One of the things I'm most looking forward to about our trip to Nicaragua is going out to the Corn Islands. The Corn Islands are about 50 or 60 miles off the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua, in the Caribbean. The Atlantic Coast is pretty much just jungle, so we'll take a puddle jumper from Managua rather than traveling overland.
The plane might stop in Bluefields, the biggest town on that coast, but will ultimately land on Big Corn Island. Bluefields sounds like an interesting place, but not somewhere I want to hang out for a long time. It's not connected to any highway system, so the main ways to get there are by plane or boat. A couple hundred years ago, it was a major hangout for -- Johnny D., are you reading? -- pirates (there's a place called Pearl Lagoon nearby, which sounds like something straight out of The Pirates of the Caribbean). Historically, the population has been Creole and English speaking. I've read that the area now faces problems with major unemployment, drug trafficking, and the increased presence of stuff like crack, which is why I don't really want to stay there.
Once we deplane at Big Corn, we'll get in a panga (a little motorboat) and cross about ten miles of open ocean to get to Little Corn Island. Check out these photos of the island and the Casa Iguana, where we'll be staying. The photo albums belong to the couple who own and run the Casa Iguana.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Strange linoleum phenomenon
Several months ago, before we got our washer and dryer, Nadia and I cleaned the laundry room. We moved everything out of the room in order to mop the floor, and in so doing noticed these huge purple stains on the off-white linoleum floor. The stains looked like someone had spilled red wine in the corner where we keep the garbage can and recycling tubs and and left it to sit. Regardless of how much we scrubbed, we couldn't really get them to come off, so we figured what the hell -- it's only the laundry room. We promptly forgot about them.
Today, while I was washing sheets, I accidentally kicked up the throw rug I had put in the room after we moved in the washer and dryer. I discovered that the linoleum under the throw rug is stained the exact deep purple wine color as the stains under the garbage can. When I oringinally put the rug down, that area of the floor had not been stained or marked. The purple stain outlines the shape of the rug perfectly, like a shadow. I also noticed that the stains that were by the trash are almost gone. There is still a little bit of purple, but it's very faint. I can only assume that is because the trash and recycling tubs get moved at least once a week.
What would make linoleum light sensitive? Is there some sort of wine-colored fungus that grows in the absence of light? The weirdest thing is that we have the same linoleum in the kitchen and bathroom and there are no purple stains there.
Today, while I was washing sheets, I accidentally kicked up the throw rug I had put in the room after we moved in the washer and dryer. I discovered that the linoleum under the throw rug is stained the exact deep purple wine color as the stains under the garbage can. When I oringinally put the rug down, that area of the floor had not been stained or marked. The purple stain outlines the shape of the rug perfectly, like a shadow. I also noticed that the stains that were by the trash are almost gone. There is still a little bit of purple, but it's very faint. I can only assume that is because the trash and recycling tubs get moved at least once a week.
What would make linoleum light sensitive? Is there some sort of wine-colored fungus that grows in the absence of light? The weirdest thing is that we have the same linoleum in the kitchen and bathroom and there are no purple stains there.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
The interview was okay, but not what I expected
First let me say that being on the Berkeley campus in a full suit, dress shirt and panty hose is no fun at all. Perky college girls were frolicking on the lawns in flip-flops and tank tops, dudes were rolling by on skateboards, and I felt like everyone was staring at me. Also, panty hose are really itchy and hot on a sunny day. I guess this isn't really news to anyone, but I'm not sure why they're still considered a necessary part of business attire. Seems like it's time for a hosiery revolution. Why couldn't they make them breathable and comfortable?
Other than feeling conspicuous, the whole thing went pretty well. The interview was one on one with a woman who is a part of the admissions committee. She told me that this would be her last semester interviewing applicants and that she was "transitioning out of the role." I'm not sure if that's good or bad. We did have a pleasant and relaxed, if brief, talk. The whole interview was a little more than a half an hour and for at least ten minutes of that time we were talking about her career and her transitioning.
I was expecting a formal interview with some structure. Because it was more like a casual conversation, I'm a little worried that I wasn't hitting points that I should have been hitting. My interviewer did not ask any direct questions, which made it a little difficult to give her the fabulous answers I had worked out in my head.
The two definite negative points in the interview were when she mentioned the following:
1) They were overwhelmed with many more applicants than they expected. She said that there were many more applicants than last year (last year there were 800 for 240 slots). That's pretty steep competition.
2) She said that my weakness is probably that I don't have enough work experience. The average amount of work experience for first-years in the part-time program is higher than the average for the full-time program (seven years vs five years).
Two positive points in the interview were that:
1) She gave me a chance to address only having five years of experience and I think I did a good job of that. Also, if it's just more experience that they want then there's nothing holding me back from applying successfully next year. In fact, it would give me more time to brush up on my calculus (brush up... learn it for the first time, whatev).
2) If the true goal of the interview was to find out if I am a people person and can carry on decent conversation (which it very well could have been), I did a great job. Plus, I look damn good in my suit.
Publishing is such a funny industry. When I got back to the office our CEO stopped me and asked me, "So RB, what is it that you're doing in your day-to-day work that requires you to look so polished?" In any other line of work, would a CEO find a middle manager at his company looking polished abnormal or alarming? Here, I'm using the word polished in place of "not wearing flip-flops." He probably figured I was interviewing for other jobs. I smiled and said I just thought it was time to kick things up a notch in the office. Then I reminded him that today was my interview (which he already knew about -- his advice was that if I was going to pursue an MBA, I needed to make sure that I "don't lose any of [my] charm" -- I'm not complaining, but I'd just like to point out that no one would ever say that to a dude).
Other than feeling conspicuous, the whole thing went pretty well. The interview was one on one with a woman who is a part of the admissions committee. She told me that this would be her last semester interviewing applicants and that she was "transitioning out of the role." I'm not sure if that's good or bad. We did have a pleasant and relaxed, if brief, talk. The whole interview was a little more than a half an hour and for at least ten minutes of that time we were talking about her career and her transitioning.
I was expecting a formal interview with some structure. Because it was more like a casual conversation, I'm a little worried that I wasn't hitting points that I should have been hitting. My interviewer did not ask any direct questions, which made it a little difficult to give her the fabulous answers I had worked out in my head.
The two definite negative points in the interview were when she mentioned the following:
1) They were overwhelmed with many more applicants than they expected. She said that there were many more applicants than last year (last year there were 800 for 240 slots). That's pretty steep competition.
2) She said that my weakness is probably that I don't have enough work experience. The average amount of work experience for first-years in the part-time program is higher than the average for the full-time program (seven years vs five years).
Two positive points in the interview were that:
1) She gave me a chance to address only having five years of experience and I think I did a good job of that. Also, if it's just more experience that they want then there's nothing holding me back from applying successfully next year. In fact, it would give me more time to brush up on my calculus (brush up... learn it for the first time, whatev).
2) If the true goal of the interview was to find out if I am a people person and can carry on decent conversation (which it very well could have been), I did a great job. Plus, I look damn good in my suit.
Publishing is such a funny industry. When I got back to the office our CEO stopped me and asked me, "So RB, what is it that you're doing in your day-to-day work that requires you to look so polished?" In any other line of work, would a CEO find a middle manager at his company looking polished abnormal or alarming? Here, I'm using the word polished in place of "not wearing flip-flops." He probably figured I was interviewing for other jobs. I smiled and said I just thought it was time to kick things up a notch in the office. Then I reminded him that today was my interview (which he already knew about -- his advice was that if I was going to pursue an MBA, I needed to make sure that I "don't lose any of [my] charm" -- I'm not complaining, but I'd just like to point out that no one would ever say that to a dude).
