The Hawaii Diaries - Day One

Below is part one of the long-awaited chronicles of our trip to Hawaii (yes, I know everyone has been waiting for this with bated breath). Unfortunately, this is the most boring part -- it's just about the long long long flight to get there -- but you've gotta start somewhere. Happy reading!

Friday, November 19

After eight long months of waiting, my parents and I were finally on our way to Hawaii. Although I had never been there and I had always wanted to go, self-absorbed as usual, I hadn’t even really anticipated the trip, being too worried about whether my recent decision to become self-employed was going to work out or whether life as I knew it had come to a complete halt. But now the day was here, although far too early, and I was happy to be going.

It took about 0.05 seconds for anxiety, everyone’s regular travel companion, to appear. At about 5:45 am my mother appeared in the stairwell, bleary-eyed, cup of coffee in hand.

“Can we leave at 7 am instead of 7:30? I couldn’t sleep and I’m worried because we don’t know the toll road that well and we’ve never used that parking lot …”

“Sure, Mom,” I said. It was way too early to even talk.

7 am rolled around, and both parents were already in a bit of panic mode. The plane was taking off at 10:20. We only had 3 hours and 20 minutes to get to the airport, park, take a shuttle, check bags, which most certainly were going to get lost, and make our plane. Since it took about an hour to get to the airport, that left two hours and twenty minutes for everything else to go wrong.

Turns out, I had to admit the extra time did come in handy. The skycap at Denver International simply could not comprehend that I too was going from Denver to Kona and not getting off in Los Angeles. He checked two of our bags only to LA, so after holding up the check-in line, which grew longer and longer behind us, we had to go to a special agent to fix his error. By now, even I, probably the most experienced flyer among us, felt that if our bags all made it to Kona it would be a minor miracle.

Even with that little mishap, we arrived at our gate with time to kill and everyone ready for breakfast. We ate, waited at the gate and boarded without incident – except the McDonald’s counter worker not understanding my mother’s dire need for coffee.

The plane from Denver to LA took off right on time and we landed early. First leg completed. We had two hours to kill so we drank beers in a microbrewery in the United Airlines terminal.


By the time we finally got on the plane, of course, some gadget on the pilot’s console was broken and we ended up sitting on the tarmac for an hour. The guy next to me, who had a beer belly and a penchant for Coors Light, kept asking “Are we there yet?” in a loud voice, ostensibly to entertain his son. I was pretty sure he was doing it specifically to annoy me, because clearly the entire world revolves around me.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally pushed away from the gate. We were on our way!

The plane ride was long – 5 hours and 15 minutes – and often bumpy. We had ravioli for dinner (not bad) and the movie was King Arthur (extremely bad). By the time we landed in Kona, it felt like I had done nothing else in my entire life besides travel to Hawaii.

But getting off the plane, 80 degree weather and humidity greeted us. The sweet scent of orchid leis wafted in the air and tank-top-wearing, sunburned people were everywhere, meeting friends and family. And best of all, all six pieces of our luggage, golf clubs and all, arrived intact. It all boded well for what was to come.

It was pitch black outside and we couldn’t really see a thing, except the flowers on the trees around the airport. It’s strange to arrive somewhere you have never been and have no idea what it looks like. Didn’t matter. After five minutes, I was ready to stay on forever.

The rest of the evening – it was about 8 pm in Hawaii by the time we rented our car and got it packed up – was spent checking in and getting groceries. We ended up with a perfectly sweet, two-bedroom (no pull-out couch in the living room for me! And my own bathroom!) unit in a flower-splashed area. Dinner was healthy -- some Maui potato chips and Coronas. It was 2 am for all of us and we were way tired. But tomorrow we were going to see where we actually were, what the golf course looked like and where the beach was. Sleep came easy.

New blog feature

Just a brief notice to the few of you who are regular readers: I just added a feature, to be found on the right, under the links to other blogs, that allows you to subscribe to the blog by e-mail. This means that you will be sent all new posts by e-mail and you won't have to come to the blog via the web to see what I'm blathering on about now.

Garden State

Natalie Portman and Zach Braff in Garden State.

I went to see Zach Braff's Garden State this evening at the Boulder Theatre (same place I saw the Warren Miller ski movie just a couple of weeks ago). I got there late, but just in time for the start of the film, which was only $6. And I was welcomed with veggie chili or chicken gumbo and an open bar. What could be better in a movie theatre! And even though I've heard nothing but great things about the movie, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

Braff's much-heralded indie film reminded me of Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation. Both are talky, slow and intimate. Garden State is hilarious, random and moving; Lost in Translation is quiet, lonely and subtly romantic. Both movies are intimate portraits of just a few characters. They both admit that life is random, but full of fate and mystery -- the "infinite abyss" as Braff calls it. They both recognize the shallowness of glamour and fame, and how much more valuable it is to find real love and a sense of place, no matter where one may actually be.

As human beings (or maybe just as Americans) we are all self-involved enough to believe that our one, single life is important. These small movies make the most of that belief. Our lives, our loves and our choices matter, according to these filmmakers. When we leave the theatre, no matter how boring and routine our day was, we believe in our innate greatness and beauty. We believe that magic might lurk around the next corner: we might go to a doctor's appointment or take an anonymous business trip to Tokyo and find the love of our life. We might suddenly decide to let go of lives that weren't going in desired directions and bravely pursue our real dreams. And we might find that we were wearing our real dreams all along like Dorothy's ruby slippers; we need only click our heels to realize that we were always standing in them in the first place.

