.yahoo.com/mattvogt@sbcglobal.net

-m

the suspense intensifies

2005-08-04T17:06:00.000-07:00

So I guess we're allowed to tell what the trial is about.

Drum roll please.........

Murder. Yikes, right?

Today listening to testimony, the weight of this really hit me. Someone was killed by another person. Holy cow. Today I remember Cain and Able simply because not only is it the first recorded death in the Bible, but it was murder.

Part of what hit me today is that I am going to be partly responsible for what happens to someone from here on out for the rest of their life. Not an easy thing. Please pray for truth, justice and God's mercy, for all involved.

-m

"Doctor." "Doctor."

2005-08-04T09:30:00.000-07:00

Ok, if I'm honest, sometimes this happens too.

- l

Wenis

2005-08-04T09:03:00.000-07:00

"We-ness": It's a real thing. It is an actual psychological term, and it has nothing to do with Freud. It is referring to the unique bond between a husband and wife in which they think of themselves as a unit. It is puzzling that terms such as "together-ness" or even "us-ness" were shot down in favor of "we-ness," but I'm not the one with the book deal.

I listen in class, I really do, but sometimes I just need to keep my hands busy. And besides, the content of my art is almost always directly related to course content. Take this couple here: they are celebrating their love at the 2nd annual we-ness festival. Look at the way they are holding hands, the loving gaze...because of them, I will never be able to forget what we-ness is.

(I'll take this moment to thank MS Paint for their contribution to my education. Thanks, Bill)

Fingerprinting

2005-08-03T07:22:00.000-07:00

While what I eat is very important to me, I think fingerprinting is more representative of what is actually going on in my life.

A few weeks ago, I fought the 405 for an hour and a half to get to UCLA to be fingerprinted for my clerkship this next year (I'll be testing kids on the autistic spectrum, as well as learning disabilities and a few other assorted things...very exciting!). Those of you in the LA area can give me a knowing look of pity. The rest of you can just imagine what you think it is when people talk about the horrible LA traffic, and then imagine me in the middle of it.

Today, I am trying to get fingerprinted again. This time, it is for the state of California's board of psychology...somewhere in the head office in Sacramento lies my paperwork to be a psychological assistant. When my fingerprints catch up to the paperwork, I'll hopefully be given a little number and be licensed and able to get paid(more) to do the work that I am already doing. This isn't the real deal, but more of a junior psychologist thing...nonetheless, I think having an actual number warrants a business card. Or buisiness, rather (hsr).

Yesterday, I got a call saying that in order for me to attend YMCA camp with one of the autistic boys I work with, I must, again, be fingerprinted. Apparently, it isn't possible for all of these places to collaborate a little.

All this fingerprinting has highlighted to me that my youth, where summers were hands-off and very few demands could be made on my time, is being squeezed out by adulthood. I don't like that so much. Even spending my summers in school was still somewhat more free...who expects much from a student? But now people expect things from me. I am a therapist in a private practice. I fly to conferences across the country and deduct them as business expenses. I am in the middle of collecting data for a research project.

I think the problem is that this professional person is a bit incongruous with the genetically-inherited hippie inside of me that would rather cook and paint and drink coffee. Perhaps I will just join the machine long enough to pay off my student loans, then set up shop in a little bungalow with climbing vines, comfy chairs, and a huge mudpit in the back for kids of all kinds to play in. (and perhaps a little espresso machine? a small one?)

Now, where to put my inner hippie while I'm jumping through all these hoops...

- l

The Power of Shredded Wheat

2005-08-02T20:57:00.000-07:00

The hubs and I have ventured into the world of commercial diets: We are currently a month into The South Beach Diet, and my cynical skeptic has been silenced.
There's the bit about losing a little softness here and there, as well as the psychological effect of looking at the beauty of a plate of non-processed food, but the clincher was the day I added wheat back to my diet.

Shredded wheat. After weeks of variations on the theme of eggs, I had been yearning for a bowl of breakfast cereal. Contrary to what I had thought, it's not a low-carb diet, but a "good carb" diet, and shredded wheat makes the list. 8am on a Saturday morning, I bounced out of bed with the eagerness of Christmas morning, and found a strange amount of tender joy in watching my little hay bales swim around their skim-milk pond.

10am, my legs start to buckle and I feel like I need more coffee...or a piece of cake...or coma.

Apparently, you are supposed to eat the wheat with the egg. Something about blood sugar and insulin... At any rate, I had a dietary epiphany: I had felt that comatose feeling many times before, and I usually defeated it with a sugar chaser. Or a nap. Or a fit of furious irritation that I chalked up to PMS, no matter its timing.

But this time, I saw it through...I ate some cheese and nuts, and a while later, my social acceptability returned. Very Jekyll and Hyde.

I guess the most important part of this story is that I still get to have dessert every night.
Particularly, I get to have this dessert:

1 no-sugar added fudgsicle
1-2 Tbs peanut butter
1Tbs light cool whip

Scrape the fudge off the stick, top it with the PB and the cool, give it a stir or two, and let the magic take you over.
Diet food. Who knew?

- l

My Civic Duty

2005-08-02T20:45:00.000-07:00

I don't mean going to a public restroom. I got summoned to jury duty and placed on a jury in a trial that the judge says could last into next week. It's an interesting case that I can't talk about, which is too bad now that I have a place for it. Oh well. After it's over, perhaps, if inquiring minds want to know...

I'm just glad my job pays up to 10 days of Jury Duty. So it's like a paid vacation...in downtown LA...in a courtroom...with 13 strangers. huh.

-m

Bienvenidos

2005-08-02T20:10:00.000-07:00

Welcome to our piece of space.

Many of you are far away, others are close but (we) are too flippin' busy.
We hope this will be a place to keep people updated on us, and for us to hear from you. Please let us know if you're out there, and we'll try to keep things updated (you get what you pay for, people).