Monday, April 25, 2005
Apologies, dear readers
RB couldn't post anything interesting today. Her time was monopolized by preparation for the Berkeley interview. She used the hours she normally devotes to crafting an insightful blog to instead get a manicure, buy back-up panty hose, read today's Wall Street Journal, prepare and eat salmon to provide her brain with ample Omega-3 fatty acids, review her resume, call Ross Swanes (Notre Dame MBA) for a pep talk, hit the gym for an extra forty-five minutes to help combat anxiety, blow out her hair with root volumizer, pack and organize her professional-looking leather tote, outline goals, reflect on past achievements and failures, brainstorm about where she might be in five years, make notes in her day planner, eat half a pint of strawberry ice cream in hopes of alleviating jitters, and finally copy driving directions off of mapquest.
Regularly scheduled posts should return tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, RB requests that you project all of your intellectual aptitude, wit, and interviewing finesse her way at 11:00 am PST, April 26.
Regularly scheduled posts should return tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, RB requests that you project all of your intellectual aptitude, wit, and interviewing finesse her way at 11:00 am PST, April 26.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
RBlog needs help
Now that I know that there are a handful of you out there who are reading regularly, I could use some help. I never came up with a tagline for this blog. For those not in the know, the tagline is supposed to go up at the top of the page and explain, briefly, something about who I am or what the blog is. You know, something like, "RBlog, product reviews and so much more," or "RBlog, confessions of a wannabe MBA." Those are both extremely lame. I'm looking for something clever and catchy, but also descriptive and somewhat true. I'd be okay with something that changes every now and then, but I don't want to switch it up each week like the Jo-tel does.
Suggestions? Think of it as a contest! Best submission wins.
Suggestions? Think of it as a contest! Best submission wins.
Worst movie ever: Sahara
It's so bad, I'm not sure I can even write about it. I wanted to like it, too. I absolutely love a good PG-13 action movie. You get all of the adventure with none of the gore and super scary stuff (stop rolling your eyes! Some of the best action movies aren't rated R -- Raiders of the Lost Ark and Star Wars were actually just PG).
I tried really hard just to focus on how good looking and naturally charming Matthew McConaughey is, and to block out Penelope Cruz and her five lines with visions of him and his bongos. It didn't work. This movie was so bad it was funny. I just recently read that this film is the first film directed by Michael Eisner's son (Michael Eisner being the head of Disney), so I guess that explains a lot. You don't need much of any skill or talent when your dad owns the universe. I should have known better.
The weird part is that Sahara seemed to have all the components of a good, if brainless, action movie. They had the hot, swashbuckling star, the goofy buddy who is always losing his hat, the personality-free lady character who looks great in a push-up bra, an evil dictator bad guy, funny camels, ancient ruins, many high-speed chases followed by massive explosions... I suspect that Sahara could have been a lot better if they just would have had believable dialog. It makes me think that the book that the movie is based on, by Clive Cussler, might actually be a pretty good read. Cussler has a series of novels about the adventures of the hero of Sahara, Dirk Pitt. Maybe I'll take a few on vacation with me.
I tried really hard just to focus on how good looking and naturally charming Matthew McConaughey is, and to block out Penelope Cruz and her five lines with visions of him and his bongos. It didn't work. This movie was so bad it was funny. I just recently read that this film is the first film directed by Michael Eisner's son (Michael Eisner being the head of Disney), so I guess that explains a lot. You don't need much of any skill or talent when your dad owns the universe. I should have known better.
The weird part is that Sahara seemed to have all the components of a good, if brainless, action movie. They had the hot, swashbuckling star, the goofy buddy who is always losing his hat, the personality-free lady character who looks great in a push-up bra, an evil dictator bad guy, funny camels, ancient ruins, many high-speed chases followed by massive explosions... I suspect that Sahara could have been a lot better if they just would have had believable dialog. It makes me think that the book that the movie is based on, by Clive Cussler, might actually be a pretty good read. Cussler has a series of novels about the adventures of the hero of Sahara, Dirk Pitt. Maybe I'll take a few on vacation with me.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Drinks, then sushi?
My friend Kay went to a new happy hour thing last night that sounds pretty cool. It's the most intriguing happy hour concept I've heard of since the 25-cent Pabst offer, and this one sounds a little more chic.
Here's what she had to say:
"Third Thursdays at the California Academy of Sciences is definitely the
coolest thing I've been to in quite a while. What a great idea for them
to stay open late, hire a band, and serve cocktails! It definitely
brought out the 25- to 35-year-old professional crowd.
I guess the aquarium part used to be the Steinhart aquarium in Golden
Gate park. My friends remembered going there as kids and watching their
classmates (not themselves, of course!) throwing pennies in the
alligator tank, and they both remembered the two-headed snake. There
are no alligators or two-headed snakes at the aquarium now, but there
is this amazing! Amazonian fish, I think it's called Pirarucu,
Arapaima, that must be five feet long, with huge, beautiful scales,
that has a tooth-covered tongue that it uses instead of regular teeth
to crush its food. There's also a Dog-Eating Catfish that really does
eat mammals--well, the carcasses of mammals, anyway.
I didn't think it was possible to enjoy looking at anything more than I
enjoyed watching that Amazonian fish, but there is this other tank that
has several Moray eels and a very, very large Giant Seabass that had
the coolest, yet creepiest big glassy eyes I've ever seen on a fish.
And he kept watching me, through whatever little window I went to. But
I don't think he was evil. The eels had these pipes to hang out in, and
one came halfway out and the Giant Seabass came over and nuzzled it.
We also got to see a soft-shelled turtle (I can't remember what it was
called) wake up where it had buried itself under the sand and come up
to breathe some air through its "snorkle-like nose." It doesn't sound
all that exciting, but considering that we never even would have known
it was there except that he woke up while we were looking, we were
pretty excited. And he was pretty strange looking.
There's also this room upstairs that at first looks like it's just a
boring classroom, but it's full of fascinating things, like stuffed
animals and birds (the kind that were once alive, not the plush toys),
many, many beautiful and varied eggs (I wish I could keep a basket full
of them in my house), a bear hide that you can touch (it feels thick
and lush and warm), owl pellets that you can touch (I didn't), and
much, much more. I loved that room.
The main exhibit there right now is ants. It was pretty boring and made
me feel itchy.
The bar is just a temporary, catering-type deal. I got a gin and tonic
for $5, which I thought was pretty good, but my friends got bottles of
Becks beer for $5 each, which wasn't really so good. Oh, and there's
some sort of raffle drawing with business cards that you drop in at the
bar, but I never heard the drawing so I don't know anymore than that.
I would go back again and again to see my new friends the fish."
Here are the details:
Third Thursdays at the California Academy of Sciences
875 Howard Street b/n 4th and 5th
5pm - 9pm
$5 cover
We should round up a posse for drinks (maybe followed by dinner? sushi seems appropriate) for May 19.
Here's what she had to say:
"Third Thursdays at the California Academy of Sciences is definitely the
coolest thing I've been to in quite a while. What a great idea for them
to stay open late, hire a band, and serve cocktails! It definitely
brought out the 25- to 35-year-old professional crowd.
I guess the aquarium part used to be the Steinhart aquarium in Golden
Gate park. My friends remembered going there as kids and watching their
classmates (not themselves, of course!) throwing pennies in the
alligator tank, and they both remembered the two-headed snake. There
are no alligators or two-headed snakes at the aquarium now, but there
is this amazing! Amazonian fish, I think it's called Pirarucu,
Arapaima, that must be five feet long, with huge, beautiful scales,
that has a tooth-covered tongue that it uses instead of regular teeth
to crush its food. There's also a Dog-Eating Catfish that really does
eat mammals--well, the carcasses of mammals, anyway.