The wonder of "small" movies such as Garden State and Lost in Translation is their ability to distill simple truths into broad statements about humanity. Natalie Portman's Sam in Garden State chatters like a valley girl; but she buries her umpteenth dead hamster with wisdom beyond her years. She's able to shed tears for Zach Braff's Large with ease, something Large wishes he could do. He falls in love with her open heart and spontaneous nature; she falls in love with his vulnerability and honesty. They are strangers who instantly know each other, not unlike Scarlett Johanssen and Bill Murray in Lost in Translation. Neither movie uses sex to make its point, and that's what makes them both so romantic and delicate.

Both movies explore the notion that there is someone for everyone. And after you watch them, you remember that some people immediately feel like home, while others never do. It's that feeling that makes you believe in fate and destiny, in soul mates and karma. That some people should get married one week after meeting and others should finally break up already. And it's that feeling, rare as it is, that gives life depth and light and hope.

The wonders of travel

Boulder, Colo., behind my parents' house, around 10 am on Monday, Nov. 29


Keahou Bay, Kona, Hawaii, at sunset

Just a few days ago, I was standing on this dock, watching the sun fall into the turquoise ocean. Today, I am watching snow fall on a town blanketed in white. While I do love 80-degree weather, snow has its own charms. And I've flown a ton in my life, but it still amazes me that you can be in one place and then in another practically in the blink of an eye.

All I know is that the skiing is gonna be good this year ...

Bush Taps Gutierrez for Commerce

Bush has made another cabinet choice, and it is another minority with a very interesting background. Kellogg CEO Carlos Gutierrez, who will become Commerce Secretary, succeeding Don Evans, was born in Cuba. His family fled the country when he was only six years old, and he began his career with Kellogg's in Mexico City.

One person commented that regardless of Condoleeza Rice's background, she supports an untenable war and therefore she should not be supported. I agree that the war in Iraq (but not in Afghanistan, which I wish had happened as soon as the Taliban showed up) is untenable and unwinnable and I completely understand not supporting Rice as a result. (and I'm so happy anyone is willing to comment!) Still, I have to say that I really appreciate Bush's picks for these top positions. If he puts a gay person in a cabinet role, then we'll really be getting somewhere, but that seems unlikely considering the administration's ridiculous position on gay marriage.

Following is the Wall Street Journal's early posting on Gutierrez. Also, watch this space because postings and pics from our trip to Kona, Hawaii are coming soon ...

Bush Taps Kellogg CEO
As Commerce Secretary

A WALL STREET JOURNAL ONLINE NEWS ROUNDUP
November 29, 2004 11:26 a.m.

WASHINGTON -- President Bush on Monday nominated Cuban native Carlos Gutierrez, who has been chief executive officer of Kellogg Co., to head the Commerce Department.

If confirmed by the Senate, Mr. Gutierrez would succeed Commerce Secretary Donald Evans, a Texas confidant of Mr. Bush's, who announced his resignation shortly after the Nov. 2 election.

The president announced his selection at the White House, calling Mr. Gutierrez "a visionary executive" and "one of America's most respected business leaders."

"We never imagined that this country would give me this great opportunity," Mr. Gutierrez told Bush. "I believe passionately in your leadership and the direction you've set."

Mr. Gutierrez was born in Cuba and his family fled the country in 1960 when he was 6 years old.

He is known as a charismatic and approachable executive, widely admired in business circles for reviving a flagging company.

Mr. Gutierrez joined Kellogg in 1975, beginning his career in Mexico City as a sales and marketing trainee for the Battle Creek, Mich., cereal giant.

Mr. Gutierrez subsequently held a number of jobs at headquarters and ran Kellogg's Canadian and Asian Pacific operations before being named president and then chairman and CEO.

He took over four years ago when Kellogg's cereal sales were sagging and soon acquired Keebler Foods to diversify and boost profits. He also put together an international top management team, which includes an Indonesian, an Italian and two Australians, as well as Americans.

Mr. Gutierrez is the first new member of Mr. Bush's economics team for his second term. Mr. Bush's chief economics adviser, Stephen Friedman, announced last week that he is leaving. Other changes also are anticipated.

Condie

Condoleeza Rice

I’m not necessarily a big fan of Condoleeza Rice, mainly because she seems like a robot that has been programmed to do the Bush Administration’s wishes. I wonder about her personal life, which I assume she does not have, and I’m concerned that she doesn’t actually appear to have any emotions whatsoever.

That said, I’m suprisingly pleased about her nomination to the position of Secretary of State. With Colin Powell paving the way for African-Americans, it’s a further indication that race and gender barriers are falling at the highest levels. Granted, Condie is really a white Republican man trapped in a black woman’s body, but that’s okay. In fact, that’s probably how it should be. Judge a person by his or her values, work, accomplishments, skills and talents. By his or her words and actions and how he or she spends her time. It’s by those measures, and her clear loyalty, that Bush is giving Condie this promotion. Her race and her gender haven’t even come into question.

I don’t agree with her politics, but I admire her ambition, drive, loyalty and unbelievable work ethic. And I salute her for breaking all sorts of barriers, and doing it with grace and style.

