And the Oscar goes to ...

Had a few people over to watch the Oscars. Rather ridiculous, as I hadn't seen more than two or three movies in the theatre this past year, and only two or three on dvd. But it was an excuse to get together with friends, and that reason was reason enough.

First watched the red carpet show. Must say that evening gown kudos go to whoever dressed Gwyneth Paltrow and Reese Witherspoon. Lovely, lovely dresses. Demerits to the reporters from ABC ... irritating and often irrelevant chatter. The better red carpet show was the "highlights" one that just spotlighted the best fashion.

Ellen Degeneres hosted this year. And did marvelously. Loved the opening video clip, where they celebrated the nominees. And loved her gags. Handing a script to Martin Scorsese.Getting her picture taken with another. Vacuuming. And loved the dancers behind the screen who did the amazing shadow formations.

Had a very tense moment near the end. The show ran over. As yew duuuuuueeeee. And I hadn't extended the recording. Which meant that we didn't get to see the last coupe of awards ... which just happen to be the most important ones. There was almost widespread pandemonium. Until someone realized that I'd also set the tivo to record the show right after the Oscars. Aaaaaaahhhhh. So no, we didn't get to watch the Barbara Walters Oscar Extravaganza. But we did get to see the rest of the show. Must remember this for future awards shows. We almost had a meltdown tonight!

And now I'm excited about movies. Some that garnered awards (or didn't) that I want to see ...

Elizabeth I
Children of Men
The Queen
Happy Feet
Half Nelson
The Last King of Scotland
The Pursuit of Happyness
Letter From Iwo Jima
Flags of Our Fathers
Little Miss Sunshine
Pan's Labyrinth

Doing something blue

(Darn it, the heads got cut off! Anyway, this is the logo for DSB.)

Went and got my hair done today. Marvelous and easy drive up to Glendale.

Afterwards drove out to San Marino for a Do Something Blue dance.

Tracy lead the lesson, with Melissa as the follow. Lots of really good information and technique. And I liked how Tracy kept reiterating that it was just a dance. Seems as if some new dancers get the feeling that because they are dancing with someone so closely, that their partners must necessarily feel some romantic attachment. Not that I deny that it can happen, but it's generally a good thing to talk to the person one has romantic feelings for, as opposed to stalk them on the dance floor.

During the lesson I danced a couple of times with That Tall Asian Guy. TTAG is tall, asian, slightly older, very stiff, and always creeps me out a bit. Maybe because he physically reminds me of my father. Maybe because he always comes on a little strong. Maybe it's the overpowering cologne. Maybe it's because I think he thinks he's better than he actually is. I don't know. For whatever reason, I don't really like to dance with him. Which is unfair, because, deep down, I do think that he means well, and is probably just insecure. And it's not like he's creepy in the blatant manner of Dead Fish Guy.

Did manage to get some dances in with Arthur and Arnold ... both amazing blues dancers. And talked some with LitheOne (who I met at Gwynn's party) and some other fun (and also little) asian girl. We commiserated about Dead Fish Guy. Creepy. Even more so now. Before, he usd to plaster his hair to his head in imitation of Nick. Now it seems as if he's decided that more is more, and is growing his locks out. But even more than the hair ... it's the inappropriateness of him. Inappropriate dips, drops, lifts and leans. Creepy hand gestures. Always searching for young asian women. And (per report) inappropriate touching. Creepy. I generally dance with anyone who asks, but whenever he's around, I always find something else to do to signify that I cant' dance the current song.

Also talked some with Sheri. Didn't know that she worked as a physical therapist. Turns out that she regularly works with one of the more spectacular patients that came through my work. When she mentioned the name, I immediately knew who it was, even though it's been almost five years since the admission. Will have to report back to the old-timers at work on the progress. Most of the time I eschew talking on the dance floor. Really, what can be said in a couple minutes that can be worth exploring when there's music blasting in the background? But everyonce in a while I click with a person or topic that merits going beneath the surface, and this was one of them.

Rainy day in LA

It rained today. First time in a long time. And ordinarily I would not find it remark-able enough to write about here. Except that I had to drive out to Glendale and Pasadena today. And a little bit of rain was enough to ruin my plans.

