Another visit to the Salty City

Took public tranport to the LAX. Wonder Woman offered to drive me, as she was heading out at the same time, but since she needed to go in the opposite direction, and I was already prepared to "rough it," I declined her kind offer. Later, as I switched arms for dragging along my incredibly heavy roller bag, I thought better of it, but sometimes roughing it is good. Took three buses to get to the Southwest terminal, and then I settled in to wait to board, along with all the other people going to Utah ... some families with young children, and some grandparents obviously heading over for conference, an assortment of businessmen, and some random snow-boarder types. Since I was in the C category, I reconciled myself to an awful seat, but my dismal hopes were all in vain. I snagged a seat in the emergency aisle, and had leg room to spare.

Joyous reunion with the beans and Genie. They're growing and learning so quickly. Genie and Bork are raising the beans bilingual, so that their language skills will initially be a little slower than children raised unilingually (is that even a word?), until about age 8, after which they will have caught up with their classmates. Anyway, it's so fun to hear them babble away.

Big Bean's favorite thing to say is, "Dowa, wha-cha doing?" I was amazed to hear him recite Amos 3:7 ... at not-quite 4 years old, he was the first in his primary to memorize and recite it. He seems to be a very imaginative boy, if rather stubborn about random things, like which shoes to wear, and occassionally "terrorizing" his younger brother.

One of Little Bean's favorite things to do is slide down the stairs on his tummy, with a stream of whoa-whoa-whoa's coming from his mouth. Someday I'll catch him with my video camera, but he gets stage fright at the most inopportune times, unlike Big Bean, who loves to perform. Sometimes Little Bean is too prone to cry to get his way, but he is at his best in the mornings, after he's eaten. I had to laugh when Genie told me that he loves to eat snow, and has to be redirected away from the closest snow to the clean snow.

Also got caught up with Genie. She certainly has her hands full with the Beans and Bork. Also, has another Bean in the belly. She also told me weird stories about being asked out on dates by random customers from work, even after she's told them she's happily married. I should be so cursed. Then again, those particular men seems particularly desperate, which makes them particularly unattractive.

Funnily enough, didn't talk a whole lot with Bork this trip. However, I love how thoughtful and loving Genie and Bork are with each other. It's obvious that their first cares are for each other. Makes me happy to see them together.

We all went out to dinner at Mazza, which is in the Sugarhouse area. Even if Bibs hadn't recommended it to me, Genie was set on going there ... apparently one of the best eateries in SLC, by review. Place was packed when we got there, a small feat, since it's really tiny. However, I loved it there. Our waiter was excellent, the food scrumptious, and the owner very affable as he chatted with us. Although I'm not vegetarian, they had a good vegetarian selection, and I revelled in my eggplant dish. JLITH cut out for a bit to finish up a Craig's List transaction, and got lost making her way around a ravine and a golf course. Dinner was cold by the time she made it back, and we'd already divied up all the food family style so that we could taste everything. We were okay to wait for her to finish up, but she decided to pack it up, and we went home where she could eat without having to feel guilty for occupying space while the other hungry diners-in-waiting looked on.

Rebel without a cause?

I've been corresponding with my e-pal Ginger (don't get mad at this nickname, I'm just trying to protect your annonymity) since Nov 2005. He is by turns urbane, intelligent, witty, maddening, cosmopolitan, artistic, faithful, liberal ... and vacationing in Provo. To my mind, it's a very strange location for him, but he has his reasons. And in the midst of enjoying the fresh air and scenery and meeting new people, he's also found out what it is to live in The Bubble. Yes, he's run up against what I consider the other Big C's in the gospel ... Conservatives (especially Republicans) and Capitalism. And no, I'm not trying to rant against Provo and C's specifically, but against homogeneity and entrenchment.

In the LDS church, we're taught that there must needs be opposition in all things (2 Ne 2:11). This is not a uniquely LDS concept. The most delectable culinary dishes are the ones that find the best balance between sweet, sour, salty and bitter. The perception of beauty is heightened by contrasting ugliness. One's ability to feel joy is often deepened by one's past experiences with pain. And so on.

And so it is that I find myself better able to not be of the world because, by living in Los Angeles, I am very much in the world. It's the rebel in me. If I lived in a place where everyone was the same, I'd probably experiment with going against the grain just to break up the monotony. So, it's probably a good thing that I live in a rather sinful place where I can explore the far reaches of my righteousness (such as it is), instead of living in a hyper-righteous place and exploring the limits of my wickedness. And sometimes I wonder what this says about my character, that I have a certain need to feel ... what? Rebellious? Special? Unique? And what would happen to me during the millenium? I don't know. I can only say that I feel more ownership of my righteous choices because I don't feel socially obligated to make them.

I'm reminded of a movie that a friend told me about. I must apologize here, because I can't remember the title of the movie, or WHO is was that told me about it, but I picture a Marvel-esque setting, and cartoon animation. Also, I am probably embellishing the story here, but it's just how I remember it. An Evil Villain is being chased by the Good Guys. EV is about to be caught, when he inadvertantly stumbles through a portal that transports him to another world inhabited solely by super-heroes who go about their lives as normal people, but occassionally rip off their regular-people-clothes to reveal super-hero-attire in order to rescue other unwitting superheroes from accidental catastrophes such as falling pianos, after which point the rescuer is delighted at the break in sameness, but needs to go home and dress in RPC again. Anyway, EV starts doing EV-type things again, and the local super-heroes have the time of their lives catching and imprisoning him. At this point, the GG's re-enter the scene, having found a way through the portal. They approach the leader of the SH community to extradite EV back to their home world and are rebuffed. Turns out that the SH's had developed a fondness for EV, and were planning on letting him out of jail every once in a while for a "Hunt the Evil Villain" spree. Talk about a twisted plot ...

Anyway, my point in bringing this up is not to bombard you with images of bulked up people in spandex, but to explore the pitfalls of entrenched cultures. In terms of change, I think the church culture moves at an excruciatingly slow pace ... slower even than the pace of the general leadership, which I happen to think is rather more progressive. In Feb 1996, church membership outside the United States outnumbered that within the states. Last year, the first foreign general authority born in the last century was sustained as an apostle (all the other ten foreign apostles were born prior to 1900). And at every general conference, although I'm sometimes irked at not being able to understand their accents very well, I always look forward to hearing from general authorities who have spent a significant portion of their lives outside of the United States. The church is growing and diversifying, and that fills me with joy. It gives me hope that as the membership of the church grows to include those who have very different origins ... be they racial, geographical, philosophical, cultural or intellectual ... it will also invigorate us to further understanding of what it means to be a child of god, and how we can love each other despite and because of our differences. Thus my personal goal is to rejoice in unity without feeling stiffled, and diversity without feeling fear.

Two other great posts that I've read recently on cluture versus spirituality, and token rebellion:

There's something about Mary (and Martha)

What is the purpose of the BYU Dress and Grooming Code?

My Sex in the City Moment

The other day, I was contemplating the development of an old acquaintanceship. I'm working on a project with someone who I never expected to spend much time with. And I'm enjoying it. At a time when my circle of single and available (for fun times) friends contracts, the remaining friends become more valuable. Sort of sad, but very true. Anyway, as I was contemplating and thinking what I would write if I were disposed to, I suddenly had a Carrie moment. My living room morphed into a NYC apartment, and suddenly I was typing on a mac in front of a window, wearing a curly blonde wig. Okay, maybe not the wig, but I did see the words type out in the form of a question on a blue screen.

I used to love watching Sex and the City on HBO, back when we had it. It seemed to address so many of the issues we all had as single, professional women living in a large city: friendships, competition, dating, and disfunctional men. The writing was clever and pertinent. It added to our vocabularies in the same way that Seinfeld did ... modelizer and Mr. Big to name a couple telling terms. I never fully identified with any specific character, but I did find pieces of myself in each of the four major characters:

Carrie: Creative, artistic, everyone's best friend.
Samantha: older, aggressive, sexual
Charlotte: pampered, socialite, traditional
Miranda: ambitious, brilliant, repressed

Anyway, to make a long story short, I quit watching a while ago because the show was just too graphic. I don't like movies with gratuitous nudity or sex, so why take it on the small screen? A few years ago, they wrapped up the show, and that was that. Or so I thought. Edited episodes from TNT and the WB have been popping up on tivo, only 30-40 minutes long. And they're fun, if looking a little outdated because of all the flamboyant outfits. To parody a friend of Perky's, they could rename it Dating in the City ...

