peas with honey

Urgent Care Hell...

I was sick all this past weekend (and through most of this week)...I'd had a sore throat for most of the week before and by Saturday had totally lost my voice.  I drank a lot of Theraflu which Dan was kind enough to prepare for me and we spent Saturday hanging out around his condo and watching "Once Upon A Time In The West" which I highly recommend.  Basically I was a total dud though.  On Monday morning I was coughing up yellowish green gunk which I made the crucial mistake of telling my mother about.  I had already decided that I was taking a sick day...this time it was legitimate!  Well, she insisted that I go by urgent care and get seen by a doctor so that I could be prescribed some antibiotics.  I really really hate urgent care but I don't have a primary care physician so I went.

 

The urgent care I went to is part of the U of Arizona Medical Center/teaching hospital.  I was hoping that it wouldn't be so bad because it was a Monday morning...sigh...why am I always wrong?  I signed in with this ornery looking nurse person.  I don't know why they needed my social but she shook her head and told me that I sounded "horrible" when she heard by barely audible voice.  Which, by the way, was a source of endless frustration over the weekend because Dan kept forgetting that I couldn't talk.  He would ask me something from the other room and I would try to respond and end up having to get up and walk over to him...  I could only really whisper, which is what Dan ended up doing too -- I guess its a natural response when the person you're talking to is whispering.  Anyway, a person watching us would have thought we were a very weird pair....they probably think that anyway (now that I think about it).

 

I sat in the waiting room with all of the other freaks and waited my turn.  I started assessing whether other people looked sick enough to be in front of me...I didn't see any spurting blood and no one looked like they were going to pass out...maybe I should cough pretty loud so the nurses could notice me and move me ahead.  (There's also always the thought that these people are not nearly as sick as you are and they should just bow their heads in shame and leave the ER immediately in the face of your life threatening injuries.)  Of course that never works...they just ignored me.  I finally got to the triage section and they took my temperature and blood pressure and put this thing on my finger (which measured my heartrate).  I whispered my desire to get some antibiotics and the nurse just nodded and filled out her form.  (I'm going to assume she didn't hear me.)  She told me to go back to the waiting room.

 

I go back to a seat right in front of the nurse's station (hoping that I would be a thorn in their side that they wanted to get rid of).  There were two seats free to my left...and this small older woman sits in one of the free seats.  I'm busy texting people and looking through a 2 year old Better Homes and Gardens when this high pitched and extremely loud cough comes out of this little old lady.  It is sort of shocking in its volume and intensity.  How is that coming out of that little body?  I look up at her and she blithely looks back at me and gives me another one of those startling coughs.  I respond with a weak, sickly cough of my own (demonstrating that because I don't have the energy to blow the roof off a house, I am much much sicker than she is).  She coughs again and I realize that I cannot sit next to this bull horn.  I move over to another set of seats.  I watch people's faces in response to her coughs.  They look alarmed as well.  Then the women gets up and moves to the same bank of nagahyde hospital waiting room seats that I'm sitting on!  What?!?  I look at her (indicating -- with my eyes -- that I will resort to drastic measures if she follows me again) and get up and move again.  She doesn't follow me.  I can still hear her cough though.  Then they call me back to get all of my insurance information and put a hospital band on my wrist.  I'm impressed with how quickly the "intake" lady can type...you go girl.  She just looks annoyed though when I try to talk to her because I can barely be heard.  If I get her to like me will I get seen faster?....no chance....

 

I'm official now (with my wrist band) and I get sent back to the waiting room.  I warily look at the coughing lady and find a seat away from her.   Incredibly, she gets up and moves near me again!  What the hell?!?  I cannot take this any longer.  I looked over to the ER portion of the waiting room and notice some of Tucson's finest (Tucson Police Department...I'm not surprised if you're confused by my sarcasm...) standing around.  Maybe I can alert them to my stalking situation and they can finally earn their portion of my taxpayer dollars...  I give the lady the "stink eye" (its a technical term) and move to a crowded area of the waiting room and even ask a guy to move his bag so that I can sit next to him.  I tell him about the stalker and he just laughs...yeah dude...its funny until YOU'RE the victim....

 

After another while, I get called back by some guy with a clip board and he puts me in an examining room and leaves me in there but CLOSES THE DOOR.  Now...I don't know about most of you but I have a fear that I'm totally going to be forgotten if they close the door on my in these situations.  I get up and open the door and someone comes back a few minutes later and closes it again.  Ok...I get the message.  After almost an hour a male nurse comes in wearing a pediatric shirt (with pictures of cartoon characters on it) and tells me that I'm probably going to get a chest x-ray and that he thinks I have strep throat.  Now...he hasn't examined me but that sounds pretty reasonable.  Another hour later this very very young person comes in and introduces herself as a resident.  She seems so demure and shy and I feel for her....she obviously doesn't really feel comfortable meeting new people.  She tells me that she's going to examine me and make a diagnosis but that I shouldn't worry because an attending will follow up and make sure that she did her examination correctly.  WAY TO INSPIRE CONFIDENCE SISTER!  I tell her that I'm sure she'll do a great job...when did our roles get reversed?  She listens to my chest and looks at my throat (apologetically) and tells me that she thinks I have a virus and not a bacterial infection but that they're going to take a chest x-ray.  Right...just blast me with gamma rays on a hunch...how did that work out for you Madame Currie?...(does my fear of too much x-ray exposure reveal a little too much about my age and upbringing?).  It takes almost another hour for the x-ray tech's assistant to come get me and for the x-ray to be taken.  I looked at the x-ray over the tech's shoulder (as I came on the screen) and knew that I didn't have any issues with my lungs...I mean...it doesn't really take a rocket scientist to see clear lungs...  Of course, I need to wait almost another hour and a half to find that out.  The attending finally comes in tells me that I'm not getting any antibiotics!  She told me to buy some sudafed and some cough medicine....thanks....

 

When I exited through the waiting room, I checked around to make sure the stalker cougher wasn't there...thankfully she was gone.  I didn't want to have to employ any evasive driving maneuvers to get her off my tail on my way home!

 

Speaking of which, I went to my local Walgreens and had to pretty much agree to sell my family members into white slavery if I would use any of the 10 12-hour Sudafed caplets I purchased.  I didn't realize it but my boss, Terry Goddard, implemented this deal where you have to show picture ID and sign a register whenever you buy any pseudephedrine so I got suspiciously eyeballed when I wanted a simple 10 pack of the things.  Of course, this makes me wonder if meth causes your sinuses to dry up?  Does the sudafed lose its effectiveness in the cooking process?  I think it would be easier to just buy some meth for my congestion...

MOCA Gala

I've been partying like a rock star...actually not like a rock star...like someone who had two parties to go to in two weeks.  This past saturday I went to a "gala" for the Museum of Contemporary Art in Tucson, Arizona.  It was black tie optional so I chose the option of not wearing a black tie...actually Dan chose that option.  It honored local geniuses and there were really interesting artists and one fellow involved in the Mars lander there.  Pretty cool.  By the way, the Mars lander is a pretty big deal out here because of the University of Arizona's substantial involvement with that program.  They put it on billboards and everything.  I've learned a lot about the U of A from those billboards actually.  They also perfected the artificial heart, they invented tree ring counting or something and they did something with pima cotton.  Yahoo!  Oh yeah, and their men's and women's swimming teams were national champions this year.  Billboards are highly educational.

