Spoooooooky

Halloween blog worthy things that scare me:




The cast of the Jersey Shore




McDonalds




Frat boys



Sky diving




Sarah Palin and other gun toting conservative idiots




These disgusting things and others that masquerade as food




Precious Moments memorabilia

Ode to Non Fiction

Moby What?

Ladies and Gentleman,

This weekend I will commence a massive literary undertaking: the reading of what some have referred to as "the greatest American Novel ever written", Moby Dick.

Even if you've never read Moby Dick, you probably know a few things about it, assuming that you are a somewhat culturally literate American. You know it has to do with a mysterious white whale and a crazy sea captain. You know there's some dudes out at sea for a long time. You may even know about those famous lines "Call me Ismael". And, you know it's long.
But who is Ishmael? Why are they searching for this whale? And why is it all so important to American Literature?

When mentioned, most people cringe, wince or groan and follow that with "I never could finish that book"! But what I'm realizing, while doing my homework in preparation for this project, is that most people don't get it and can't finish it because they were forced to read it in high school or college when meaningful life experiences are slim and interests are mostly confined to beer and people of the opposite sex. Most people got bored, bought the cliff notes, and then headed out to a party. We are better able to understand and identify with American classics when we have some background knowledge to bring to the table, or this is at least what I am hoping in my 29 years of sage living.

So, here's to being well-read! Here's to being a part of something bigger than the passing fad! Here's to impressing your friends by understanding literary references! Here's to being 30 in 9 months and hopefully having some life experiences to season my read!

It may take me that long to read the book.

Artistic License

A friend emailed me yesterday informing me that she had shown my blog to her 10th grade English class as an example in a lesson about blogs (Yikes! Sorry, guys.). She then commented on my post about the empty fridge and asked if Jason and I wanted to come over for dinner since we didn't have any food (Double yikes! Not about coming over to hang out, but about people thinking that we are starving or something). I explained to her that our fridge was not literally "empty" but close and that I had exaggerated a bit for the sake of the post and to better emphasize my point about teacher salaries.

This got me thinking about artistic license and the lines between fiction and non fiction. How much artistic license can a writer take? And, where can I get one of those?

This has been a debated issue in the literary world. We all know about the Oprah/James Frey drama. A Million Little Pieces is released as a memoir, Oprah gives it her stamp of approval, James Frey makes a million little pieces of money. Later we find out, many of his accounts were a million little pieces of bullshit.

Greg Mortenson, author of Three Cups of Tea, tops the non-fiction charts and is touted in humanitarian circles for his amazing work setting up schools in a war torn Middle East. Later we find out many of his accounts were exaggerated to heighten the conflict in the story and perhaps to depict Mortenson as bolder than he really was.

Ishmael Beah, memoirs about about growing up as a child soldier in Sierra Leone in A Long Way Gone, only to have his credibility disputed because some of his stories were not properly corroborated.

And, I could go on, but you get the point. All of the examples beg the questions: Where does artistic license stop and lying begin? Who determines the answer? If literature is another form of art, then who really cares? Isn't art supposed to blur lines and break rules? Memoir: fiction or non-fiction? Can anything ever truly be non-fiction if it's all just someone's account of something that happened?

Sometimes fact can be enhanced with fiction. It's all for the sake of story-telling; hence the saying "spinning a good yarn". If I told you that my fridge was not empty, and that we did in fact have some Food Lion brand spaghetti noodles, tomato sauce, Brussels sprouts and blah blah blah...see you're already bored.

So, yes, actually the fridge was empty AND there was a lion in the freezer.

A sexist palate

I'd like to assert that my palate is sexist. I believe this because 9 times out of 10, I prefer cocktails, coffee beverages, and snacks prepared by men. Why is this? Is my palate subconsciously having a sexual relationship with whatever I eat? Possibly. Would it be the other way around if I were a man? Are there others out there like me?

Perhaps I should start a support group. Sexist palates anonymous. Yes, yes I will do this. But, for now I am going to enjoy the delicious baby soy latte prepared for me by a MAN!!

