Meetings and Greetings

Brought to you by my new job.

I had a total of 5 meetings today. In the last I found out that I'd been generating article ideas for a half-wrong set of topics, so I had to regroup on that one — but the ideas I did bring were just the kind of thing the guys is looking for. So that's good. Feedback on my ideas and scribblings has been very positive so far, which is a relief.

I got my hair cut in the shop downstairs over lunch today. The cut itself is OK, but the stylist wins the Most Slothful award. It took her a full hour just to do a trim, and I finally bolted with my hair still damp because she appeared to be drying it one strand at a time. Clearly this was not the stylist my boss had recommended; she swears her chica does it in 20 minutes and is fun to chat with besides. I'll hold out for her next time instead of taking potluck as a walk-in, then. But the price is sure right: half what I pay Britta at the other place — and her rates are lower than the norm there because she's still considered to be in training. I love Britta, but I also love a bargain.

A nice HR lady recruited me for the company health and wellness committee today. She said they'd been eyeing me for my background in health journalism and especially T'ai Chi. Apparently that intrigues a lot of people around here.

The toilets have taken some getting used to as well. They're auto-flushers, but they won't auto-flush if the sensor is blocked, which means that I have to crowd myself into a corner of the stall while tucking in my shirt if I want to not block the sensor. Yes, it took me three days to figure it out. Don't worry, though; I used manual flush until I learned the system.

I've learned two routes into my work area: the one that passes the boss's office, which I'll use on days I arrive early, and the one that doesn't pass the boss's office, which I'll use on days I'm late. Which of course will be few and far between.

I'm starved. Is it time for ice cream yet? If it is, there's a very good local ice cream parlor right downstairs. I think I'll roll out a sleeping bag under my desk and just never leave.

Today around the world: March 31 is Transfer Day in the U.S Virgin Islands, when everyone gets off one bus and onto another.

Worked Up

Brought to you by my new job. The update you've all been waiting for! My brain's a-buggin', man. But in a good way.

My last day at Media HQ dragged/sped by. People dropped by all morning to wish me well. The Soup Group took me to Applebee's for an appetizer blowout, as promised, and many pledges were made to schedule a happy hour downtown soon. The cake fete was held in the afternoon, and a lot more people showed up than I expected to see. They got me a cake -- chocolate, of course, with OMGrich mousse frosting -- and had it decorated. On the top was a chick in a Chinese pajamas/T'ai Chi outfit doing a kick, with a thought balloon above her head that contained a yin/yang symbol. The inscription read, "Kim -- congrats on a kick-ass job!" How cool is that?

I also received two gifts. The serious gift was a black messenger bag from the Jack Spade line, the manly side of Kate Spade. It's perfect size for carrying on the train with a book and my lunch in it, which I did today. Numerous pockets and zippers. I'm a huge sucker for pockets and zippers. This is, as El Queso Grande pointed out, probably the closest I'll ever come to owning a Kate Spade bag. I love it.

The lighthearted gift was a trade show tote bag labeled "Kim's Crisis Kit." It contained some power bars for when I get lost in the skyways downtown, along with some trinkets from the trade show, some Tibetan prayer flags, a fork whose handle contains a ball-point pen, a free T-shirt and some product samples from a fish oil vendor, and $20 cash for emergencies. I departed MHQ on a happy/sad note.

Then suddenly it was Monday again and I set off on the train for my new job. I've got to tell you, I LOVE riding the train. Nothing to do but sit back and read for half an hour while somebody else does the driving. Oh yeah.

People in my new department seem really nice. Three of us newbies started this week, and each of us has been assigned a buddy to help us get oriented and find things. Our buddies took us out to lunch that first day, just a 3-minute walk to a great pub called the Newsroom, and everyone was easy to visit with. I even remembered most of their names. Also, my new boss has recommended an ace hair stylist — in a salon that's in our very building! And the farmers' market, which means fresh produce on the Mall every Thursday morning, starts soon. I already love working downtown.

I've had a couple nice lunchtime outings in the skyways already, too. With the skyways, basically, the whole city becomes a mall. The walkways link actual shopping/service centers with one another, and since they're lined with shops, they are an interconnected series long skinny mall themselves.