Even though I was highly disappointed that Powell ended up agreeing to be the administration’s salesman on Iraq, delivering a false bill of goods to the U.N., and damaging his credibility in the process, I’m a bit sad to see him go. I saw him speak publicly before he became Secretary of State and he was amazing. Frank and funny, off-the-cuff and relaxed – he was born to speak before people. He’s a natural pitchman, and at his best, he could probably convince anyone to do anything (except perhaps delegates at the U.N.). Powell has been a role model for many, and I think in his post-Administration role he can rebuild hs image. Before he joined the Administration, Powell was doing a lot of valuable foundation and charitable work. To that he should return, and the world will benefit from it.

In the meantime, the Bush Administration has to be commended. It’s first two appointments are very high-profile minorities. And that’s definitely a good thing.

Our Hero

CU WR Ron Monteilh runs in a 64-yard pass to win the game in the last five seconds


Fans storm the field to congratulate him

All right, I'm not really a big football fan, but I enjoy a good game as much as anyone. By chance today I ended up at the CU game, and it turned out to be one of the team's biggest games in years.

"I don't remember being part of a team that won one like this," said embattled Buffs coach Gary Barnett, according to the AP, who ranked the victory up there with Colorado's 62-36 thrashing of Nebraska three years ago.

This fall, I've had a knack of ending up in the right place during some major sports happenings. Specifically, I was in New York City when the Yankees lost to the Boston Red Sox. Then I was in New England during the entire week that the Sox finally won the World Series.

Even though I'm not really a Sox fan or part of that community (really I'm more of a Cards fan by genetic and geographic disposition), it was cool to experience Sox fandom at the best time in modern history. Sports teams bring communities together and there's something about being a part of that energy that feels comforting, fulfilling.

Boulder is a relatively smallish town, and what I love about it is that most people who live here do so by choice. They are usually passionate about this place. They love -- and I mean really love -- the mountains, the lifestyle and all the activities that come along with living nestled up to the Rockies. On Friday night I went to Warren Miller's 1001th extreme ski movie, Impact. The Boulder Theatre--an old, funky place right off the Pearl Street mall--was packed with fans.

Honestly, Warren Miller has been making these ski films since 1949. I saw several of them way back in high school. They don't consist of much more than some seriously whacked-out skiing set to music. On Friday, I greeted almost every new scene with a "holy s&%t," and I felt a little nauseous watching people stand at the tops of mountains, peering down steep cliffs, preparing to shush on down.

Sitting next to me were a group of nine-year-olds. Not too far away were their parents. Everyone from college kids to yuppies to ski bums (OK, these are all sort of the same people) filled the hall, cheering wildly. They all just wanted to see some good skiing and get psyched to hit the hill themselves. That crazy love of skiing, just strapping on boards and going downhill in the snow, is surprisingly addictive.

Hometown football is the same. Saturday's game was an epic football battle, with the score going back and forth and back and forth until CU finally wrapped it up in the last five seconds with a perfectly thrown pass. Thousands of people came together to cheer their warriors on. I didn't even know what CU's record was going into the game, but I was on my feet with everyone else in the fourth quarter. The marching band played, and the cheerleaders danced. Students stood shirtless in freezing weather and screamed wildly for their team. Those same students stormed the field to congratulate the young players, taking down the goalposts in the process.

On most levels, it was just a stupid football game. But on a larger level, a football game is a unifying event. And feeling connected is important, more important than I think people realize. It's one big reason I came back to Boulder, my home town. I wanted to feel, once again, that I was part of a community united by passion and love. Growing up here, I felt that people were involved in their lives -- their entire lives -- and they lived them with balance. I didn't know anyone consumed by work. What's more, I didn't know anyone who was consumed by fear of losing that work, and therefore working all the more, chasing their tails in an endless cycle. I don't remember being surrounded by people who lived in fear; I remember being surrounded by people who were engaged. And I felt like a solid part of it all.

It's not the event that connects us that's important--whether it be football or skiing, an election or a wedding--but the reminder that we are all connected.

That didn't take long

White House counsel Alberto Gonzales, Bush's nominee for Attorney General

The White House announced this afternoon that Alberto Gonzales will be Bush's nominee to the post of Attorney General. The move elevates Gonzales, already the highest-placed Hispanic in the administration, to a much more public job.

Illustrating how much Senate Democrats disliked Ashcroft, Sen. Charles Schumer (D-N.Y.) said : "We will have to review his record very carefully, but I can tell you already he's a better candidate than John Ashcroft," according to the Associated Press.

The good news is that Bush is continuing to acknowledge that running a multicultural country requires nominating multicultural officials. But Gonzales is a close Bush confidant, having worked side-by-side with him in the White House (think Josh and Toby in The West Wing) so it's unlikely he's going to operate independently.

Gonzales' job will be to push through judicial nominations, work to renew expiring portions of the Patriot Act, and to fight terror and protect our borders (a tricky task for a Latino from Texas) here at home. In many ways, Gonzales will have a much easier job than did Ashcroft: with 54 Republicans in the Senate, he has the majority on his side. But the trick with the Senate is that any one member can put an indefinite and anonymous hold on any thing he or she wants, including nominations. A 60-member supermajority can overturn that hold, but it's rarely invoked.

Gonzales has an interesting background - he was one of eight children and his parents were poor immigrants. He's been working for George Bush for more than ten years, and was one of Bush's key counsels way back in the Texas Governor's Mansion. So cronyism prevails once more in the Bush White House (OK, in all White Houses really. OK, in all places of business).

