Panties for Peace
Wow, more news from the "can’t make this stuff up" purview of life. You read right, PANTIES for peace, surely a campaign that can get even the gnat -like attention of your average American:
BANGKOK, Thailand (AP) - Women in several countries have begun sending
their panties to Myanmar embassies in a culturally insulting gesture of
protest against the recent brutal crackdown there, a campaign supporter
said Friday.
"It’s an extremely strong message in Burmese and in all Southeast Asian
culture," said Liz Hilton, who supports an activist group that launched
the "Panties for Peace" drive earlier this week.
The group, Lanna Action for Burma, says the country’s superstitious
generals, especially junta leader Gen. Than Shwe, also believe that
contact with women’s underwear saps them of power.
To widespread international condemnation, the military in Myanmar, also
known as Burma, crushed mass anti-regime demonstrations recently and
continues to hunt down and imprison those who took part.
Hilton said women in Thailand, Australia, Singapore, England and other
European countries have started sending or delivering their underwear
to Myanmar missions following informal coordination among activist
organizations and individuals.
"You can post, deliver or fling your panties at the closest Burmese
Embassy any day from today. Send early, send often!" the Lanna Action
for Burma Web site urges.
"So far we have had no response from Burmese officials," Hilton said.
I think that is just fantastic. I don’t quite get it from a cultural point of view… since almost every man I’ve met in my entire life in No. Cal would love to be on the receiving end of women’s underwear-fondling. If people sent panties in droves to the U.S. military they’d probably receive payment and love letters in return… vive la differance!
But hey, if this disturbs the military junta them why not?
Their #1 nemesis is my top heroine/idol of all time Aung Sung Suu Kyi, AKA "The Lady", and one certainly could not expect the Lady to deliver panties to anyone (certianlyso we, the worldwide peace lovin’ womyn may do it in her stead. (although I can’t help but wonder if her undies would cause them to die upon touchI have fantasies of the military junta meeting kryptonite or being like the wicked witch, "I’m melting…..!"
Who doesn’t have some extra panties to fling about? And as political protest no less. Perhaps one could even select different styles, "grandma" undies communicating one sort of political sensibility, whilst the thongs/tangas may best represent special interests. Free Burma. Give more than the shirt off your back!
EastSide Stories
Thanks to the wonders of global warming, I enjoyed an 80 degree, sun-shiney weekend on the east coast in late October. Having packed my wool peacoat, knit beanie, multiple sweaters, and undershirt and tights, I was not equipped for L.A.-type weather!
My Sweetheart K and I decided to take leave from our hombres and head east chillin’ out and scope out our friend V’s new beau. Reports had come to us in Cali that he was "bald and hairy" but knowing V as a reasonable and smart chica, we knew surely there were more charming details being left out. Besides, V and I happen to both appreciate that great sexy bald man: Patrick Stewart. (I know many of you dudes probably thought I’d say Michael Jordon..but really, the voice of Captain Picard & Professor Xavier is like male essence defined) ahem.
From the Jetblue red eye we hop onto the T (so superior to BART it’s sad), met up with Seth and hit the road to New Hampshire. I, who have resided in 2 seasons my whole life was going to finally see some of that famed fall foliage. And Seth got to drive the mini-Cooper convertible he’d been eyeing. Zipcar gave us a cutie yellow mini coop convertible named "Mylie".
