see the photos of my adventure

My trip to Alaska this summer started with a phone call from my dad. I remember it was a Friday night. I was working. Dad called to tell me that after deciding not to go to Alaska this summer, since he and my mom were so busy with other trips and activities, they were indeed going to go to Alaska, and I needed to join them. Oh yeah, and this would all happen in a little over two weeks from that Friday night.

I was able to swing it…don’t ask me how. And don’t ask me to try to do it again. Travel is stressful enough without having to deal with the ins and outs of booking a flight into Kodiak—an airport the size of my big toe with only 2 commercial flights in and out daily.

Take off from SFO was a dream. I was immediately upgraded to first class because I had booked my flight with frequent flier miles. Yes! This made me feel a little better about the booking hassle. I was able to wait on my flight in the Board Room instead of in the terminal, got to board the plane first, and—hello—free food and booze on board! (Actually it’s all free in the Board Room, too…but there’s only so much one can consume without drawing attention! In fact, I think I still have some peanut butter stuffed in my computer bag.)

The smooth sailing came to a screeching halt when I arrived in Seattle for what should have been a measly one-hour layover. Instead, I checked the gate status of my flight to Anchorage to find that all flights to Alaska had been canceled for the night due to the amount of volcanic ash in the airspace over Alaska. Apparently, the ash can crystallize in the atmosphere and seize a plane’s engines. Duly noted.

Lines quickly started forming at the gates so everyone could re-book. Luckily, I re-booked quick enough that I was only grounded there for one day. I overheard several others down in baggage claim (a whole other blog entry to be filed under ‘chaos’) talking about being stuck in Seattle for two days. Fortunately, I didn’t let this act of Mother Nature get me all riled up. I was starting to see this 24 hours in Seattle as a vacation within my vacation. And it was. I had a great day in Seattle!

The next night, I made my way back to the airport to pick up my journey where I left off the previous night. And everything went according to plan (sans first class assignment, but what are you gonna do when you’re just trying to get out of town?). I arrived in Anchorage to find my luggage patiently waiting for me—something I was prepared for not to happen. And I took off again and arrived in Kodiak as planned.

I had a great week visiting with my brother, sister-in-law and my parents. It was definitely short-lived, and there were just too many things that I wanted to do that I couldn’t get to. On my to-do list for next time: stay long enough for the sun to come out and clouds to clear (which is exactly what happened only hours after I left), kayak around, go 4-wheeling (this was on my to-do list this time, but the rain and other things kept us from doing it), and visit more of Alaska other than Kodiak. Very doable, right?

Things that went wrong on my recent trip to the Russian River:

1. We saw a sheep on the loose on Hwy. 12. This isn’t necessarily something that went wrong so much as out-of-the ordinary and a bit alarming. Yet, it fueled some good ‘Mary lost her little lamb’ jokes—the best one was when Grant called 911 to report it he described the lamb as having fleece as white as snow. heh heh heh

2. We were late by about an hour. (But, honestly, when you’re dealing with a group of 18, someone has to be late, right?)

3. We mistakenly ran into tree branches, got hung up on some rocks, and I almost lost my life to an enormous spiderweb.

4. I had a wardrobe malfunction with my bathing-suit top while trying to take my sandals off to go swimming. It’s quite possible I gave a show—or 3, as the top ‘popped’ more than once due to a faulty closure—to my friends. But if they saw my breasticles, they were kind enough not to say anything other than “keep your clothes on!”

5. We actually ran into a duck. How that happens, I still can’t figure out. All I know is I felt a thump and saw an angry duck quacking and skittering away.

6. After a long day of rowing—and knowing full-well that I would be sore—today I’m feeling that I pulled a muscle in my leg. Not my arms—my leg!

I have to admit, that list makes me smile and giggle. It really was a great day.

The latest CD is titled ‘Summer’s Too Hot for Love.’ And the level of thoughtfulness and dedication is apparent in the production.

I’ll share some of the liner notes that I find particularly clever and relevant. The playlist is arranged in the order of how love usually progresses. These are the sections:
I. Introduction: Intuition
II. Fascination
III. Infatuation
IV. Adoration + Devotion
V. Trepidation + Disintegration
VI. Conclusion without Resolution
VII. Alleviation + Restoration
VIII. Epilogue: Revitalization

and, of course, the music is all goo-ood.

The next amusing—and probably my favorite—twist Dad puts on a word is ‘museum,’ pronounced ‘muh-ZEE-um.’ (It even makes me giggle as I’m typing it out).

My heart leapt for joy one day when Dad and I visited the High Museum of Art and joined one of the docent tours—our docent was from somewhere in New England, and her accent kept delighting me with ‘myoo-ZEEM.’ But then the whole coincidence within a coincidence, within another coincidence made my head spin a little bit—but in such a good way!