I didn't think it was possible to enjoy looking at anything more than I
enjoyed watching that Amazonian fish, but there is this other tank that
has several Moray eels and a very, very large Giant Seabass that had
the coolest, yet creepiest big glassy eyes I've ever seen on a fish.
And he kept watching me, through whatever little window I went to. But
I don't think he was evil. The eels had these pipes to hang out in, and
one came halfway out and the Giant Seabass came over and nuzzled it.
We also got to see a soft-shelled turtle (I can't remember what it was
called) wake up where it had buried itself under the sand and come up
to breathe some air through its "snorkle-like nose." It doesn't sound
all that exciting, but considering that we never even would have known
it was there except that he woke up while we were looking, we were
pretty excited. And he was pretty strange looking.
There's also this room upstairs that at first looks like it's just a
boring classroom, but it's full of fascinating things, like stuffed
animals and birds (the kind that were once alive, not the plush toys),
many, many beautiful and varied eggs (I wish I could keep a basket full
of them in my house), a bear hide that you can touch (it feels thick
and lush and warm), owl pellets that you can touch (I didn't), and
much, much more. I loved that room.
The main exhibit there right now is ants. It was pretty boring and made
me feel itchy.
The bar is just a temporary, catering-type deal. I got a gin and tonic
for $5, which I thought was pretty good, but my friends got bottles of
Becks beer for $5 each, which wasn't really so good. Oh, and there's
some sort of raffle drawing with business cards that you drop in at the
bar, but I never heard the drawing so I don't know anymore than that.
I would go back again and again to see my new friends the fish."
Here are the details:
Third Thursdays at the California Academy of Sciences
875 Howard Street b/n 4th and 5th
5pm - 9pm
$5 cover
We should round up a posse for drinks (maybe followed by dinner? sushi seems appropriate) for May 19.
Nicaragua here we come!
Jeff and I successfully booked tickets to Managua, Nicaragua about a half an hour ago. We'll be there for two weeks.
When I asked Jeff for a quote on how he's feeling about the trip, he said, "I don't want to do this right now. Stop blogging and pay attention to me." He's a little cranky because he's worried about whether or not I booked the right two seats on the connecting flights. He wanted the pick the ones with the extra leg room and the right numerology. I didn't choose seats at all because I skipped ahead to the paying part.
I can't tell yet whether or not I'll be able to get him on the puddle jumper to go to the small islands off the Atlantic coast. Every time I bring it up he starts babbling about boozed up pilots and duct tape on the plane. In fact, to get a real feel for what it's like to travel with Jeff, check out this snippet from pieces he's collecting for a blog of his own:
"We want to go somewhere warm and tropical where we can lounge on the beach without a care in the world, with the whole fruity drink and little umbrella thing and such. At least that's what I want, something low stress and totally relaxing.
Where am I being coerced into going? Nicaragua! Yes, everyone's favorite Sandinista stronghold, where kidnapping tourists is the national sport, and the only thing more plentiful than crooked policia is shrink-wrapped packages of cocaine that frequently wash up on the beach... I'm not joking, that's a quote from a guidebook that RB's company publishes.
To make matters worse, the only airline we could find that actually flies to Nicaragua is based in neighboring El Salvador, and I shit you not is called Taco airlines (it's actually called Taca, but close enough). Kinda makes sense though. What other country's airline would fly to Nica than the only other country down there whose reputation is actually worse?
Anyway, for someone who doesn't like to fly, this is probably one of the worst situations imaginable. I'm picturing chickens and goats on the plane. I wonder if they let you board with your assault rifle. Have to find that one out. We get to have a nice little layover in San Salvador too. Got that goin' for me... which is nice.
I'm sure I'm probably overreacting to this whole thing though. I have heard that Nica has changed a lot and it's one of the last few destinations that hasn't been completely spoiled by foreign tourists. I'm sure we will be able to sit on the beaches with the drinks and do the relaxing and everything like that, and for cheaper than anywhere else. Still though, wish me luck.
I'm anticipating going through a lot of Xanax."
When I asked Jeff for a quote on how he's feeling about the trip, he said, "I don't want to do this right now. Stop blogging and pay attention to me." He's a little cranky because he's worried about whether or not I booked the right two seats on the connecting flights. He wanted the pick the ones with the extra leg room and the right numerology. I didn't choose seats at all because I skipped ahead to the paying part.
I can't tell yet whether or not I'll be able to get him on the puddle jumper to go to the small islands off the Atlantic coast. Every time I bring it up he starts babbling about boozed up pilots and duct tape on the plane. In fact, to get a real feel for what it's like to travel with Jeff, check out this snippet from pieces he's collecting for a blog of his own:
"We want to go somewhere warm and tropical where we can lounge on the beach without a care in the world, with the whole fruity drink and little umbrella thing and such. At least that's what I want, something low stress and totally relaxing.
Where am I being coerced into going? Nicaragua! Yes, everyone's favorite Sandinista stronghold, where kidnapping tourists is the national sport, and the only thing more plentiful than crooked policia is shrink-wrapped packages of cocaine that frequently wash up on the beach... I'm not joking, that's a quote from a guidebook that RB's company publishes.
To make matters worse, the only airline we could find that actually flies to Nicaragua is based in neighboring El Salvador, and I shit you not is called Taco airlines (it's actually called Taca, but close enough). Kinda makes sense though. What other country's airline would fly to Nica than the only other country down there whose reputation is actually worse?
Anyway, for someone who doesn't like to fly, this is probably one of the worst situations imaginable. I'm picturing chickens and goats on the plane. I wonder if they let you board with your assault rifle. Have to find that one out. We get to have a nice little layover in San Salvador too. Got that goin' for me... which is nice.
I'm sure I'm probably overreacting to this whole thing though. I have heard that Nica has changed a lot and it's one of the last few destinations that hasn't been completely spoiled by foreign tourists. I'm sure we will be able to sit on the beaches with the drinks and do the relaxing and everything like that, and for cheaper than anywhere else. Still though, wish me luck.
I'm anticipating going through a lot of Xanax."
Product review: Häagen Dazs Peaches & Cream Ice Cream
I don't know what it wrong with me. Someone please take my spoon away and put me out of my misery! I was supposed to be picking up some asparagus for dinner when this little pint of peach-flavored fat caught my eye. Just quickly running in and out of the market for some vegetables...
No, the ice cream section is nowhere close to the asparagus section of the grocery store.
At any rate, I'm a big fan of Häagen Dazs ice creams because just like they advertise, they're really are made of only cream, milk, whatever fruit or other flavor you pick, sugar, and some egg yolks. They taste a lot fresher than all of the other brands, even the more expensive brands like Ben & Jerry's.
Peaches & Cream is way too sweet, though. WAY too sweet. You can actually taste fresh peaches, which are delicious, but they taste like fresh peaches drenched in corn syrup and then rolled in powdered sugar. Not that that was enough to make me stop eating it, though.
I say skip the Peaches & Cream and go for the Strawberry.
No, the ice cream section is nowhere close to the asparagus section of the grocery store.
At any rate, I'm a big fan of Häagen Dazs ice creams because just like they advertise, they're really are made of only cream, milk, whatever fruit or other flavor you pick, sugar, and some egg yolks. They taste a lot fresher than all of the other brands, even the more expensive brands like Ben & Jerry's.
