Run away! Run away! Hurricane Lily and Betty Ford Galaxy chasin' me down... (I had been trying to knock out Lily thoroghout the evening.)
more photos from LJ McAllister, click here.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Surprises all around...Not posting to my blog has been one of the side effects of this illness I can't seem to shake - since like December. I also haven't called my friends, cleaned my appartment and have had just enough energy to make it to work and derby practice in the evenings. It's also kept me away from Heidi's new baby Lucia much to my chagrin. So I finally went to the doctor and hope that it is truly a sinus infection and my "old self" will be back soon.
However, the big event this weekend was the Rat City Roller Girls bout. It was truly a "derby weekend" with volunteering on Friday and participating in the halftime show on Saturday. Jet City Roller Girls first demonstrated "the rules of the game" during the pre-show. We just "bouted" in slow motion. (Picture of me and Sassy Pants as pivots) We were also invited to play "Last Woman Standing" with Rat City (who just won the Western Region Championship - woot - bytheway) for the half time entertainment. The game is just like it says... you skate around and knock each other down or squarely out of bounds. The "last woman standing" wins. We had been practicing this for the last two weeks and though we had some great strategies (beside "don't get knocked out") it was packed as about 35-40 skaters started the game. I lost my trio of other skaters right away as the whistle blew and the hitting started. I tried to knock those I could and skate away from those I couldn't. I rolled on the outside line with one skate (trying to say in), one leg in the air and figured I was out and started to skate away when the ref yelled for me to "get back in there". So I did. To my surprise, as the dust started to settle and derby girls picked themselves up off the ground and skated away I found myself still skating. I looked across the rink and there was ONE other Jet City teammate, Selma Highkick. We made brief eye contact. It was enough for it seemed like the remaining 4 Rat City noticed me (it was like I screamed, HERE I AM) and I took off skating (for my life). I couldn't even believe I was the last JCRG on the floor! I did a couple of laps trying to shake them and saw my end as another skater had slowed down, with three on my tail, I was going out. And I did. But was an incredible SURPRISE and an incredible evening and our derby gals did so damn well! I was so proud and so thrilled to be part of such a fantastic group.
The other surprise of the week were all the blossoms on the trees. I awoke groggy one morning and noticed the tree in my neighbors' backyard FILLED with pink blossoms. Then driving home from skate practice, there were more trees on 80th with blossoms out. It's honestly almost spring! And it's still February! Woot! Woot!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Happiness......watching you teammates (and league mates) come together to create a fantastic show for a very enthusiastic and supportive audience as one of your first really successful fundraisers. (click here or here to see more pictures).
... having the support from your friends (who are now part of RCRG) whom you use to skate with as part of PFM and other skaters from communities as far away as Bellingham - being a part of such a great sisterhood.
... winning a Grammy. Yes, it's true! Someone I know, actually won a Grammy! Instrumental Soloist(s) Performance (with Orchestra): "Messiaen: Oiseaux Exotiques (Exotic Birds)," John McLaughlin Williams, conductor; Angelin Chang (Cleveland Chamber Symphony). I am so incredibly proud and happy for her and regret that I didn't make it to any of her concerts when I was in Cleveland (but now I can listen to her albums!) That has got to be such an incredible achievement especially with such competition.
... getting a Valentine from a secret admirer in The Stranger (ok, not so secret, but it's fun anyway!)
... sleeping the entire evening so that you can shake a cold you've had perpetually since the middle of December (which isn't fun).
...watching your best friend become a mom.
And making cupcakes for your friends for Valentines Day.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
My Lemon
My car is a lemon. It is no secret or surprise that the 2000 (first year model) Ford Focus is a lemon. But I like this lemon - even when the fuel pump went out at 18,000 miles, the (ignition) starter busted at 24,000 miles - there have been a 78 recalls for joints, bearings, plastic pieces here and there, wires, plugs, you name it, it's probably been replaced on my car.
