Saved by the zombies

Of course I sleep with my iPhone next to me. Who doesn't?

This morning I planned to sleep late and go into work late.  As I awoke a little before 8, I reached for my iPhone ... and there was a message from the dean from 7:42 AM.  Urgent: He was going before the Regents at 9:30, and did I have some data for him.

I did not have the data.  Not in my bed, not on my iPhone ... and not in my office.  It didn't really exist.

This was my first dean-related fire drill since I took this job in September.  My credibility was on the line.

I did what I normally do when faced with something that looks limiting: I reframed it.  On my iPhone, in my bed, I wrote the dean a note that explained that what the Regents were asking him about was limiting, too small, and that he should answer it giving the following (qualitative) information, which was much more sophisticated than what the original question asked for.

I then threw my clothes on and ran out of the house to try to get to work in time to dig up the nonexistent data, calling a member of my team so she could get started on it.  Some colleagues also chimed in with some data.  I had pretty much nothing, but at 9:30, I took a break, knowing I'd done all I could do.

Then I started following the Regents meeting on Twitter ... and found that at about 9:30 students dressed as zombies did the Thriller dance in order to protest fee hikes.  All the usual clean-up ensued, delaying the session.

In fact, the dean didn't go on until about 3:30.  I was confused to see that the discussion was about diversity, which, while important, was not on the agenda and not what he had asked me about.  Actually, the Regents started by asking him one question about diversity, and then they argued among themselves.  Twitter then showed that the item the dean was there for was voted on and over, and they moved on.

When I ran into the dean later at work, he showed me the briefing that the Regents had had, the briefing that he saw this morning when he emailed me.  His piece was breakthrough, both for the university and for all schools like ours -- and the agenda had highlighted it as a potential problem, essentially putting a bullseye on his back.  He was ready to be mauled.  He needed my data as a shield.

Instead, the zombies delayed things so much that, after taking the time to air their criticism of the university's diversity, the Regents approved the dean's request without discussion.  And there was much rejoicing on our parts.

And the dean thought my reframing was brilliant and wants to incorporate it into school strategy.  It might not have been the shield he would have needed, but I passed my first dean's fire drill.

I am quite grateful that we were all saved by the zombies.

And in the shadows there was a cow.

I spent a lovely afternoon with my cousins, hanging around the pool, floating and socializing in multigenerational combinations, drinking gin and tonics (I don't drink gin, so I had a bourbon and ginger), reading, and soaking up the sun and each other's company.

And in the shadows there was a cow.

As I was leaving my house to head over there, I grabbed a bottle of wine to bring with me.  Since I hadn't had lunch, I grabbed some cheese and crackers.

This part of my family has had an infestation of veganism.  I believe it started with my cousin, Ruby, who is a published author of children's books on veganism.  With the various health issues of the older cousins, they seem to have become convinced that eating vegan would help them live longer.

I knew that bringing cheese into the house was treasonous.  (Let's not even go into the issue of rennet!) At the same time, I was hungry.  And I had a feeling that a couple of people there might secretly not be vegan and/or just be dying for something more substantial than salad and grains and nuts.  When I arrived, I proactively apologized profusely and reassured the group that I would not be leaving cheese in the house but would take "any leftovers" (i.e., all of it) with me.

My cousin, Daniel, was enormously grateful.  He actually took some of it to hide and eat later.  My cousin-in-law, Jeff, was not there: he is an opportunitarian, meaning he will eat what is provided.  I know he would have secretly taken the opportunity.  These vegans are harsh.

Daniel and I agreed that my bringing cheese to the house was as if I'd brought a freshly-slaughtered pig.    We were the real rebels today.

P.S.: As I began to select labels for this post from my label list, I am delighted to find that I already have a label for "cheese."

P.P.S.: The cheeses I brought were both indeed cow's milk cheeses.  Because I wouldn't have titled this post this way if it had been sheep cheese.  (See also below: the creature that makes all the noise when you visit this page.)

Put me in an ad.