 

First, let me tell you about the shirt Dan initially brought up to wear.  It was made from some type of polyester blend sateen material and it was deep, dark purple.  Yes...you read that correctly.  It looked like something that Tony Soprano would wear.  The tie options he brought only made it look more like a selection from Mr. Soprano's wardrobe.  Dan played golf with some buddies on Saturday morning so I took his shirt to my mother's house -- because she really had to see it to believe it.  My brother was there and we all agreed that I needed to get myself down to the mall to rectify that situation immediately.  I mean, I could probably avoid standing next to him for a long time but eventually people would figure out that we're together....  I went to Banana Republic and, with my brother's substantial input, bought him a pale grey shirt with a really cool tie that had lavender and purple stripes (trying to tie in his earlier choices).  To his great credit, Dan was happy to wear our selection and he looked very handsome.

 

The gala was on the rooftop of a downtown garage.  You parked under the party and got a little red "superball" as your proof of admittance.  When a few people asked us what we were supposed to do with the superballs, Dan told them that at midnight we were all going to throw them off the roof at cars below.  Ahhh Dan does not disappoint!  After getting our balls (that really doesn't sound that great), we headed to the elevator but not before we saw this woman who had the most enormous fake breasts I've ever seen!  I mean, these things were so large they looked painful (because her skin looked like it was stretched to its limits).  Of course, she was wearing something that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.  I tried to fake taking a picture of Elizabeth and Autumn where I would focus on her chest and blur out their faces because it was that unbelievable.  Unfortunately she moved before I could snap the shot...damn.  The stuff of legends...

 

The rooftop was really cool.  I also mean it was cold.  Fortunately there were a lot of heat lamps around and I, being a thin skinned West Coaster these days, planted myself near one while Dan got drinks.  Dan had to be the groundbreaker in the smoking department because there really was no place for those guys to go.  Although, when you're on a rooftop can't you smoke anywhere?  There's probably something about being a certain distance from the building but this building is a parking garage...oh well.  He found a corner and started a trend.  My nicotine addicted trendsetter.

 

When we were told to take our seats, I was pleased to know that a heat lamp was right beside me and my mother was on the other side.  Dan was opposite me on the table and we had to lean over and yell to talk to each other...making conversation a bit difficult.  It was a fun time though although the acoustics of the roof of a parking garage in downtown Tucson are not very well suited to hearing speeches.  Something that had never occurred to me before.  Afterwards Dan and I met some of the local geniuses and, by touching their hands, hoped to receive a little of their wisdom and geniusness(?).  We had a great time! 

Founder's Day

The Friday before last, I went to Founder's Day in Tucson with Dan.  On the drive over, I told Dan that he shouldn't be surprised if we run into several old grads who still can't get used to the fact that women go to West Point.  I mean...it's only been 33 years...how are they supposed to get used to something that new?  We arrived at the lobby area and I can see that most of these guys graduated in the late 40s and 50s.  Yes...it was an old crowd.  I check in at the registration and fill out our nametags.  I put my name and '87 (denoting my class year) on my nametag and simply put Dan's name on his nametag.  Well, I start to notice that a lot of older ladies in this crowd have nametags on with a class year on it...ok... I don't know if I mentioned this before but a lot of grads' wives (especially in the older generations) walk around and act like they also went to West Point and they usually know more about my school and its history than I do.  I knew immediately that they would all assume that I was wearing my husband's class year on my name tag.  I spot the bar and gesture for Dan to come over with me.  We're definitely going to need drinks.  On our way there these two older fellows (class of '48 and '56 I think) stop and introduce themselves to Dan.  They ask him what class he was and he tells them that he didn't go to West Point and he points to me and tells them that I did.  They both shake their heads and say "I just can't get used to that."  REALLY?!?  Dan just smiles because he can't really believe these guys just said that to me.  Of course, Dan also likes to push my buttons so he responds with a quick "The Corps has..." and they all nod in agreement.  I tell them all that we need to get a drink and yank Dan away....before I kill him.  Dan couldn't stop laughing all the way to the bar.  Sometimes he's a total ass.

 

I'm not sure whether I explained the expression "The Corps has...." to you guys but it is basically what everyone who graduates says about West Point once they've left.  It loosely means that the Corps has gone to shit because things aren't nearly as tough as they used to be when the graduate was a cadet.  The minute I drove out the gates after graduation, I leaned over and told my brother (sitting in the passenger seat beside me) that "The Corps has..."  So...Dan knew this background and the fact that he said it at that time (and got the response he did) was pretty hilarious and ironic.

 

After I have my drink, Dan and I run into our "old friends" again and they want to know all about Dan and what he did in the Army, etc.  I was just an ornament.  I quickly found other people to talk to but Dan had a great time with those two wack jobs.  So crazy.  I guess that's why we go to Founder's Day though, to remember how nutty the school was....right?

 

When we sat down at our table, there was a potential new cadet sitting at our table with his family.  I, of course, put the fear of God in him and told him that he would be lucky if he lived through his first summer...then I quoted Nietzsche.  No...I told him that he needs to remember never to give up and that he's going to fail a lot at West Point but that he should "fail forward" and learn from his mistakes because they will only make him a better officer and better person.  I told him that most people who go to West Point are big successes in life before they go there and a lot of the people who leave early can't handle the failures and challenges they encounter.  I told him that failures prepare you the best for life and that he would never grow until he failed a couple of times.  West Point is the place to do that and I said not to be too hard on himself and doubt his abilities because he faces challenges that he can't necessarily overcome on his first try.  I told him that he would never regret his decision to go to West Point and that he'd cherish the friends he made there for the rest of his life.  Then I told him to get in good shape -- because he looked a little skinny and weak.  He told me that he was competing in some Shakespeare Festival in NYC the next week and I told him to keep that information to himself when he gets up there...

 

They had the usual toasts to the President, the Army, the Corps and then some grads told us stories about their WWII experiences.  It was pretty cool.  I guess that covered the oldest grad speech because there wasn't one officially.  Some LTC from West Point next spoke with a power point presentation showing various facilities, sports achievements and the number of Rhodes Scholars, etc. (the usual hype).  Then the legitimate youngest grad spoke (Class of 2008), still wet behind the ears and calling us all Ma'am and Sir.  He had 5 reasons why "The Corps Has..." but he ended up saying something at the end of each one to the effect of "so I guess the Corps hasn't for that reason..."  Whatever.  His last one was that they only take the IOCT every other year now.  WHAT?!  I immediately yelled "And they still let you graduate?"  (Dan found this highly amusing...he was also continually supplying us with alcohol from the bar at this point.)