An Empty Fridge Education

Currently, our refrigerator is empty except the requisite 10 year old condiments which cower in the corners. It is the end of the month and two working professionals with college educations, Master's degrees and "respectable" jobs as teachers will be eating frozen peas with mustard 3 meals a day for the next 5 days. We will then get paid our measly non-raised teacher wages circa 2005 for the service work that we do in public education. We will pay our bills, and it will start all over again: the Jenga game that it is to make it to the end of the subsequent month.

And, GO...

Fall favorite

Harvest time beer
Cold night
Warm fire
Yes.

Gold Fish and Old Maid

What's the difference, people?

Peeing on the Wall

Every year, without fail, a 5th grader at our school gets in trouble for peeing on the wall in the boys' bathroom. I'm always baffled as to why someone would do this and why it happens every single year. Well, today I cracked the case.
As I walked out of my classroom on my way to the bathroom, I suddenly had the urge to do something crazy just to shake things up a bit. And, for a split second peeing on the wall crossed my mind. Now, I am an adult. I have self control and a sense of perspective, so I was able to contain myself. Then, I remembered how when I was in 5th grade I used to sit on the windowsill of the second story girls bathroom at my elementary school and dangle my legs out the window. Some girls were scared by this (rule followers!), others thought I was crazy for doing this (robot children!), but for me it was a small way that I could carve out a moment for myself in the rote routine of my public school day. My thoughts went to the bevy of misunderstood boys from the past 5 years. Then, I realized it: the boys are so bored out their minds that they must do something to break the monotony of the day. Peeing on the wall is an outlet for them...literally. It may seem disgusting and necessary to you and I, but to a 10 year old it is the perfect way to exercise one's independence and control of their situation. It says "Even though I'm stuck in here all day, I can do what I want for a couple of minutes and man, it's thrilling!"

Lessons Learned: Students need ways to feel independent.
Students need to break out of their routines sometimes.
Students need to go against the grain sometimes, constructively of course.
But for cleanliness and safety reasons, we need to find alternatives to peeing on the wall.

Metals

I'm not sure if I feel it all or if I want to count 1,2,3,4 on my fingers and toes and skip freely on a sunny day. The new Feist album is different. It's mature. It's sophisticated. It makes me want to move to the Pacific Northwest, put on cashmere, and drink a glass of red wine while gazing out into the fog. That's pretty sophisticated behavior, right? The problem is, Feist, some of us don't want to be sophisticated and mature all the time. There is a time and a place. So, I probably won't be playing Metals on a loop in my car for the next month or humming the songs in my head until I never want to hear them again. But I will pull this album out for a cold rainy day, a sweater, and a delicious Cabernet.

Real motivation

A benefit

Today we are heading to Baltimore to spectate the Baltimore marathon in support of our great pals Kurt and Alex. I'm really looking forward to this, as I feel certain that the benefits of spectating a marathon will be amplified due to the fact that we are only a week past our marathon. The pain, the drudgery, the thirst, the intensity and overall insanity of it all is still fresh and will unequivocally fuel our cheers and reinforce the relief that it is over. At least for a little while.

When running a marathon, your supporters can really be a motivating factor and the difference between feeling a hellish mile or soldiering through it. Warm heartfelt messages, funny quips, cool outfits, and young hot hipster dads with steaming cups of coffee can all give you a little extra push when you are feeling like you might walk off the course. I'm plotting the ultimate sign attack that will simultaneously crack people up while deeply motivating them to power through. Here are some of my favorite ideas:

and it goes on...

Just when you thought it couldn't get any crazier

tomorrow we Baltimore up

in the Salty Balty

here we come!

The sun'll come out...

The sun does in fact shine in Oregon, and thank goodness it does because we were feeling pretty defeated after our race on Sunday. There's no telling why, but for some reason this race was tough. Maybe we didn't eat well, maybe we didn't rest enough, maybe our bodies were thrown off by the West Coast time change and general different, yet superior, rhythm. Who knows!? We did ok, though. We both set personal records by beating our previous times by 5 minutes, but at what cost you ask? Sheer misery in the last 8-10 miles of the race. I kid you not, I was near tears between miles 21-26, only thinking of how I could just stop, get off the course and go face plant somewhere. The only thing that kept me going was the notion that even if I did stop, I'd be trapped on a random street in Portland 6 miles from the finish, and I'd have to get there somehow so I might as well run there. Jason spent about 20
minutes in the first aid tent at the finish, where a saintly man by the name of Doug restored him to somewhat homeostasis.
All in all it was ok, I suppose. But we weren't feeling like rock stars.
So, we went here



And drowned our sorrows in famous doughnuts!