A colleague told me that I was a perfect advertisement for the iPhone 4S. While sitting next to him at the Twins vs. Cubs at Target Field in Minneapolis, I:

Checked in at Target Field on Facebook. Checked the weather so I could report that it was 88 degrees.  Took a photo of the field and uploaded it, too. 
Texted the photo of the field to my brother. 
Used google to find out that the white 1965 flag represented when the Twins won the AL but lost to the Dodgers in the World Series. 
Looked up th capacity of Target Field (39,504) and the new Yankee Stadium (50,291)
Received a call from my dad, who called to tell me he'd run into the younger brother of my high school boyfriend. 
Emailed several times. 
Looked up the most common male names in the U.S. (James)
Updated one of my contacts. 
Found out that the Twins are last in the AL central, 8.5 games back (before they won the game today)
Texted with a friend about the morning's bar mitzvah. 
Took pictures of my group (using the reverse camera) and posted them on Facebook. 
Received a call from my cousin regarding dinner plans. 
Used Shazam to identify the song being played. 
Said "ice cream" to Siri so she could tell me where I could find nearby places to get some. 
Used the mapping feature to get directions back to the hotel. 

Yeah, it was a dull game.

Weekend wear

Today, for the first time in a long time, when I got dressed in the morning I put on something other than jeans.

Being what's known as a curvy girl (although apparently in online datingland that is a euphemism for overweight, so I can't call myself that in a profile), jeans and I don't get along well.  Companies have been trying for years to make jeans that satisfy my kind.  Levi's is the most recent to try to tackle this. Well, they tried a year ago.  Has anyone seen any news of it since? These efforts always fail.  

They're also not that comfortable.  Heavy, rough cotton?  I never, ever travel in jeans -- who wants to sit on an airplane for hours with those heavy seams pressing on you?

What am I to do on weekends, when I refuse to wear pants I'd have to dry clean?  Skirts and dresses end up being too dressy (unless it's really warm and liberated legs are appropriate).  And are not necessarily appropriate to wear when you want to put your feet up.  Khakis are just jeans of a different color.

I've been sick in bed all week, so when I haven't been casual and wearing jeans I'm wearing ... let's call it loungewear. While it's far more comfortable than denim, it's not particularly esteem-building.

But, today, partially in the spirit of hiddur mitzvah, beautifying the mitzvah, I put on nice pants because it's Shabbat.  And, because of these nice pants, which are fairly long and which I would trip over in flat shoes, for the first time in over week I put on shoes with higher heels.

And suddenly ... I felt better.  Healthier.  I felt like myself.

A while ago, I dated a guy who was a lot larger than me.  This was unusual because I tend to be drawn to the shorter types, guys I can see eye-to-eye with.

So he was unusual.  He was an Other.  And, since he was an Other, I was the other Other.  And in that affirming Otherness (oh, go read Hegel already) I suddenly found myself wanting to wear particularly feminine clothes, especially high heels.

I don't normally wear much of a heel because I have been inclined to wear comfortable shoes. I love to walk, either quickly or for long distances or both, which you can't do in heels. During the period when I was playing hockey, every Monday I needed to be nice to my sore body, so that was another day I didn't wear heels.  And my knees were always hurting, and heels made it worse. So there was no reason to own them.

Now, of course, we have the trend of platform heels.  I love it.  The illusion of high heels without having to work as hard.

It was liberating to try out this new side of myself.  Zappos, as always, was my best friend.  A better friend than the guy, of course, but I kept the red patent leather platform heels.  With them, I discovered that required hip-swinging motion that is apparently so alluring in women who wear heels.  It's a requirement because you have to use your whole body to generate momentum because the soles of your feet are not on the ground.  I also learned how not to fall down the stairs -- again, a hip-swinging motion in order to ensure the heel clears the step you're stepping off of.  Kind of like a flutter kick in swimming.

I still haven't worn them outside.  Really, who am I kidding: I have bought their value in Dr. Scholl's gel inserts and still can't walk more than a few feet on hard surfaces with them.

Since then, partly do to the exigencies of pants length, I've purchased more reasonable heels, heels I can walk in, heels that don't require me to think about walking.

I know heels for women have been compared to Chinese foot-binding.  Both create a triangular foot shape; both reduce the length of a footstep and cause our steps to be mincing, thus increasing our vulnerability.

But in that moment this morning, of putting on clothes that were more comfortable and draped better than weekend jeans, of putting on heels and standing tall, I definitely felt more like myself. Call me regressive, but I do like to stand tall when I can also walk well.  My legs are pretty long; my stride is not terribly shortened.

Perhaps I'll just start wearing heels with jeans.

Monday update: I put the red patent leather platform heels on with my jeans.  It's the worse of both worlds: uncomfortable and immobilizing.  The height is fabulous: I'm four inches taller, and I love the perspective.  But they represent exactly why I used to not wear heels: with my mincing steps I don't feel like myself; I don't feel pretty or grounded or mobile.  These may end up being my indoor shoes, dress-up play shoes, like house slippers only sexier.  Good for getting things off high shelves.