Today, for instance, I went to Target and bought myself a tiny potted ivy for the shelf above my monitor. I'm hoping it will become large and sprawling. I almost bought one that was already large and sprawling but decided not to spend the cash. I still might bring one or two of my smaller plants from home if I can talk myself into schlepping them on the train.

Also, my new company sells movie tickets to employees at a steep discount. Since there's at least one theater within a few blocks of the building. I may actually see a movie on the big screen again!

I know that's a completely random collection of thoughts, but it's all I can muster right now. My brain is full. As I become less bewildered by all the new stuff, I promise I'll bring you the highlights. For now, let's just say good night.

Today around the world: March 30 is Spiritual Baptist Liberation Shouter Day in Trinidad & Tobago. Please do not ask me to explain. I may be spiritual and liberated and inclined to shout, but I'm no Baptist.

The Debt

Brought to you by Sifu Ray.

One night last week before T'ai Chi, I was sitting on the studio floor stretching. Sifu Ray came over to me and offered me his hands. He pulled me to my feet and started walking toward a group of beginners, which was a signal that he was assigning me to teach them for the evening.

"So, did you get the job?" he asked. I hadn't discussed my new job with Sifu, but I'd chattered about it to pretty much everyone else, so I wasn't surprised he'd heard.

"Yes," I replied, "I start Monday."

"Good. They sound like nice people."

My mental alarm went off. I asked, "You know these people?"

He turned to me, twinkling in his merry "I'm going to reveal some stunning information" way. I've seen this look before, usually when he's about to drop some Taoist wisdom bomb that will take us months if not years to assimilate.

"So they didn't tell you they'd talked to me," he said.

I could only shake my head mutely, because I had just put two and two together. During the hiring process, the HR lady asked me for a list of references, which I supplied. I soon heard from two of my friends that she had contacted them. The first was available to talk to HR lady, but the second wasn't. I got the job anyway, so I had assumed the strength of the first reference was enough, or maybe the second had gotten back in touch later.

But no. Sifu Ray's name was farther down the list.

"I talked to your HR director for over an hour the other day," he continued.Oh holy crap, I thought. "Told them all about you. Said all kinds of nice things — only the truth, of course." By this time Sifu was beaming. "So I figure I pretty much got you that job."

I managed to choke out a thank you.

As we drew up in front of the beginner group, he asked, "So you know what you owe me?"

Easy answer. "Everything."

"Nothing. You owe me nothing." And he was sincere.

But — and this is a rarity — he was wrong. I do owe him everything. I owe him for the time he took to give the reference, especially when I hadn't even warned him he might be called; I really thought the HR lady would call my several publishing-type contacts first. And I owe him for his praise, with which he was generous.

Most of all, though, I owe him for my deserving any praise. If I were not his student, his disciple, I could make no pretense to serenity or harmony. T'ai Chi has taught me these things, and Sifu Ray has taught me T'ai Chi. The lessons continue to humble me.

Today around the world: March 29 is Boganda Day in the Central African Republic.

Does anyone else have a "next time" list -- things you want to do or be in your next life? I want to be a drummer, singer, dancer, doctor, priestess, pastry chef . . . I want to hang-glide, deep-sea dive, walk in space.

What do you want to do next time?

The Gaping Gi

It's another flashback Friday! More lore from the judo archives.

Originally posted: Tuesday, February 19, 2002

I attended my third judo class last night. Good news: my gi is in! I had been practicing in borrowed clothes for the past two weeks while my outfit was on order, but now I have my own heavy white cotton ensemble. It’s blazing white, the sure sign of a brand-new beginner. No more geeking around in pants that barely reach past my knees even after slipping down over my hips! Now my very own pants slip down far enough to show the Victoria’s Secret stitching on the waistband of my undies, but at least the hem reaches my ankles. Don’t worry, though; thanks to the long jacket, Victoria’s secret is safe with me.

But I do have issues with that drawstring arrangement. While my boyishly uncurvy hips may be an asset under other circumstances, like fitting into airline seats, they don’t do diddly for me when it comes to keeping my gi pants at cruising altitude. I can’t say my T’ai Chi pants, with their elastic waistband, would be any better, though, during the elbow-drag exercise. Guess I’ll just have to tie a tighter knot. The third-graders in the dressing room will probably have some suggestions.