Perhaps I should explain. California is the Sunshine State. Especially in Los Angeles, we are unused to such oddities of precipitous weather patterns. So it is that, when water actually falls from the heavens, it is An Event. Romantic people with the penchant to be wet go out for long walks in the rain. Those with more of an inclination for sunshine await the day when the rain had gone, and we can all enjoy cleansed air for a few days. Hikers rejoice because the trails will be slightly less dusty, and the views from local mountains will be lovely. And those who drive (read: everyone) start panicking.

Angelenos just don't know how to drive in the rain. Besides creating pools of water over which hydroplaning is possible, our window wipers are just not used to such vigorous activity. When it rains, Angelenos who are used to activating their window wipers solely to clear off the morning dew, are generally loathe to find out that the black, previously flexible plastic has been baked into adobe by the constant sunshine, and is relatively useless at swiping away the rain on a leisurely drive down the freeway. And I do mean leisurely. What could be more leisurely than 10 mph eastbound on the 10?

So, there I was. Having left a little late for my 1700 hair appointment. Creeping along the 10 freeway. At 1650, it became blindingly clear that I wasn't going to make my appointment, seeing as it was in Glendale, and I had yet to transition to the 110, I made the call to Shears and explained my predicament. Relieved to find that she could take me the next afternoon. She was also relieved, because that meant she could leave early to prepare for her dinner party. So, we were relieved all around. And no, I didn't just turn around and go home. What, and waste the 45 minutes I'd already paid to the jealous freeway gods? No, I continued with my tribute, and made my way up to Pasadena for a night of terrific dancing.

Left Lindy Groove at midnight after the closing song. And serenely made my way home through the clean air and empty freeway. Aaaaaahhhhh ...

Neutral night at the temple

Attended the temple tonight. Interesting event because it was directed at women. President White spoke specifically to the women of the stake in the chapel session. I didn't find what he said very empowering, but neither did I find it belittling. At one point he told a rather touching story of a Relief Society president who worked hard to be in touch with the sisters in her charge. One morning, after making a batch of cookies, she had an impression to visit a particular sister in her ward. Immediately following her instincts, she popped over with a plate of cookies, and had a nice chat. Come to find out later that the sister she visited had been very depressed recently, and had had a mouthful of pills in her mouth when the RS president rang the doorbell. After having the chat, the visited sister (having spit out the pills to answer the door) found the courage to talk to her husband about what was troubling her. President White was obviously touched by this story, and had tears in his eyes when he told it. I found the idea moving, but thought that it was such a pity that the marriage relationship between the man and wife had deteriorated to the point that she couldn't discuss her problems with him, and that he had failed to notice that there was anything wrong.

Anyway, as I said, it was an event directed at the women, although there were also men in attendance. I found that President White also followed the pattern of talking to the women as if we were to be the salvation of the men in the church. How we are so much more spiritual. How men cannot reach the celestial kingdom without us. How we can have such a wonderful effect on the world as righteous and loving mothers. All the pat (and paternalistic and patriarchal) themes that generally have the effect of empowering me to let my mind wander to other topics. And yet, as noted in the title of this piece, it was a rather neutral night for me. I wonder if it had anything to do with President White's relative youth ... that he is not as deeply entrenched with the whole "protect and provide" rhetoric that I hear so often from men in the church. Or that he was recently the bishop of a thriving student ward, where wives often are the sole support of their husbands, or at least equally yoked by school. Anyway, for whatever reason, his talk rested lightly on me.

The Payoff

Every once in a while, when I've had a not-very-stressful day at work, I do something crazy. Like agree to do a double or triple shift. Yesterday was one of those days. A couple of nurses had stayed over from the night before, and some came in early, in the afternoon, to help cover the unit ... every bed full, the ED back-logged, and OR cases being held in the PACU until we could move more patients to the floor. So I wasn't surprised when Mon asked for nurses to stay over. And I was prepared. Twenty hours. Mine had been a relatively easy day, although my assignment did double up after the first twelve hours. But that's fair, as I was earning double time plus the night-shift differential. More money in my pocket for Paris.