As a Californian who is taxed to death at each turn, I was envious of the no-tax on essentials rules in Mass. Stuff like food and clothing was tax free. But in New Hampshire, everything is tax free. (here commence fantasies of how fine life would be if P& I lived tax free…)
Hence, I awoke from my doze at the NH state line where 2 enormous red state run liquor barns had been erected on either side of the highway. Just to insure that none of you out of towners forget to pick up some booze. We wandered within the cavernous place, I was enamoured with a "captive pear" liquor from France featuring an entire pear suspended within the glass bottle. How did they get it in? Seems even harder than a little boat in a bottle. I bought some Americana to take to Taiwan with me later this year: "cold river"Maine brewed potato vodka. I guess one could think of Maine as the Russia of the United States…
K had found some maple sugar shack and apple picking places online, so we zipped about until we found another red barn, and fragrant apple orchards. I gawked around me, this entire town seems….fake. It’s so lovely I can’t believe that people actually live her. Are you sure we’re not on a movie set?! The fall foliage was not as brilliant as it may have been say, if the temps were normal, but there was enough crimson and gold to keep me camera clicking like the tourist I was. Rays of sunlight burst through the clouds and we made jokes about the angels and voice of God coming down through that sunny path.
The air was fragrant with all breeds of apples. K and I bit into one that dripped with juice and had the crispy snap that supermarket apples have had frozen out. Here we began plotting on the apple crisp we would bake back at the apartment.
Being in a part of NH that apparently had zero dining establishments other than Wendy’s and McDonald’s, we cruised to Exeter for a late lunch. We hit a chocolate shop, snapped more pics of russet trees over riverbeds. Took my pic by a NH flag. Whoo-hoo. I’ve run amok all about central and south america and Asia but actual U.S. Americana seems sort of exotic to me. We fueled up on soup, sandwiches, and lattes. Mused over New hampshire local soda, with the logo that looks "as if made on an inkjet printer," flat as heck no discernible bubbles, and flavors such as: Cola, Birch Beer, Half and Half (?) and our favorite flavor: Yup.
What in hell, you ask, is Yup? Well, that is a good NH question. It looked kinda white like a cream soda in the glass bottle, but much as we wanted to know, our trio did not want to actually drink one. Therefore, Yup flavor remains a mystery. In retrospect, maybe we are missing out and should have drank one…
Our picturesque day however, was interrupted about 8 miles from homebase by a fenderbender in stop and go Red Sox mania traffic. We hit a family in a van, causing a big scratch on their bumper. Mylie, however, bashed in a headlight and the entire hood crumple zone did its crumply thing. I think Mylie looked so bad that the family came rushing out, "Are you guys OK?! Are you sure you’re not hurt???"
I thought, "gee, these people are so nice. Surely in California we’d have been cussed out by now…" After info exchange, I took lots of pics of the damage, explaining that my father in law in is the insurance business, and that documentation is key.
Remarkably, Mylie was still driveable so we took her back to her Zipcar spot. The attendant asked if we had just hit a hole in the garage. We looked at him like the idiot that he was and said "No", he shrugged and went back to his post. One the worried walk home we discovered Boston PD has a big, black, armored-bus looking CDU paddy wagon. CDU for "Civil Disturbance Unit" Police lurked in packs at literally every corner on journey home. Apparently last year’s crazed sox fans were a volatile combination with a PD rubber bullet that ended in a death. This year the cops were not messing around with this crowd control concept.
After that car snafu, we stayed in and ordered Thai food, and listening to the roar of people at Fenway while simultaneously watching the Sox and Rockies on TV. About 1:00 a.m. we lay on the futon while drunk ass red sox fans ran up and down the
stairs in the hall, and I fell asleep having flashbacks to being in a college dorm…
Sunday was whiled away at dim sum, the park, Newbury street shopping. Head of The Charles was this weekend as well (HOTC), but not being a crew fan, we figured it wasn’t worth the while to trek all the way to Harvard square to watch one of the thousands of crew teams. I had fish chowder as always when in Boston, and bought extraordinarily overpriced Boston Baked beans candy. Had to buy a red sox shirt, when in Rome after all, and besides, I had run out of clothes for this crazy heat wave and was perspiring madly in my hoodie sweater.
The Sox fans were more rabid than last night, now that the taste of victory lingered ever-closer. The police were out in even more force to match.