Peaches & Cream is way too sweet, though. WAY too sweet. You can actually taste fresh peaches, which are delicious, but they taste like fresh peaches drenched in corn syrup and then rolled in powdered sugar. Not that that was enough to make me stop eating it, though.
I say skip the Peaches & Cream and go for the Strawberry.
Every time I look at these pictures I giggle
I don't know why. I don't have a dog and I'm not one of those freaky goo-goo for animals girls. The shirts are just so funny! Especially the "I'm with stupid" one. The "Cats suck" design isn't bad either.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
My man knows his cattle
The other day in the car, Jeff and I were talking about my gym (it comes up frequently, since I'm obsessed with my gym). My gym is a part of a chain called Maverick's. When I mentioned this, Jeff chuckled to himself and then said that the naming is ironic because a maverick is a cow.
I responded by thinking to myself that he didn't know what he was talking about, as I often do. I then thought to myself that a maverick is someone who is independent, or someone who does things in a unique, individual way -- not a cow, silly Jeff. Something on my face must have told him that I was thinking these things, because he then pointed out that the pilots in the movie Top Gun all make fun of Tom Cruise's character for naming himself after a cow. I don't remember that part of the movie (I think my young, impressionable mind was too distracted by the volleyball scenes), so I continued to think to myself that he didn't know what he was talking about and we drove peacefully on.*
Today, after using the word in an email to an author, I decided to look it up. Jeff was right and I am impressed.
The word comes from the name of an early American pioneer who did not brand his calves, Samuel A. Maverick. The first definition given in Webster's is, "an unbranded range animal; a motherless calf." The second definition is the one I was thinking of, "an independent individual who does not go along with a group or party."
*I've been working on being less argumentative lately. A big part of being less argumentative seems to be not pushing things that don't matter that much.
I responded by thinking to myself that he didn't know what he was talking about, as I often do. I then thought to myself that a maverick is someone who is independent, or someone who does things in a unique, individual way -- not a cow, silly Jeff. Something on my face must have told him that I was thinking these things, because he then pointed out that the pilots in the movie Top Gun all make fun of Tom Cruise's character for naming himself after a cow. I don't remember that part of the movie (I think my young, impressionable mind was too distracted by the volleyball scenes), so I continued to think to myself that he didn't know what he was talking about and we drove peacefully on.*
Today, after using the word in an email to an author, I decided to look it up. Jeff was right and I am impressed.
The word comes from the name of an early American pioneer who did not brand his calves, Samuel A. Maverick. The first definition given in Webster's is, "an unbranded range animal; a motherless calf." The second definition is the one I was thinking of, "an independent individual who does not go along with a group or party."
*I've been working on being less argumentative lately. A big part of being less argumentative seems to be not pushing things that don't matter that much.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Product review: Trader Joe's Indian Fare Punjab Choley
The box reads, "From the region of Punjab, this is a traditional Indian recipe of chickpeas, tomatoes, onions, and ginger in a spicy aromatic sauce." Inside the box comes one of those little silver pouches that Trader Joe's seems to be so fond of packaging saucy, easy-to-reheat meals in.
I wanted to try the TJ's choley because Nadia's family is Punjabi and she has told me about her mom making it. Sometimes she talks about trying to make it herself, at our apartment, but I haven't seen any attempts at that yet. I also brought a box home for Nadia to test.
Nadia's comment was, "It was so spicy, I couldn't even finish it!" She says her mom's version is much less spicy, and in fact not really spicy at all unless someone requests it that way. She added that her mom sometimes puts potatoes in it, too.
You're supposed to eat choley with roti, which are like Indian tortillas. I didn't have any roti, so I ate mine over basmati rice. Nadia, is right. It is super spicy -- too spicy to be entirely enjoyable. I also would have preferred it to be a little saucier, but I'm not sure it's actually supposed to be saucy. I just would have liked more sauce.
All in all, I'm not convinced this is one of Trader Joe's better quick dinner options. I'm also not sure if it's worth all the gas that chickpeas inevitably produce.
I wanted to try the TJ's choley because Nadia's family is Punjabi and she has told me about her mom making it. Sometimes she talks about trying to make it herself, at our apartment, but I haven't seen any attempts at that yet. I also brought a box home for Nadia to test.
Nadia's comment was, "It was so spicy, I couldn't even finish it!" She says her mom's version is much less spicy, and in fact not really spicy at all unless someone requests it that way. She added that her mom sometimes puts potatoes in it, too.
You're supposed to eat choley with roti, which are like Indian tortillas. I didn't have any roti, so I ate mine over basmati rice. Nadia, is right. It is super spicy -- too spicy to be entirely enjoyable. I also would have preferred it to be a little saucier, but I'm not sure it's actually supposed to be saucy. I just would have liked more sauce.
All in all, I'm not convinced this is one of Trader Joe's better quick dinner options. I'm also not sure if it's worth all the gas that chickpeas inevitably produce.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Product review: Ben & Jerry's Dave Matthews Band's Magic Brownies Ice Cream
When I saw this ice cream, my first thought was that Dave Matthews Band ice cream is not even half as clever and cool as Phish Food ice cream. Even so, it's not a bad ice cream. It's got chunks of mushy fudge brownies, which would make me extremely satisfied with any ice cream. There is also a pleasantly sweet raspberry swirl, which tastes like someone stirred in a couple tablespoons full of raspberry jam. A hint of tartness in the raspberries might have been better. The big downside is that the ice cream base is vanilla. Chocolate ice cream would have better played up that good thing they've got going with the fudge chunks. All in all, I give it a B-.
What is Gwen saying?
Ever since I saw her sing on SNL, my curiosity has been killing me. What are the words to that "Holla Back" song? What's she saying? Now I know and now you'll know, too:
"Uh huh, this my shit
All the girls stomp your feet like this
A few times I've been around that track
So it's not just goin' to happen like that
'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]
I heard that you were talking shit
And you didn't think that I would hear it
People hear you talking like that, getting everybody fired up
So I'm ready to attack, gonna lead the pack
Gonna get a touchdown, gonna take you out
That's right, put your pom-poms down, getting everybody fired up
few times I've been around that track
So it's not just goin' to happen like that
'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]
So that's right dude, meet me at the bleachers
No principals, no student-teachers
Both of us wanna be the winner, but there can only be one
So I'm gonna fight, gonna give it my all
Gonna make you fall, gonna sock it to you
That's right, I'm the last one standing, another one bites the dust
few times I've been around that track
So it's not just goin' to happen like that
'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]
Let me hear you say, the shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
the shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
[3x]
few times I've been around that track
so it's not jus ganna happen like that'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]"
Not that it means much. I guess Gwen is saying that she thinks cheerleaders are slutty and like to gossip. Nothing revolutionary.
"Uh huh, this my shit
All the girls stomp your feet like this
A few times I've been around that track
So it's not just goin' to happen like that
'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]
I heard that you were talking shit
And you didn't think that I would hear it
People hear you talking like that, getting everybody fired up
So I'm ready to attack, gonna lead the pack
Gonna get a touchdown, gonna take you out
That's right, put your pom-poms down, getting everybody fired up
few times I've been around that track
So it's not just goin' to happen like that
'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]
So that's right dude, meet me at the bleachers
No principals, no student-teachers
Both of us wanna be the winner, but there can only be one
So I'm gonna fight, gonna give it my all
Gonna make you fall, gonna sock it to you
That's right, I'm the last one standing, another one bites the dust
few times I've been around that track
So it's not just goin' to happen like that
'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]
Let me hear you say, the shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
the shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
[3x]
few times I've been around that track
so it's not jus ganna happen like that'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my shit, this my shit [4x]"
Not that it means much. I guess Gwen is saying that she thinks cheerleaders are slutty and like to gossip. Nothing revolutionary.