So I’ve got my own gi now. That was one good thing about the class. The other was meeting my alter ego, another woman named Kim. She’s a little taller than me but a little slimmer, and a little older. She’s a white belt who’s been in the program for a few months but was out the last couple weeks with a finger injury. I’ve worked with a few other women partners in T’ai Chi, but not on the more aggressive pushing hands techniques. In judo, I had only thrown and grappled with men. So I was delighted to find another woman anywhere near my size, age and experience level in the class. The fellas are fine, but especially when it comes to matwork, it’s usually only a matter of time before they overpower me. Squaring off with Other Kim, I found myself facing a fair match for the first time. It was refreshing. I hope she keeps showing up on Mondays.

So I got exposed to a couple new throws — and probably exposed myself to them as well, since one’s gi tends to gape after a few grabs — and reviewed the ones I’d seen before. Thanks to T’ai Chi, I have a good sense of balance and am less likely than most to fall victim to a foot sweep by another beginner. Sensei, of course, can dump me on my keister any time he feels like it, but it’s nice to see some skills translating.

Then came wrestling practice. Judo is famous for its dramatic throws and crash landings, but matwork — what happens once the throw is completed — is just as vital to the art. This is the area where I have the least experience, so it’s always the most interesting to me. Other Kim and I learned some very practical things from Sensei Carlos. The most useful, I thought, was to sit back and observe while Sensei demonstrated pinning techniques on O-Kim. He’s got a gut the size of a VW Beetle and basically just crushed the wind out of her until she stopped struggling. Sometimes you really don’t need any more finesse than that.

Speaking of no finesse, let me say a few words about the mat. Many dojos cover their floors with mats of padded canvas or foam rubber. My club has plenty of foam rubber padding for the bottom layer, but it’s covered with light-blue indoor-outdoor carpeting, the kind you might see on the deck of a boat. Yowch! It’s cushy enough, but very rough on my tender bare feet. I ended up with a postage-stamp-sized square of mat burn on the top of my left foot at the base of the big toe — exactly, it turns out, where the instep of my shoe wants to rub every time I take a step. When I got to work this morning, I had to hit the receptionist up for a Band-Aid, then nip into the ladies’ room and strip off my hose to apply it. I’m hoping my skin will toughen up soon.

In other, non-martial-arts news, I’m growing my hair out. It’s a slow, aggravating process, but a change whose time has come. In all the dreams I’ve been having lately, not only do I see myself with long hair, but often I spend special time and attention on trying to pull it back in a ponytail. This is a Sign of some sort, and I’ve chosen to heed it. If that’s the way my inner eye sees myself, my inner fashion consultant must be trying to tell me something. Next, I’m going to try to persuade my inner eye to envision me winning the lottery. Think it’ll work?

Today around the world: March 25 is Good Friday for a great many people and Bandaged Bear Day in Australia.

So Long Farewell

Brought to you by Media Headquarters and the good time I've spent here.

On my last day of work at Media HQ, I'm surprised I can even fit into my chair. People have been feeding me all week long, and we ain't talking about carrot juice and alfalfa sprouts. Many fried appetizers, malt beverages, and good wishes have warmed my last few days — OK, pretty much all of my days — which is good for my ego but lousy for my waistline.

I could easily get all sentimental about all the friends I'm going to miss, the raucous Soup Group outings and giddy brainstorming meetings where all we can think of to put on the cover of the magazine is "Are you at risk?" This job has seen me through many life changes, including deaths and births in the family — and the birth of Band Name of the Day. I've received more gifts here, both material and otherwise, than I can begin to describe. I'll cherish them forever.

And now I'm leaving the nest. ACK! The new place has a lot to live up to. Then again, so do I.

A wise woman has said to me more than once, "It's fine. It'll all be fine." Since she's usually right, off I go with my heart full and my chin high. It's been a good run, and I’m proud of it. I wonder what's next.

Today around the world: March 24 is my last day at MHQ, which I'm sure is being recognized as a global holiday. To Christians, it's also Holy Thursday, a day on which I always have to restrain myself from exclaiming, "Holy Thursday, Batman!" Because I'm pretty sure he's heard that one before.

If I Had a Ham

Brought to you by Grandpa Max.