"It looks like imperial storm troopers out there." K said. And it did. As an occasional protester, it made me a tad uneasy to see the rows of cops in helmets, with clubs and sunglasses. One huge, black cop was standing, feet apart, with a five foot pole or stick of some kind in his hands, but the CDU bus, looking ready to knock someone’s head off in one movement. "Now, I want a picture of THAT guy," I muttered to K, who responded ,"you definitely better not!"
We got home and worked on our apple crisp. Trust me, you don’t need to know how much butter or sugar was added.
While in the shower, through the window I could hear the screams and cheers from Fenway. So I knew, the Red Sox had won yet again, they’d be headed to the World Series. We ate oven baked apple crisp with vanilla Friendly’s ice cream and watched the Sox douse one another with champagne on TV for about 25 minutes ("isn’t that a waste of champagne?").
FEMA
Wow. Our friends at FEMA render an entirely new dimension to the expression "so bad you can’t even make this stuff up." Supposedly they are doing a spiffy (as opposed to a heckuva) job with the So. cal fires due to the many things learned post -Katrina.
I will leave commentary about that one to one of the many families currently still residing in a dinky, non-hurricane proof, toxic chemical laced FEMA trailer. Remember dear readers, that I was there in winter of 2005 when the trailers arrived on dock, and my colleague took the task of letting folks walk in and "tour" those little trailers. I walked in and could not figure out how 2-3 people were supposed to live in that little thing like underground ants. But I digress…
Now this, this, even the very non-left MSN had to blare the headline: "FEMA stages fake Press Conference":
http://thinkprogress.org/2007/10/26/fema-softball-presser
The comments posted really say it all: "is this for a SNL skit?"
"How Orwellian can we get?"
and they wonder why people still question whether we faked the entire moon landing…conspiracy freaks rejoice, FEMA just handed you a freaking bazooka of a weapon.
In New Orleans one could buy all sorts of funny shirts in the aftermath of Katrian.
Mine read ‘Make Levees, not War." Others included, "FEMA, the new F*** word."
Or how about "Katrina Blew, Bush Sucked." Others simply read ‘Arabian Horse Association" in reference to the remarkably apropos work experience of Brownie prior to taking helm of FEMA. I swear, that would be akin to my boss at the mental health clinic being an expert champion chihuahua breeder…
At Mardi Gras they had a clutch of parade goers dressed in dark sunglasses and holding canes like blind people, wearing clothes that read "Levee inspectors."
It’s as if not being paranoid and distrusting is sheer folly in this day and age. don’t drink the Kool-aid my friends, and remember, in the event of an emergency, you better be prepared to watch your own ass! As a frequent earthquake verteran, I just came home today with new, updated emergency ‘evac packs’ to replace the explored ones in my car and home and office.
I’ll always remember the rather surreal experience of walking back to UCLA dorm years ago, and there were big, dark, flakes of stuff wafting down from the sky. Turns out, I had not heard the news since I was in class all day, that Malibu was in flames. So. Cal not being known for splendid air quality to begin with, must truly be a sight this week. I imagine my friend who moved her young family or Portland from L.A. a few months ago must be thanking her lucky stars tonight…
Post Oyster
A summary of SubPrime Runners Oyster Race II experience-so y’all know what to expect and might hopefully join in next year’s adventure.
Pre-Race: Up at 5 am, I’m shining my anti-seasonal depression "sun"light in my face as I rack the bike, bundle gear & food into the Rav and head to Mike and Rich’s place. Sipping on the kick-ass Taiwan green tea from Dad slowly clears my brain as we cross Dumbarton and pick up LC, kick-ass mama and ringer, who always laments she is out of shape before she leaves you in her dust. Chrissy field is engulfed in swamp bog -like fog. We set up our transition area encampment. The grass is wet. Our mascot Sushi is shivering and it become apparent I won’t be changing into shorts after all. There are like 7 guys (why dudes, not women?) already in line at the porta potties. There are about 70 teams in play. My plan is to start mainlining an IV of Peet’s coffee around noon to stave off pain & keep me going…At the pre race talk they tell us not to violate the rules of San Francisco (before we all pour into the street jaywalking en masse), and announce that one couple is getting married today after they race together.