My own worst personal nightmare
My old, familiar nightmare came back again this weekend. I've been having it regularly for the last four or five years. The dream is always a little hazy and hard to pull myself out of, but intensely realistic. It goes like this: I get notice from good old Woodrow Wilson High that due to some glitch in their filing system, they've only just now realized that I never really earned my high school diploma. I'm always short at least a couple of classes -- usually some combination of chemistry, math, German, or biology. In order to correct the problem, I have to immediately return to Portland, move back in with my parents, and start going to high school classes again.
From there, the dream breaks off into several possible variations. Sometimes the kids that I went to high school with are still there, but none of them have changed. I'm the only one who is 26 (though usually I don't look it on the outside) and I'm forced to go to class, edit the high school newspaper, go to cheerleading practice, and do all that stuff we used to do, but I'm 26-year-old me on the inside. I have to do all these things while finding it stupid and embarrassing, while worrying about how long Avalon will let me be away from work and whether or not I should find someone to sublet my apartment to.
Sometimes I go back to high school and it's all new kids that I don't know. These kids are the appropriate age for high school in 2005. I'm a freaky outcast because I'm an adult who is stuck in Geometry class sitting behind them. Often in these dreams, I go to the classes over and over, but I just can't seem to pass any of them. Or I'll finish one class only to go to the counselor's office and find out that there are three more I have to take. I try to negotiate deals with the school. I try to reason with the administrators that obviously I should be worthy of a high school diploma if I earned a BA, but it never works. I'm stuck in the dream with an overwhelming sense of panic and imprisonment. I can't get back to my life in San Francisco for years, all because I never graduated from high school.
I know they sound funny, but the dreams are actually terrifying. I wake up in a cold sweat, all the blankets on the floor, and thirsty. Once I'm awake I'm overwhelmingly relieved to find that I'm an adult, I'm in my own home, and that I could easily pass chemistry, math, German, or biology if I had to (okay, maybe not German). Still, the dreams always leave me freaked out and deeply disturbed. The exact feeling is hard to pinpoint, but it has to do with the lack of control. Could I lose the ability to make my own choices? To pick my own life? To make up who I want to be? What if I was forced to be fifteen in Portland again? For me, fifteen in Portland was powerless.
This time, the dream had a new twist. For the majority of the dream, I was trying to negotiate a way to earn my high school diploma in time to get back to Berkeley to start their MBA program in the Fall.
From there, the dream breaks off into several possible variations. Sometimes the kids that I went to high school with are still there, but none of them have changed. I'm the only one who is 26 (though usually I don't look it on the outside) and I'm forced to go to class, edit the high school newspaper, go to cheerleading practice, and do all that stuff we used to do, but I'm 26-year-old me on the inside. I have to do all these things while finding it stupid and embarrassing, while worrying about how long Avalon will let me be away from work and whether or not I should find someone to sublet my apartment to.
Sometimes I go back to high school and it's all new kids that I don't know. These kids are the appropriate age for high school in 2005. I'm a freaky outcast because I'm an adult who is stuck in Geometry class sitting behind them. Often in these dreams, I go to the classes over and over, but I just can't seem to pass any of them. Or I'll finish one class only to go to the counselor's office and find out that there are three more I have to take. I try to negotiate deals with the school. I try to reason with the administrators that obviously I should be worthy of a high school diploma if I earned a BA, but it never works. I'm stuck in the dream with an overwhelming sense of panic and imprisonment. I can't get back to my life in San Francisco for years, all because I never graduated from high school.
I know they sound funny, but the dreams are actually terrifying. I wake up in a cold sweat, all the blankets on the floor, and thirsty. Once I'm awake I'm overwhelmingly relieved to find that I'm an adult, I'm in my own home, and that I could easily pass chemistry, math, German, or biology if I had to (okay, maybe not German). Still, the dreams always leave me freaked out and deeply disturbed. The exact feeling is hard to pinpoint, but it has to do with the lack of control. Could I lose the ability to make my own choices? To pick my own life? To make up who I want to be? What if I was forced to be fifteen in Portland again? For me, fifteen in Portland was powerless.
This time, the dream had a new twist. For the majority of the dream, I was trying to negotiate a way to earn my high school diploma in time to get back to Berkeley to start their MBA program in the Fall.
Fit-lite update: Curves knock off?
I was walking down 24th this morning when Jenica called to fill me in on the new 24-Hour/Fit-lite mystery. She said that the person at the desk of the Potrero 24-Hour said that Fit-lite is 24-Hour's version of Curves. They tailor a 30-minute weight and cardio workout to your needs. It sounds kind of like the circuit training thing I've been doing at Maverick's, but easier and with a weight loss theme.
No word on whether you can do your own thing at Fit-lite and just use it as a gym, instead of doing their Curves-esque program. Also no word on whether there will be other classes offered, or how much any of it will cost.
No word on whether you can do your own thing at Fit-lite and just use it as a gym, instead of doing their Curves-esque program. Also no word on whether there will be other classes offered, or how much any of it will cost.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
The McDonalds of fitness comes to Noe Valley
A 24-Hour Fitness "Fit-Lite" is moving into a building on 24th at Church that used to be a Laundromat. I peered into the windows today and saw that they have moved in a bunch of machines and weights already. They also seem to be working on a separate area that could be used for classes.
I've had a rough time figuring out what the whole "Fit-Lite" thing is about. Nadia is similarly flummoxed. She did some research this morning and here's what she had to report:
"I didn't come up with a whole lot, but here's what I
know. There's a Pacific Heights Fit Life Club out
there, but there is no phone number. The site says it
is an 'active' club, meaning they have the basics-
machines, classes, etc... but there is still nothing on their site
explaining what the hell a Fit Life club is!"
I've also noticed a lot of shops closing in Noe Valley, which is good news to my mind because they're all pretty dumb shops. A Girl and Her Dog, the most expensive women's fashion store that I have ever been in, is closing its doors. Good riddance, methinks -- who wants to pay $300 for a tank top? Same story with Designer's Club on 24th and Sanchez. That place has been overpriced for the last three years. Pannetti's, a gift shop that I've never seen any customers in, has signs in the window that say it's retiring. I won't miss it.
I'm hoping for some good restaurants to fill in the gaps. Maybe something cheap and ethnic? Really great Thai or affordable sushi would be a dream come true in this neighborhood.
I've had a rough time figuring out what the whole "Fit-Lite" thing is about. Nadia is similarly flummoxed. She did some research this morning and here's what she had to report:
"I didn't come up with a whole lot, but here's what I
know. There's a Pacific Heights Fit Life Club out
there, but there is no phone number. The site says it
is an 'active' club, meaning they have the basics-
machines, classes, etc... but there is still nothing on their site
explaining what the hell a Fit Life club is!"
I've also noticed a lot of shops closing in Noe Valley, which is good news to my mind because they're all pretty dumb shops. A Girl and Her Dog, the most expensive women's fashion store that I have ever been in, is closing its doors. Good riddance, methinks -- who wants to pay $300 for a tank top? Same story with Designer's Club on 24th and Sanchez. That place has been overpriced for the last three years. Pannetti's, a gift shop that I've never seen any customers in, has signs in the window that say it's retiring. I won't miss it.
I'm hoping for some good restaurants to fill in the gaps. Maybe something cheap and ethnic? Really great Thai or affordable sushi would be a dream come true in this neighborhood.