 

The IOCT is the Indoor Obstacle Course Test and it is a grueling tradition at West Point.  It is held in one of the old gyms and it's rumored that they use a special machine to suck out all the oxygen in the gym before the test.  I believe those rumors.  They also (used to) have bucket at the end of the course where you could throw up...because you inevitably wanted to....sometimes just looking at the bucket would do ti for me.  There was also the distinctive hacking cough you would get once you finished the test.  But first let me tell you what I can remember about the test.  You start by stepping through a bunch of tires and then you jump over a pommel horse.  You run over to "The Shelf" which is where a lot of people fail.  It is basically a large wooden shelf about 8-9 feet off the ground that you need to jump up to and pull yourself onto.  I was never able to do it the conventional way (which was to swing your feet to the side and get your knee over the edge and pull yourself over), I just pulled my feet up and directly through my hands and wormed my way up that way.  More than a few instructors tried to get me to do it the "approved" way but my way worked and I was sticking with it (and there were no rules saying that I couldn't do it my way...I asked).  After you got on the shelf, you had to jump over the railing for the elevated track and jump onto this suspended pole with railings which were just a little longer than arm's length away from each other (so you had to sort of leap between them while up in the air) and then get back down on the floor.  You jumped through a tire held by a rope feet first and then ran along a balance beam (the olympic regulation kind) and jumped down (or dismounted), did a somersault and then had to make it over a wall.  Now this wall required a running start because it was also about 7-8 feet high and you needed all the power you could get to push yourself up and over it.  Once you made it over that, you had to go across a set of monkey bars (with sweaty hands...) and then climb up a rope to get back to the level of the elevated track.  Once you got up and climbed over the railing, an instructor handed you a medicine ball and you had to run a lap, then you dropped the medicine ball and he handed you a baton and you ran another lap and then you dropped the baton and ran almost an entire other lap au natural (without anything to hold...your clothes were still on).  Then you threw up and wheezed for hours and hours.  How could they possibly eliminate that annual tradition and make it biannual?  Well...the Corps definitely has Mr. 2008!

I'm not the youngest grad anymore!

I'm pleased to report that there will (likely) be no heart attacks or other horrible effects from the youngest grad speech on Friday night because I am no longer the youngest grad at the event!  A 2008 grad registered for the dinner so I can just drink, joke, do secret handshakes, etc. without any concerns that I'm going to offend the sensibilities of these guys en masse.  I'm sure I'll offend plenty individually.... 

The Youngest Grad.

Founder's Day is an annual tradition for West Pointers and it basically involves a bunch of grads congregating at some rubber chicken dinner venue and paying homage to the great gray god that is sometimes referred to as the United States Military Academy at West Point.  We reaffirm our secret handshakes and drink a lot...which is basically what all other exclusive secret societies have done since the dawn of...exclusive secret societies and alcohol.

 

There are traditional toasts, drinking, traditional songs are sung, everyone complains about how much harder West Point was when they attended the school and how its gotten soft (traditionally it is referred to as saying that "the corps has...." -- has what?...if you have to ask you shouldn't be saying it in the first place!) and there are required speeches from the oldest and youngest grads present at the dinner.

 

Now...I graduated in 1987 which means that I graduated over 21 years ago and that I'm 43 years old today.  I have never been the youngest grad even though I've been to almost 18 or 19 Founder's Days dinners since graduation.  But today I just got notice that I am the youngest graduate registered (so far) for this Friday's Founder's Day dinner in Tucson, AZ.  Now...that probably doesn't seem so crazy when you consider the vast retired community that is Tucson Arizona but I just find it really hard to believe.  I seriously need to dig into my memory to figure out what to tell these people about my school...it was that long ago. 

 

If I'm the youngest graduate, than there must be a lot of candidates vying for the oldest graduate status.  I'm sure there's someone from WWI there who's over 100 years old...  Apparently there are going to be a lot of WWII veterans there this time so I'll have to acknowledge that Greatest Generation in any speech I give.  Here are some of the things I was thinking that I learned at West Point that will never make it into my speech...

 

*I can sleep anywhere....ANYWHERE...I almost fell asleep during a forward movement in battle during Desert Storm....(As a caveat to this, I also learned that I am not the princess from the princess and the pea story because I can sleep on barbed wire and tacks without noticing that they're under me...).

 

*A cadet saber is a great thing to goose your friends with...it just hangs on your side waiting for the perfect moment to strike...and then it returns to its innocent hanging position very quickly...

 

*I can almost always guarantee that the guy (male cadet in this instance) who makes nasty comments about a female cadet's weight will have a heavy girlfriend.  Its a scientific fact.  Probably based on his inability to say anything to his girlfriend about her weight issues.

 

*Food fights are hilarious and it doesn't matter how much they take out of your cadet pay...its worth it to have one.

 

*Ice cubes go very well in milk....even if you don't like milk.

 

*Mess hall waiters are some of the most powerful people at West Point when you're a plebe and an upper classman has asked you to get more water....

 

*Do not throw your Leadership/Psychology Book in the bonfire during Navy week...you'll always regret it.  I had to look at Wikipedia to make sure I had Lazlo's Hierarchy of Needs correct...

 

*People who weld their wedding bands to their West Point rings are way too attached to West Point.  In fact people who wear a lot of West Point stuff all the time (not just when they're at a WP sporting event) should be avoided for the same reason.

 

*Really old grads (like the guys at the Founder's Day dinner) will likely never accept women at West Point...but who cares really?...if women did things just to please those guys we'd never be anywhere in this world...

 

*The wind whipping off the Hudson river first thing in the morning is just about one of the coldest things ever and it will often take 10-15 minutes for your fingers to thaw to the point where you can take notes in class.

 

I'm sure I'll think of more as the day wears on.  I will let you all know what happens at the dinner!

 

Reunited and it feels so good.

Tennis and I had been friends for a very long time.  We grew up together.  But we had a falling out about 7 years ago and we hadn't talked to each other since.  On Sunday, I took the plunge and dug out my huge bag of racquets and stopped at Target and bought 5 cans of Penns.  I went to a local public tennis center and was told that I could hit on the wall for free or rent a court for an hour for $2.50.  Now, you'd think that these were crappy courts but they are really really nice courts...they're just really really inexpensive.  I KNEW there was a reason I came to Tucson (besides my family and left turns).  Two dudes were hitting on the wall so I shelled out the $2.50 and figured I practice my serve or something.  By the time I turned the corner, the two dudes were gone so I just went straight to the wall (and claimed it).  I hit for about an hour and realized that I still have it a little.  I quickly remembered how to hit against a wall -- you don't hit very hard because it comes right back at you that way.  You have to be sort of moderate if you want to keep it going and your strokes are very important because you need to be rather precise in how to hit it.  I, surprisingly, did pretty well.  At one point a ball came right at me and I lifted my leg up and hit the ball under my leg.  Yes...I still have that ridiculous trick shot in my repertoire.  An old guy was passing by and he said "practicing the under the leg shot, I see" and I said "that ALWAYS needs a lot of practice if you want it to look spontaneous."   