Stage one: 8:15 a.m. Run out as a team, find an obscure plaque in the Palace of fine arts, up a hill to find an obscure statue which thank goodness Mike remembers seeing on Friday night skates, and find a Starbucks to take a photo with all 3 team mates and someone with their cuppa Joe. Going from stone cold to running feels mighty sucky at 8 am, but we manage the tasks well. At this point most of the teams are all on top of one another, and we all dash back to transition area bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready for the next challenge. We show our photo evidence of the tasks completed, get our "passport" punched and receive our next assignment.
Stage two: Oyster Triad. Hereupon the trouble began for all! Simple enough: we all have to split up. One must bike, another skate, the third run. One to Cow Hollow, one to Baker beach, one way the hell to the Legion of Honor to take a photo with Rodin’s thinker statue. I haven’t the faintest idea how to get anywhere. We bust out our respective maps. TK will take on Rodin on bike since that is the furthest task. MO is a proficient skater and will search for a rope at city car share in Cow Hollow. I, who am grateful not to be on skates, will run yet again to the "sand ladder" at Baker Beach. Tk and I head up Lincoln, the annoyingly hilly stretch, where he paces me on the bike and leads me most of the way to Baker Beach. We realize things are gettin’ ugly when we see an in line skater wipe out and almost fall in front of a car. My heart almost stops, but the motorist sees it too, and veers away. We see other skaters coming down the hill clad in socks, having removed their skates when they realized the incline was way too dangerous. I see a guy pass me with dirt and a rip in his shirt, a fall leaving his shoulder and face bloody. OMG. EEK. Friendly co-racers point me to the sand ladder, and absolutely beautiful path down to picturesque Baker beach where many of our friends have taken wedding or engagement portraits. The golden gate looms in the background, and I discover that a sand ladder is a never-ending sandy, sinking trail with boards across it that leads to a fantastically beautiful yet cold beach where I punch my passport, and a grueling crawl back up to Lincoln. People are gasping up the ladder. Others who skated here are coming down in their socks. The endorphins are finally easing my grievances and I run back down to Chrissy field , hoping my 2 team mates are not both waiting on me. TK is not back yet, we hang with other teams and start snacking. The spiffy blue uniformed medic guy with the latex gloves arrives to tend to the teams now returning erratically to the transition area. I am playing with other people’s dogs to soothe stress…
Stage three: The team is to bicycle on city streets down to Pier 40, where two of will ocean kayak and one must go to Gordon Biersch and "pour a pint". TK is a city-dweller and charts a course to avoid most of the traffic. I am SO happy I finally tuned up my bike at REI. We manage not to get hit by cars nor to run over any of the oblivious, gawking pedestrians and meandering tourists. I am desperate at this point to work out any part of my body that is NOT my legs. TK and I are better swimmers, so we opt to take on the kayak, settling into PFD’s & grabbing oars.
"Do you want single kayaks or a double?" they guy asks.
‘Why would we want a single!?" TK says. I agree. isn’t that more work!? Fortunately 2 racers are headed back to port with a double and we jump in and steer for the Bay Bridge. TK and I are a good team, only whacking oars out of syn once or twice. The current is against us but not as strong as we had feared. We spy Urban Chaos friends paddling back at us - pissed off as all get out.
"Don’t go all the way to the bridge, go to the boat!" they shout.