No raspberries in the Torah

Last week, during the rehearsal for our adult b'nai mitzvah next week, I had a panic attack while reading the Torah.  I didn't realize it until the next day, when I said to someone, "When I was reading the Torah, I got all flushed and sweaty and couldn't breathe or think."  I had thought it was some sort of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" God moment.

I had had the same experience last time I faced the Torah for the first time to chant a passage, last summer.  I figured that this was a repeat, that something like a divine wind, a ruach, would rise from the Torah and strike me every time I approached it for a new reading.  After the initial experience, the Torah turns back into a fairly normal awesome bit of parchment and ink, but those first experiences are spectacular floods of energy and adrenaline.

I'm kind of bummed that it's just a panic attack, since Raiders is one of my favorite movies.

This week, I had a different experience.  I'd gone back and practiced with the Torah twice during the week, I'd been rehearsed by an expert friend of mine, and I was ready.

My portion is Va'era, specifically Exodus 7:19-25.  There I was, chanting along, feeling really confident and relaxed.  And then I got to the hardest word in the portion.  You can see it here in typeface Hebrew, fully vowelled and cantillated.

Va-YAY-ha-fe-koo.  Five syllables.  Most Hebrew words are three or fewer, so this throws me off.  I don't know Hebrew, so every syllable is unfamiliar.  Looking it up, it means "and they were changed."  It's approximately the middle word of my portion.  It has a standalone trope, tvir.  In the actual Torah I'm reading from, in calligraphy and with no vowels, it looks like this:

Easily confused with other words, right?
Last week, the rabbi spent some time with me after my panic attack, helping me with the places I was most stuck.  This word.   He told me to really rock the second syllable, YAY, to celebrate that I am embracing this challenging word. 

This week, in my confidence I cruised right over the word.  My mind told me it was a different word, and I chanted something else (still in tvir, however!).  Because every word must be pronounced correctly, the rabbi, reading along with me, quietly corrected me. 

And out came the raspberries. That word!

We were practicing with the sound system, so the incredibly obnoxious noise I made echoed throughout the sanctuary. 

The rabbi turned to the three other b'nai mitzvah and said, "Now, we know that that is exactly what we are not supposed to do during the service when I correct you, right?"

I cruised through the rest of my portion, no issues, giggling all the way.  No panic attack.  I think I will be OK next week.

A Kindle for ???

Happy Chanukah. Merry Christmas.

After a vacation with the family in Mexico, where I debated bringing a big, heavy hardback book (Clash of Kings) and instead brought a medium sized hardback library book (Someone to Run With), and everyone else brought Kindles, I decided I must have a Kindle. Sure, I have my iPad, which it becomes harder and harder to separate myself from, but an iPad screen is pretty bad for reading books.

Feeling under the weather, which made me want retail therapy as well as to climb into bed with a good Kindle, I braved Best Buy this afternoon. I was focused, asked for what I wanted, got what I needed, and got in line. While in line, I examined the impulse buys: a pink Hello Kitty iPhone case (I was tempted); a Star Wars license plate in a pack of gum (like baseball cards); various cases for things. Then I saw it: a gift bag. The perfect size for my Kindle, not Christmasy, white with purple and blue designs. I bought my impulse bag.

In line, I also second-guessed myself. Buy the Kindle on Amazon and pay no sales tax? Buy it at Target and save 5% with my Red Card? I forced myself to stay in line, calculating the value of my time and my need for instant gratification.

I went home, wrapped the Kindle in white tissue paper and put it in the bag, and thought it was the prettiest present ever.

Now what?

When you give yourself a gift and you know what it is, when do you open it?

When you are on Day 5 of a holiday that lasts eight days, on which day do you open it?

When it's Christmas eve, and it's fun to open presents on Christmas day, what do you do?

Most of all, when you're a grown-up and can eat Pop-Tarts for dinner if you so desire, what rules do you even need to follow?

Since it was so pretty, I decided to wait until after lighting the Chanukah candles tonight. I was going out to dinner at 6:00; the sun set at 4:something. Do I light the candles and open the Kindle before dinner? My nap until 5:00 answered that question.

I went out to a traditional dinner at a Chinese restaurant with friends; more friends walked in at the end, and I hung out with them; they invited me to their house, and I thought, "Cool, I'm really waiting to open that Kindle sitting at home." (Also that I loved all the friendly spontaneity of the evening.) I didn't end up going to their house, and I came home, lit Chanukah candles ... and opened my pretty gift bag to find my pretty little Kindle!