Register for Bay to Breakers by April 15
You don't need to register, of course. Half the city crashes this event. However, if you want the official Bay to Breakers t-shirt, you have to register and prices go up $10 after April 15. Right now it's only $30.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
James Lick is haunting me
Seriously, the guy's name is everywhere. Have you noticed? He's got a highway, a high school, and the middle school down the street from my apartment named after him. I had never heard of him before. It turns out Lick was a piano builder who became the richest man in California during the second half of the nineteenth century. He was born on the East Coast, but made his fortune building pianos in Argentina and Chile. When he arrived in the Bay Area in 1848, he built hotels, mills, and orchards. He did some mining, too (I guess everyone who was here during that period did some mining). It was Lick who imported a bunch of Peruvian chocolate and inspired Domingo Ghirardelli, the confectioner, to move to San Francisco. Towards the end of his life Lick planned to use his fortune to build colossal statues of himself and his family, plus a great pyramid, in downtown San Francisco, but was convinced to donate the majority of his money to the public good instead.
The best sentence I encountered while researching James Lick on the Internet:
"In 1884, the Lick Old Ladies Home in San Francisco was established with a grant from the Lick estate."
Hah!
At first reading, I thought the statues and pyramid thing was really odd and that maybe Lick was a little kooky. Then I realized that San Francisco IS famous for having a giant pyramid downtown. Not so kooky after all. (Lick didn't have anything to do with the Transamerica Pyramid, though. The Transamerica Company unveiled architect William L. Pereira's plans for the skyscraper in 1969 and construction wasn't completed until the early 1970s.)
The best sentence I encountered while researching James Lick on the Internet:
"In 1884, the Lick Old Ladies Home in San Francisco was established with a grant from the Lick estate."
Hah!
At first reading, I thought the statues and pyramid thing was really odd and that maybe Lick was a little kooky. Then I realized that San Francisco IS famous for having a giant pyramid downtown. Not so kooky after all. (Lick didn't have anything to do with the Transamerica Pyramid, though. The Transamerica Company unveiled architect William L. Pereira's plans for the skyscraper in 1969 and construction wasn't completed until the early 1970s.)
Kay to give poetry reading next week
My friend and faithful workout partner, Kay, will be reading her poetry next week. Here's the scoop from the announcement that Saint Mary's sent out:
"The Saint Mary's College of Creative Writing Reading Series proudly
presents a celebration of issue "d" of 26: A Journal of Poetry and
Poetics on Wednesday, April 20 at 7:30 p.m. in the Hearst Art Gallery.
This event will feature readings by E. Kay Elliott, Stephen Hemenway,
and Jaime Robles.
E. Kay Elliott received her MFA in Creative Writing from Saint Mary's
College, where she was the recipient of the Elizabeth Bishop and Judith
Lee Stronach scholarships. Her work has appeared in Pleiades, Em
Literary, and Volt."
Kay has been going through some inner turmoil ever since she started editing full-time. Everyone who works in an office knows that it's hard to make time for personal creative ventures, and this is the struggle she's facing. Kay told me that she's not feeling like much of a poet anymore. I believe that if you can write a poem that's good enough to read in a gallery filled with people who specialize in poetry, then you're a poet... and you should know it.
"The Saint Mary's College of Creative Writing Reading Series proudly
presents a celebration of issue "d" of 26: A Journal of Poetry and
Poetics on Wednesday, April 20 at 7:30 p.m. in the Hearst Art Gallery.
This event will feature readings by E. Kay Elliott, Stephen Hemenway,
and Jaime Robles.
E. Kay Elliott received her MFA in Creative Writing from Saint Mary's
College, where she was the recipient of the Elizabeth Bishop and Judith
Lee Stronach scholarships. Her work has appeared in Pleiades, Em
Literary, and Volt."
Kay has been going through some inner turmoil ever since she started editing full-time. Everyone who works in an office knows that it's hard to make time for personal creative ventures, and this is the struggle she's facing. Kay told me that she's not feeling like much of a poet anymore. I believe that if you can write a poem that's good enough to read in a gallery filled with people who specialize in poetry, then you're a poet... and you should know it.
Product review and confession: Eyeglide
I'll admit it. I'm one of those women who puts on her make up on BART. Each day that I make it to the office with make up on, it's because I applied it during my morning commute. And I don't mean just a little lip gloss either. Foundation, mascara, eye shadow, whatever -- if I'm going to wear it, I'm putting it on during my train ride. I draw the line at tweezing.
I know what Miss Manners has to say about this sort of thing, and for a long time I was wracked with guilt. However, doing my make up on the train gives me ten to fifteen minutes more in bed each morning and that is more important to me than offending my fellow passengers, hands down. Especially since those passengers are usually not paying attention to me, because they are 1) snorting up the mucus in the back of their throats over and over and over, instead of using a tissue, 2) clipping their fingernails, 3) sleeping, or 4) having loud conversations on their cell phones -- usually regarding the fact that they are running late.
Now that you know my guilty secret, it should make sense to you that I've fallen for a eye shadow that comes in a twisty marker-like package. Revlon's Eyeglide shimmer shadow was recommended to me by my friend Inga and it was a great recommendation. Even though I am not a proponent of drugstore cosmetics, I now own two of the things -- one in Champagne and one Jade. The fun of putting them on makes them worth the seven bucks, not to mention the sparkly thrill they can add to your workday. Best of all, they're incredibly commuter friendly.
I know what Miss Manners has to say about this sort of thing, and for a long time I was wracked with guilt. However, doing my make up on the train gives me ten to fifteen minutes more in bed each morning and that is more important to me than offending my fellow passengers, hands down. Especially since those passengers are usually not paying attention to me, because they are 1) snorting up the mucus in the back of their throats over and over and over, instead of using a tissue, 2) clipping their fingernails, 3) sleeping, or 4) having loud conversations on their cell phones -- usually regarding the fact that they are running late.
Now that you know my guilty secret, it should make sense to you that I've fallen for a eye shadow that comes in a twisty marker-like package. Revlon's Eyeglide shimmer shadow was recommended to me by my friend Inga and it was a great recommendation. Even though I am not a proponent of drugstore cosmetics, I now own two of the things -- one in Champagne and one Jade. The fun of putting them on makes them worth the seven bucks, not to mention the sparkly thrill they can add to your workday. Best of all, they're incredibly commuter friendly.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Haas wants an interview!
Kevin, from the Haas admissions office, called me today to set up an interview. I applied to the MBA program at Haas (Haas is UC Berkeley's business school) this spring. It was the only business program that I applied to this year, because I figured that I might as well start at the top. I went to a reception for the program and the admissions officers said that they sort all the applications into three piles: yes-of-course, interview, and hell-no. I didn't expect to make the interview pile, and I was so excited to get the message that I just about wet my pants.
Product review: Trader Joe's Mandarin Orange Chicken
I tried a new TJ's product tonight: Mandarin Orange Chicken. This is one of their freezer items and it comes in a big bag. The wrapper says you have to bake it in the oven, but it seems like you could swing it with a microwave. I intend to experiment further. At any rate, I followed the instructions on the wrapper and the results were impressive. The chicken was crunchy (only a little bit greasy) and the sauce was tart and citrusy without tasting artificial. I had my orange chicken with brown rice, and it was a perfect combination. The best part is that the sauce comes in separate little pouches, so you can add only the amount you want. A downside is that it's not packaged in a way that is conducive to having only one serving at a time. It's easiest just to cook the whole bag, and then you pretty much eat the whole bag and feel like a fat pig.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Nadia is paranoid
My roommate, Nadia, is worried that I am going to post all of her juicy secrets on my blog. And let me tell ya, she's got some juicy ones. JUUicy! But I won't post 'em, unless she tells me I can. Because if I did, she'd stop telling me the secrets in the first place. And she probably wouldn't let me watch her Bollywood DVDs anymore, either. My lips are sealed. Or maybe that should be... my fingers are still?