Out near the bridge they were hit by a wave and RO’s got a crust of sea salt on him to show for it. We sidle up to a motorboat that is serving as checkpoint. They tell us to head to the last buoy on a peer, and come back to get our passport punched. We see racers bobbing around near the bridge, desperately searching for the passport punching person. We whack the buoy & start paddling madly back. We almost run into the near-invisible fishing lines of fishermen on the dock, paddling away as fast as we can & apologizing. MO is waiting at port (he opted wisely not to drink his pint ‘o beer although many racers did). We advise incoming kayak racers to look for the lady on the boat and not go all the way out to the bridge pylons. Our friend B later tells us how they almost had a head-on collision with a boat, spun in a 360, and managed to hit 4 other kayaks while out. That ocean current does funny things…we bike back, drooling at In-n-out and Peet’s and the Italian restaurants catering to tourists as we pass, but daring not to stop momentum. We return for check in, me with sea water on my head and arms…thank goodness my Dri-weave and Nike sphere gear is performing as promised thus far. Otherwise I’d have to be like the dude with the red briefs in the neighboring transitions area who is changing his pants at transition.
Stage four: Public transportation IS in play. After all, this race is partially about navigation & problem solving not merely athletics. We have to get to Chinatown, take a photo with all team mates at the gate, and come back with a "three fingered ginger root." Ooookay. We set out running (again!?) and MO calls P on the phone to get Muni schedules. V, an SF local tells us to look up Bus 30. We run down the street madly as MO spies the bus a block ahead. It’s empty except for us and one other race team. But the time we get to Chinatown it is standing and pushing & shoving room only, mostly of Chinese folks with pink plastic bags of food. We stare out the windows longing for Chinese buns & dimsum (and me for coffee). At Stockton Sutter we barrel out & run 2 blocks to the chinatown gate. Then uphill (ARGH) off the touristy streets full of tchotkes until we spy bins of produce. TK and I find a good, fleshy, ginger specimen that rings up at 30 cents. MO bought one for 60 cents. We get back on Muni, ride back to Beach street. At this point there are about 4-5 teams on this bus-all trying to outrun one another from Beach street to the transition area.
LC is cracking up, three white guys from a team on her bus were puzzled at why their "ginger root" was $28.00 a pound, especially for such a shriveled little thing.
I gasped, "did they buy ginseng?!" Yes. Apparently they did. Obviously not cooks who know what ginger looks like, they walked into a shop, spied some dried root thing with three fingers and asked the shopkeep "is this ginger?" They man said yes, so they bought it. Not until they were able to compare with the ginger other teams bought did they realize the mistake.
(I wonder if they owner even spoke English at all, or if he was smart to make an expensive sale…)Oh well. I sure hope they ate their ginseng. After all, it gives one energy and they paid a hefty price for it already.
Stage 5: Teams are groaning and scattered. People are cramping, falling, tired. As we ran back from the last stage I told the woman next to me that I had heard the next leg would entail rollerblading -everybody’s most accident-prone event. "That’s just great, give that to us when we’re most tired," she griped. By now we are more than 6 hours into the race and I figure if I hadn’t had coffee by now I will survive without it. TK’s fantastic wife brings us a bucket of KFC which revives us. Task is to hit Hyde Pier via in line skates, and untie a special knot and bring the rope back. We realize for this stage not all 3 must be present at the knot, so MO and TK go ahead. I skate to Fort Mason and opt not to even attempt the crazy hill that was freaky even via bike. TK later reports it was REALLY scary and he near lost control of speed on that thing (and wore away lots of wheel brake). Other racers just removed their skates and proceeded in socks yet again. We meet up after they got the rope and we head back, with me near-missing a van, but not falling down at all by some miracle! It’s now 3:30 p.m., and they won’t let us start leg 6. Awwww. But it’s been 7 hours and 30 plus minutes, none of are injured, and we are satisfied with our performance. Time to eat the orange & apple slices, Chipotle burritos and Gordon Beirsch beer the race has provided.