 

Its funny to me that I have friends who have never seen me play tennis because at one point in my life that was about all I did.  It was the center of my universe and my day would be totally ruined if I didn't play well or if something bad happened on the court.  I really don't remember much about any of the classes I took at West Point but I remember a lot about the time I spent on the tennis court because that was what was most important to me at that time.  In a moment of introspection last year, I asked a former West Point boyfriend what I was like back then.  He said "you played a lot of tennis...a lot of tennis."  Oh yeah.  I did.  Its actually a miracle that I even had enough time for a boyfriend back then (he probably thought that I didn't have enough time...now that I think about it).

 

Ironically, the first time I had any type of tennis lesson was at these very same Tucson public tennis courts.  I remember it clearly, they asked me to bounce a ball using a racquet and I had trouble holding the racquet.  I don't remember how old I was -- probably about 8 or so.  The instructor told my mother that I didn't have enough wrist strength to play tennis and to come back in a year or so when my arm got stronger.  [I also failed to get a red cross swimming badge at this same park....of course I ended up being a very good swimmer despite that fact.]  So...my tennis career was over before it started.

 

When we moved to Bangkok, Thailand, I used to accompany my mother to the tennis courts and I'd pick up a few baht here and there by hiring myself out as a ballgirl with the Thai kids.  The pro at this club was named Sampow and he was the male tennis champion of Thailand at the time.  My mother arranged for me to take tennis lessons with Sampow and he used to drill me by having me hit a tennis ball in a sock that he would hold just out of reach.  [So I'd learn to hit the ball in front of me.]  I remember him clearly saying in broken english "Eye on the ball, not ball in your eye."  [I wouldn't get hit in the eye with a tennis ball for another few years.]  Sampow taught me the fundamentals but my mother spent countless hours on the courts hitting with me so that I could play pretty well. 

 

When we moved back to the US, my mother got me involved in local tournaments and, from there, I progressed to MALTA - Mid Atlantic Tennis Association (part of the US Tennis Assoc.). I played in tournament after tournament and my parents shelled out tons of cash for lessons and traveling.  At 15, I became a certified professional tennis instructor.  I was sponsored by Wilson.  I won grants to play in more tennis tournaments and participate in camps.  I was recruited by colleges as an NCAA blue chip athlete.  I would hit with my mother and we'd get into huge arguments because I was basically a terror when it came to tennis.  I would yell at myself and my mother would get upset with me and then I'd yell at my mother. I was never happy with the way I played and I would get very nervous about playing because I didn't want to fail.  In other words, I somehow got the strange idea that failing on the tennis court meant that I was a failure as a person.  I was way too personally intertwined with this game and there was really no escape for many years.  I've glossed over the highs and lows but, basically, tennis and I have had a long history.

 

I stopped loving tennis about 25 years ago but I kept playing because I didn't know how not to play.  I didn't play for about 5 years after I graduated from West Point and then I took it up again and played intermittently.  About 7 years ago, I decided that I just didn't want to play anymore.  At all.  I was over it.  Its still weird when someone doesn't know about my tennis background but I haven't really played tennis now for a long time.  So...it was sort of monumental that I picked up my racquet bag and trudged out to the courts this past weekend.  I just felt like playing again and I felt strong enough to know that how I played was no reflection on me.  [I played pretty well for an old broad who hadn't picked up a racquet in 7 years though...if I say so myself.]  I had to spend some time away from my first boyfriend and first love (tennis) and learn how to be by myself before I could go back and have a healthy relationship with tennis again.  We're taking it slow and getting to know each other again.  I'll let you know how it turns out (but I'm feeling pretty hopeful).

Random Thoughts on a Friday.

I'm home today (in Tucson) because I'm interviewing students at the University of Arizona lawschool for summer internships with my office.  They used to be paid but now, of course, they're unpaid.  I mean, they laid off 20 people at my office (10 attorneys) and are trying to iron out the "limited" furloughs they're going to implement.  I have no idea what that'll mean for me because, starting next week, I have a deposition scheduled almost every day in this case I'm working on.  My brother's immediate reaction (and my gut reaction) is that I don't play if they don't pay.  Pretty reasonable under normal circumstances.  However there are ethical obligations that an attorney has and it would certainly violate those principles (as well as my pesky internal barometer of the right thing to do) if I would just abandon my job during my "furlough" day.  That bridge is still coming up though so we'll see if I need to cross if (or if I can just get away with crawling under it for a while).

 

I'm responding to work e-mails, etc. and reading some work materials but (because I'm home and because the TV is there.....) I have the TV on as well.  There is nothing good on TV during the day.  I'm sure this is not a revelation to most people but I'm a little shocked.  I don't usually watch live TV during the day because I'm almost always sick if I'm home at that time.  The TV in my bedroom has the Tivo so I rarely watch live TV (except when I'm sleeping).  I have a lot of shows to catch up on and I always fight sleep so that I can get through one or two episodes.  I also have the ongoing pressure of having to stay up to date at all times on Battlestar Galactica episodes (which I'm doing alright on but after tonight I will be under pressure to watch the new episode).  The reason that BSG is a little stressful for me in this regard is that Chris gives me a really hard time if I don't watch the episode right away.  I know this is because he watches it right away and he wants to talk to me about it but, if for some unGodly reason, I don't watch the episode before Monday of the next week, he starts ranting and saying things like "I don't even know if you're a real fan of the show....why am I even wasting my time with a fake fan like you?...etc."  I know he means it as a joke but it gets really annoying so I just watch the episode and shut that line of questioning down immediately.  By the way, I have some 24s to watch, a few Big Loves, two Damages and one Chuck.  I can watch those at my leisure and I'm doing pretty well.

 

What was I talking about?  Oh yeah...daytime TV is crappy.  The big TV in my living room (near the door to my office) doesn't have a Tivo.  [It used to but the Tivo died and then I tried to fix it myself by putting in a new harddrive and it still wouldn't work...of course I screwed up the warranty by trying to fix it myself...]  So, I flip around for some background noise and notice that The Price Is Right is on and that Drew Carey is the new host.  I watch a little and they have that beginning thing where people get their names called and they run down.  Then they're shown this item and they all have to guess the price and the person who guesses the closest without going over wins (and gets the chance to guess at some more prices).  Now the whole idea of getting on a show and guessing made up prices on items is a nightmare to me.  First of all, I generally don't keep track of what things cost and just gravitate toward sales at the grocery store.  I'm sure I'm being cheated but I really have a lot of other things to worry about and the fact that Safeway is getting 10 more cents out of me isn't high on the list.  [I have a huge caveat to this observation.  I will drive 20 miles out of my way to save one cent per gallon on gas....I've been like that for years -- even before this so called depression thingy.  I don't have any philosophical opposition to gas companies making money...I don't think about it that deeply (and, now that I'm thinking about it a little...I don't think I really have that big a problem with it because I'm basically a big red capitalist in my black, shriveled heart).]