As for myself? Well, dating is one of those things that I haven't really discussed on this blog, and I don't really plan to. Especially my contemporary dating habits. For myriad reasons. It's just such an ephermereal thing to put into such a concrete format. Anyway, suffice to say that every once in a while I get the equivalent of an appetizer to prevent starvation as I anticipate the main course.

Co-Workers who make me happy

Ranch-hand: When he tells me I'm beautiful, I believe him.
TanShaggy: Cool, calm, cute and capable.
Frannie-mom: She's the unit mom. I want to be like her.
Jujistu-ear: Great TL. Also always makes me laugh.
Flutterby: Fantastic cheer-er upper
Tony the Tiger: Takes care of all the psych/soc issues that I hate dealing with.
Father John and Rev Dan: These chaplains are fantastic. Plus, Father John and I were in the same orientation group. We've had a special bond ever since we extinguished that practice fire.
Fearless Leader: Another role model. The only Clin IV on the unit. She knows everything, and always keeps a cool head. She's also always up for practical jokes.
SweetCherry: Who doesn't love her? She goes around giving pep shoulder massages.

Mini convo with NeoMD

Neo: Did you know your pants are on backwards?
Me: Yup.
Neo: So ... why?
Me: I always tie my scrubs in the back.
Neo: Hmmm. I never noticed before.
Me: Well, then, you were not looking where you shouldn't.

I just looove the word ... passport.

So, with only five and a half weeks until I'm due to go to Argentina, I sent in the paperwork to get a new passport, and realized the extremes of my vanity and need for immediate gratification.

Firstly, let me just say that I know how ridiculous it is that I haven't already gotten my passport in hand. I've been meaning to do it ever since I returned from China. However, what with minor illnesses, busy-ness, and new year doldrums, I've just been a slacker. So, instead of paying the minimal $60, I have to fork over $127 for expedited service. What a waste. And I'm not even convinced that this will go smoothly, given the horror stories I've heard from Wonder Woman about her sister's passport.

Second, I feel extremely vulnerable and lackluster without my passport. How am I supposed to quickly exit the country now? Also, I liked my old passport ... it had stamps from Japan, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, China, Italy, Germany, Costa Rica and Peru in it. I'd secretly hoped to use it forever and bring it out at talent shows to impress people with.

Third, I took three sets of passport pictures before I was able to settle on a picture that doesn't make me look like a gremlin. I'm generally photogenic, so this was a real shock to me. The first set I had taken in December right after Shears cut my hair. The hair looked great, but I was still unfamiliar with the bangs, and shoved them aside. Big mistake. Also, the guy positioned my head weird ... the result was the most gremlin-esque of the three sets. This morning I went to one of those passport service places along Westwood that cater to farsi-speaing populations, and took a set for $8. However, I focused on the viewfinder and not the lens, so I look half-way shifty eyed, half-way having a convulsion. Such a little thing ... and I just wish that the photographer had given me a clue. And when it came down to it, when it was time to actually send the paperwork, I impulsively took one last set. There was no mirror present, and I ended up with reasonably good face, but retarded bangs. Curses on passport picture photographers who won't take just a moment to ensure that their subjects don't look moronic. Anyway, in the end, I decided to go with the good face/retarded hair photo, instead of the retarded face/good hair photo. Because while many people have bad hair days, bad face can last a lifetime.

And fourth, I wasted the postal worker's time by my inability to understand that the extra $67 for expedited service still meant that I had to mail the forms in. How I wished that there was someway of ensuring that my passport would be processed smoothly. Luckily, I had the edge in knowing that the address printed on the form was incorrect, or else the postal worker would have had me mailing my forms and expired passport all the way to Pennsylvania instead of a local office in Los Angeles. Anyway, I ultimately managed to send off the application, check, photos and old passport off certified mail to what I hope is the correct address. Supposedly it should be processed within two weeks. And I've got the third week marked in my Franklin to call ... that will give me two weeks to get it expedited again if all else fails.

Lost in Translation

I saw, Lost in Translation in 2004. I was very excited because it has gotten tons of Oscar hype, and because it was set in Japan. I was very prepared to like it ... and I didn't. I hated how the film made Tokyo look like a souless, techno-crazy, alien place. I disliked how the characters were so distant with each other and their families. And I was disgusted by the cage-dancers.

However, when I take myself out of my Japan-centric mode of thinking, I realize that this film could have been made anywhere in the world. So many of the world's largest metropoli share the same cosmopolitan qualities ... crowded and frenzied streets, towering buildings, noise, neon signs and huge billboards, sparse vegetation (if any at all), and the overwhelming presence of electronic machines. Taken as a whole, I find large cities to be incredibly depersonalizing.

I'm reminded of that one scene in You've Got Mail. Tom Hanks' character says, "It wasn't personal." Meg Ryan's character replies, "I'm so sick of that. All it means is that it wasn't personal to you. But it was personal to me. It's personal to a lot of people. And what's so wrong with being personal anyway? Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal."

(Aside: if you liked this movie ... and even if you didn't ... I recommend Shop Around the Corner, a wonderful movie starring Margaret Sullivan and James Stewart. Shop was the inspiration for Mail, and although Mail is charming, it doesn't quite measure up.)

So yes, I'm a fan of the personal. And even more than the personal, I'm a fan of Anne and kindred spirits. I find that the most effective method of fending off feelings of insignificance and isolation is to nourish relationships with others. Travelled down to the OC a couple hours early, and spent the time deep in conversation with Pilgrim Girl. She and Ni-chan, along with a handful of other people, comprise my inner circle of kindred spirits. We speak the same language, and I discover more of myself in an hour of thoughtful conversation with "my peeps" than I could in a lifetime of chitchat with others. We all went to Outhouse, and gleaned more meaty food for thought, especially P and JoW's comments near the end. Talked with Nichan and PG until late, and then threw myself out.

Drove over to the Del Taco to get a bite to eat for the ride home. I ordered a spicy fish burrito ... I prefer the tacos, but they just aren't conducive to driving (even at the hateful snailpace of 55mph I'm doing to break in the new car). Anyway, they took a long time to process my order. The guy who handed me my food mumbled something to the effect (or so at least I thought, given his heavily accented English) that they'd thrown in some fries for me. So, I drove off. It wasn't until I was on the freeway onramp that I discovered that my fish burrito was nowhere to be seen ... and I spent the next thirty minutes discontentedly munching on carb-laden bean burritos. Lost in translation indeed!

Street-bourne again

Alas, my love-affair with public transport has ended. My father found, bargained for, and helped me get my new Love Bug (a corolla). It's not my dream car, but then again, I didn't have an extra $46,000 lying around with which to purchase a new Lexus hybrid SUV. Anyway, my new car is fantastic, gets great mileage, and is paid for, which makes it dreamy in a real-world way that is indisputable. During the fifteen days I was carless, I did the following:

~ walked about eight miles to and from bus stops
~ rode the metro buses twelve times
~ rode the red line subway once
~ rode the Valley orange line once
~ drove Wonder Woman's car about 150 miles (mostly on one day)
~ walked through the rain three times
~ walked by five homeless people
~ sat next to one person on the bus who was so pungent that I had to move
~ waited a little over three hours for buses that either did and didn't arrive with some degree of promptness.

And yes, I did other things. Thanks to Perky, White Boy and BFF for driving me to fun things; and thanks to everyone who came to play Catan during my carlessness (and thanks to Wonder Woman for organizing).

So, until the next time (and if it never comes, I'll be happy), I'll say au revoir to my sometimes-lover, the MTA.