But I love my lemon. It was the first car I bought and is the only thing of significant value that I own. It is zippy and fast (oops) and fun to drive. It has bumper stickers on its fat hinny and its name is Ovette (no, not after Corvette, but because it looks like a giant ovary on wheels). My friends in Peace Corps predicted that I would drive a hatchback, with bumper stickers and with an activist box (scissors, tape, tacks, etc.) in the trunk and I declared, defiantly that I "am not a dirty hippie!"
Hmmm...
So I change the oil regularly and keep all of the fluids filled. I have an emergency kit (blanket, jeans, flashlight) in the trunk and I've changed my share of flat tires. My dad and brother, who can fix cars in their sleep (and build houses) have helped me over the years, but have also given me a keen sense of when it's having problems - and it is. Fuel problems to be exact. At first I thought it was the air filter - which after changing it seemed to help. Then we decided it was the fuel injectors. Now, the "check engine" light has come on and I'm convinced that it's the oxygen sensor. Some of this I came up with on my own, some of it my dad and brother helped me with and a friend added a thought or two. So my lemon has to go to the shop and get fixed.
My friend Glitter Chicken (Dani) and I lament about the fact that we're away from "home" - home being many things but home also being that place where you can drive your car up to you parent's/brother's house (or in her case, her boss' house) and say "I think I have this problem..." And you can be reassured about it - you don't have to face car mechanics alone (who, more often than not, think women don't know anything about cars and either treat you like an idiot or try to rip you off) - and together you can fix it or at least learn about it.
It's one of those things you miss - and one of those things you'll figure out along the way - just like finding a good dentist - you will find a good mechanic. Plus, you can still call your dad or your brother and say "Hey - I have this problem and I think...."
My car is a lemon. It is no secret or surprise that the 2000 (first year model) Ford Focus is a lemon. But I like this lemon - even when the fuel pump went out at 18,000 miles, the (ignition) starter busted at 24,000 miles - there have been a 78 recalls for joints, bearings, plastic pieces here and there, wires, plugs, you name it, it's probably been replaced on my car.
But I love my lemon. It was the first car I bought and is the only thing of significant value that I own. It is zippy and fast (oops) and fun to drive. It has bumper stickers on its fat hinny and its name is Ovette (no, not after Corvette, but because it looks like a giant ovary on wheels). My friends in Peace Corps predicted that I would drive a hatchback, with bumper stickers and with an activist box (scissors, tape, tacks, etc.) in the trunk and I declared, defiantly that I "am not a dirty hippie!"
Hmmm...
So I change the oil regularly and keep all of the fluids filled. I have an emergency kit (blanket, jeans, flashlight) in the trunk and I've changed my share of flat tires. My dad and brother, who can fix cars in their sleep (and build houses) have helped me over the years, but have also given me a keen sense of when it's having problems - and it is. Fuel problems to be exact. At first I thought it was the air filter - which after changing it seemed to help. Then we decided it was the fuel injectors. Now, the "check engine" light has come on and I'm convinced that it's the oxygen sensor. Some of this I came up with on my own, some of it my dad and brother helped me with and a friend added a thought or two. So my lemon has to go to the shop and get fixed.
My friend Glitter Chicken (Dani) and I lament about the fact that we're away from "home" - home being many things but home also being that place where you can drive your car up to you parent's/brother's house (or in her case, her boss' house) and say "I think I have this problem..." And you can be reassured about it - you don't have to face car mechanics alone (who, more often than not, think women don't know anything about cars and either treat you like an idiot or try to rip you off) - and together you can fix it or at least learn about it.
It's one of those things you miss - and one of those things you'll figure out along the way - just like finding a good dentist - you will find a good mechanic. Plus, you can still call your dad or your brother and say "Hey - I have this problem and I think...."
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Wear sunscreen
I was listing to the radio in the car over the weekend, and stumbled upon this song twice. Somehow I missed this song - this experience - in 1999. Then I realized I was living in Cote d'Ivoire, living it (click below).