 

Back to The Price Is Right (I'm supposed to capitalize the "The" in that, right?), the 4 or so people are bidding on a surfboard.  I have no idea on this earth how much a surfboard costs. $100?  50 cents?  They are all bidding in the $500 dollar range and the last guy bids $1.  Now, I can't help thinking that THAT guy is a bit of a dick.  I mean, bid a real number....don't just count on other people's bids to fail.  On principle, the $1 bidder should not be allowed to win.  Fortunately the surfboard is $557 and the guy who bid $550 wins.  Phew.  Close one.  I suddenly became very invested in having Mr. $1 NOT win.  Maybe I shouldn't have the TV on when I'm supposed to be working.

 

I drove over to my mother's house early this morning because she needed to borrow a backpack for a hike she's going on.  It didn't take my mother very long to find other Germans in this town.  I almost died when she complained that they were telling her what to do all the time.  Oh yeah?  WELCOME TO MY WORLD LADY!  I told her that now she knows how I feel and she laughed.  I don't know if she realized I'm serious.  I'm sure I mentioned this before but my mother will tell me and my brother how to do everything.  She's told me what to do in court and she's told my brother (the geologist) how to map something.  To her great credit, she is much much better than she used to be about this and she will laugh and acknowledge her folly when you point it out to her. I believe (very strongly) that it has something to do with the microchip they planted in her little German brain when she was born.  It is very funny to see her react to OTHER Germans who exhibit the same personality traits.  So funny.  Apparently these Germans were going on a hike and they told her that she needed to bring her own snacks because they weren't going to share, she needed to wear a certain type of shoes and some other stuff that I honestly didn't hear because I was laughing so hard.  So...in order to bring the requisite snacks, etc., she needed a backpack.  [She also went out and bought the right shoes and a high tech (ski pole looking) walking stick.]  I delivered the backpack and she evaluated it to see if it was alright.  I didn't really know what she was going to do if it didn't "fit the bill" but I stood by and answered her 2000 questions about the simple Nike nylon backpack.  After she was satisfied, she started to pack her snacks and she identified them all to me (some bread and cheese, 3 bottles of water, some chocolate).  Hey...I want to go on this hike just so I can eat those snacks too.  Chocolate sounds like a good thing to bring on hikes but I don't know how long it'll last if it starts getting warm.  [Of course, the other Germans would all start laughing at her if the chocolate melted but I didn't think it would be a problem today because its pretty moderate out.]  I sort of felt like I was packing my mother's lunch for her first day of school but we got it all today and I fished around in my (huge omnivorous) purse and fished out some chapstick and a packet of tissues (because you never know) and packed her in her little Mercedes and she was off.  They all thought it was going to take 6 hours or so.  I made her take her charged Blackberry so that I would (perhaps) follow some gps beacon if she didn't come home by this evening.  Sigh....its so hard when they grow up and leave the house.

 

When I was driving back to my house I started thinking about the cool things that make me like Tucson.  I know this one sounds sort of lame but it really means a lot when you're trying to get a load of crap done on a Saturday.  Tucson is a very left turn friendly town.  Its the only place I've been to where the left turn signal comes on AFTER the green light.  So you're not hanging around in the intersection hoping that you don't get hit by overeager cross traffic as you make your turn.  It is a rare light that doesn't have a left turn signal and I can only think of one that comes on before the two-way green light.  It really is a delight to make left turns in this town....stress free.  In Los Angeles there are probably 5 left turn signals in the ENTIRE city.  You're always hanging around in the intersection waiting for that short time after the light turns red to quickly zip across the traffic so you can make a left.  You really have to be pushy to get where you're going.  Someone told me there's a "3 car rule" where 3 cars get to make the left turn.  I innocently asked someone at the Culver City DMV about the "3 car rule" and they told me that it was a lie.  So, how are you supposed to make a left in Los Angeles?  You just go for it and hope for the best.  That sort of says a lot about the pathos of that city really.  You need to hope you don't get hit while you're trying to get some laundry soap at Ralphs.  Frankfurt Germany is another very UNFRIENDLY left turn city.  It is really rare when you can make a left turn and I remember signs where they would show you that, instead, you can make three right turns....sort of saying "hello you American idiots who want to get where you're going the quickest way possible...we are prussians and we don't believe in left turns....make three rights and get with the program"].  Of course, the sign has a very heavy German accent when it says that.

 

Wow this is getting long. 

Phoenix Comic-Con.

There were a lot of weird people there...then again....I was there so that goes without saying.

 

I met Chris and his girlfriend Caron at the convention.  Now, Caron and Chris haven't been going out very long so it was a big step for her to accompany him to the convention.  Chris was really excited about the convention but he kept it pretty well under wraps because he didn't want to freak his new girlfriend out.  She was a really good sport about it because, you know, I just encouraged Chris to be more and more geeky.  I DID run around a little like an excited 5 year old though.  I mean, it was a convention full of toys!  Yeehaw!

 

When I first got to the Mesa convention center I noticed that there were a ton of teenagers dressed like anime characters.  Now, I have not read any of the comic books or seen any of the shows that they were trying to portray but these were some very amateur costumes that involved either (a) a lot of blood or (b) a neon colored wig.  A lot of the teenage girls dressed like japanese schoolgirls but with a lot of blood....weird.  A big group of kids ran past me being chased by another group of kids who were holding a "boom box" that played something that sounded like it was from a video game.  I'm really out of my element here.

 

I get my cool Saturday entrance badge with a cartoon character on it and wait for Chris and Caron in the lobby.  When they arrive, Chris tells me that the character on my badge is Spawn and that its drawn by Todd MacFarlane.  Now...that's about the only guy I've heard of in this whole convention and what I've heard about him isn't good...in fact I heard that he was a big jerk.  A douche to be more exact.  Chris, ever the diplomat, says that Mr. MacFarlane indeed was a douche to him but that it could have been that he had a bad day.  We enter the convention center and I see some stormtroopers posing for pictures.  I jump in and get a photo with them and, while putting my arms around their plastic costumes, notice that they are rather hot and sweaty under there (because humid, hot air is coming out of the black spaces between the storm trooper white shield stuff).  Ick.  Those storm trooper costumes are really authentic looking though. 

Next we go to a vendor who is selling Battlestar Galactica action figures.  I see an awesome action figure of a cylon centurion and ask whether they have any of Starbuck.  Unfortunately I have to settle for the cylon.  Actually, the cylon looks way more ominous and scary and I can picture putting it by my computer at home.  Yes...I'm an official nerd and I've arrived at nerdopia.  I ask the vendor is he has any opinion about whether Todd MacFarlane is a douche and he tells us that MacFarlane is a notorious douche and that he is one 24/7.

 

Chris tells us that the panel discussion with Aaron Douglas (Chief Tyrol from Battlestar Galactica) is about to start so we walk around to the conference room and eagerly take our seats (except for Caron who is just humoring us).  A lot of people have Battlestar Galactica t-shirts and I start to wonder why I don't have one yet...I mean really.  Aaron Douglas shows up and he is unrecognizable.  I mean, the dude looks like Grizzly Adams and he is wearing a black t-shirt that also makes him look a little like Jerry Garcia.  What happened to the chief?  He explains that he's on a break and that he is taking a break from shaving.  Yes...I gather that.  He just filmed a pilot for some show called The Bridge about a Chicago police detective.  Alright...enough of the blah blah blah...let's here what you have to say for yourself....cylon.  Yes...in the show there are characters who look and act human but who are really machines and Chief Tyrol is one of them.  It was quite a shocker when he was revealed to be a cylon....but I digress.  He drinks several beers and tells us funny stories about the set of Battlestar and he does a really great imitation of Edward James Olmos.  In sum, we all love the guy...even if he is a cylon.  Even Caron agreed that the guy was pretty entertaining. 