Fair Oaks muggings
This morning I read in the neighborhood newspaper, the Noe Valley Voice, that two women have recently been mugged on Fair Oaks Street. Fair Oaks is about six blocks away from where I currently live, but before I moved into this apartment I lived on Fair Oaks for a couple of years.
Apparently, the mugger approached each of the women and hit them hard on the chest. Then he was able to grab their purses. The weird part is, one of the women was talking on her cell phone when she was mugged. Whenever I'm walking at night and feeling a little vulnerable, I always pull out my cell phone and call someone, because I figured that no one would mess with me if I was already on the phone with someone who could hear me scream. This Fair Oaks mugger has demonstrated that the cell phone doesn't provide much of a safety net. It also makes me realize that the person on the other end of the line wouldn't be able to do much. Could my mom call 911 in Portland, OR, and tell them that her daughter was being attacked somewhere in San Francisco? Would the 911 operators even be able to do anything about a call like that?
Apparently, the mugger approached each of the women and hit them hard on the chest. Then he was able to grab their purses. The weird part is, one of the women was talking on her cell phone when she was mugged. Whenever I'm walking at night and feeling a little vulnerable, I always pull out my cell phone and call someone, because I figured that no one would mess with me if I was already on the phone with someone who could hear me scream. This Fair Oaks mugger has demonstrated that the cell phone doesn't provide much of a safety net. It also makes me realize that the person on the other end of the line wouldn't be able to do much. Could my mom call 911 in Portland, OR, and tell them that her daughter was being attacked somewhere in San Francisco? Would the 911 operators even be able to do anything about a call like that?
Sunday, April 10, 2005
In Memory of John D. Cannon
John Denny Cannon was born on Piety Hill in Mitchell, Oregon. He grew up on his parents’ ranch, nine miles outside of Mitchell, with his four sisters Cora Marian, Virginia Lee, Elsie Mae, and Dorothy Ellen. John often shared memories of his mom baking applesauce cake on the woodstove, helping his Dad herd sheep, and fishing trips in the Ochocos with his grandfather and uncles.
After graduating from Mitchell High School in 1937, John did some postgraduate study at Salem High School. The family then moved to Monmouth so that he and his sister Marian could attend the Oregon College of Education. They took classes year-round, and as a result he had graduated before he went into the service.
John’s military career started when he joined the army – Company B, of the 162nd Infantry, 41st Division in Salem, Oregon. His two main reasons for joining the service were the dollar-per-drill salary, and that he would receive free admission to the professional wrestling matches held on Tuesday nights. On September 16, 1940, he was called up for one year of active duty, which ended five and a half years later. During his tour of duty, John traveled down the coast of South America, through the South Pacific, to Australia, New Zealand, and spent a lot of time in New Guinea. By the time of his retirement from the service, he had reached the rank of Major.
Life really got exciting after John returned from the war. Aloha Powell caught his eye at a dance at the Crystal Gardens. John courted Aloha through the summer and in the fall of 1946 he enrolled at the University of Oregon. He proposed to Aloha at a football game on the campus. They were married in Vancouver, Washington on June 11, 1947, right after John completed his Bachelor of Science. The new couple had a short honeymoon at the coast, and when they returned he started work on his Master of Education during the summer session at Oregon State University.
John was teaching at Detroit High School in the spring of 1949. His first daughter, Carolyn Marlane Cannon (“Tootsie”), arrived that March. He taught social studies, business, physical education, and health at the high school, while he learned the ins and outs of fatherhood at home. John was promoted to principal before he was promoted to father of two. Neva Gae Cannon (“Sister”) joined the family in May of 1951. During the following years, John worked in Stayton as the superintendent-principal. In this role, he organized the construction of the new Stayton Elementary School, while building the first Cannon family home on West Ida Street. Toots and Sis were five and three when the family moved to Fort Benning, Georgia, so that John could attend the Advanced Infantry Officers’ School. John’s Georgia Peach, Julie Malea Cannon, was born in the military hospital at Fort Benning, in 1955.
The Cannons drove across the country the following February, their sights set on home. Upon their return to Oregon, John wrapped up work at OSU and was awarded his Master of Education degree. He accepted a position as the principal at Maplewood Elementary School, a country school in southwest Portland. During his second year at Maplewood, the school was annexed into the Portland Public School District, and John went along, too.
John was a true believer in the value of education. He took courses throughout his life, from schools including the Oregon College of Education, Oregon State University, the University of Berkeley, the University of Oregon, and Willamette University. He went on to serve for 22 years in the Portland Public School system, working at Applegate, Arleta, Collins View, Kenton, and Maplewood elementary schools. John retired from education in 1976.
Retirement was a busy and happy time for John. He pursued a secondary career in real estate and land development, and devoted serious time to his life-long love of gardening—all the while keeping Aloha amused. John and Aloha traveled extensively, visiting Australia, Tasmania, New Zealand, Spain, and Hawaii. The couple also made many trips to Mexico. John remarked that their last trip was the best. John, Aloha, Tootsie, and Mike Browning (his son-in-law) toured the Inside Passage of Alaska in the summer of 2002. With the trip to Alaska, John had visited every state in the union.
Retirement also brought John grandchildren. His first granddaughter, Rebecca Browning, was born in 1978. Krisi Clausen came shortly after in 1979, followed by Niki Clausen in 1981. His fourth granddaughter, Sally Browning, arrived in 1982. John’s first and only grandson, Sam Viles, was born in 1986. Sam’s sister Elizabeth Viles joined the group in 1988. Last, but never least, Mollie Mae Viles came on the scene in 1995. John’s natural story-telling and pancake-flipping skills helped him to excel as a grandpa. He was one of the best grandparents around.
After graduating from Mitchell High School in 1937, John did some postgraduate study at Salem High School. The family then moved to Monmouth so that he and his sister Marian could attend the Oregon College of Education. They took classes year-round, and as a result he had graduated before he went into the service.
John’s military career started when he joined the army – Company B, of the 162nd Infantry, 41st Division in Salem, Oregon. His two main reasons for joining the service were the dollar-per-drill salary, and that he would receive free admission to the professional wrestling matches held on Tuesday nights. On September 16, 1940, he was called up for one year of active duty, which ended five and a half years later. During his tour of duty, John traveled down the coast of South America, through the South Pacific, to Australia, New Zealand, and spent a lot of time in New Guinea. By the time of his retirement from the service, he had reached the rank of Major.
Life really got exciting after John returned from the war. Aloha Powell caught his eye at a dance at the Crystal Gardens. John courted Aloha through the summer and in the fall of 1946 he enrolled at the University of Oregon. He proposed to Aloha at a football game on the campus. They were married in Vancouver, Washington on June 11, 1947, right after John completed his Bachelor of Science. The new couple had a short honeymoon at the coast, and when they returned he started work on his Master of Education during the summer session at Oregon State University.
John was teaching at Detroit High School in the spring of 1949. His first daughter, Carolyn Marlane Cannon (“Tootsie”), arrived that March. He taught social studies, business, physical education, and health at the high school, while he learned the ins and outs of fatherhood at home. John was promoted to principal before he was promoted to father of two. Neva Gae Cannon (“Sister”) joined the family in May of 1951. During the following years, John worked in Stayton as the superintendent-principal. In this role, he organized the construction of the new Stayton Elementary School, while building the first Cannon family home on West Ida Street. Toots and Sis were five and three when the family moved to Fort Benning, Georgia, so that John could attend the Advanced Infantry Officers’ School. John’s Georgia Peach, Julie Malea Cannon, was born in the military hospital at Fort Benning, in 1955.