It's a little weird to have in my hands a portable device that has buttons and not a touch screen (I keep touching the screen), one that is not made by Apple, one where it's actually functional when it's disconnected from the internet. This will take some practice. Luckily, Clash of Kings, The Magicians, and Pirkei Avot are already loaded on it from my iPad adventures, so I can begin practicing right away.

Birds and dreams

It is said that dreaming about birds has deep meaning.  Asking the internets, I find answers that sound more like a horoscope than something deep. 

Yesterday was an evening of birds.  I left work early to go to the Berkeley Marina to fly kites with a colleague.  We were the only kite flyers there on a chilly Friday afternoon.  As I arrived, I saw a large, soaring bird.  Or was it a kite?  It was so stationary, just hovering in one place.

Then it flapped.  A big, slow flap that only a big bird can do. 


"Cool, a turkey vulture at the Marina." was my thought.  I love turkey vultures.  Their scientific name, Cathartes aura, means "purifier" or "pacifier," and Cherokee Nation calls them Peace Eagles.  They cannot kill, and by eating rotting flesh they provide cleanliness and dignity to the dead.  Their courtship involves many hours of spectacular follow-the-leader aerial patterns.  For myself, I categorize them as "V birds" because (1) vulture begins with a V; (2) when they soar, they keep their wings in a dihedral, or V, that is quite distinctive (and in that postion they have a distinctive wobble), and (3) because  seen from below (as they usually are), they show a dark "V" of body and leading wing feathers against their white wings.  They are quite intelligent and gentle.  When they are on the ground, they are awkward, so their method of defense is to vomit.  In place, not even projectile.  The smell of their vomit is so foul that it defends them well.

I also love how absolutely enormous they are.  I think my next kite will be a huge delta kite.  My most recent kite is a yellow Wala, about four feet wide, with a 45-foot tail (22 feet when looped).  Big, but let's go bigger!

So there I was, for a fraction of a second (much shorter than it takes to read this), thinking, "I've never seen a turkey vulture flap! Or fly so low!" when I realized that it was not one.  Wrong wing shape, wrong head size, no dihedral, no wobble, no V pattern on wing.  And smaller.  It was shaped like a red-tailed hawk, another bird I can spot fairly easily, and another bird I adore.  Also exciting!  It looked like a red-tail except its tail was not fanned and not red.  I started taking pictures on my iPhone.

Then it soared closer.  And closer.  Finally settling about 15 feet above the ridge, entirely still.  With my Wala in my hand, I strolled toward it, trying to get a look at plumage to see if it was some other kind of raptor, hoping not to scare it.  I finally got within about 25 feet of it.  It paid no attention to me, as it was staring down at the ground, watching for rodents (this was an excellent place to look for them).  It still looked like a red-tail, a little ragged, and certainly it looked a bit unsteady.  It periodically let itself catch a breeze and soar off to the side or below, but it would come back to the same spot.  Once it fell (attacked a rodent?) to the ground, and I got a look and a picture of it, legs apart (they have a wide stance), pantaloons (no spindly legs showing), fierce raptor gaze in my direction, pissed off that I'd seen it be awkward.  Then back to the air.  It did fan its tail, and it was definitely the right shape, although not the usual bright rust red.

I decided it was a juvenile practicing its hovering and hunting.

When I got home, I looked red-tails up in my bird book.  Because red-tails have an infinite variety of colorings (at most basic, Western and Eastern, light and rufous), it may have even been an adult, but I'm still thinking it was a juvie.  The book and the internets verified that this location is red-tail perfect and that red-tails have been spotted there.

How special to have had such a close encounter with a big raptor.

[Note from the next day: I went back and asked one of the regulars if he'd seen a bird like that.  "Oh yeah," he said, "That's the marsh hawk."  Now, I'd never heard of a marsh hawk so I figured he was wrong until I got home and discovered that that's another term for northern harrier, a bird that perfectly fits the description of what I saw.  Yet another local raptor to watch for!]

I also read the news

and saw that an endangered bird, the clapper rail, has been spotted in San Francisco. 

And, to get to the dream part, I dreamt about red-tails and that I saw a flying clapper rail.  I was amazed that I had just read about the clapper rails and appreciative that if I hadn't I wouldn't have recognized this rare bird.

The slow life?

I came home, ran the water in the sink for a few minutes (literally: minutes) to get it to be hot.  Went to the living room, hit the TV power, and while it was powering up I turned on my lamp, which has a CFL bulb and so takes a while to light fully.

Waiting for the water, the TV, the lamp.  No instant gratification here.