Let's see what happens next ...

Ding Dong, the witch is dead

Ashcroft testifies before Congress in 2003

Well, he's not really a witch, but Attorney General John Ashcroft has resigned. That's either wonderful news, because it means someone more reasonable and less crazily conservative will get that job (probably shouldn't count on that from the Bush administration). Or it's terrible news because someone even more conservative and worse, more competent, will get the job.

Ashcroft was at least partly responsible for the gem known as The Patriot Act, which gives the government permission to electronically snoop wherever it wants to. He was a big proponent of sweeping everyone who looked Arabic into prison and keeping them there for months with very little indication of wrongdoing. He also was personally offended by the bare breast of a statue that stood behind him during Justice Department briefings, spending thousands on a drape to cover her appalling Greek nudity.

The fact that Ashcroft even won the post was surprising, considering that he wasn't a popular member of the Senate and he wasn't even that well-liked in his home state, Missouri. He lost his bid for reelection to a dead man, Gov. Mel Carnahan, who died tragically in a small plane crash with other members of his family just weeks before the 2000 election.

According to CNN and the New York Times, possible candidates to replace him are Rudy Giuliani, former New York Mayor, Marc Racicot, former Bush campaign manager, and Alberto Gonzales, White House counsel. The most-favored candidate is former assistant AG Larry Thompson. Thompson just took a lucrative post at Pepsi, so why would he come back unless a) he really believes he owes the country his public service or, more likely, b) his ego likes the idea of being on the news every other day. And who would blame him? Ego makes the world go round. Or at least places like Washington, New York and Los Angeles.

President Bush recently joked with Thompson during a celebration of the anniversary of the Patriot Act in Buffalo: "We miss you over there. Don't get too comfortable up here."

The administration is supposed to announce a successor fairly soon, indicating that he (or she) has been lined up for a while. It was well-known that Ashcroft was going to resign, since neither he nor Bush apparently was happy with Ashcroft in the job. Ashcroft was too controversial and polarizing for even Bush.

Thompson wouldn't arrive with a squeaky clean record. According to the Times: "Mr. Thompson, who has been a visiting professor at the University of Georgia law school and a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution in Washington, came under scrutiny in 2002 when a conservative public interest group, Judicial Watch, filed a lawsuit that accused Mr. Thompson of helping artificially inflate the stock of the Providian Financial Corporation when he was a director there. Mr. Thompson, who made at least $1 million from the sale of his stock, denied any wrongdoing. "

If Martha Stewart does it, she goes to jail. If administration officials do it, they get promoted.

In any case, this is an opportunity for the Bush Administration to install an AG that understands both the need to fight terrorism and the need to preserve the American people's constitutionally-given rights to make their own decisions about how they exercise their civil liberties. I wish I had more faith that this is an opportunity that will be taken.

Boulder: Lovely views, hideous shoes

multi-colored Crocs

Whenever I tell people I’m from Boulder, the following questions are asked immediately: Who killed Jon Benet? (like I, or the Boulder Police Department, knows the answer to this) Was Mork and Mindy’s house really located in Boulder? (yes, on Pine Street. We used to take tourists by there) Do you ski? (duh)

What no one asks is why people in Boulder insist on wearing such horrible footwear.

A common phenomenon here is the destruction of a perfectly good outfit by the selection of absolutely horrid shoes. For example, a woman will be wearing a black skirt, black tights, cute purple or pink jacket and then these hideous chunky black shoes from 1970. Birkenstocks are still worn with everything, Tevas are the shoe of choice for all outfits from workaday wear to Sunday best and heels almost never happen. No self-respecting Manolo Blahnik or Jimmy Choo would be caught dead here.

Other trends have made their way to Boulder. Many a woman can be seen sitting in a bar, sipping her Cosmopolitan or Mojito and sporting her low-rise flare jeans with her thong showing and half her ass hanging out. This isn’t really a good thing, but at least it shows some fashion consciousness. Those off-the-shoulder Britney Spears shirts are still popular as are the reborn ponchos from the 70s. (There has been much debate among my friends and me as to whether these ponchos are cute. I say yes, although with my bust line, I’m smart enough to steer clear because I would look like I was wearing a tent. But I have other friends who are completely opposed. Any thoughts on the poncho trend out there?)

Somehow all these trends and more are supported in ultra-liberal Boulder, but the designer shoe, the pointy toe, the stiletto heel – absolutely not. Nowhere to be found.

The latest shoe craze in Boulder can be seen above. Known as the Croc, these shoes go for about $30 a pair and are worn with all outfits in all places. They are sort of the “emperor wears no clothes” of shoes. Meaning that no one has told the hordes of people sporting Crocs that they are the most hideous piece of attire to greet footwear since the Birkenstock arrived. (Don’t get me wrong, I wore Birks too, but I eventually had to admit that big, suede-ish, foot-flappy shoes aren’t the most attractive or feminine. Still, they were great when I was seeing Dead shows and wearing jean shorts with long underwear, another look happily buried in the early 90s.)

Here’s a blurb about Crocs from the summithut.com web site:

"The popular Beach ™ model was the first shoe introduced under the Crocs brand Footwear label and has been a major part of the footwear industry's evolution towards comfort. It's made from a patented closed-cell resin, not hot and uncomfortable plastic or rubber. It features an orthotic foot bed, multiple ventilation ports, a slip-resistant sole, and weighs only ounces! Stand on your feet all day without pain! The functionality and price make it a great choice for people who love comfortable shoes. They come in six sizes and twelve colors that make them a fun fashion statement for young and old alike, with or without socks. You'll need a couple of pairs to match every outfit! Try a pair in any color and we bet you'll be hooked!"