"If we had some ham, we could have ham and eggs, if we had some eggs," Grandpa used to say. (At least, I think it was Grandpa.) Other pithy phrases from Dad's side of the family include "uglier than a wind row of armpits" and "drier than a popcorn fart." I don't know why I thought of that just now, but there you go.

Sorry, that's about all I've got for today. I'm busy tidying up loose ends at Media HQ, and there are plenty of them. Perhaps I'll wax more eloquent (or more elephants) tomorrow on my last day in the MHQ nest.

Today around the world: March 23 is World Meteorological Day on Earth. The entire globe is expected to have weather today.

Pranks for the Memories

Brought to you by the Kerner.

In response to my request for ways to leave Media HQ with a bang, the Kerner presented me with a deck of cards promising 50 Hilarious Ways to Have Fun at Work. You can find your own deck online at Lagoon Games, but here are some of my favorites.

• Spread rumors about random drug testing and see if they get back to me by the time I leave.
  
• Use a large banana to point at presentation slides or charts at the next staff meeting.
  
• Send text messages to cell phones and pagers that say "low battery."
  
• Change the AutoCorrect settings in a colleague's Microsoft Word setup so that whenever the person types in a certain word or phrase, it's replaced with "Engelbert Humperdink" or "gotcha" or something equally informative.
  
• Steal and scan someone's family photos, do a little creative PhotoShopping, and put the new versions back in the frames. I could replace the family's face with my own or the pope's or Abba's, for instance.
  
• A perennial favorite: put Icy Hot on toilet seats.
  
• Drop dry ice down the toilets for an isolated fog patch.
  
• Tape down the rocker on someone's phone so that the phone keeps ringing when the receiver is lifted.
  
• Lay bubble wrap behind wheeled chairs.
  
• Fill several paper cups with water and put them someplace where they're in the way. Staple the rims together so they form a large ring. Watch people try to pick up the floppy ring without spilling.
  

Today around the world: March 21 is the Spring Equinox in the Northern Hemisphere and the Autumnal Equinox in the Southern Hemisphere. It's also National Tree Planting Day in Lesotho, Week of the Fish in French Polynesia, and International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination internationally.

As my last week of work at Media HQ approaches, I'm looking for a way to go out with a bang. It's been hinted (by those with questionable opinions of me) that I plan to spend some quality time slashing tires and mooning executives, or at least dropping water balloons off the balcony in the atrium. 'Cuz what are they gonna do, fire me?

Mmhm. How else can I make these last few days memorable for everyone?

Gummi Lint

Brought to you by the art department.

As I walked back to the Media HQ art department this morning, I passed a huge bowl of Gummi Bears around which several people had gathered. The bears looked lovely under the lights, all gelid and colorful and glistening. Someone remarked that they were almost too pretty to eat.

"Yeah," replied another of the bystanders, "But just wait a couple hours until all the lint in the air has settled on them."

All together now: Eeeeuuuuuwww!

This reminds me of one of Dad's favorite Steve Martin jokes. "I just gave my cat a bath," Steve would say. "The fur stuck to my tongue, but other than that, it went okay."

Sure, Steve. That's great. Carry on.

Today around the world: March 18 is both Men's Day and Soldiers' Day in Mongolia.

Leprechaun Poo

Brought to you by my loving friends.

I returned to my office after a lunchtime errand today to find my office dotted with piles of leprechaun poo (shreds of crinkly green paper). (Leprechaun poo is not to be confused with ghost poo [extruded-foam packing peanuts] or dirty ghosts [used Kleenex]). Unfortunately, the wily little bugger left neither a rainbow nor a pot of gold.

I like good, harmless, low-disruption office pranks. My coworkers once festooned my cubicle with bubble wrap to promote safety on the job, and we've all taken part in the crepe papering of birthday celebrants' workspaces. For the electronically inclined, there always altering the settings on a computer mouse so that clicking the left-hand button produces right-click functions and vice versa. Or you can type an obnoxious phrase into the victim's screensaver, then assign a password for re-entry to the desktop, leaving the taunt to scroll across the monitor until the victim either figures out the password or pays the prankster a blackmail fee to make it go away.