However, my pay-off came early. At about 0200, when I came back from break, a little droopy-eyed (and you thought this was impossible for Asians?), Topsy came over and donated a blissful ten minutes to dissolving the knots in my shoulders with her thumbs and elbows. Or at least I thought those were her elbows. Maybe she just has really strong thumbs. Pressure, but good pressure. Enough to move the chair a few inches. I wanted to swivel the chair around so that she could have better access, but I didn't want to disrupt the flow. Anyway, I felt the knots when she found them. Then I felt them pop and dissolve. And then I felt good.*

AC took report from me a little early. And so it was that I was on the road home at 0300, and in bed by 0330. Until I woke up at my customary 0600. And felt the knots ... again. Oh well. C'est la vie.

*Fred the Man continues to assert that PICU nursing is really stressfull. Not as stressful as managing a family restaurant in the Austrian Alps, but less stressful than managing a family restaurant in the Austrian Alps under the watchful gaze of family. I don't know. I don't think my work stresses me out unduly. It can be difficult, but I tend to leave work at work. Otherwise I write it up here and let it go. Maybe it's just that I realize that while I do good work, it isn't incumbent upon me to be there for good work to be done. I contribute a lot, but I'm not the lynchpin. Or rather, I don't feel guilty about taking a "mental health" day when I need it. Or just plain want it.

Simple Pleasures

Cramming in as many dances as possible before 2230 on Thursday, because I had to work on Friday and Saturday.

My pulmonary hypertension patient (who's listed for a lung transplant) getting her wish "made" ... a laptop with printer, headphones, videocam, dvd's, creative software, etc etc. I love the Make a Wish Foundation.

Lunch in the garden of my work with Socrates on a sunny Saturday.

Chatting with Wry-an. Whipper-snapper. Afterwards, reading over some recent chats with friends ... smile on my face.

Good news from my Relief Society president. I feel like I'm helping things to change. Good news in the next few months.

Lunch with my visiting teacher. I'm not the easiest woman to visit teach, but she keeps coming back.

Singing in the ward choir. I'm an out-of-practice alto. Even with practice, I'm not very good. But I enjoy it.

Reading LDS feminist blogs. Exponent II and Zelophehad's Daughters. I don't always agree. And sometimes the hecklers are really irritating. But I love to read what these amazing contributors write.

Coming home and playing a knock-down game of Catan. I didn't win. But I was a contender, with two metropoli.

Finding out about Pho-Siam.I've been craving Thai massage ever since I stepped on the plane to leave Thailand a few years ago. Aaaahhhhhh ...

Running my fingers through my almost-dry hair.

Life is good.

Celebrating Valentine's

Valentine's Day. Also known as Single Awareness Day. Also known as Yet Another Commercial Holiday To Celebrate In One Day That Which Should Be Celebrated Every Day. There have been times when I have felt like this ...



However, this is not one of those years. This year, although quiet, has been very nice.

Took Spork out to dinner last night. As part of his continuing research on Ramen shops, we tried Chabuya on Sawtelle. Nice atmosphere. Yummy croquettes. Toppings on the ramen were delicious, but the actual ramen noodles were a bit eclectic for my taste. And almond jello. Grilled him on everything. Climbing the ladder at work ... exciting things on the horizon. Fitness. Love life. Travel plans. Personal financial plans. Actually, grilling may be overstating the case. He's so excited about so many things that the information flowed like lava. Some big sisterly advice. I'm just so happy to see him with so many good options.

Finished cleaning out the stuff in the garage. Everything but the extra set of dishes that I hope to loan to Bork and Genie this summer.

Went with Wonder Woman to see Music and Lyrics. And I can emphatically recommend that you NOT see it. Yeaaaahhhh, it was really awful. But I did a room-mate-ly thing for Valentine's, and what can be more ubiquitous than seeing a romantic comedy on VD? To make up for the absolute loss of 96 minutes of our lives, we went and got food from Clementine's.

Received several electronic Valentine's cards from friends near and far.

Won at Catan last night. Okay, okay ... not central to Valentine's, but it made me feel really good.

And my first ever regular mail-delivered Valentine. Cards and letters in the mail seem so nostalgic and yet even more real. Reminds me of the letters I would write back in college, back before I got my first email account. Choosing stationary. Writing ... splaying my thoughts and feelings onto paper in my own hand. Addressing, stamping and sending my letter across the land like a messenger bird. Waiting for a reply. The pricks of joy at finding "real mail" mixed in with the bills and advertisements. Repeating the whole cycle. And as much as I love the immediacy and documentation of gmail, it just doesn't compare with the simultaneously earthy and heavenly sensations of real mail.