OK, let me interpret some of the key phrases there: “People who love comfortable shoes” means those who don’t mind that they are the ugliest things ever to enter your closet; and “you’ll need a couple of pairs to match every outfit” or really just one pair that doesn’t match any outfit because these shoes do not match anything that should be worn by a reasonable human being.

You know, what’s going to happen now is there is going to be a blog-generated run on these stupid shoes and soon the entire country will be wearing Crocs. Women in Manhattan will trade in their Choos for Crocs. Chic bars will be filled with women sporting sea green rubber clogs. Visiting French diplomats will take home red and yellow mini-versions for their kids, and that’s who should really be wearing these shows, the French. They would look great paired with pink and green satin jackets with non-sensical English phrases printed all over them.

While the shoes are ineluctably bad, don’t even get me started on the hairstyles here in Boulder … let’s just say the longer and rattier the dreadlocks the better for much of the population. I am certain entire small-animal populations are residing in people’s hair. And if the rats and squirrels lose their way, there’s plenty of room leftover for them in the Crocs.

Oprah for President

Oprah in Africa

When the Boston Red Sox won the pennant for the first time since 1918, I was sure it indicated that a new world order was upon us. Fascism is dead! I declared. For surely, the Yankees and their endless winning streak are the closest thing to fascism besides the Bush Administration that anyone has seen lately.

And when the exit polls started coming back with the positive news—Kerry is trending ahead!—Democrats spirits were palpably lifted, the liberal media started sounding a little giddy, and Hollywood rejoiced.

Alas, alack, it was not to be.

Those swing-state voters—whether by paper, by touch screen, or by hanging chad—let us down once again. And so it is to be four more years of Bush, four more years in which the Bush-Cheney-Rumsfeld political operation runs our country like their own personal multi-national corporation, four more years in which we send our sons and daughters to die for lies, to search for weapons that aren’t there, to make the world safe so Bush’s Saudi allies and Cheney’s domestic interests can plunder Iraq for their own economic ends.

To that I say: Hilary in 08. Or Obama. Or, God willing, Oprah. (At least she would give us cars, but she is far too smart to bother with all that.) Or someone we’ve yet to get to know. But give us a leader who cares about the welfare of the people, who guides us with light and not with self-interest, who truly wants to make the entire country a better place to live, not just the neighborhoods where he and his father’s cronies reside.

Does such a leader exist in this world? Does the society we’ve created allow such a person to rise to the top of our political system? Or are we the victim or our own skewed values? People driven by bottomless greed and an insatiable need for power end up running the country and its powerful corporations because no one else has the energy to do it. People who are fueled by love and the need to help others are teaching school, running non-profits and foundations, going abroad to help the world’s neediest. The people who should be running the country, the people filled with true inner wisdom and spiritual guidance are doing other things because they couldn’t or wouldn’t survive the process we’ve installed.

So we have no one to blame but ourselves for the situation we find ourselves in today. We let fear guide us all the way to Iraq, and fear direct our hands in the voting booths. We let fear choose our paths in life, pick who we marry, keep us in jobs laden with drudgery and disrespect. Perhaps if we let our lives be guided by love and faith, our leaders can be guided in those ways as well. Until then, we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got, somehow hope that women, gays, and minorities (basically anyone non-male, non-white and non-straight) will have any rights by the end of this term, and we’ll have to cross our fingers that the entire Supreme Court doesn’t keel over between now and 2008.

Improvements coming soon

My wonderful friends--and they shall be named: Kate Amaral, Joyce Dillon Reinecke and Tina Haskell Summers--got me a digital camera for my birthday so look here for actual pictures of personal activities sometime in the very near future. (Read: when I figure out how the hell to use the camera) I only wish I had it with me during all my recent travels because there were so many great moments and so few photos taken. But I am going to Hawaii for Thanksgiving so at least I'll have it for that.

Exiled in Newport

I just got back from a two and a half week tour of the East Coast and I’m sure there’s one million things I could write about that whole journey if I really put my mind to it.

However, the first thing that stands out is this: when you turn 35 and go to weddings, you are exiled to the single-person outback table. As one of perhaps three single women at a beautiful wedding in Newport, R.I., I was a bit distressed to learn that I had been placed at the “single and cool couples who are friends of the groom” table. Moreover, upon hearing of this slight, I was informed not to worry because my table would be adjacent to the people I really wanted to sit with, people who heretofore should be referred to as “people I know.” But my table was clear on the other side of the room, nowhere near to the so-called people I know. So I was forced to strike up a lovely conversation with the charming, single man sitting next to me. See how those married people scheme?

Still, I did feel a bit like I had been sold a bill of goods, like I had been placed at the leftover table (“Where should we put these people? No one will go anywhere with them, who on earth would want to sit next to them”) and then spun like the situation was actually great because I would be able to meet this plethora of available men, ignoring the implications when it became clear that one of the two of them was a self-proclaimed cheerleader living in San Francisco.