Dancing ... it's in the jeans AND in the genes

Saturday night. If I had my car (and it wasn't Stake Conference, and if I hadn't worked during the day), I would be heading out to Pomona for dancing. It's been more than two weeks, and I'm going through withdrawals. However, if I can't actually go dancing, then I can watch competition tapes, and read about it. Found a little tidbit in The Week magazine (thanks to BFF for turning me on to it), which led me to this Discovery Channel article on dancing. Seems that dancing may be in my genes.

"People are born to dance," Ebstein told Discovery News." They have (other) genes that partially contribute to musical talent, such as coordination, sense of rhythm. However, the genes we studied are more related to the emotional side of dancing — the need and ability to communicate with other people and a spiritual side to their natures that not only enable them to feel the music, but to communicate that feeling to others via dance."

As the experiment (read: first) child, of first generation immigrants no less, I had lots of lessons. Ballet, tap, piano, tennis, gymnastics, drawing, conducting, Japanese language, flute to name a few. All with varying degrees of success and permanence. My parents wanted us to have a well-rounded experience ... that, or they wanted to keep us too busy to get into trouble. Anyway, the ballet and tap lessons were extremely short-lived ... I never even remembered them until I found a pink child-sized ballet slipper digging through some of my old clothes during high school. When I asked my mother about it, she said that she'd moved me out of dance for piano lessons. Rather ironic, since I'd recently quit piano after 10 years (the last year not so productive), and was taking dance for my PE class.

Actually, dancing had recaptured my interest back in junior high. My best friend Sejin-a transferred to my school in the 8th grade, and got us all into dancing. The guys kept up as best they could, but it was all about the girls having a fantastic time.

It wasn't until I turned fourteen and started going to church dancing that I started couple dancing, and most of it evolved around church. Good-hearted, older boys like Eric plucked me off the wall flowerline and made me feel like not so much of a geek. Sejin-a and Hayan came with me to church dances, where cute boys like Travis asked me to dance. Learned to hustle at a youth camp, and taught my brother because I loved it so, and got him hooked (he wooed Genie through dancing eight years later). Later on, AbH and JuS took private lessons, and taught us in Saturday sessions at the UCLA Institute. Several years later I started going regularly to The Derby (which has sadly gone downhill and only hosts swing once a week), and I was hooked into Lindy.

Nowadays, I favor blues dancing, and will drive as far out as Pomona to get my fix. Speakeasy Blues is fantastic; live bands, low cover, food and drink just an order away, and so casual that I generally end up wearing jeans (with a bit of stretch in them). Blues dancing is much more introspective than lindy. It's not so much about show as it is about having an intimate conversation with your partner. My favorite leads to blues dance with, XRay, MaB, Danny Boy and Roller Coaster, are the ones who take time to stretch to the music ... it's close, personal and moving. Unlike club-dancing, which seems so isolated, weirdly gyrational and bizarre, partner or group dancing is about getting in touch with the concept of "us." And yes, the years of piano lessons were invaluable in learning rhythm, meter and musical phrasing.

So, I don't know if I have the actual genes that the Ebstein studied (if I did, wouldn't it be interesting to know if I got them from my mother or my father?), but I do know that it is in my soul. I love to dance, I love to teach, I love to watch. Wanna learn?

Mental Elph Shots on a Rambling Morning

Just forewarning you that this post is going to be extremely meandering.

Had a few errands today to walk today. Fill out paperwork for my totalled car (yes, this is the final and authorized word on the matter). Zerox and mail said paperwork. Call insurance company. Get quarters at the bank for busrides. Check out Famima. Buy moisturizer. And as I set out, I was besieged by visual and memory stimuli.

The sky is bright blue and clear of most clouds, necessitating my red baseball cap and road trip sunglasses that I got on my last road trip.

The delicious smell of the local Starbucks. I don't drink coffee (aside from that first trip to Italy), but I adore the scent of it, and confess to a predilection for coffee-flavored icecream.

The chaos that is Santa Monica Boulevard. The construction (and traffic) is proceeding at a snail's pace. I can only guess at how they mean to finish it. The big ditches on either side of Westwood Blvd are filled with the rainwater that pelted the westside yesterday.

Kinko's. Yes, they're overpriced. However, they're also open 24 hours a day, and are very convenient. This is where I copied those family picture charts for the Japanese folks, and where I copied all of Yuki Grandma's documents that Aunt Yo brought over in November.

Bank for quarters. Now my backpack is three pounds heavier.

Famima. Visiting this store was like walking back in time to my summer visits to Japan. All kinds of packaged sushi. The soda in the glass bottles with the marble inside the opening. Po-ke sticks. Sadly, there were no whistle lifesavers or melon candy, but I did buy a salmon rice ball in commemoration of my Yuki Grandma, who died last year. Also of note was the cover of the Japanese version of Newsweek. It had a woodblock print of a Japanese woman in traditional dress and hairstyle, looking at a mirror, from which a blonde-haired, blue-eyed anime girl stared out of. The one English title on the article read, "Turning Un-Japanese." Maybe a play off of the song by The Vapors? Anyway, it was an interesting picture that pointed to the mainstreaming of Japanese culture. I also checked out the glossy Japanese fashion magazines. Sad to say, like most Western mags, the models all looked like carbon copies. An unfortunate commentary on homogenization.

Passed by Bristol Farms. I shop here when I feel hungry and luxurious. I like to get prosciutto here, because it's just so amazingly tasty.

Passed Cost Plus, which never fails to remind me of the exotic places I'd like to visit.

Passed by the Hollywood Video. The last last time I visited, I was wrathfully exchanging the last dvd of the second season. I'd rented them all at once, and the last dvd didn't play. Confess that I was less that civil to the guy at HV, and was rather ashamed to return. However, when I rented Grand Canyon (along with Turtles Can Fly and Bollywood.Hollywood), the guy was very pleasant, and didn't seem to recognize me. Phew.

Passed by the Old Suzy Q's location. One of my favorite places to go when I first started dancing eight years ago. Now I have to drive out to Pasadena or Pomona to get in any good dancing. I do try to make it out to Paladino's, but it's only once a month, which just isn't enough.

Tutoring business that specializes in math and science. Remembered memorizing the times tables in Japanese.

The dance/costume shop. Someday I mean to get some dancing heeled sandals for salsa, etc, but they're expensive, and I will be buying a car shortly ...

To the mall. Moisturaizer and a brown ethnic dress.

Kids playing in the neighborhood elementary school yard. I remember playing on the rings (and the awful blisters I would get on my palms), perfecting my slicie handball shots, and shrieking during dodgeball.

The temple crowning Santa Monica Blvd as I step to my door. I remember when Bork and I went through with our parents, that first time. What a wonderful and satisfying day that was.

Angelino movies

The other day I watched Grand Canyon, on the recommendation of an acquaintance in New York. I'd wanted to see it year ago when it first came out, and I generally like movies that star Kevin Kline. Anyway, it opens with the Lakers playing at the Forum, and I immediately felt old. It's been years since the Lakers played at the Forum, and even more since Magic played for the Lakers. Maybe I also felt old because Perky was socializing in her room with LA 1st-ers, but that's another story. Anyway, as BFF was
leaving he commented that I really was an LA-movie buff. Which got me thinking about movies set in LA, about the Angelino life. Have comiserated with White Boy and Spork, and came up the following list ...