Anyhow, this Valentine's has been a collection of small celebrations. And instead of feeling like the guy at the vending machine, I feel more like this ...

Good day with intermittent ridiculous spots

Woke up early … again. 0500. Tiptoed into the living room to watch some tv. But I forgot something in my bedroom, and as I tiptoed back in, JLITH was coming out of the bathroom. Ridiculous to both be awake when there was no where to be. JLITH fell asleep watching HGTV, and I crept back into bed for some more reading.

Went out for some more Vitamin D at 0830. Walked and talked in the mild sunshine that’s peculiar to Los Angeles winters. Got over to Clementine’s, and realized I’d forgotten my wallet.

Returned to apartment and drove over to The Massage Company for our 1000 appointments. A deep tissue massage for me, with Lupe; and a Swedish massage for JLITH, her very first ever professional massage. Since Lupe knew me, she had me go back and get ready while JLITH was finishing the new client form. Sixty minutes later, some pretty intense knots having been worked loose, I emerged into the bright foyer to find JLITH perusing a magazine.

“So, how was it?”
‘Well … Lisa just got here ten minutes ago.’
“What?!?!?!?!”
‘Apparently there was some family emergency. And she just got here.’
“Are you kidding me? And she didn’t start your massage immediately?”
‘Well, we’ve got all that other stuff to do. And you can get 50% off the next time you come.’
“But the whole point of coming was to get you a massage!”

And so on. Huge disappointment. Lisa is blackballed in my mental filofax for not notifying the office until 1030 that she was going to be late, not arriving until 1050, and not starting immediately on JLITH. Suzie always taught us that if you’re going to be 10 minutes late, to always call ahead. It’s the polite thing to do.

Day got better after that. Drove out to the Third Street Promenade. Parked and walked down to the end of the pier because JLITH wanted to see Big Wave Jump Jump. Something so exceptionally soothing about large bodies of blue water. Lunch at La Salsa.

Back at the apartment, I jumped in the shower while JLITH indulged in some more home decorating shows. Was so relaxed after my shower that I indulged myself with a short nap. Or was it a long nap? Anyway, we left for the homestead later than I’d anticipated. No time for a Franklin Store visit. Got home with about 10 minutes for changing and primping before I had to leave for Arcadia.

Speakeasy moved the week before to the Arcadia Blue’s Café. The only thing I’d heard is that the floor was small, but that didn’t seem like a large impediment, especially since the Derby has a front dance floor the size of a handkerchief. Arrived just about on time, and pretty soon Socrates rambled down the street to join me.

Xray and Katherine taught a beginning blues lesson. Interesting to see how they explain the technique, since I’ve never really taken a “blues” class. Socrates picked up the material easily, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. And then Teddy Lee Hooker was playing, and his fabulous sound was filling the space. And it quickly became apparent that this venue was drastically different than Yesteryears. The crowd moved and swayed, but stayed glued to their seats. It was the queerest thing … like the time Wonder Woman, White Boy and I went to see Big Bad Voodoo Daddy at the House of Blues. The band was putting out tune after tune of fabulously danceable music, and people just didn’t dance. Incredibly bizarre. There was one older couple who danced everything from west coast swing, to rhumba and cha-cha. And there a pair of girls who danced with each other and a smattering of random guys. But even Xray and Katherine didn’t dance much. Socrates and I danced a bit, but I didn’t want to push him to dance a lot in front of a crowd, since I know it can be uncomfortable.

Did one fast song with Xray, and I queried him about the transition from Pomona to Arcadia. Sad to say, turns out that one lindy dancer had been very disappointed in the venue, and sent around a mass email saying that ABC was awful, and that lindy dancers shouldn’t waste their time. Ouch. So incredibly short-sighted and mean-spirited. I felt bad for Xray, since he’s put so much effort into building a blues dance community here.

Coco Montoya was the headliner band of the night. I didn’t think it could get much better than TLH, but Montoya was amazing on the guitar. I would love to hear him again, especially when he isn’t hobbled by a sore throat.