That is fine, I suppose, but I place it up there with other discriminations that occur when you are single. For example, when you and another couple visit your married friends, you always get the couch because you are the only person who fits there. Nevermind that there are no blinds and no heat, the couch is yours because well, there’s really no place else for you to sleep. So, if you want to visit friends with dignity, find a partner because otherwise it’s the couch or the blow-up mattress from Target for you.

At weddings, you might as well stamp a big S on your forward and approach single men by saying “hello, you are probably gay, but I am single and I was wondering if you wanted to hook up and then possibly get married and have children. I’m crossing the threshhold of available fertility, you see.” I’m sure that would drive any potential single man away screaming, but at least it would put out there what everyone thinks already. Plus I wonder why women, as soon as they have the slightest notion that marriage is anywhere in their future, immediately banish from their mind forever what it was like to be single. Nevermind the horrible indignities they suffered attending weddings as a single woman themselves; no, now they are all grown up and married and isn’t every single woman just dying to catch a bouquet? When my 25-year-old sister got married first of the three of us (something I always knew would happen because she had the boy thing handled from a very early age) I of course caught the bouquet. My cohort and fellow garter belt catcher: Jackson, my 7-year-old cousin. So that’s how that goes.

On second thought, if I ever get married – an opportunity that my uncle and my grandmother already clearly closed for me several years ago, because they both got married as teenagers and were grandparents in their mid-thirties – I too will banish from my mind all the horrors of singledom and I will gleefully hand over the couch to anyone left who may still be single. Ha ha! I will think, sucker! You still have your freedom and independence, but you have to sleep on the g.d. couch.

On third thought, maybe these single-person indignities are really married people’s way of getting a moment of revenge on people who were smart enough to stay single and forego all this couplehood silliness. Hmmm, that’s a whole other way of looking at the situation I hadn’t really thought of.The one salvation of the Newport wedding: no throwing of the bouquet. Thank god me and the two other single women did not have to stand with the six-year-olds and fight for the bouquet. Especially because I’m the shortest of the three and I didn’t have a shot in hell.

When the extremely minor makes me extremely happy

Today, in a fit of obsession-compulsion, I cleaned up my e-mail in-box to the point of having nothing in it. This may seem minor, but I went from some 700 read, discarded and holding e-mails to zero. None at all. Nothing in the e-mail box. That is a serious accomplishment. Nothing has felt so satisfying in, well, at least days.

Anyway, I know this is an extremely boring post, but I had to tell someone.

Branson

OK, I apologize to Katherine for not updating the blog sooner. You would think I would have tons to write about since I just got back from a ten-day trip to Branson, Mo., and St. Louis to visit sister Ashley and all the clan in the Gateway to the West. And actually I probably do have tons to write about, but I think it’s too much. Usually I just blather on about one simple topic – Aron Ralston, say – but after ten days, there’s just too much to say. Plus I got a cold immediately upon returning and I didn’t even feel like getting out of bed, much less blogging.

Of course, I must note that Branson is a wacky place. I’ve been going there my whole life, so I knew this already, but spending a week there of semi-real-life was a trip. Plus it’s crazy that my sister pretty much now lives at the family reunion. We even went over and sat on the dock where we normally hang out during the biannual event, and it wasn’t the same. In fact, it was weird to both of us that Indian Point even existed in our absense. It’s like it should materialize out of the mist like Avalon or something and then return from whence it came until we gather there again.

Anyhoo, since Ashley has done a fair amount of networking in her year in Springfield/Branson, we were like the queens of free tickets. We saw two shows – Shepherd of the Hills and Stuck on the 70s – and went to Silver Dollar City and rode the upside-down roller coaster, all for free. This is a serious accomplishment because Shepherd of the Hills is like $35, Silver Dollar City is $40 and Stuck on the 70s would have been $30. That gets real expensive real quick, especially when you watch Shepherd of the Hills and realize that it was good when you were eight, but now it sort of sucks if you’ve ever seen any decent theatre whatsoever. Ashley of course remembered most of the lines and we both had quite a good time as she repeated them in tones of great jest.

For the large majority of you that have never been to Branson, let me explain quickly. Branson is like the Las Vegas of country music and cheesy family activities, although it is quite beautiful, with green forests and warm lakes and gorgeous golf courses. My family has been going there for 20+ years for our reunions, although we mostly hang at the compound, swim in the lake and maybe play golf. We’re not big country music fans.

One central truth of Branson is this: Wherever you want to go, you are probably going to have to take a tram to get there. We went to play mini-golf and had to take a tram for crikey’s sake. (I putted 3 over – my best golf score ever!)

As a complete and total side note: Ashley said that for Halloween she was going to forego using the holiday as an excuse to dress sexy, and instead use it as an excuse to be extremely rude. In that vein, she said she planned to dress as one of the women from What Not to Wear and go around saying things to people like: “My God, you are horribly fat. You must go on a diet immediately.” And “What on earth are you wearing? Why would you ever think a tummy-baring, magenta tiger-stripe halter-top would look good with a huge belly like yours?” And so forth. You could get slapped upside the head a lot, but it could still be terribly rewarding.

More later on something perhaps more relevant, but more likely less.

There's an ad at the bottom of my blog ...

that says Aliens Want Your Brains. I opted in to the whole ad thing for the promise of great riches due to idle passersby dropping virtual coins into my online bank account. Which happens, right? But maybe I've sold my soul. Hmmmm, let me ponder that a moment. And my conclusion is ... Oh well. A blogger's gotta eat.