I've heard of much worse, though, like wrapping everything in an office — objects, furniture, even the walls themselves — in plastic wrap or aluminum foil. You could also tape or glue everything down, or turn everything upside down (including removable cabinet drawers). And my friend Fred, a building maintenance supervisor, likes to tell about the time he entered the locked office of a vacationing colleague through the dropped ceiling to fill it half full of ghost poo.

Not that you ever would, of course. But you could.

Today around the world: March 17 is St. Patrick's Day for all world citizens who like green beer. It's also, perhaps not coincidentally, Evacuation Day in Boston.

The Middle Wife

Brought to you by guest blogger Hammer, quoting an anonymous second grade teacher.

I've been teaching now for about fifteen years. I have two kids myself, but the best birth story I know is the one I saw in my own second-grade classroom a few years back.

When I was a kid, I loved show-and-tell. So I always have a few sessions with my students. It helps them get over shyness and usually, show-and-tell is pretty tame. Kids bring in pet turtles, model airplanes, pictures of fish they caught, stuff like that. And I never, ever place any boundaries or limitations on them. If they want to lug it to school and talk about it, they're welcome.

Well, one day this little girl, Erica, a very bright, very outgoing kid, takes her turn and waddles up to the front of the class with a pillow stuffed under her sweater. She holds up a snapshot of an infant. "This is Luke, my baby brother, and I'm going to tell you about his birthday.

"First, Mom and Dad made him as a symbol of their love, and then Dad put a seed in my Mom's stomach, and Luke grew in there. He ate for nine months through an umbrella cord." She's standing there with her hands on the pillow, and I'm trying not to laugh and wishing I had my camcorder with me. The kids are watching her in amazement.

"Then, about two Saturdays ago, my Mom starts saying and going, 'Oh, oh, oh!'" Erica puts a hand behind her back and groans. "She walked around the house for, like an hour, 'Oh, oh, oh!'"

Now the kid's doing this hysterical duck walk, holding her back and groaning.

"My Dad called the middle wife. She delivers babies, but she doesn't have a sign on the car like the Domino's man. They got my Mom to lie down in bed like this." Then Erica lies down with her back against the wall. "And then, pop! My Mom had this bag of water she kept in there in case he got thirsty, and it just blew up and spilled all over the bed, like psshhheew!"

This kid has her legs spread and with her little hands are miming water flowing away. It was too much!

"Then the middle wife starts saying 'push, push, and breathe, breathe.' They started counting, but never even got past ten. Then, all of a sudden, out comes my brother. He was covered in yucky stuff, they all said was from Mom's play-center! So there must be a lot of stuff inside there."

Then Erica stood up, took a big theatrical bow and returned to her seat.

I'm sure I applauded the loudest. Ever since then, if it's show-and-tell day, I bring my camcorder, just in case another Erica comes along.

Today around the world: March 16 is St. Urho's Day in Finland and Liberty Day and Freedom of Information Day in the U.S. Feel free to tell me anything you'd like.

Rumor Millionaire

Brought to you by the rumor mill.

Yesterday I announced that I'll be leaving Media HQ for a new job in a couple weeks. Today I'll share with you some of the rumors currently circulating about why I'm leaving.

Actual rumors

• recruited by G-Doc to move to Des Moines and join the company he left MHQ for
  
• top-secret personality conflicts among staff
  

GrassMaster's theories

"Regarding the rumor piece," she writes, "because nothing has been formally announced, I think people are assuming something dark and sinister is afoot. Several people have asked me already (in hushed tones) what happened. Depending on who is asking, I am telling people:

• She and El Queso Grande got into a slapping fight over split infinitives, which resulted in her pushing El Queso off the balcony in the atrium.
  
• She and El Queso have both been involved in organized crime for some time now, and she is leaving the suburban mafia to start a new downtown crime outpost.
  
• She, Jan, and Terri [two recently departed coworkers] are starting a new magazine in Hong Kong [where Terri moved]. They left months apart so no one would get suspicious, but the truth is now out."
  

Senor Editor's theory

"You forgot the most obvious reason: She took the blue pill. Soon she will wake up in a reality other than what we know and have come to accept as 'true.' What do I have as proof that this is so? Well, she can probably already do martial arts moves better than Keanu (Can't Act) Reeves.