The Aviator
The Bad News Bears V
Beach Blanket Bingo V
Beverly Hills Cop V
Blade Runner
Boogie Nights
Boyz n the Hood
Bringing Down the House V
Chinatown
City of Angels V
Clueless V R (this is a fun adaptation of Austen's Emma)
Collateral
Crash V R (Although difficult to watch, I thought this movie was brilliant)
Dead Again V R (Thompson and Branaugh, fantastic)
Die Hard V
Dogtown and Z Boys V R (documentary of skateboarding in Venice, I wish I could move like these kids did)
Escape From LA
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
Get Shorty
The Graduate V
Grand Canyon V R (sure, it was a nice view)
Grease V R (this was especially fun to see as a re-release ... everyone in the audience sang along. Even better are the Hollywood Bowl Singalongs)
Heat V (I still have to watch the second half)
I Am Sam V
The Island
The Italian Job V
Karate Kid V
LA Confidential
LA Story V R (everytime I visit LACMA I wish I had shoes with hidden skates)
LA Takedown
The Last Action Hero
Laurel Canyon
Lords of Dogtown
Los Angeles Plays Itself
Magnolia
Mulholland Drive
Nick of Time
The Player
Pretty Woman V
Pulp Fiction
Ray V R (Foxx is amazing)
Rebel Without a Cause V
Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion V R (don't we all wish we could return triumphant?)
Singing in the Rain V R (one of my favorite movies ... I esp love the opening sequence, Moses Supposes and Make 'Em Laugh)
Speed V
Stand and Deliver V R (an inspirational film)
Star Maps
States of Grace V R (if only to see my cousin onscreen)
Sunset Boulevard
Swingers V
The Terminator V
To Live and Die in LA
Training Day
Valley Girl
Volcano
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane
You Got Served V R (the dancing is amazing, even if the acting or plot is not)

Anyway, that's my list for now. I put a V next to ones I've viewed, and an R (with comments) on the ones I recommend. I'm sure there are many more Angelino movies, but my eyes are starting to glaze over. If you've got any to add, I'd love to hear about it.

Japanese Hoochie-Mama talk

Years ago, my Japanese cousin Aimee sent JLITH videos of the first season of Eiko and Reiko*, a Japanese night-soap. We watched it feverishly, as if Beverly Hills 90210 wasn't histrionic enough. The story centered around two sisters, the elder mature, earnest and plain (Reiko), and the younger irritating, selfish and stylish (Eiko). As I remember it, Reiko slept with Eiko's boyfriend, who was rather a punk boxer, while Eiko was being courted by a handsome and wonderful co-worker who deserved far better. In the end, it was all moot, as the punk boyfriend was stabbed to death in a Harding/Kerrigan-type scenario, and died pathetically in Reiko's arms, declaring his love for her. It was pretty awful programming, but as we didn't have any Kage-no Gundan, Oshin or Miyamoto Musashi episodes then airing, we sucked it up in the name of cultural exploration. It didn't take more than one episode to label Eiko as a hoochie-mama ... not only for her peroxided hair, short skirts and general malcontentedness, but also for her exasperating voice, which made her sound like a trucculent three year old instead of the mid-twenties career girl that she was.

In Japan, the concept of sexy is far removed from Western influence. In the States, if I asked a guy to picture a sexy woman, images that might come to mind are voluptuous, mature, seductive, dressed in lingerie ... in short, a Victoria Secret model. However, travel across the Pacific Ocean, and the picture is dramatically different. Sexiness in Japan comes in the form of thin, girlish and innocent waifs ... kind of like the actresses that guest-appear on The Iron Chef. (The phenomenon has become rather problematic lately, as anoriexia among teenage Japanese girls has spiked to an alarming degree.) And when it comes to vocal sexiness, Japan is as much about breathy, girly voices as the States are about husky and low-pitched ones.

Anyway, last night at Safehouse dinner, much to my surprise, I exhibited my own hoochie-mama-ness. I was ensconced in talk about Japan with Lord Byron, JKBro and Shimai, who all served their missions there. Like most gaijin, they were all surprised at my accent, which I've been told is rather good, and the colloquiality of my speech. Of course the size of my vocabulary is rather pitiful, but size doesn't matter, does it? Shimai seemed especially atuned to my voice, because she noted that when I speak Japanese, I modulate my voice to a higher pitch and fall into the singsong flow that I'm accustomed to hearing from Japanese nubile women. In short ... hoochie-mama talk.

I was rather taken aback. On principle, I try to avoid HM characteristics, but I try to be especially careful about how I present myself vocally. It hearkens back to the unpleasant discovery that the Valley Girl slang I appropriated during my early-teen years was unintelligible, unintelligent, and just plain grating on the auditory system. It took months of dilligent application, but I did eventually break myself of the habit, and recommenced speaking like a normal person. I've also been annoyed beyond belief at people who end their sentences on an up-note, which makes them sound insecure and unknowledgeable. I've encountered this mainly with sister missionaries;I can understand how this might be due to nervousness, but it decreases the effectiveness of the message.

On a larger scale, the desire to conform to societal ideals of beauty affects women on both sides of the Pacific (and elsewhere, but I'm trying to stay focused here). In the States, we moved past the waif/anorexic phase that afflicted us during the 90's. With the advent and refinement of cosmetic surgery, we are now ensconced in what I call Perpetual Youth Culture. Everyone wants to be and look young ... tight and firm bodies, unwrinkled faces, older and younger women inappropriately trying to dress like 18 year olds. I don't claim immunity, but I try to tamp it down and use a moderate approach. And I wonder if Japan might soon follow suit, although their beauty culture seems more firmly ingrained to repel faddish movements.

*I'm not sure this is the real name of the show, but I'm waiting to hear back from JLITH.

I Spy ...

So, Madwoman and Ni-chan put a counter on the Exponent II group blog, to track visitors: how many, entrance and exit sites, return versus new visitors, etc etc. Surprisingly, we're getting anywhere from 200 to 500 hits per day. Of course, some are just me obsessively checking to see if anyone's commented on my pieces, but in an attempt to dis-skew the numbers, I've stopped doing this.

Until recently, I've been comforted by the thought that my personal blog is not easy to find. I've only given the site out to a few friends and family, and who else would actually be interested? Last year, an internet acquaintance (we'll call him Bob) on ldslinkup asked me about my blog. I told him it was mainly for close friends and family, and politely declined to give him the info. As soon as I sent that email, I performed several searches to see if I could "find" me on-line, and was very relieved that I couldn't. Anyway, Bob also did some searching for my blog. Interestingly enough, IT consultant though he was, he couldn't find my blog either ... until he found me on Jahn's blogroll. When he told me about it, I felt very exposed; not only because I was specifically writing my blog for a defined population, but also because I didn't have a similar way to learn more about him. Whatever happened to Bob? Well, I occassionally see him posting on linkup, but our correspondence fizzled out soon after the above episode. I sometimes wonder if he follows my blog, but not enough to actually resume contact.

Anyway, I decided to set up a counter on my own blog. It's been pleasantly surprising to learn who is following my blog. It's rare that people leave posted comments, (which makes me a little sad) but every once in a while I learn in conversation or via email that they've read or connected with a certain post (which makes me happy). When I checked my counter today, I found out that several of the OC crowd, some family, and an unknown from Provo have checked me out since Thursday. I have several theories on who Provo is, but they're just speculations (you could always leave a comment and just tell me who you are). And, before you get too paranoid and stop visiting, I'll admit that the counter just gives me the internet host name, and not your actual name. However, with all this information, it makes the kafuffle with Google and the DOJ a bit more relevant.

The DOJ, in requesting data on internet searches, is trying to resurrect an online child protection law by showing that we need stronger internet filters to prevent children from finding porn and other inappropriate info. All of the other major search engines in the US have capitulated to DOJ requests for info, but Google is still holding out. The ACLU has come out on the side of Google, but even Google has said that it's position has to do more with trade secrets and the overbroad nature of the request. Then again, if Google weren't aggregating streams of information on searches performed, it wouldn't have the info to withhold from the DOJ in the first place. Personally, I'm not as concerned over internet searches as I am the contents of my email communication, which i do via gmail. The immediate question is how far does the right to privacy go compared to the need to protect the young. The looming questions in the background are how much information on our personal lives is out there, who has access to it, and how can it be used for and against us.

Anyway, with all of this, I hope you do return and visit my blog. A comment or two would be nice, but I won't force the issue ... anymore. Arrivederci!

Lady of the Rings ...