Stage Six: FYI. For those who did it, they were to head to REI store and pump water, as well as to the Whole Foods on 4th street to secure a few mystery items. Public Transpo was again in play. This was a contentious stage. I did not mind missing it as people used Muni and Taxi. I would have felt bad missing a bike or run event but this, not as much. Some people were WAY Po’ed that taxis were allowed, (one team actually ran that whole long ass route) others just questioned who the hell wants to pay $50 for a taxi. Thus, of course the team who ran it all or who Muni’ed it were mad that the team who won used taxi. I can’t comment since I didn’t run it, at this point Sub Prime runners were eating more KFC. And BTW, it was STILL cold as heck, and I never did get caffeinated unless you count Cola Cliff blox.
Post-Race: The prizes were Sweet. REI gift certificates, Merrell shoes, tees, & packs etc. A special prize went to the "most injured". The guy who continued to race despite ripped T-shirt and shoulder and giant face bandage one first prize. ($100 REI gift certificate for his suffering). Next up was the guy with huge, thigh-long abrasions, sprained fingers, a smaller face scab, and what he called "a developing black eye". Third honorable mention was they person who was not very injured at all, but whose Bicycle was presented as an impressive mangled mess. After re-packing our entire encampment up, we headed yet again to Mel’s to refuel the thousands of calories expended.
So there you have it. We are all hurtin’ but it was LOADS of fun & I finally got to enjoy many parts of SF I had never taken the time for before. The Oyster also runs in Denver, Portland, and Austin, but I think it would feel like an impossible race in an unfamiliar city due to the navigation and landmarks clues. For the less aggro, there is a "family’ or "6 -pack" option you can consider with shorter stages or where 6 people can run it relay-style. If one fundraises enough extra for charity you can buy an oyster Rockefeller which allows one player to opt out a stage. This was the longest and hardest event I have done besides Half Dome, (which took longer but was leisurely and required almost no skills whatsoever). So now I know, I can race around for about 8 hours, caffeine free, on foot, wheels, bus, and paddle.
A practice Oyster
So they talked me into it: I am signed up with team Sub Prime for the Oyster urban adventure race on the 14th.
http://www.oysterracingseries.com/
The rational part of me knows that an all day long event exceeds my maximum exertion by about…4 hours too much. True that the Half Dome excursion was all day, but that was replete with snack stops and photo ops. But this compulsion to seek new challenges was irresistable. I’ll be honest, almost every race I’ve competed in brings me to a moment (or many) when I curse myself out and wonder "why in the hell do I do this to myself!?" I’m physically beyond my original goal, but none of this stuff has become easy, now I’ve simply learned to grit my teeth, sing to myself, and wait another 2 miles for the endorphins to kick in.
As P’s former softball league guys planned their 2nd Oyster, my ego, er, interest, was piqued.
"Come on," said MO and TK if you can do Tri’s, you can do this."
My ego shall either lead me to great glory one day or a busted head.
Last Sunday we headed out for a practice along Chrissy Field. The team e-mail read: We’ll take a short run, rollerblade, and then "bike until we get tired". I thought that was laughable, "get tired" is one of those terms open to wide interpretation!
MO and I made the best of the snails pace commute watching the Blue Angles roar over the Bay Bridge in various formations. I’d had to put up with their practice flights on Thursday, when it sounded as if downtown Sf was being air raided, and the engines zoomed and roared to the point I could not even hear the person facing me on the couch 4 feet away when she spoke.
We finally met up with teammate TK and MO’s two brothers who placed in last year’s Oyster, and the sig. other of Bro #1. After resisting the siren’s song of SHOPPING which emanated from that very beautiful Sports basement store filled with fabulous gear and toys and 300 variations of powerbars, we set off to bike. R and J navigated a "brief" jaunt up unfamiliar hills. My team mates put up with my distressingly early poop out.
"Good lord." I got off the bike. "When I can run and push faster than I can pedal it’s time to just get the hell off." No shame. I certainly make no Armstrong-ish claims about my capabilities. Bless his heart, TK is certain I am having technical diffculties. (as opposed to mere wimpiness problems)
Turns out, I am. The deraillers and chain are all jacked up and so is my bike seat and pedal stride length. This, is the payback for failing to take my bike in for a tune up despite subjecting it to several Muddybuddys and a spectacular adventure race mountain wipe out. I follow the blip of my practice mates ahead of me as we mercifully top the hills and eucalyptis groves.