So, Speakeasy. Yes, I’d still recommend it. The lessons are well done. The bands are amazing. Food and drinks are available. And people can dance if they have a partner with them, and the moxie to dance in front of a bunch of non-dancers (not that I think ND’s care at all). So, if anyone is itching to dance on a Saturday night, and you’ve got some friends to bring along, I’d recommend the Speakeasy. And even if you’ve only got one friend, I’d still recommend it. Especially if the company is as congenial as … well, you know who.

(Career) Woman Interrupted

I posted this over at X2 today. Some interesting responses so far. The thing is, I don't know how I would react to being a stay at home mother. Would I love it? Would I tear my hair out? Would working one day a week be enough to keep my sanity if I started to lose my grip? I don't know. And I'm not entirely convinced that I can know until I'm actually facing the situation head on. Of course, this is all academic. I'm still single. I have no children. And I seem to constantly be looking for ways to cut back on my hours at work. But I take comfort in the fact that there are many different answers to the question of how to balance family and work. And that even a man as traditional as my father was able to carefuly listen when my mother approached him with her issues, and that they were able to find a solution together.

Hairy issues

I walk into my bathroom and sigh. And stoop. And sweep … the hair that seems to fall in greater volume as I go to greater lengths. And the big question rears its ugly head. To chop or not to chop?

I tend to be bipolar with my hair. I think it’s my sister’s fault. Up until I was five years old, I had relatively long hair. Which my mother would comb into precisely parted ponytails or braids, and even curl on special occasions. However, when my sister arrived on the scene, I suddenly found myself a shorn girl … a la Dorothy Hamill. Apparently taking care of three children took precedence over my personal beauty issues. Anyway, Hamill-esqe hair is cute and fine as long as you’re doing tightly spinning turns on the ice, but not so much for those of us more cement-bound people. Although I do have some vague memories of spending a lot of time spinning around … whether to get the most out of my haircut, or to get that delicious, almost-falling-to-the-ground-unbalanced sensation, I don’t remember.

The intervening years have been a confused cycle of growing my hair out, then chopping it off on a whim (or when I got tired of sweeping ... or pulling it out of my vacuum's rollers). Not that I’ve ever gone to extremes … never past the mid back, or shorter than a typical boy haircut from the 80’s. Sometimes I think I just like figuring out ways to adjust to it as it grows out.

I spend an embarrassing amount of money on my hair (but Shears is really talented). I figure it’s worth it to get it cut well … good cuts last longer, and grow out better. Plus, it’s better for my ahem personal beauty issues. I go back and forth on the highlights. Every few years I tire of them and go completely dark. And a few years later I start wanting the variegation, and get them back. Probably not a good thing, but it keeps some of the hair demons at bay. Then again, my hair has seen years of peroxide (junior high) and pool chlorine (high school and college) abuse.

And really, I’m LM when it comes to everyday hair wrangling. Every once in a while I’ll get out my steam rollers and do it up in a 1940’s style, but that’s a rarity. Mostly, it’s just there … pulled back in one of those plastic clips that have become ubiquitous since the 80’s. I generally blow dry my bangs, especially after a long conversation with Perky and Charming on the bonuses of bunning (drying front hair only and letting rear hair head dry in buns to give it a little wave for later … a point which had totally passed me by for the first three decades of my life).

I like the feel of my hair. I enjoy running my fingers through it and having it brushed or stroked. Especially when I have time to just let it air dry. There’s a magical point where it’s mostly, but not completely dry, when it just feels like silk. Aaaahhhh …

So, what to do? Chop? Not chop? I’m not sure. It’s a hairy question …

Random Saturday Ramblings

Woke up early … again. I seem to always wake up somewhere between 0545 and 0630, even on days when I’m not working. Even on days when I stayed up until 0330 the night before. This could get to be a problem. Luckily, I can usually get back to sleep if I need it. But still. It’s ridiculous.

When I woke up the second time, Perky had gotten up and was starting to sort through garage stuff. Huzzah! And she seemed okay to do it alone and not need a cheerleader. Huzzah Huzzah! I ended up cleaning off and sweeping the patio for an afternoon dance lesson. It’s been a long time, but the dance floor seems to be holding up very well.

Went out to get some Vitamin D … by taking a short walk in the sunshine. Was just going to walk through the neighborhood and look at houses, but ended up going over to Clementine’s. It was packed. Wished I’d brought a wallet, but as it was I could only longing gaze at the lovely soups, salads and quiches that the sidewalk diners were feasting on.