J.R.R. Tolkien: Lord of the Rings. You are entertaining and imaginative, creating whole new worlds around yourself. Well loved, you have a whole league of imitators, none of which is quite as profound as you are. Stories and songs give a spark of joy in the middle of your eternal battle with the forces of evil.

Which literature classic are you?

My Funny Valentine(s)

~ My visiting teacher. Brought caramel popcorn and a card. Stayed to commiserate.
~ Doc Martin, the ward choir director. Gave me one of the youth fund raiser Valentine's flowers. Could I feel more guilty for not going to choir?
~ My whippersnapper friend. Gave me a Star Wars valentine with the Emperor (Palpitine) on it. Can't decide whether or not he's poking fun at my age, or saying that he wants me to lead him to the dark side.
~ Improv-er. For reminding us all that love is painful but fun(ny), and offering hugs and smooches.
~ My 15 year old patient today. So what if he processes at the level of a 3rd grader. He told his mother that he'd listen to me because I'm pretty.
~ Little Bean. At age 2, he states, "I'm cute ... I'm great; I'm good; I'm nice; I'm smart. I'm funny!" All this while refusing to have his diaper changed until he's ready, never mind if it's sagging to his knees. Can't wait to visit over Conference.

Meme from Pilgrim Girl

What were you doing 20 years ago?
In 8th grade. Loving how contacts, make-up and peroxide transformed my exterior from a geek into a cool kid. Girls basketball team, some other random clubs. Having asian friends for the first time.

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Finished my BS at UCI, in nursing school at Pierce, and living again with my parents. Red-shirting for the women's volleyball team. Starting to get very ill.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Trip to Maui. Discovered feminism and met the "new" Irvine crowd. Playing lots of Catan. Continuing to dance. Dealing with a family crisis.

Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Kettle corn
2. Smelly cheeses
3. M & M's
4. Carrots and peanut butter
5. Anything Wonder Woman cooks

Five songs to which you know (most of) the lyrics:
1. I'm Beginning to See the Light
2. Such Great Heights
3. Where Can I Turn For Peace
4. Angels We Have Heard on High ~ I even know the alto line by heart.
5. Fly Me to the Moon
What can I say, I don't know a lot of lyrics. Most times I can't understand the words anyway, and make up my own.

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Buy a house and make it a home.
2. Cut down my work hours to part time and spend the extra day a week volunteering in an elementary school.
3. Take a month to study Thai massage at Wat Po in Bangkok.
4. Pay for all my relatives to come to our extended-family reunion in Hawaii in 2008
5. Invest wisely so I could continue to enjoy my windfall's bounty.

Five bad habits:
1. Biting my lip.
2. Being self-conscious instead of being friendly
3. Screening calls on my home phone
4. Getting offended over little things
5. Eating really late at night

Five things you like doing:
1. Blues and lindy dancing
2. Playing Catan C&K
3. Getting into it at Outhouse Intellectual discussions
4. Reading reading reading reading ...
5. Travelling ... Argentina in April
6. Trying new things

Five things you would never wear again:
1. Cut t-shirts, a la "Flashdance"
2. Light-blue, frosted eyeshadow
3. Spandex leggings
All the other things I reserve the right to dig out for costume or decade/theme parties.


Five things that scare you:
1. An electromagnetic pulse (think Ocean's Eleven) which would fry my laptop and external hard drive
2. A painful and protacted death
3. Die-hards. Not the batteries, but people who can't negotiate or empathize.
4. Scary movies about occult practices.
5. Bitter, angry people

Five favorite toys:
1. Powerbook
2. Digital camera/camcorder
3. Thesaurus
4. Rainbow colored expanding-star throw toy. Forget the name, but if you've been to my place, you know what it looks like
5. The internet

Five favorite books:
1. Complications: A Surgeon's Notes on an Imperfect Science, Gawande
2. Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place, Williams
3. The Emperor of Scent: A True Story of Perfume and Obsession Burr
4. Grandfather's Journey Say
5. The Little Mermaid Anderson
Ender's Game, Persuasion, Auntie Mame, The Hours ... I could go on and on, but why don't we discuss it in person?

Five people to tag:
1. Mind on Fire
2. All the other people I know are either already tagged, or don't have blogs. How sad is that?

I long for your touch

The room is dimly lit, soft instrumental jazz playing in the background, as I disrobe and slip between the sheets. A light knock at the door, and as I answer yes, someone slips in. I smile, raise myself up slightly and say, "I'm so glad to see you. I'm really going to need a lot of attention on my neck, shoulder and calves." I settle back down, my face in the donut, as Lisa, smoothing the massage oil over my back, begins my one hour of lovely deep tissue massage.

I didn't always like massage like I do now. I had my first backrub in college. MickeyBlueEyes was just a charming friend of a friend of a friend. Back then I was so ticklish that his first attempt didn't really relax me at all. Even now, a light brush on a special spot on my side is enough to reduce me to shivers. I used to have a variety of friends who would "spell" me when I needed it, a quick neck rub on the way to some fun activity. However, they're now mostly happily married or involved, and it just seems inappropriate to ask. My one fallback is sweet Cherry at work ... everyone rejoices when she's on because she delights in spreading the love.

Lisa is now attacking wih ruthless precision the knots that lay just under my shoulder blades, one on each side. I tend to tense my shoulders when I'm stressed; sometimes I can relieve the tension by cracking my neck, but it's not a foolproof solution. Lisa continues with her strong fingers. The crunching and popping feels a little painful, but after a few minutes, the knot is gone, and my shoulders collapse in relief.

The best massage I ever had was at Wat Po in Bangkok, Thailand. They dressed us in thin, karate-type gi's, and alternated between traditional Thai massage and kneading us with heated herbal packs. Thai massage is fascinating because it's so much more active than Western massage. We didn't lay on our stomachs like we were dead, oh no. The masseuse manuevered us into a variety of positions ... sitting up, lying down with legs in the air, on our sides, even laying across their backs ... almost like assisted yoga. It was magnificent.

And there is definitely something exquisite and requisite about being touched. In the movie Crash, Cheadle's character says something to the effect that Angelenos are so starved for touch that some create destructive scenarios just so that they can connect with other human beings. Certainly in my nursing practice, I find that touch can sometimes soothe where drugs can not. And I know that sometimes I just crave it ... not always in a sexual way, although I sometimes crave that too ... but just to feel the warmth of another person's hand intersecting with mine.

So, when my knots rudely make their presence known, or my craving gets too much, I make an appointment at the facility down the road and let myself be pampered. It's not a spa ... there are no plush terry robes, scented oils, beating with palm fronds or wrapping in fragrant steaming towels. It's just a simple, no-frills business that offers massage at a price that I can pay to get the relief I need.

And so, I long to be touched. By friends and family when they're available, in a neutral environment when they're not, all the while still dreaming of things to come.

On celebrating In(ter)dependence Day

Posted my first piece on the Exponent II blog. It's not an explicitly feminist essay, although I have been very impressed with the feminists I have personally met.

The thing is, it's easy for me to be a reactionary towards overbearing traditionalists. In fact, I take a degree of pleasure in blasting people who write that single women have less "right" to jobs than married men with children, complain that women in the church are choosing careers over marriage, and hold feminism responsible for the breakdown of the family. What's more difficult is to maintain a defensive posture specifically against men, when I feel that people need to treat each other with more respect in general.

Anyway, I'm learning more and more, and excited to be a part of this group blog in particular.

Meme from Mind On Fire

Got this from Mind on Fire. It's quite diabolical, since he knows I can't resist email questionnaires from friends.