Baz Lurhmann's Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen).
It turns out this song was a column written by journalist Mary Schmich: Schmich's June 1, 1997 column began with the injunction to wear sunscreen and continued with discursive advice for living without regret. In her introduction to the column, she described it as the commencement address she would give if she were asked to give one.
This reminded me of my own "commencement speech". When I graduated from the University of Iowa in 1996, I made my own graduation announcements (I mean really, who needs those fancy expensive things). On the front was a photo of me as a baby laughing announcing my graduation. On the back was a long statement that follows below. (My only copy of this hangs out with my box of resume paper - which is where it should be - always look at where you think you might want to go next):
On my way to an undergraduate playwright's meeting, a friend asked me what I was going to do now that I was graduating. I wrote this:
Because I am greedy and because I am graduating, I'm going to tell you what I want:
I want to learn Portuguese. I want to live in Brazil and master the cello. I want to a masters in Arabic and Senegalese culture and be able to do the Samba in my sleep and hit that center in Salsa that I always seem to miss.
I want to be married someday - honestly I do.
I want to climb Mt. St. Helen's again. I want to become a master chef. I want to have my own arts center for youth, I want to give youth a voice. I want to be forever young at heart. I want to play the piano. I want to have a friend teach me to dance in a tight circle like they do in Zaire. I want to visit Paris in the summer and Moscow too.
I want to teach French on Native American Reservations - there was a need a few years ago. I want to play soccer again - every day. I want to learn Hindi. (I wanted to be Gandhi - but that was when I was young and didn't know anything.)
I want to meet Marisa Monte and maybe Nick Cave and visit Haiti and go to Trinidad during festival and learn Spanish. I want to make an award-winning documentary and be a one-hit filmmaker. I want to work for PBS and NPR and BBC.
I want to live with the gypsies of North Africa for a while. I want to name the new color of a crayola crayon. I want to be some one's fairy godmother.
I want to be an art therapist. I want to spend 20 years observing a primate we know nothing about. I want to increase consciousness about malnutrition, disease, social injustice, justice, joy and hope.
I want to sleep on a firm mattress with a feather pillow under five quilts. I want to drink lemon tea in the mornings and stay up every night engrossed in conversation about God and love and literature and dance and faint from exhaustion. I want to live every second and not let it kill me. I want to be able to live by the principle Voltaire once stated and that is "Change your small corner of the world and be content." I want ethnic cleansing to stop. I want Muslims to be respected and blacks and Latinos and the people who try every day.
I want every single person to respect at least one other single person.
I want to visit Nepal. I want to stop the Chinese from destroying Tibet. I want Tibetans to reclaim their own culture. I want to live by the Buddhist saying "We can all choose to be awake."
And I want you to, too.
I was listing to the radio in the car over the weekend, and stumbled upon this song twice. Somehow I missed this song - this experience - in 1999. Then I realized I was living in Cote d'Ivoire, living it (click below).
Baz Lurhmann's Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen).
It turns out this song was a column written by journalist Mary Schmich: Schmich's June 1, 1997 column began with the injunction to wear sunscreen and continued with discursive advice for living without regret. In her introduction to the column, she described it as the commencement address she would give if she were asked to give one.
This reminded me of my own "commencement speech". When I graduated from the University of Iowa in 1996, I made my own graduation announcements (I mean really, who needs those fancy expensive things). On the front was a photo of me as a baby laughing announcing my graduation. On the back was a long statement that follows below. (My only copy of this hangs out with my box of resume paper - which is where it should be - always look at where you think you might want to go next):
On my way to an undergraduate playwright's meeting, a friend asked me what I was going to do now that I was graduating. I wrote this:
Because I am greedy and because I am graduating, I'm going to tell you what I want:
I want to learn Portuguese. I want to live in Brazil and master the cello. I want to a masters in Arabic and Senegalese culture and be able to do the Samba in my sleep and hit that center in Salsa that I always seem to miss.