 

Afterwards we tried to find something to eat and the pickings were slim.  We really didn't have that much time because we had arranged to have our picture taken with Aaron Douglas at 3:00 pm.  I was hoping that there would be a food stand with food named after science fiction characters or something but no such luck.  I had a hot dog and a bottle of water.  [For which Mack chided me mercilessly on Monday.]  There were cars and different displays outside of the convention and we took a look at "Kitt" from Knight Rider and "Karr" [who is apparently the bad guy car from the show].  When I was stuck in Keller Army Hospital at West Point with sciatica and a herniated disc for a week, there was this orderly who would come by my bed to watch Knight Rider.  He knew when the reruns were on and he'd just take it upon himself to change the channel on my TV to the show.  He's come in all flushed and say, "Hey! Knight Rider is on!"  It was funny because I don't ever remember telling him that I liked the show or anything but it was hard to deny his great enthusiasm.  I've often thought how wonderful it would be to have a car that could drive me to and from Phoenix while I took a nap....  [If you caught the new Knight Rider, there is NOTHING good about it...Kitt is now a transformer or something...totally unrealistic now.]  There was a sign for a group of guys who called themselves the Arizona Ghostbusters.  Well..I don't really know what they're doing at the convention but I HAD to get a picture with those guys! 

 

Next we go through the comic book artists area and wait in line to get a comic book cover signed by a fellow named Talent Caldwell.  Now, Chris is a little star struck and he just sticks the comic book cover in front of Mr. Caldwell and, after its signed, turns to leave.  I jump in and ask him how long he's been a comic book artist and he has to think and he tells me 9 years.  I then ask him whether he's drawn Superman before.  He flips through his sketch book and shows us a really cool sketch of Superman and tells us that he used that sketch to show whoever at whatever comics that he could draw the guy.  Interesting.  Chris is totally silent but taking it all in.  I feel like a mom with a kid that has just met Mickey Mouse.  "Yes," I tell him, "My friend Chris loves Superman."  I look at Chris and sort of egg him on with my eyes trying to get him involved in our conversation.  Stick around and ask a question or two...prolong the experience a little.  Chris says nothing.  I end up with a lame, "you're very talented" and we leave.  I would never have guessed this but Chris is a little shy around these guys.  In different circumstances [like in front of Jon Hamm] I would probably be the same.

 

We get in line for our picture with Aaron Douglas and Chris and I are really excited.  I tell Chris that he should think of something to say to him...and Chris tells me that he always wants to ask a question at one of the panels but he can never think of anything past "you were really cool in...."  I think of that Chris Farley sketch on SNL where he interviews famous people and all he does is tell them how cool they are.  Its our turn and Aaron Douglas is very friendly...especially to me and Caron.  I tell Caron and Chris that I don't care who stands on the one side of Aaron but that I'm going to be on the other side.  We all sort of decide that it should be Chris because he's definitely the bigger fan.  But Aaron takes matters into his own hands and says "why don't I hug the ladies?"  Then he puts his arms around me and Caron and squeezes and Chris is barely in the picture.  Its hilarious. 

It would be very easy to crop Chris out of it and I WOULD if I didn't think he'd start crying immediately.  I tell Aaron that we feel like Chris Farley in his interview show and he gets it immediately.  I say "Remember when you were in Battlestar Galactica?" and he says "that was awesome."   Yep.  He's a pretty cool cat.

 

After the picture is taken we have to wait a while for it to be developed.  I figure that I need to get a picture of Chris with one of these weirdos and I see what I think is a woman with a bird attached to her shirt and a weird hat on.  I tap the person on the shoulder and ask if I could take her picture with Chris. 

It ends up being a guy!  A VERY UGLY guy.  Chris then threatened my life.  All in a day's work....

 

We finally get the print of the picture and I take it over to Aaron Douglas' signature booth area and he signs it for me.  Then I see a still shot from Battlestar Galactica and I shell out the $20 for the autograph and tell him to write "Dear Tanja, I am a cylon...sorry.!"  Which he does -- of COURSE HE DOES -- I paid him to.  Yeesh.  He tells me that'll it'll never work because he's just a machine.  Sigh...the story of my life.  I would definitely say this convention was a success.  We walk around and I see all the booths and even buy a Daredevil comic book that Chris insists is a "good read."  He was right about the Watchmen so we'll see. 

I'm an Actor...damn it!

Some of you may know already that I did a little acting in Los Angeles.  I got a few commercials, an agent, a couple of co-starring roles and a SAG card.  By the way co-star is pretty much a glorified extra in TV jargon....guest star is where the real money and roles are.  I took acting classes and even met one of my favorite people in the world in acting class (Jenn Yale).  I was in a few plays as well and even played Nurse Ratchet in a local Los Angeles production of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.  [I'm sure many of you will find it surprising but the director really got on me because I wasn't "menacing" enough and I even considered dropping out because I didn't think I could bring the "menace" enough to satisfy him at one point.  Luckily I found my inner "menace" and the production was a success...although I felt really jerky and mean after every performance.]

 

I did enjoy working on most of the productions I was involved in so my mother sent me an e-mail about a Stanislavsky acting workshop last Saturday at a local Tucson theater company.  It only cost $25 and was open to everyone so I thought, what the heck, and signed up.  Maybe I would meet some local actors and get some information about maybe joining a local theater group or something -- or even get involved in classes again.

 

I show up at the theater and have to fill out a release form (?) because they're going to take photographs and videotape the workshop.  ....ok......  I get a nametag with my name on it and am motioned toward the theater.  The stage has a lot of odds and ends on it and there is this small, roly poly guy in the front who shakes my hand and tells me that his name is Phil.  I notice how the theater smells a little like a thrift store...sort of musty with a hint of cat urine underlying it all.  I sit down and everyone seems to know each other, I introduce myself to this older lady who's sitting near me.  She asks whether I've taken any classes before and I tell her that I took some classes in Los Angeles at the Howard Fine Acting Studio.  She gives me a blank stare.  [That's actually one of the more famous acting studios in Los Angeles, by the way.]  She tells me that she used to act and then she didn't act and then someone asked her to act and now she acts all the time.  I give her a "you go girl" look and am about to snap my fingers when Phil tells us that class is about to begin.