Instead of relief, what follows is a hair raising jaunt through city streets that leaves me envisioning motor vehicle collisions at each intersection, and cringing away from the parked cars, waiting for someone to "door" me.
R and J want to "explore" and instead of taking the same route back down, we loop around what appears to be the abandoned Gotham Asylum, and painfully creak up another hill. I keep giving permission for MO and TK to go ahead and not wait up for me. They insist this is the speed that’s about right given the grade ‘n gravity.
"Remember when you’re little and people tell you stories about how back in the day they had to walk to school uphill BOTH ways?" TK asks, " it seems we’ve found that road!"
And then: smooth sliding roads back down to Chrissy Fields. At last. TK takes off and I start to zip along too, exhilarated and grinning like an idiot, or perhaps more like a dog out the car window as we spin through the wind and the wheels carry me into flight. It’s kind of like snowboarding in that I just have to throw out the occasional unwanted mental image of me losing all control and speed ending in disaster.
Whew. We made it! Lock up the bikes, it’s time to strap on those skates.
Too bad I have only been on in line skates exactly one time before, that was in about, oh, 1999 or so. P’s rather manic friend M refused to take "no" for an answer and we found ourselves strapped into rental gear skating in Santa Monica. After one slightly bloody knee, I was sailing smooth and cheery…what’s not to like? skates, a beach, sunny santa monica, and the company of 2 handsome Thai dudes.
My team mates watched me as I geared up in the trappings we borrowed from MO’s cousin. Sitting encircled by these graceful dudes who moved like they should play hockey, I felt like a gangly fawn staggering to its feet for the first time. (Except less cute). Here goes nothing…Hey! It’s coming back to me! Bambi lives.
I was feeling pretty spiffy, cruising along semi-gracefully and picking up speed along the Marina. We started to hit a bumpy, pocked section of road, the guys warned me to watch out, but I was OK with that.
"You’re really good for someone just doing this the second time."
"Haha. Yup, I remember it was fun. Just don’t put any obstacles or ask me to stop."
We chat about what to expect race day.
MO states that he "can’t imagine" they’d make us tackle SF city streets on blades since that was everyone’s worse event last year.
"just don’t make us go somewhere crowded or I’ll take out some pedestrians…."
WHUMP!
oof.
and with that particularly well timed comment,
I hit a crater, lost control, and slammed down on my backside about 2 inches in front of an innocent runner.
Totally mortified, I try to apologize to this woman who surely did not expect 120 lb. velocity bearing obstacles to launch themselves into her run path.
But I am actually laughing too hard to talk straight.
Once the guys realize I did not just crack my head open nor injure the runner, they start to laugh too.
"Are you trying to illustrate your point!?"
Yes. Yes, I am. that is exactly the kind of manner in which one takes out pedestrians. Wait and see if I don’t have an encore on race day.
We have concluded that I am a happy camper skating along the marina. Just don’t ask me to stop… I don’t really do that.
At this point the sun is setting and that biting, SF wind is circling. I am So thankful I had the presence of mind to pack a pair of running pants. My stomach is growling and I wonder if I will bonk from low blood sugar. My cheerios and coffee seem distant now.
We run. Headed for the golden gate bridge, until a police/ranger cruiser tells us to head back "we’re closed for the night!"
J decided we should run more, preferably up these steps into the greenery.
"Ok!"
I am amazingly happy to be running. After all those difficult to control wheeled thingamajigs, THIS is at least something I am confident about. No wheels, no pads, no guards, no helmet. Au natural, baby.