True Life: I'm obsessed with a six-year-old MTV show

Anna Nicole Smith "lookalike" at a trade show in LA.

OK, MTV's True Life has been on the air since 1998, but I'm just now becoming obsessed. That's how not teen pop culture I am. This morning, while actually trying to find Charmed on TNT with absolutely no luck, I again wandered upon True Life (harken back several posts ago for the first reference). In today's episode, three people are living double lives and priding themselves on the fact that "nobody knows."

Note to people who say they are living a double life yet are simultaneously shooting a documentary for MTV: This is a surefire way to blow your cover.

Of course, by the end of the show, all three people had actually blown their cover, and maybe that was the point. The three in question were Chris, a gay guy who acted straight half the time and thought he had his best friends fooled; Mitch, an amateur adult-industry entrepreneur who had two girlfriends unbeknownst to either of them; and Jeannine, above, who looks enough like Anna Nicole Smith to fool the stupid tourists in Hollywood.

What's so excellent about documentaries like these is that they are like very subtle reality shows in that the joke is completely on the subjects, but the stories are so factually laid out that no one can complain later that they looked like an ass on TV. I think it's called "hanging yourself with your own rope."

Chris was so blatantly gay that any tuned-in girl worth her salt could have picked him up miles away. Drunk, insecure girls seemed ignorant to his vibe, but I guess when you are 2o and out and wanting nothing more than a guy to hit on you so you can convince yourself that you really are pretty, you aren't all that picky. Chris dropped the gay bomb on best friend Holly by the end of the show. He ended up the surprised one -- she was just wondering when he was finally going to 'fess up.

Mitch was the most interesting one, in my opinion, but that wasn't because he had two girlfriends. It was because A) he was running this amateur porn business out of his house and these cute girls would just show up and get naked. How did he get them to do that? Are cute girls dying to get naked and in front of some hickboy's camera for no real reason? B) He was shocked, shocked that if he had been cheating on his girlfriend, then perhaps she could be cheating on him. It never fails to amuse me how people get caught in their own double standards and then are so upset about it. C) Later, Mitch went up to a gorgeous girl in a bar and told her he needed to pour liquor on her stomach and drink off of it because his girlfriend might be cheating on him. And she just laid down on the nearest table and poured booze all over her belly for him to lick off. Easy as pie. I don't know why Mitch even cared that his girlfriend was cheating on him if it's that simple.

Jeannine had to give up her whole Anna Nicole thing, which most amusingly included her gay assistant, (also named) Chris. Why Chris would be the personal assistant to a big fat sort-of Anna Nicole lookalike is beyond me, but Jeannine got kind of screwed when Anna Nicole lost all sorts of weight taking Trimspa/speed. She decided to return to Long Island and be herself, which was probably the best idea in the first place.

You may be wondering why I have dedicated all this space to this stupid show on MTV. And the answer is: I really have no idea. But admit it, you're hooked now too, right?

Perspective

Aron Ralston returns to the canyon where an 800-pound boulder pinned his arm for five days, until he finally escaped by amputating it with a dull penknife.

He's on book tour so he's been all over the media, but on Monday night we went to see Aron Ralston at the Boulder Book Store. He was promoting his new book about the experience, Between a Rock and a Hard Place, which is both a horrible cliche and a perfect name. We had watched the Dateline special so I wasn't sure I was up for his graphic description of self-amputation (turns out, I wasn't really up for it, but I listened all the same), but seeing Aron in person added greatly to the experience.

Not so much because the core story was different, because it wasn't really, but because Aron talks a lot more about the real reason he wrote his book. He feels it's his mission to share his story with as many people as possible, in the hopes of inspiring others. I've heard other people say similar things after going through terrible tragedies -- that the experience was worth it because of the sense of purpose they now have. Aron went so far as to say that if he had to go through the whole thing again, he would. I'm not sure he would really make that choice in the unlikely event a divine being lands in front of him and offers it to him, but it's still something to say that after spending five days and five horrible, freezing, sleepless nights alone in the desert, stuck under a rock, waiting to die, he would do it all again.

"It was the greatest divine interaction that anyone could ask for," Aron said. "To inspire people, to be a messenger of faith and courage. I am proud to be contributing a very positive message to the world." As opposed to other books currently on the New York Times bestseller list, where his book entered this week at number eight--he's sandwiched between Confessions of an Heiress by Paris Hilton and How to Make Love Like a Porn Star by Jenna Jamison.

During the Q&A, I asked him something simple: "Do you miss your real arm? Are you already used to your new arm?" Somehow in the course of answering, he shared that since his story has come out, he has gotten five letters from people who were seriously contemplating suicide but decided against it once they learned of his ordeal.

"If I had only gotten one of those letters, this would all be worth it," he said. And then he thanked me for asking that question, although it really had nothing to do with what he ultimately said. He doesn't miss his arm, by the way.

Last month, Aron ran a 100-mile race. By comparison, I'm having problems getting through a one-hour Tai Bo tape. (Billy Blanks swears to me that if I can do the whole workout, I will get everything I want. So I'm waiting.)

In any case, when your life sucks, and you are late for work, and your boss is yelling at you and you just spilled coffee all over your new white pants (why you ever wear white anyway is anybody's guess), take a moment to say a little prayer thanking God for what you do have. Chances are, it's a lot.

Emmy

Sarah Jessica, my idol ...