The Cannons drove across the country the following February, their sights set on home. Upon their return to Oregon, John wrapped up work at OSU and was awarded his Master of Education degree. He accepted a position as the principal at Maplewood Elementary School, a country school in southwest Portland. During his second year at Maplewood, the school was annexed into the Portland Public School District, and John went along, too.
John was a true believer in the value of education. He took courses throughout his life, from schools including the Oregon College of Education, Oregon State University, the University of Berkeley, the University of Oregon, and Willamette University. He went on to serve for 22 years in the Portland Public School system, working at Applegate, Arleta, Collins View, Kenton, and Maplewood elementary schools. John retired from education in 1976.
Retirement was a busy and happy time for John. He pursued a secondary career in real estate and land development, and devoted serious time to his life-long love of gardening—all the while keeping Aloha amused. John and Aloha traveled extensively, visiting Australia, Tasmania, New Zealand, Spain, and Hawaii. The couple also made many trips to Mexico. John remarked that their last trip was the best. John, Aloha, Tootsie, and Mike Browning (his son-in-law) toured the Inside Passage of Alaska in the summer of 2002. With the trip to Alaska, John had visited every state in the union.
Retirement also brought John grandchildren. His first granddaughter, Rebecca Browning, was born in 1978. Krisi Clausen came shortly after in 1979, followed by Niki Clausen in 1981. His fourth granddaughter, Sally Browning, arrived in 1982. John’s first and only grandson, Sam Viles, was born in 1986. Sam’s sister Elizabeth Viles joined the group in 1988. Last, but never least, Mollie Mae Viles came on the scene in 1995. John’s natural story-telling and pancake-flipping skills helped him to excel as a grandpa. He was one of the best grandparents around.
Book review: Truth & Beauty, by Anne Patchett
Anne Patchett is an undeniably talented writer. She took the type of subject matter that usually bores me within a couple of saccharin pages (women's friendships) and used it to write a memoir that was truly a page-turner. I tore through it in a day. I don't find the author's friendship with writer Lucy Grealy to be all that interesting or unique, but the beauty with which Patchett wrote about it kept me reading until the end.
One thing about the book is really bugging me, and is therefore very interesting to me. The jacket declares this book a tribute to their friendship. Supposedly, it's not a reflection on one woman's life or the other's, but about "the life they shared." As I was reading, it seemed to be to be more about Anne Patchett's devotion to her friend. Be that as it may, I still couldn't figure out why Patchett would want to be friends with this annoying, self-centered, whiny person. Even at what seemed to be the high points in the friendship and in Lucy Grealy's life, she was still demanding, impractical, depressing, childish, and not a very good friend to Patchett. At no point does Patchett address what she saw in Grealy, or what inspired her to love her friend. Early on in the book, she mentions some intangible magnetism that drew everyone to Grealy. But as I read more and more about Grealy's life, that became less and less of an acceptable explanation. I was left wondering, "Why would Patchett maintain this friendship for so long? And why would she hold Grealy so dear?"
As I thought about these questions, I thought more and more about these women's careers as writers and the images each worked to present of herself. Grealy's book, Autobiography of a Face (which I have not read), presents her story of surviving cancer and the subsequent deformation of her face. The book was successful and won Grealy a strong following of dedicated readers. The back cover copy includes the line, "In this strikingly candid memoir, Grealy tells her story of great suffering and remarkable strength without sentimentality and with considerable wit." So, I'm lead to conclude that this book, among other things, focuses on demostrating how strong, brave, and witty Grealy is.
In Truth & Beauty, Patchett presents another side of Grealy. While calling the book a tribute to their friendship, Patchett is painting an unflattering picture of Grealy that can only be intentional. It's very consistent and at at times Patchett dances around acknowledging the implications of her descriptions of her friend. The only real information we get about Patchett's own personality is that she is loyal, selfless, and likes to follow rules. She repeatedly casts herself as a devoted caregiver, but doesn't give us anything all that real or descriptive about Patchett as an individual.
I'm lead to wonder if Patchett actually thought Grealy was a selfish bitch and was tired about hearing how wonderful her "friend" was. As writers, the two obviously had a competitive relationship. This "tribute" to her friend, is the perfect way for Patchett to share a view of Grealy in which she is anything but likeable, without coming off as a jerk or speaking ill of the dead. It also occurred to me that with the packaging of this book Patchett was able to capitalize on the interest of Grealy's fans and reach an audience who might have idealized Grealy the most, but that's a very cynical thought. Maybe I've been working in publishing for too long.
One thing about the book is really bugging me, and is therefore very interesting to me. The jacket declares this book a tribute to their friendship. Supposedly, it's not a reflection on one woman's life or the other's, but about "the life they shared." As I was reading, it seemed to be to be more about Anne Patchett's devotion to her friend. Be that as it may, I still couldn't figure out why Patchett would want to be friends with this annoying, self-centered, whiny person. Even at what seemed to be the high points in the friendship and in Lucy Grealy's life, she was still demanding, impractical, depressing, childish, and not a very good friend to Patchett. At no point does Patchett address what she saw in Grealy, or what inspired her to love her friend. Early on in the book, she mentions some intangible magnetism that drew everyone to Grealy. But as I read more and more about Grealy's life, that became less and less of an acceptable explanation. I was left wondering, "Why would Patchett maintain this friendship for so long? And why would she hold Grealy so dear?"
As I thought about these questions, I thought more and more about these women's careers as writers and the images each worked to present of herself. Grealy's book, Autobiography of a Face (which I have not read), presents her story of surviving cancer and the subsequent deformation of her face. The book was successful and won Grealy a strong following of dedicated readers. The back cover copy includes the line, "In this strikingly candid memoir, Grealy tells her story of great suffering and remarkable strength without sentimentality and with considerable wit." So, I'm lead to conclude that this book, among other things, focuses on demostrating how strong, brave, and witty Grealy is.
In Truth & Beauty, Patchett presents another side of Grealy. While calling the book a tribute to their friendship, Patchett is painting an unflattering picture of Grealy that can only be intentional. It's very consistent and at at times Patchett dances around acknowledging the implications of her descriptions of her friend. The only real information we get about Patchett's own personality is that she is loyal, selfless, and likes to follow rules. She repeatedly casts herself as a devoted caregiver, but doesn't give us anything all that real or descriptive about Patchett as an individual.
I'm lead to wonder if Patchett actually thought Grealy was a selfish bitch and was tired about hearing how wonderful her "friend" was. As writers, the two obviously had a competitive relationship. This "tribute" to her friend, is the perfect way for Patchett to share a view of Grealy in which she is anything but likeable, without coming off as a jerk or speaking ill of the dead. It also occurred to me that with the packaging of this book Patchett was able to capitalize on the interest of Grealy's fans and reach an audience who might have idealized Grealy the most, but that's a very cynical thought. Maybe I've been working in publishing for too long.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
blank blog
Blogs are usually just a collection of bits and pieces. Random comments on current events, journal entries, or personal thoughts make up the majority of blog entries I've read. It's not the individual entries that make a quality blog, but the combination and variety of the postings that make them good. That makes for a lot of pressure on a first blog posting. What to say? Only here I am, joining the legions of people who think they're interesting enough to have a blog, but probably aren't.
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