I know I am going to hurt like a mother– tomorrow, but for now, that adrenalin is serving. We run upwards, geez, this trail didn’t look so long, but now I find it twists and turns further up and up…TK complains loudly in a strangely reassuring way, mutterings I can hear from behind me in the deepening dark. I think my team mates have realized one of them should stay behind me at all times to make sure I don’t fall off a cliff or get lost, or in case they need to water me with gatorade which we also practiced.
Suddenly, the three ahead of me come tromping swiftly back down-
"Skunk!!"
We all dash down another road, at this point we are all wishing for our headlamps and yelling out ‘big rock!" or other warnings. J tells us that he fell into a ditch and injured himself,running here at night once when he jumped to avoid a car…and proceeded to walk many miles home injury and all.
By the time our little run/nature hike is over, I am so high on life I’m not hungry anymore.
I stuff in comfort food at Mel’s, chicken pot pie, longing for a giant milkshake too, but knowing that won’t fit in my tummy.
Headed home with all kinds of new sore muscles, I think of my mom asking in her usual tactful tactless way, "don’t you think you’re getting too old for this kind of stuff?" and smile to myself.
Business and Alibis
P and I have had many discussions about the challenges of coming up with a hot business need that hasn’t been so totally already "done". One such unmet need which made it’s two local owners into millionares was a Netflix for pornography. Brilliance is oft described as what comes from something that seems totally obvious once it’s out, and yet is innovative. So the dudes who came up with home delivered titillation were meeting this vast need, that people would pay for. Elementary.
"Why didn’t I think of that!", P said…then we had to get into discussion about whether I would have permitted such an exploitative business anyhow.
Debatable. Yet, as I have had to explain numerous times over these years, being "political" and "feminist" is hardly synonymous with "asexual". Quite the contrary I would say.
In the paper I came upon yet another "so obvious" business endeavor:
Alibi network.
http://www.alibinetwork.com/index.jsp
and in action on CSI: (addressing some obvious moral quandaries and the ample space for abuse of alibi network)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jeWk88RRtBM
My reactions to this business vacillate wildly from being totally entertained, funny ha-ha, disapproving, totally creeped out, to admiring from a business acumen perspective. And maybe a tad paranoid.
So this is what it’s come to.
Well, heck, why can’t us common folks call upon an entire staff of people to blatantly lie and cover up for us? We all know damned straight that every one of our political figureheads (I simply can not muster the wit to refer to them as "leaders") has had this service since the dawn of time. I am sure the Empress dowager and Napoleon and Queen Elizabeth had folks running static for them on a regular basis.
THIS is a service people want and need.
I mean, admit it, as a grown up, doesn’t it completely suck that there is no one like Mom or Dad now to call the office and excuse you from school?? Wouldn’t it be great to hire your own personal version of swiftboat "veterans" to obfuscate the inconvenient truths which complicate your life?!
Apparently membership is split 50/50 between men and women. All the more evidence of what we social scientists already know, that women in power are just as ruthless and conniving as men in power.
I doubt this could work for me, I’m a terrible liar, and even an entire paid staff could not remedy that…unless they were acting coaches. I am admittedly SO tempted to hire an Alibi network actor to come barging into my workplace with a fibbed emergency, but I honestly don’t think I could manage a straight face once he showed up! It would feel too much like having making my friend call my parents answerign machine to leave a "parental Ok" message when I was in High school! (then again, P states that lately the adult working world is resembling high school more and more and I think he has a point.) But perhaps this could be handy one day to act like we are on a business trip when in fact, P and I will be browning ourselves on another Central American shore.
So as if we in this day and age do not have sufficient crapola going on to render us paranoid and suspicious, then let me add alibi network to the list. In addition to the second family your loved one may have in the world of Second Life, and the TSA logging the contents of all your luggage, scammers and phishers besieging you, and the fact that we all star in surveillance cameras on a daily basis, now you have more reasons to question your rather tenuous grasp on reality. There may be fake businesses calling you and staged faxes, fake employers, and secret shoppers lurking about…