Four jobs I've had in my life
Babysitter to devil spawn children
Unpacker and steamer of clothes for Casual Corner
Picture clerk at Devine Photography
Super Life Saver ... or the more prosaic PICU nurse

Four movies I can watch over and over (besides lindy competition dvd's?)
Much Ado About Nothing
A Man For All Seasons
Strictly Ballroom
Cyrano de Bergerac

Four places I have lived
West Hills, CA
Irvine, CA
Los Angeles, CA
What can I say, I've visited a lot of places, but lived only in Southern CA

Four tv shows I love to watch
House MD
Grey's Anatomy (it's total cheese, but still ...)
Law and Order
So You Think You Can Dance

Four places I have been on vacation (only four?)
Italy (Rome, Florence, Venice, San Gimignano, Modena, Sienna)
Peru (Lima, Cusco, Machu Pichu)
Cambodia (Siem Reap)
Costa Rica (San Jose, Tamarindo, Bijagua, Arenal)

Four of my favorite dishes
Mushroom/truffle risotto at Pizzicotto
Thai spicy steak salad
Mango salad at Houston's
Japanese style curry

Four websites I visit daily (besides blogs)
Amazon.com
ldslinkup.com
wikipedia.org
google.com

Four places I would rather be right now
Dancing at Speakeasy Blues, Lindy Groove or the Murray Arts Center
Laying on a table getting a deep tissue massage
Deep in an Outhouse Intellectuals discussion
Swimming in the warm waters off of Fiji

Four bloggers I am tagging
Obi-Jahn
Laughtear
And that's it. I don't know any other bloggers that Mind hasn't already tagged.

Do you love your neighbor ...

The other week I watched the entire second season of 24. There's just something about being able to watch all the episodes back to back in a short period of time. I blame it all on The Dot, who lent us the first season dvds and got me hooked. Anyway, who should I see on the fifth episode but my wonderful neighbor Wilson, playing a middle eastern dignitary. It was quite unexpected, and made me want to laugh eventhough the characters onscreen were discussing nuclear war.

Wilson and his wife Gem are wonderful people. Aside from the Rear-ends (as I used to call them before I was old enough to pronounce their name correctly), Wilson and Gem are the best neighbors I've ever had. Wilson is especially fabulous. He grows roses, tomatoes, and herbs in the backyard and lets us have full reign with the bounty. He looks in on us whenever there's a power outtage, disruption in phone service, or whenever he's remotely concerned about our welfare. He once warned us about lurkers in the backyard until I eased his mind by explaining that the lurkers were Precious and Superman looking for a little snuggle time (back when they were just dating). Whenever it looks like rain, he puts the papasan chair and the hammock under the porch so that they don't get drenched. He always enquires about us with the kindest manner, and seems to care when we go on about our lives.

And yet, with all this, we don't really do much in return. We water the lawn and plants in the backyard when he and Gem take trips, but that's about it.

Anyway, today I had to cut up some delicious mangoes that had rippened unexpectedly quickly. I set some aside for mangoe salsa, some aside to take to work for meals this week, and some for the three of us to eat. However, at the end of all this, I found that I still had far too much for us to consume in a timely manner. I tried texting a friend to come pick some up, but the message wouldn't go through. I wondered what I was ever going to do with so much mango goodness, when the answer became patently clear. I called Gem up and was happy to hear that they both liked mangoes, and would love to have some. It was such a little thing, but it made me immensely happy to give them something that would bring them even a little joy.

In a seemingly unrelated matter, I went to a fireside (LDS speak for an informational/spiritual meeting held on Sunday night) tonight. Liz Shropshire spoke about her experiences as a music teacher in war torn areas such as Kosovo, Uganda and Northern Ireland. I was so impressed. She is making a positive difference in the lives of children who are directly affected by the ravages of war. Through the Shropshire Music Foundation, she is not only giving these children a safe place where they can gain relief and healing through music, she is also empowering older teens and young adults by teaching them to be teachers in turn. I was deeply touched. Coming on the heels of Pilgrim Girl's Outhouse discussion on the New Testament Jesus and Social Justice, Liz's presentation hit close to home.

These wonderful people, who positively affect their surroundings, inspire me to be more giving. They truly love their neighbors ... and it's contagious. In addition to the many selfish goals I'm working on, I am deciding to be more giving. Hopefully I will have lots more to report on as time progresses.

I will be starting by giving my time in my new calling as Relief Society pianist. Not an innocuous thing for the level of piano playing that I've fallen to. I think I have about 25-30 songs that are at performance level. Maybe another 30 that need a bit of brushing up to be presentable. That leaves about 230 left in the hymn books to learn. So, this isn't really sacrificial giving yet, because I benefit as well as the RS, but it's a start.

Blades

So, I lost my iceskating passcard late last year. Very sad, since I had about eight more entrances left. Anyway, last week I drove our rent check over, as my roommate hadn't mailed it in on time. Traffic was bad, and I wasn't going to make it to the rink for any ice-time. As I battled the evening traffic, I passed by Sport Chalet and pulled in on an impulse. Wandered around, admired equipment for sports I'm incompetent at, bought some wrist guards, and I was on my way. Today I got them out, and headed over to Venice.

I love rollerblading in Venice. Besides seeing all the funny tourist stuff, and a great view of sun and surf (and people enjoying it), there are also miles and miles of pretty, smooth, cement boardwalk ... indispensible to someone who hasn't learned to quickly come to a full stop. Yes, I'm that bad. Luckily I often have time to go during the week, when the only onlookers are awkward tourists, diffident seagulls, happy rastafarians, and snoozing homeless people who are soaking up the rays. Sad to say that Santa Monica is now considered the 9th meanest city in the US, but maybe the (almost) perpetual sunshine makes up for the coldness of the gentrified locals.

The weather is brisk as I sit on a concrete bench to lace up. The sun is still shining, but the hint of sea-enhanced chilliness feels good on my cheeks. I start off at Washington, just past the C & O Trattoria. At first I head south, but the path quickly degenerates to a bumpy mess. I turn northward on the bike path, which runs smooth as silk under my wheels. However, I soon have to cut across to the pedestrian path because there are tree crews trimming the palms for the upcoming wind advisory.

I work my way up past the quirky stalls at Venice and Muscle Beach (where Dutcher filmed part of God's Army II), still a little wobbly. I stop to tighten up my laces ... the price I have to pay for wide feet and proportionately smaller ankles.

By the time I pass Rose, the boardwalk straightens out and it's smooth sailing. I practice cross-overs and extending my stride. It feels really good.

I reach the Santa Monica pier, my fingers, nose and cheeks all chilled and a little tingly, and starting to feel a little sore. Coming back is easy. I love the curviness of the bikepath as I again swerve past guitarists waiting to be discovered, and street vendors selling everything from henna tattoos, sloppy paintings and cheap incense sticks.

Get back to Washington. It's been 45 minutes. As I sit to remove my skates, I need to sniff a little harder because my nose suddenly feels a little drippy. My muscles are still zinging, and I can't quite quell the urge to move faster than mere walking. Don't worry, I whisper, I'll be back.

Past -> Present -> Future

I arrived home feeling a little less than human. The weight of the past few days, combined with the happenings of today made me crave lying on the couch with a bag of chips and watching tv until I fell asleep. However, Perky sidetracked me, and instead we shared soup, and chatted a good long while before watching one hour of House, MD (a new episode!).

Perky talked about taking time to live in the present. One of her aspects that I enjoy the most is her unbridled enthusiasm for the here and now. But since I don't want to give out her secrets, I'll focus on what my thoughts were.

I very infrequently live in the present. "Now" is such a fleeting particle of time. A moment, and then it's gone. Whereas events can be anticipated for weeks, months and years ... and remembered for eons. I tend to live in my future and my friends' pasts.

I'm a planner. I'm attached at the hip to my Franklin. With self-scheduling at work (I'm on the committee for my unit), I'm always looking at my Franklin to see how I can move work, friends, fun and travel around to fit everything in. I like anticipation. I love lists and bullet points. My productivity isn't always high, but the intent is always there.

The part of my present that I most enjoy is decompressing with Perky. Part of it is that she is a good listener, and allows me the space and time to vocalize things that I've been contemplating. However, in the past few months, I've also realized that spending time daily to decompress is essential because I don't remember the happenings of my days for more than a day or two. Unless I speak or message with a person frequently, they have no idea of what's going on in my life because the actuality of events doesn't stick around in my consciousness past a few days, even if the undercurrent of thought continues to dramatically affect my life for months after.