I’ve decided that I’m now collecting new ways to pronounce ‘museum.’ And I collected a new one last night! My friend Sasha was telling a story about using a museum catalog as material to construct an envelope, and more than once—thrice, if I’m not mistaken—he said ‘myoo-ZAY-um.’ Gold. Struck.

Case in point—I normally only wear heels when I know for sure that I will mostly be standing still or sitting—definitely not walking city blocks. But a few weeks ago, I dusted off some of my heels when the girls and I played dress-up to go have drinks at Top of the Mark. I was in pain by the time I walked one block—up Nob Hill, of course. But I surely did look cute!

The question I pose is this: Is it so wrong of me to find myself a little jealous of a woman I saw today, in a wheelchair, wearing some fierce patent-leather, high-heeled boots? She gets to wear ANY shoes she wants—regardless of comfort and ease of maneuverability in the city, no less! It really does feel a little politically incorrect…but what the hell. You GO, girl! (Yeah, I wrote it).

These are a quick and dirty sample of some shoes I would almost kill for, just to be able to wear them.

It’s true. I’m a suppressed shoe lover. And by suppressed I mean that I adore shoes—I am just not able to foster that love due to the painful truth that I simply can’t wear some shoes gracefully or comfortably and, sadly, a general lack of justifiable funds.

So, the next time you see me in my ’sensible’ shoes, know that, on the inside, I’m wearing those delicious snake-skin peep-toes.

Update: Seen on Twitter—”I’d like to take these shoes, dig a grave with their five-inch heels and toss them in. And then spit on the mound of dirt.” by Dooce, 7/14/08

Here’s a little taste of their goodness. (AP Photo/Dima Gavrysh)

I was lucky enough to attend the 8-piece band’s show last night where, by the end of the two encores, fans were mock-waltzing (since this generation doesn’t know how to properly waltz) just because the vibe was that upbeat and happy. I know I had a grin on my face.

But let me get back to that talent. These kids were playing every instrument you could imagine: guitar, ukulele, mandolin, violin, stand-up bass, bass guitar, accordion, drums, tenor saxophone, clarinet, trumpet, French horn, a couple of other brass horns I don’t know, xylophone, keyboard, tambourine…and those are just the ones I can remember. One kid in particular, we referred to him as ‘the big guy with the beard,’ played most of the instruments—several per song—and traveled the stage according to band placement and sound quality. I was very impressed, to say the least, and I couldn’t help but think of just how proud their parents must be!

And let me just interject here, as a former middle-school clarinetist myself, last night’s show was a clarinet-fest! Yippee! The two opening acts, The Apple Miner Colony and The Bruntettes, both featured that sexy blow-stick. It almost made me want to play again…but I’d much rather listen these days than play.

Although the show was in the lovely Regency Grand Ballroom, there were far too many sound and lighting issues to allow the show to be as amazing as it could have been. I felt terrible for The Brunettes whose set was cut short and marred by sound difficulties. I thought their music was really good, but we only got to hear 3 or 4 songs. And the house lights actually came all the way on twice during Beirut’s set! Unacceptable.

But I really did leave with a smile.

I’m going to go ahead and set up camp in the YES category.

[silly grin]

I truly like to keep the Golden Rule in mind when dealing with others—especially others that are special to me. But sometimes—just sometimes—doesn’t it feel sooo good to give in to that little devil on the shoulder?

Living with roommates opens up a cornucopia of opportunities. I admit to participating in some PA activities around the house. And some of those activities were even in partnership with other roommates. Mind you, we’re all still pretty pleased with each other in our living situation. It’s just that everyone has their little quirks that seem to glare here and there.

Family is another easy target—easier than roommates—but somehow way more sensitive. I’d like to think I’ve matured enough to steer clear of the family PA shenanigans. That, and living far enough away from them all helps, too.

And then there are the relationship digs. Here is where the ice becomes thin and treacherous to tread. But I confess, my most beautiful and purely poetic PA feat was executed in the relationship realm—only when the relationship was kaput, of course. It was like a finely executed Rube Goldberg set-up where everything fell right into place, almost as if I weren’t even trying. Like I said, pure poetry, simply brilliant. Is it so wrong to be extremely proud of such a thing?

Yes, I know it’s not a good thing. And, yes, I try very hard to turn the other cheek when I so badly want to flash both of them at some folks. I know that it’s usually me that retains the psychological damage in the long run. And I’m working through it all the time.

Why I love cinema: the last 10 minutes of Michael Clayton.

And while we’re on the subject, is it just me? Or is Michael Clayton—given, it’s the name of the lead character—just a boring title or what? I had no motivation to see this movie other than the force that is George and all of the buzz surrounding said force. So I thought I would come up with some other fitting titles that might have made the marketing a wee bit more enticing:

20 Baguettes

Cleanup Is a Snap

Give This Man a Break

Is that Hollywood I hear knocking on my door?!

Be on the lookout the next time we talk.