I want to be married someday - honestly I do.
I want to climb Mt. St. Helen's again. I want to become a master chef. I want to have my own arts center for youth, I want to give youth a voice. I want to be forever young at heart. I want to play the piano. I want to have a friend teach me to dance in a tight circle like they do in Zaire. I want to visit Paris in the summer and Moscow too.
I want to teach French on Native American Reservations - there was a need a few years ago. I want to play soccer again - every day. I want to learn Hindi. (I wanted to be Gandhi - but that was when I was young and didn't know anything.)
I want to meet Marisa Monte and maybe Nick Cave and visit Haiti and go to Trinidad during festival and learn Spanish. I want to make an award-winning documentary and be a one-hit filmmaker. I want to work for PBS and NPR and BBC.
I want to live with the gypsies of North Africa for a while. I want to name the new color of a crayola crayon. I want to be some one's fairy godmother.
I want to be an art therapist. I want to spend 20 years observing a primate we know nothing about. I want to increase consciousness about malnutrition, disease, social injustice, justice, joy and hope.
I want to sleep on a firm mattress with a feather pillow under five quilts. I want to drink lemon tea in the mornings and stay up every night engrossed in conversation about God and love and literature and dance and faint from exhaustion. I want to live every second and not let it kill me. I want to be able to live by the principle Voltaire once stated and that is "Change your small corner of the world and be content." I want ethnic cleansing to stop. I want Muslims to be respected and blacks and Latinos and the people who try every day.
I want every single person to respect at least one other single person.
I want to visit Nepal. I want to stop the Chinese from destroying Tibet. I want Tibetans to reclaim their own culture. I want to live by the Buddhist saying "We can all choose to be awake."
And I want you to, too.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Rabbit! Rabbit!
My friend and past supervisor Nanci has the crazy tradition at the beginning of each month - you say Rabbit Rabbit! If you are the first one to say it to your friend, family, neighbor, colleague, whomever, you will have good luck for the month. Of course, it caught on like wild fire at my last job and we would go to extremes to be the first one. Sometimes I would stay late at work the night before the 1st and write it on a piece of paper, or better yet put a note in the fridge where everyone put their lunches. We would call, type message, send ecards, etc. to be the first Rabbit! Rabbit! and get the most luck.
Well, like most silly traditions, it spun slightly out of control and Nanci instated a new policy in that you had to physically say "Rabbit! Rabbit!" to the person to get the luck. No phone messages, no typed notes, no e-cards. Of course, will caller ID on most of the phones, its been tricky to pull it off, for your names appears and your Rabbit victim won't answer it. Today, I covertly called Nanci's receptionist, said my name was someone from the affiliate in Columbus and I was able to get her with Rabbit! Rabbit! as she sweetly said "Hello."
Rabbit! Rabbit!
My friend and past supervisor Nanci has the crazy tradition at the beginning of each month - you say Rabbit Rabbit! If you are the first one to say it to your friend, family, neighbor, colleague, whomever, you will have good luck for the month. Of course, it caught on like wild fire at my last job and we would go to extremes to be the first one. Sometimes I would stay late at work the night before the 1st and write it on a piece of paper, or better yet put a note in the fridge where everyone put their lunches. We would call, type message, send ecards, etc. to be the first Rabbit! Rabbit! and get the most luck.
Well, like most silly traditions, it spun slightly out of control and Nanci instated a new policy in that you had to physically say "Rabbit! Rabbit!" to the person to get the luck. No phone messages, no typed notes, no e-cards. Of course, will caller ID on most of the phones, its been tricky to pull it off, for your names appears and your Rabbit victim won't answer it. Today, I covertly called Nanci's receptionist, said my name was someone from the affiliate in Columbus and I was able to get her with Rabbit! Rabbit! as she sweetly said "Hello."
Rabbit! Rabbit!
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