 

Phil starts by telling us about Stanislavsky who is pretty much the guy who wrote THE book on acting.  He founded the Theater Moscow and really put his heart and soul into what it takes to be a realistic actor.  One of my acting teachers used to make us read from a translation of his book in every class.  I went along with it for a while because I really wasn't going to argue with this method since Alfred Molina sometimes attended the class (when he wasn't working...which was rare) and if he was willing to do it, then who am I to argue?  Now, I really admire "Fred" Molina -- (that's what he had us call him) and think he's a pretty amazing actor.  If you don't think so, just check out the firecracker scene in Boogie Nights...nothing further your honor.  Reading from Stanislavsky's three books got a little old, it often made the classes go beyond midnight and I rarely got a chance to perform so I found another class.  But, as usual, I digress....

 

Phil goes into detail about Stanislavsky's life and tells us a lot of stuff about his own training and how it takes 7 years to master the Stanislavsky system.  Phil tells us all how much he loves Tucson and how much different it is than Palm Springs, where he's from.  Phil then tells us some joke involving Anita Bryant and then he tells us all how he came out to his mother.  What does this have to do with Stanislavsky?  Also, I don't think anyone here (besides me and the old chick beside me) knows who Anita Bryant is and that she's made statements against gay people.  This seems to be a general affectation of acting teachers, they ALL like to tell us personal stuff about their sexual preference, their family problems (mother often comes into play) or their substance abuse problems.  Actually, I've never taken an acting class from an instructor that hasn't felt the need to tell us a lot about all of those subjects.  I also know way too much about one of my old acting teacher's dysfunctional relationship with her twin sister...yeesh.

 

He tells us that he's going to show us some exercises and has us bring chairs onto the stage and sit.  He has us stamp our feet and tells us to do it different ways (i.e., you're happy, you're angry, you're anxious, etc.).  What's funny is that I had run into my brother earlier that morning and he made fun of the fact that I was going to this workshop by saying that I was going to have to "feel like a piece of bacon" or "pretend snow is blowing in my face."  Well...he was right.  That's pretty much was Phil had us doing for the first two hours.  I almost walked out two or three times but stayed because I was too interested in what absurdity he would come up with next.  He then gave us each assignments and told us to take a break and he would call us up individually to "perform" the tasks he had assigned.  He told me to not speak but come up with circumstances where I would look outside a window.  Easy enough.  He gave other people speaking and non-speaking assignments and some people were by themselves and others were in groups.

 

After the break, the first group went up and their assignment was to have one person waiting to hear whether they got the death penalty or not and the other two should come in and convey, without speaking, whether the sentence was death or not.  Come on....really?  Who couldn't do that?  The two people come in practically dragging their lower lips [hmmmmm.....he got life?] and they come up to the waiting guy and they all start hugging and crying.  Then Phil asks them to do it again and to say only three words this time, "I love you."  [By the way, drama teachers ALWAYS have you go back and do the same thing over and over...it really stinks when you do something well because you can't stop thinking about what you did the first time and the second time is just a weak approximation because you're definitely not in the moment....in this case, they should have been really glad for any opportunity to do it over.]  Its not much better the next time but, someone squeezes out some tears this time.  Oh please.  The next group also has three people and they were given the assignment of having one person accuse the other two of something and they're allowed to speak.  They decide that one guy is going to accuse the other two ladies of stealing his dog.  The two ladies start the scene by "chatting" and when the one guy pretends to knock on the imaginary door, she gives us the super fake, explanatory statement of "oh...someone's at the door...I wonder who that could be?"  Is this a radio play where you need to describe what you're doing all the time?  We can see you lady!  She opens the door and proceeds to "indicate" her butt off.  Indicating is when an actor "phones it in" and doesn't really have any internal basis for what he or she is saying or doing but, instead, is very obviously just going through the motions.  [Sort of like Jennifer Aniston in every episode of Friends.]  In turn, the guy starts over-acting and pretending to be crazy [which I've learned is never a good choice because crazy people never think they're crazy] and puts his hand through the plane of the pretend door a couple of times.  This is some FINE acting.  I would have been kicked off the stage with those kinds of amateur stunts in Los Angeles (after everyone, including the instructor, laughed and laughed at me).  The funny thing is that all of these people consider themselves to be quite advanced and accomplished actors.  Now, I KNOW that I'm not an advanced or accomplished actor by any stretch of the imagination but I know enough not to make these ridiculous mistakes.  Oh well.  The next group continuously mugs for us and cracks jokes.  When Phil asks one particularly bad offender if he was trying to entertain us, he says that he wasn't consciously doing it but he may have been subconsciously doing so.  WHAT?  You need to go straight to the emergency room if you didn't consciously realize that you were acting like a complete idiot on stage just now!  What is going on?  I finally get up and it takes me about 45 seconds to go through the simple scenario I had planned.  I imagined waiting for a blind date and hearing a car door slam and looking out the window.......AND SCENE (going down on one knee, lowering head and pumping fist).  I didn't do the last part but the instructor seemed to like it a lot.  He asked me how I felt and I told him that I felt a little self-conscious at the point where I got up to look out the window.  He nodded.  I didn't really care at this point though because I had already realized that this group wasn't for me.

 

Next this young fellow had the assignment of pretending a bottle of water held poison and he wasn't allowed to say anything.  He slowly and weirdly walked across the room holding the water bottle (and by weirdly, I mean he walked as if he was on the moon or something) and stood for a long time with his back to us contemplating the kitchen set up (I think...his back was to us....) and then he opened this stage door and threw the water bottle out.  He then moon-walked (not backwards but forwards) over to the bed on the stage and grabbed a pillow and smelled it.  ?!?  Then he walked off.  What?  Everyone applauded.  I felt like I was in the movie Waiting For Guffman (without the awesome singing though).

 

At the very end Phil told us that he was going to start teaching a class and that we would all get e-mails about joining.  He told us all that he was "astounded" at the amount of acting talent there was in Tucson.  ???  Is saying "astounded" the same as telling someone that their baby is "breathtaking" when you really mean that the baby is ugly?

PF Chang Half Marathon.....FROM HELL!

Yesterday I ran the PF Chang Rock N Roll Half Marathon in Phoenix.  Yes...I'm probably the sole reason why the Cardinals won the NFC Championship yesterday.  You're welcome.

 

I hadn't really trained for it but I figured how hard could it be?  13.1 miles?  I regularly run 6 miles on the weekends and its no problem, no problem at all.  I have my little Nike plus ipod thing and whenever I finish my runs some famous person (Lance Armstrong or Joan Benoit) tells me how awesome I did when I run further than I did the last time.  I couldn't wait to see who would tell me how awesome I was at the end of the half marathon!

 

On Friday I picked up my number and "goodie bag" which was a bag full of junk.  There wasn't anything "good" about it because all it held was a bunch of coupons for stuff I didn't want.  Where was the free stuff that I hear all the Oscar presenters get?  Isn't running a half marathon a little more impressive than presenting some stupid award?  They really need to rename that thing.  At the runner's expo accompanying the number/packet pickup thingy, I got a really cool contraption to attach my ipod sensor to my non-nike running shoes.  I knew someone would come up with this thing...of course I could have done it with a little glue and velcro but I didn't mind shelling over a few bucks for it.  I couldn't wait to attach the thing to my Brooks.  My mother cut a little slot into the tongue of her New Balance and shoved the sensor in (with a few kleenex around it to pad it up).  It worked just fine. 