My thoughts about Emmy, and I was batting like .785. Arrested Development foiled me a little, but that's because I'm so blindly devoted to Sex and the City.

Things I was happy about:

Sarah Jessica (not so happy about her speech however)
Cynthia Nixon
Meryl's speech (the win was a given)
JAMES SPADER (how awesome to hear James, think Gandolfini, and then hear Spader. To love him is to watch Secretary)
Mary Louise Parker, who would be my secret lesbian crush if I went that way
Michael Imperioli
Drea de Matteo + speech
The Sopranos finally winning the award they should have won years ago

Things I was not so happy about:

Allison Janney, but I think she wasn't that happy about it either. Poor Marskita Hargay or whatever that woman from L&O SVU's name is.
Where the hey was Nip/Tuck, one of the very best shows on television. Ditto Deadwood.
Elaine Stritch, who I find incredibly irritating, but then she's also sort of hilarious, so it's a toss-up. Still she beat Ellen, and I may have to hold a grudge about that.

Excellent quotes:

"It's not the way I would have gone, but okay," David Hyde Pierce on his Best Supporting Actor nod for the last season of Frasier.
"Often even I think I'm overrated ... but not tonight," the always awesome, graceful and grateful Meryl Streep on winning a category no one else should have even bothered entering.

I wondered if I would miss covering the Emmys and going to the parties afterwards. Verdict: A little. I was doing lots of cooking and watching it on TV, and I have to say, that wasn't a bad way to spend an evening either.

My aunt is Martha Stewart, without the unpleasant demeanor or jail time

OK, I didn't take this picture, but Mom and I spent the weekend in Winter Park with my Aunt Sissy and Uncle Fred and this is what it looks like. See the appeal? It's amazing country -- a golden valley surrounded by enormous mountains. In fact, it's up so high that the trees just give up at a certain point, because there isn't enough oxygen. (This is called "timberline" actually, as any mountaineers among you may know.)

One commenter--and I'm so happy to have comments!--said he wanted more pictures of actual people. Those who know me know I personally don't love being in pictures, but I also lack a digital camera so once I get one, my blog pictures will be more personal. I promise.

We had a delightful weekend in the high country, actually one of the big reasons I was compelled to move back to Colorado. There's something tremendously healing and peaceful about tromping along through the woods. We ran into several mountain bikers while hiking and I started thinking about getting a mountain bike. You can't live in Colorado without catching the outdoor bug, it's like living in LA and not caring about TV and movies or living in DC and not caring about politics or living in Seattle and not caring about coffee. And if you are going to get addicted to something, better hiking and biking than road rage.

Anyway, to the topic of this post -- my aunt as Martha Stewart. Seriously, and my aunt and uncle are my role models in life so I mean this in the best possible way, but I'm so glad Shelley is not my older sister because I would have the biggest inferiority complex. While we were in Winter Park, Shel made us three unbelievable meals. The first one was a crab salad in which all the ingredients were pre-prepared and then were beautifully laid out on plates for us. After hiking, dinner was chicken and snow peas in apricot sauce, wild rice with dried mixed fruit and mixed greens with raspberries and pecans in raspberry walnut dressing. Fred enhanced the meal by offering expertly mixed gin and tonics. Honestly, life doesn't really get much better than wonderful company and delicious food.

If Shel were just an amazing cook, that would be one thing, but she also gave us all our Christmas presents, and keep in mind that it's September. Usually she gives them to us in July, but she didn't have the opportunity this year. Shelley also is the kind of person who makes a delicious casserole for anyone in the congregration who had a baby or a sickness or a death; who is always there for her daughter, son-in-law and grand-kids; who buys gifts for, I think, literally hundreds of people. It's overwhelming to contemplate. I have difficult returning phone calls.

On Sunday we went to the Church of the Eternal Hills, a Presbyterian church up there. Considering that only 662 people live full-time in Winter Park, they had the most gorgeous building. The windows in the sanctuary framed the stunning view of the mountains. That distracted a bit from the service, but I think we all got something out of spending our Sunday morning there. Fred just retired after serving as pastor at the United Church of Christ in Columbia, Mo., and it's a big change for both of them. Bigger than I think they've yet realized, but I've found change is best handled by digesting small bites, rather than whole banquets. Columbia UCC was a wonderful community of close-knit people, who were the realest of real in my limited experience. It even feels hard for me to have them retire, and I know I can't really imagine how it must feel for them, but they are among the strongest people I know and if anyone can manage it they can.

We ate lunch at The Hungry Bear, a building that's stood in Winter Park since 1847 or something like that. Fred and Shelley's condo complex was also being frequented by a hungry bear, or four to be exact. Every night, a mama and her three cubs were ransacking the garbage bins, even they were really rigged up to keep bears out. The little guys were crawling under the locked wooden doors to retrieve garbage and give it to their mother.

The bears showed up at 2 am so we didn't see them, but the racket woke up a neighbor who Fred questioned first thing the next morning. Fred was very interested in meeting said bears; he was trying to lure them with the remains of apples from Shelley's 19-apple cobbler, but she put the kibosh on that considering that wild bears aren't really the company you want to keep.

After the church service, Fred confessed that he was considering sleeping in the car to see those bears. (We agreed later that the mind wanders a bit when you aren't the one leading the service.) I'm not sure getting close to bears is the safest idea, but I have to admit I wanted to see those bear cubs myself. We'll see if Fred does it by the time they leave at the end of the month. My money's on Fred.