Back at the garage, things were going full-force. Such cleanliness! Killed a bunch more spiders, and got almost everything organized. All Wonder Woman’s boxed kitchen stuff now neatly organized. Next thing to do is organize all the serving platters, etc. Camping and emergency equipment shelved and organized. Cobwebs and dust swept away. Perky’s garage sale items amassed in the center, awaiting becoming someone else’s stuff. So purgingly wonderful.

Socrates (so-named because of a penchant for asking awkward questions and speculating wildly) arrived in the afternoon for a swing dancing lesson. I always wonder why more guys don’t take up dancing. In fact, most men seem to have made up their minds that they don’t dance well. Which is ridiculous. Most people haven’t ever tried partner dancing (doing a slow bear hug in a circle to “Somebody” by Depeche Mode doesn’t count). And even if they have, it takes a while to do it well. The first time I tried swing dancing (in college, at a FHE activity), I think I was so bad that no one wanted to dance with me. And this was during my extra-cute phase!

Anyway, I have a theory about men not liking to dance. I think that somewhere along the line, probably in junior high school or thereabouts, some girl they had a crush on, told them that they danced like a dork. And so, they were crushed by their crush, and refused to dance forever more. Which is sad. Since the girl probably had a crush right back on the boy. But then, where would we be without awful pubescent stories to share? Wait … don’t answer that.

The color code. No ... the other one

So, Gwynn invited me to a Pre-Valentine’s, Clear Intentions party. The invitation made me laugh.

‘The party is color coded, so please dress according to the color guidelines. You must wear ONE COLOR ONLY pants can be the exception), with one accessory color … it’s a “clear intentions” party, people!! You cannot show up rainbow colored, even if you are gay. Apologies for the crudeness J …

RED: happily taken
BLACK: where’s the booze?
ORANGE: looking to casually date
GREEN: horny/ just looking for someone for tonight … use your imagination
PURPLE: need a spooning buddy (while watching Battlestar Galactica … this one is for Mandy)
BLUE: broken and on the rebound, proceed with caution
WHITE: looking for a relationship
YELLOW: just here to meet new friends … awwww
PINK: swinger (non-dancing related)’

And really, I don’t know Mandy, and I don’t want to spoon with her. But I wore purple … if only to bond with the other BSG’ers..

Liked the party early on. Although it was strange … sitting and talking with people from whom I generally only want one thing. These girls who are all friends from a Baptist university out in Riverside. One guy who’s in a neuroscience grad program at USC … and the rather unlucky, non-dancing schoolmate that he brought along. Trying to talk football and failing miserably (running back versus wide receiver?), Melissa’s birthday, and she’s a tender 18! This other group who went to India. And so on. Uncomfortable to chitchat, but satisfying to find interesting details.

Words are insufficient

Went out dancing last night. Got my fix. Hmmm ...

I have a hard time explaining swing dancing to people. Most people get some really lame vision of east coast swing in their minds when I talk about swing dancing. Something like this. And when I say lame, I don't mean the dancers are lame. Obviously they're beginners, and everyone has to start somewhere. They're only lame if that is where they stay forever.

Or, for those who may have a little knowledge about Harlem, they may picture something like this, which are Whitey's Lindy Hoppers at the height of savoy style. Incredibly athletic and not how I see myself dancing in my wildest dreams.

The last time I searched, I found this clip, which I rather liked. It represents west coast swing, but the stylings at lindy groove are a hybrid between the first and second dance. Without all the hair flipping. And, as much as I hate the song, I like this routine a lot.

But, this morning I found two more gems.

This one was good. No idea where it was from. Mostly lindy infused with blues. What I'd likely see at Lindy Groove or Speakeasy Blues. (Note: when I dream about dancing, I dance like Emily H.)

And, for those of you who may be interested in blues dancing, it can look like this (Rhythmic Arts Festival Blues competition). I liked the first and last couples. Although, I rarely see as much dragging as the first couple did. However, most of the dancing had a hefty dose of lindy in it. And, there are some of the same dancers as in the previous clip.

So, if a picture is worth a thousand words, is a video clip worth a million? Well, with such low resolution, I might have to knock it down to 500,000.