 

So, I'm all prepared.  Yesterday morning I got up at 0430....cheerfully.  As an aside, anytime I have to get up before 0500, I get really cranky.  This has always been true.  Even in the Army I thought that any wakeup before 0500 was just being spiteful and nasty.  I still think so.  But this was different.  I had to get on the road at 0515 and I needed to drink a Mack shake (one banana, 1/2 an apple, 1/2 a pear and 2 cups of orange juice) and get ready for my big run!  I get on the road and everything is fine.  I make it to Phoenix (Tempe actually) at about 0645 and am directed to a line for the buses that will take us to the start.  You see, we park at the finish.  We had these bags that we attached a little tag to that UPS trucks would carry to the finish for us so we could wear our jackets, etc. right up until the start.  In the line, I have to attach my disposable running sensor and this lady helps me attach it, etc.  I just sort of let her do it...I don't want to deny her the pleasure of helping me out...and I don't want to read those tiny directions.  I find out her name is Kim and she's running her first half marathon and she's a bartender and she wants to get a certain time and she bought new glasses for the race and.... OK.....ENOUGH.  This chick will NOT SHUT UP...and I end up sitting next to her in the school bus that drives us over to the start.  We're packed in like sardines and gas fumes are blowing into the bus as we drive.  I should have taken that signal and just jumped out of the bus right then....

 

When we get to the start I practically jump over people in front of me to get the hell out of the bus and away from Kim.  I think I said 5 words the entire trip.  Yeesh.  And I really need to go to the bathroom.  I have a small bladder but more than that I have an overwhelming need to go to the bathroom before I start things.  For example, I always go to the bathroom right before a movie starts (it doesn't matter if its at a movie theater or in my home) and I always go to the bathroom right at the start of Mack's workouts.  He regularly makes fun of me for having to go and says I have a tiny bladder.  Whatever....I don't think ANYONE wants me to urinate in the middle of carpet during class....or worse.  There are about 50 port-a-potties in a row and the lines are crazy long.  I get into what I hope is a fast line and wait.  There are people behind me that are walking the race and they have way more gear than your average FULL marathon runner.  I felt like reminding them that they're WALKING this...what do they really think is going to happen to them on this course?  I consider my gear (very old Cape May t-shirt, spandex running tights, sportsbra, a cotton headband and ipod).  I need more stuff.  Maybe a cape?  Some lightening bolts drawn on my legs?  It takes about 30 minutes to get to the front of the line and then I find out that there is no more toilet paper in our porta-potties.  What?  I wait for a guy to get out of the one next to us and I jump in and beg some toilet paper off of him.  I'm not proud when it comes to this kind of stuff....I NEED toilet paper.

 

I go, PHEW, and run out and take off my sweatshirt and put it in my bag and give it to the appropriate UPS truck (the trucks are assigned by last name).  Then someone says the race has started and people start running toward the race area.  I'm assigned to corral 20 which, I find out, is where really slow people are.  I figure, whatever, and go towards my corral.  They're 26 corrals total.  I find my corral and there are a bunch of chicks with shirts indicating that they're bridesmaids and there is one bride girl. They are all giggling excitedly...this could get old really fast.  I also notice that these girls are really really young and a lot of them still have acne-riddled faces.  Are these girls in high school?  Am I really so old that I think this way?  Someone tells me that I have the same shoes they do and I tell them they have great taste.  It takes another 40 minutes or so for my "loser" corral to reach the start line and we're off.  I'm running right past where I work and feeling good.  I'm passing people who're running really slow and some people walking.  The walking people had a tendency to walk side by side and take up a lot of room...so annoying. 

 

There are bands all along the way to "entertain and encourage" us.  The first band has a Buddy Holly theme and the singer is wearing a poodle skirt.  That's pretty fun.  At mile 1 I see a row of porta-potties.  I think about going but figure I can hold out of another mile or so.  At mile 2 there are no porta-potties.  Of course.  I spot two behind the band stand at mile 2.5 and I run around and find a long line.  I have no idea where the next ones are so I wait....for 20 minutes.  Thankfully they had toilet paper.  I know that my time is screwed now but I'm glad I got that out of my system (Ha! Get it?).  I press my ipod and realize that my sensor isn't working because it thinks that I've only run .25 mile.  Great.  At mile 3 there are two guys dressed like Elvis.  At about mile 3.5 there is a row of cheerleaders who form a sort of tunnel with their pom poms and I run through it like I'm a high school football player.  This isn't so bad.  I'm enjoying reading all of these people's ridiculous t-shirts.  I wish that I had written something on the back of my shirt like "quit looking at my butt" or "get your eyes back on the road sicko" or " nothing to read here, move on" or "Hey walkers! Stop walking side by side!  You're being jerks to those of us who are real participants!"  At mile 6, the [apparently] alternative band is wearing bunny costumes.  Too bad they can't sing.   I'm skirting the edge of Scottsdale now and heading south towards Tempe.  Almost halfway there!  Feeling fine.  At mile 8, I start to feel sort of achy.  My hips are hurting a little and I'm just sort of feeling creaky.  At mile 9, I'm starting to hurt and the pounding of my legs on the asphalt is really, really unpleasant.  Some group has a sign up that says "Only 4.1 miles to go!"  What?!?  I've got to feel this way for another 4.1 miles?  I don't know about this anymore.  At mile 10 I'm running near the edge and a group of cheerleaders tries to yell encouragement....I tell them to shove it.  I'm really starting to get mad at these spectators.  What do they know?  I feel like I'm pounding my joints into their sockets and I can't stop because if I do I KNOW I'll never start up again and it'll take me that much longer for this to be over.  I realize that I REALLY HATE THIS.  It's not fun at all and I decide that I don't like anyone involved in this whole spectacle.  At mile 11 people are cheering me and I tell them to "SHUT UP!"  A little boy tries to give me a high five and I give him the bird.  I'm raving mad now...this is a horrible experience and my bones hurt.  My lungs, stomach and bowels are just fine but its my hips, knees and ankles.  I hate this.  At mile 12, I've developed a really mean look and people just leave me alone.  At mile 13 I decide to speed it up and get that last .1 over with and I pretty much shove people out of the way to get to the end.  I pass over the finish line and hobble over to get some water....which is warm.  Geez!  Then they give me a finishers medal to put over my neck and I complain because its too heavy.  I STILL hate this race and all these people!  I walk over and get a bunch of free food and start to feel a little better (free stuff always makes me feel better).  Then I hobble over and get my UPS bag and this little kid gives me my bag and it takes all the strength I can muster to say "Thank you" without yelling at him.

 

When I get to my car and my cell phone, my mother says that next time we'll train together and it'll be better.  NEXT TIME?  I burst into insane laughter...haahahahahahahaha.....[sort of Heath Ledger as the Joker type laughter].  Yes, I had exactly the opposite reaction to the supposed inspiration and pride that most people feel after accomplishing something like a half marathon.  I went home and spent the rest of the day lying in bed and eating cookies.