One of the reasons blogging so important is that it helps me organize, save and analyze my past. It gives me a place to concretely record thoughts that are in flux, and that I just haven't been able to share with certain people, for whatever reasons.

Lastly, I remember my friends' pasts. Is it because I'm a visual person and see *them* doing and not my own actions? Or do I just happen to be friends who are good story tellers? i remember Montana Blue Eyes going for a swim, fully clothed, in the ocean at midnight. I remember BackrubS sitting in a crowded room in the middle east watching whirling dervishes. I remember Perky horriffi-comically pumping gas with Mr. Sunglasses. I remember Superman galloping across a field dressed in armor calling out to his soon-to-be fiancee. I remember Pilgrim Girl winking at a boy and jabbing pushpins into her prosthetic leg in high school.

I do think that everyone needs to incorporate elements of all three time periods to lead a balanced life. I'm just lucky to have a few good key friends and this blog to help me access all of them.

I hate pysch-soc issues in nursing.

If you want warm fuzzies, I am not the nurse for you. Yes, there are nurses who excel at giving hugs, putting stickers on good behavior charts, and indiscriminately chatting ad inifitum with patients and families. I am not one of them. Every once in a while I will bond with a patient/family, but I generally want the critically ill, sedated and intubated patients. I am very happy to leave all the psych-soc aspects to someone else, namely the excellent social workers and chaplains that I work with.

Patient I had Sunday and today was a big load. Not only is she struggling with acute complications of an insidious chronic disease, but she (and the nursing staff) have to bear the ministratons of a possibly learning disabled mother whose actions sometimes put her daughter at risk. The mother absolutely loves her daughter, and wants to do what's best for her, and that's part of what's so hard. Examples of seemingly innocuous actions that can be dangerous to the patient:

1) Moving parts of the bed. Ostensibly mother wanted to make her daughter more comfortable. Not a bad thing in and of itself. However, unless the nurse is present to adjust monitoring equipment, moving the patient changes the displayed values of the arterial blood pressure, which was critical because we were treating the patient for episodes of hypertension in order to prevent seizures and maintain good perfusion. Also, the patient was being sedated with fentanyl and versed drips, and was already sleeping. Moving her around keeps her awake, less consolidated periods of sleep contributes to ICU psychosis, and the patient was already on psych meds prior to this hospital admission. I had multiple discussions with the mother about asking the nursing staff about any changes before acting on her own.

2) Picking at the tape around IV and deep line sites. The patient has a variety of skin issues related to her therapy. When the nurse on Monday was changing the dressings, the mother insisted that she remove the sutures stabilizing one of the deep lines, and leave all the sites open to air. In such a compromised patient who requires complex care, deep lines are gold ... we nurses guard them carefully because these are the portals by which we can give lifesaving medicines. Peripheral IV's can be tenuous because chronic patients generally have weak veins that can't support high volume flow, cardiac pressors, or medications with extravasant properties. And yet, I have to constantly monitor the mother because she still picks at these dressings that protect the site and the line integrity.

3) Demanding immediate attention for non-urgent matters. This isn't so much a danger to the patient as it is a drain on the nurse's time and patience. At one point, as I was gathering the supplies I needed to enter the patient's room and provide care for the next half hour, the mother called out to me with a degree of urgency. I immediately stopped what I was doing, hurried to gown/mask/glove up, and entered the room to assess the situation. Turns out that she wanted to loosen the pulse-oximeter, which she felt was too tight. The pulse-ox measures the percentage of oxygen in the bloodstream via a special monitor that gets wrapped around an extremity like a finger (or toe, foot, ear lobe, and sometimes even a penis if perfusion is extremely bad ... assuming the patient is male). It needs to fit snuggly in order to give accurate readings, which are vital to an intubated patient. I had to re-explain all this to the mother (in Spanish) and reiterate that we change the site every 12 hours. Then I had to de-gown/glove/mask, wash my hands, return outside to gather all the things I needed, come back in, re-gown/glove/mask, wash my hands, and give meds and do treatments. This was one example among many.

We had a family conference in the early evening, to update the family on the patient's condition, allow the family a forum to ask questions and ventilate concerns with a translator and the main medical services, and to do some teaching with the mother. The patient has been followed through one of the specialty clinics for several years, so the attending physician, the social worker and nurse educator from that service joined the PICU team at the conference. The conference went well. At the end, the mother had asked some pertinent questions, expressed an understanding of the patient's status, and expressed her thanks and confidence in the work we were doing.

After the conference, the clinic social worker and nurse educator pulled me aside and shared that despite numerous hours of family education, the mother has a history of repeatedly asking the same questions, and that there was some concern that she had a learning disability.

Less than half an hour later, the mother was arguing with the ophthalmologist about whether a dilated eye exam was necessary. I explained the steps to her, but she was particularly obstinate. Translator services were again required. My attending physician had to get involved before the mother would back down.

Anyway, I left work that night with a huge smile on my face. Maybe it was because I was due for two days off. Maybe because I'm going to see some good friends on Thursday. Maybe because there is a new episode of House tonight. Or just maybe because I just had my annual review. Brusquely Warm, my manager, said that my evaluation was being signed by the nursing director. Apparently the ND has to sign all evals that score an excellent. Huge smile from me indeed. BW also said that I could try being more "warm and fuzzy" toward the families of patients. Wry smile from me indeed.

Cut the chat

Chitchatting is difficult for me. Beyond the fact that most social situations are not the proper forum in which to discuss events of real significance, there are not many people who I want to share my concerns with. Let's analyze the small talk that typically surfaces.

Hi there!

Hi yourself! How are you doing?

Good. You?

Oh, doing pretty good. What have you been up to?

Blah, blah, blah, blah ...

Blahs could involve any number of things ... movies seen, who's dating who, trips taken lately, happenings at work, etc etc. And the degree to which I'm interested in recounting my blahs, or hearing about someone else's blahs involve a complicated rubric of whether or not I'm invested in the person, how fascinating vs. genuine they really are, and whether or not there is the time/intent to have an indepth discussion.

Anyway, like I said, chitchatting is difficult for me. Discussion can also be difficult, but at least it's more fulfilling. So, cut the chat, and let's find some quality time to discuss, shall we?

Love those blues

Dancing again at Lindy Groove. So marvelous, I stayed until closing. XRay showed me some of the blues movement theory he learned down at the Rhythmic Arts Festival. This is right in line with the new venue he's starting way out in Pomona, the Speakeasy Blues. I think it's fabulous. Now that he's financially stable, etc etc, he's using his resouces to pursue and promote his love of dancing. This is something that we generally don't see in the lindy community, so it's great to behold.

Other mental snapshots ... over-rotated lindy whips with Roller Coaster, getting the courage to ask DaveG to dance and how smooth it was, slides with Silver Fox, body rolls with Darring, the comical and challenging dances I had with two beginners, and grooving with Vix.

I'm up to four and five songs in a row, after having gotten more determined about being fit. I remember when I first started working with Petey at the gym, my goal was to be able to dance all night. I'm not quite there yet, but getting ever closer. Hooked up my roommate's elliptical in the garage, and have been getting more cardio in. Working out to the mixed cd Petey made me so long ago. I think he'd be proud. At the very least I'd hope he'd be happy for me.

I walked some errands ...

I wish I could say that I loved running. I wish I were one of those carefree people who can throw on a pair of shoes and run like the wind with a ponytail like a waving standard. But I'm not. Sad to say, I would rather clean my bathroom than run.

However, I do like walking. One of my favorite ways to spend a day off is to walk a bunch of errands. I love that I live in an area of town where I'm within walking distance to so many things, and is safe enough to do so. 7-11, Seagull Book and the mail drop box are just a block away. The temple and church, Hollywood video and several Mexican foods joints are within a few minutes. The library, two shopping malls, doctor's offices and kinko's are a bit far, but reachable in 30 minutes or less on foot. Even the metro bus stop is just a block from my house. If it weren't for swing dancing and Outhouse, I could live a totally automobile-free life.