Not so bad after all.

26.2 - part 3

Even though we've both run two other marathons, there is something about running a marathon that will never get old and never feel comfortable or easy. With the race about 12 hours away, Jason and I are secretly quite nervous. The kind of secret that is between just us and the Internet, of course. Don't tell. Things of nervous concern:

Did we eat healthily enough?
Will our 18 weeks of training serve us well?
Did we train enough?
Did we train too much?
Will we remember our numbers?
Will we remember our time chips?
Did we drink enough water?
Will we wake up on time?
Will we be able to find parking?
Will it be cold?
Will it rain?
Will there be chafing?
Can our bathroom visits be timed appropriately?
Will our shoes be ok?
Will we achieve our time goals?
Will we get enough sleep?
Or
Will these obsessive thoughts keep us up all night?

Portland, baby!

Looking out of the airplane window, instead of imagining the wing breaking off or crazy winds causing the plane to flip over, we gaze at the beautiful Mt. Hood. It's summit is above the clouds!




Upon arriving in Portland, after traveling through 3 time zones, across 12 states, navigating 3 airports, baggage claim, rental car robot people and airport parking deck maze, we knew we needed only one thing. Marathon in 36 hours or not, we required a beer. So, we decided to find one of our favorite brewery's ale houses.





And partake in a nice cold beverage to take the edge off.






Ahhhhhh..... (a sigh not a scream)




This morning, we awoke early to clean crisp air of a nice temperate 55 degrees. After a 2 mile jaunt to stretch the legs and remind ourselves that we indeed remember how to run, we stopped by the highly recommended cafe Barista for some beautiful espresso and my favorite, the baby soy latte, to get the day started off right.




You'll notice the common thread of imbibing.





And then...a bus that serves grilled cheeses!





We pay to park.






Nutella, marshmallow, and banana grilled cheese.




BBQ turkey, cheddar, and tomato grilled cheese. We continue to fuel up!






Yay! Portland.




And, tomorrow we run 26.2 miles around this amazing city.

I've said it before and I'll say it again

I hate flying!!!

T minus 1 day

Then we will be here

And I'm going to do this

And then this
And this

But first, I must do this

Remember who you are

While deeply "relaxing" in hanumanasana, a story and some wise words inspire and remind of the truth.







Hanumanasana is named for Hanuman, a divine character in Hindu philosophy and the true hero in the Ramayana. Hanuman was a monkey who was born with divine powers. He had great wisdom and great strength and as with all youngsters with advanced intelligence and talent he had a propensity towards mischief. He would play tricks on his teachers, and constantly bothered the sages by moving their deities, and rearranging their alters. He would jump from tree to tree and startle his family. Among his favorite pranks, was sneaking up upon the sages while they were meditating and juggling them to get their attention. Eventually, the sages grew tired of Hanuman and his pranks and made a decision to mildly curse him until he was old enough to understand his powers. His curse would be that he no longer would have control of his powers; he would only be able to use them in a time of great need.
Fast forward to Hanuman as an adult monkey, where he becomes a key player in the Ramayana. Hanuman becomes close friends with king Rama whose beautiful wife Sita is kidnapped by the evil king and taken to an island (what is now Sri Lanka). All of the Rama's animal freinds are trying to figure out how they can save Sita. Many of the monkeys can swing from the trees and jump very far but none could clear the distance from the beach to the island where Sita is being held captive. An old gorilla-bear who grew up with Hanuman says "Hanuman, you can do it. Remember?".






Hanuman is confused he knows he is only a monkey like the others. He can not make the jump, there is no use in trying. The old bear looks to Hanuman again and says "Remember who you are". Hanuman remembers and leaps across the ocean to Sita's rescue.






Thus, Hanumanasana is born. A split, resembling the great leap Hanuman took after remembering who he was.







And, therein in lies the wisdom of this story, something so simple and yet so jarring: Remember who you are..