Went for a stroll the other day to return some dvds and enjoy the fresh air. Explored some of the quieter streets in my neighborhood. In an era of tract housing, it's fun to see such individualistic houses side by side ... mediterranean bungalows, pseudo-Tudor, and even the occasional pretentious plantation place fronted by awkward Greek columns.

My preference would be a little mediterranean cottage, white or a deep yellow with a bright tile roof. A little protected courtyard in front, with either bougainvillea or banana trees growing 'round about. As I contemplate it, I wonder if it's time to redirect money from the Roth (since I'm past the limit for penalty-free withdrawable amount) and start a save-for-a-downpayment account?

Anyway, also saw some lovely flora along the way. The purple flowers remind me of the junior high school field trip when I first saw these kind of blossoms. And the yellow glory of the dying leaves seemed a brilliant but poignant farewell to the blue skies that were soon to be covered with rain clouds.

Just like the good old days ...

Wonder Woman formed another expedition to the world of Catan. Let me just specify that we play the Cities and Knights version (once you do, you never go back to regular Settlers), although I usually just say Catan, because C&K sounds just too D&D for my comfort.

Precious, Superman, The Dot, BiggieD, White Boy, and Improv-er all joined in. It was just like the good old days, except we were missing FGITW and Viktor ... although Viktor was there in spirit, if not in body (as in: "C'mon Viktor, just make a move!"). Everyone brought food and munchies to share, and we just played and played for hours and hours. Superman sat out a couple games because he was feeling a little under the weather, and Improv-er sat out some because we had too many people at one point, and he's just nice that way.

Triumphal winners of the day were Improv-er, me, Superman and Precious. I think we even played a fifth game, in which case, Improv-er got another fifth of the crown (as BFF would say).

And, since I have them out, I might as well publish the Alternative Catan Progress Card List, synthesized by White Boy, Wonder Woman and Precious for yours truly, back in the olden days.

Yellow (Trade):
Brothel (IIII) - deactivate all knights
Schyster (II) - get out of negotiated trade
Trading Spaces (II) - trade locations of cities
10 Minutes in Back (IIIII) - score
Lemonade Stand (II) - get new can of lemonade

Blue (Politics):
Robin Hood (III) - take from rich, give to poor
Don't Ask/Don't Tell (II) - demote a knight
United Nations (III) - activate all knights but they can't defend
Irony (II) - meet the man of your dreams, then meet his beautiful wife
French Barbarians (III) - barbarians demand peace
Puppet Master (IIII) - you play opponent's hand
Hanging Chad (II) - lose victory point
Freaky Friday (III) - switch all pieces on board wih another player)

Green (Science):
Podiatrist (III)
Deforestation (II) - pick up two wood
Trojan Badger (IIII) - all wood goes to the bank
Sheep Clone (IIIII) - however many sheep in hand, take from bank
Cal Trans (II) - build road over ten turns
Desert Monopoly (III)

My ridiculous, sleepless NYE

Let me start by saying that this NYE was much better than last year's (it's hard to beat being in a bad mood, skipping out on three parties and staying at home).

Anyway, the evening started out pretty well. Catan and Chinese food are nothing to sneeze at. We had a game, and Superman won, which hasn't happened in a long time. I might have been a little miffed that he won on interim just as I was going to get the cloth metropolis, but we won't delve into that.

We then headed over to Kerri's place, where Lovely Lady and DW were hosting a NYE party. None of us were particularly in the mood for a large party, but when your friends perform the kindness of throwing a party, you do what you can to support them. It was actually fun. Fantastic food, raffle prizes, fun people, and even a chocolate fondue fountain. Ran into some old friends, acquaintances, and people who claimed to know me. I spent most of the time chatting, stirring my banged-in-the-cardoor birdfinger in a cup of ice, and resolving to stay away from strange trunk latches in 2006.

We left around 2300. I felt like I was entitled ... afterall, I had to be at work at 0700 this morning. Finger still hurt enormously, but I took some advil, bound it up, placed a cold pack on it, called Suzie with small-patient request, and was asleep well before midnight.

My incalculably rude finger woke me at 0230: throbbing, painful, erythematous and hot. And then I started to get worried. The last time something like this happened, I shrugged it off for the weekend until BackrubS told me to get to a doctor, who told me that I had a hairline fracture in my leg. I spent the next six weeks with my leg straight up a wall, watching dvd's upside down, and dreaming about swingdancing. Anyway, with visions of being mocked by cute ER doctors, I hied me off to the UCLA Emergency Department for a little piece of mind.

The ED was great. I was in and out in one hour and 45 minutes. I think that must be a record. Of course, they may have just wanted to clear out the space I took up on the waiting room, but I like to think that they understood that a nurse with an injured hand is a nurse doing paperwork. Whisked through triage, was examined by a handsome doctor, took a couple of films (surprisingly, I had to request a lead apron from the XR tech!), and I was on my way. Dr. SB is probably still laughing off his head at this silly PICU RN, but I had all the peace of mind I needed to suck it in and come to work on the first day of 2006 ... on only four and a half hours (3 + 1.5) of sleep.

When life hands you lemons, make lemon shaved ice.

Went ice skating today. Alone. In the afternoon. Despite having lost my punch card. The place was over crowded. The ice was awful ... carved up with tons of shavings piled up. My knee felt stiff and a little achy. And as I stepped out onto it, all my cares melted away.

Something about being on the ice makes me feel like a 10 year old again. Is it the uncertainty of reaching out and grasping nothing but air? The brisk chill emanating from the surface that causes my nose to get red? The fear of falling and getting a big wet spot on my bum? The delight of finding new ways to work my body?

Whatever it is, I cease to worry about all the adult things in my life, and bend my thoughts to more immediate concerns: moving to the music, avoiding crashing into other skaters, and staying upright. And, as I concentrate on skating, life seems to shift into sharper focus. Answers to questions present themselves effortlessly for my approval. Dramatic situations turn comedic,causing my to laugh out loud. Sweet memories bring a smile to my face. And I can live entirely in the present and enjoy it. The present ... what a gift.

Stopped after an hour. Already I feel the beginning of a small blister on my left ankle. And I'm sore. However, as I exit the rink, I carry a brisk glow in my heart that delights in the face of the California sun.

A Swinging Christmas

After a very long dry spell, this has been a swinging week. Danced at Paladino's on Tuesday. Then, went over to Pasadena for the Lindy Groove Christmas party ... one of those bi-annual parties where they host live music. This week was Barbara Morrison and the Geoffry Aymar band. Absolutely fabulous. Met up with some old swing friends, and made some new ones.

I say swing friends as opposed to just friends because it's a strange community for me. It's a diverse crowd; actors, architects, optometrists, receptionists, computer game programmers, consultants, social workers, firemen, web designers, nurses, doctors, retirees, students, professors, event planners, etc etc. Generally swing friends, except for maybe a couple, don't cross over into other areas of my life. When I go dancing, it's ALL about the dancing. I don't want to chitchat. I don't want to try refreshments. I don't want to bother with small talk. I just want to dance. And if I'm too out of breath to dance, I want to watch. It's not as if I'm ever really in the mood for small talk ... I get this from my mother. Generally I can tolerate chitchat when social situations require it, but I just have no patience for it when the music's on.

When the music's on, I just want to move to it, and discover those magical places where creativity blooms in the space between me and my partner. It's not about the huge aerials or flashy moves. What I crave are those smooth moves and the plays on rhythm and breaks that are so delicious within a tight partnership; those times when I can't help but widen my eyes and compliment my partner on some great move, and vice versa. So much of what I love about partner dancing are those little moments of spontaneous creation ... like an inside joke that only we get.

It was a fantastic night. I wore my lucky skirt (with the fringe!), and danced to my heart's content. I tore myself away when my cheeks started feeling cramped from smiling all night. WHen I got to the car, it was 0030! Today I'm back at work, feeling a little worse for the wear on only four hours of sleep ... but even then, I can't regret it.