~Morpheus (a.k.a. Senor Editor)"

rumors my friends have offered to spread and may in fact be whispering right now

• eloping — and he's HOT
  
• eloping to Des Moines with G-Doc — and he's HOT
  
• leaving to follow a T'ai Chi guru and write his memoirs
  
• eloping with the guru — and he's old and wrinkly, but intellectually HOT
  
• going on the road as a full-time Rockapellahead
  
• camping out in line for the next Star Wars movie
  
• hitting the Star Trek convention circuit hard in hopes of getting some footage in Trekkies 3
  

What other good, juicy reasons for my leaving could there be?

Today around the world: March 15 is Constitution Day in Belarus, Hungarian Revolution Anniversary in Hungary, and J.J. Robert's birthday in Liberia.

What's the meanest thing you ever said? To whom? Did you mean it?

Me, I said, "I don't need you" to the man who would become my ex-husband. What I meant to say was that I could take care of myself and was with him by choice and that he shouldn't feel pressured to perform or provide for me.

But he was someone who desperately needed to be needed, and "I don't need you" was the last thing he wanted to hear.

Movin' On Up

Brought to you by springtime winds of change.

Monday seems like a good time to make an announcement, so here it is: I've found a new job. After eight years at Media HQ, I'll be moving to a similar position with a different organization, housed in a de-lux office building in the sky. It's a career opportunity I can't pass up -- which means, apparently, that I've been doing this long enough to have a career rather than just a job. Hmm! Unfortunately, my new employer shares a building with a major bookstore, so I'm going to have to work very hard not to spend my entire paycheck before even stepping outside.

This will be a big change in many ways. MHQ and I have seen each other through a lot in the last eight years. While I've been here, the company has nearly doubled in size and been sold and bought and resold a couple times. While I've experienced significant changes in my personal life, too, thankfully I have not doubled in size.

What I'll miss:

• The people. I've made many exceptional friends while working at MHQ, and I'll be very sorry to part from them. The Soup Group especially has been a mainstay of sanity. Soup Group goes out to lunch together on Thursdays to compare notes, vent frustrations, and talk about our cats. I think I'm going to insist that we still meet for happy hour or dinner or something once a month. These people are too important to let go.
  
• The view. MHQ is situated on the edge of a marsh in the suburbs of the metro area; in fact, the main windows of the atrium and many offices look out onto a wildlife preserve. It's not uncommon for work to stop for a few minutes while we gather to gaze out at birds, deer, foxes, and other creatures you really wouldn't expect to see this close to a major city, not to mention the greenery. I'm sure I'll be able to see plenty from the skyscraper, but it won't be what I'm used to.
  
• The amusement park. Every summer, MHQ sponsors an appreciation event that consists of providing employees and their families with tickets to the local amusement park for a day. You, and your kids if you bring any, can splash around the water park, chat at the ice cream social, or spend the whole day screaming up and down all the roller coasters, as I do. I wonder if they do anything like this at the new place.
  

What I won't miss:

• The computer. My computer usually functions pretty well, but it has a bad habit of stopping dead in its tracks several times a day and chewing its cud for up to a full minute at a time. Makes a terrible grinding noise and won't do diddly until it's finished. The IS department tells me it's searching the A: drive for viruses -- even though I haven't used the A: drive since I got the machine. And since it's been so long since any of them had to deal with an A: floppy disk drive (as opposed to a CD-ROM drive), no one knows how to fix the problem. So they've told me to just deal with it. It's a harmless but annoying interruption of my work I'll be glad to put behind me.
  
• The commute. Though I live barely a dozen miles from MHQ, getting to work and back on a certain stretch of freeway is a notorious pain in the bum. Both home and office are in the 'burbs, and the buses just don't serve this area well, so I have to drive. Plus, several nights a week I go from the office to the T'ai Chi studio rather than straight home, and bus service between those locations isn't doable, either.
  
  The new gig, however, is downtown, and that's a whole new ballgame. Traffic downtown is horrible and parking is worse, so driving there is the last thing I want to do. Fortunately, however, the train runs from very near Sensational Acres to very near the new office, so I'll finally get to use it. On days class ends late, I might end up parking at the studio and taking the bus to the office and back to the studio, then driving home from there. But that will still put far less wear and tear on both my Subarushi and my sanity than the alternative.
  
• The taxidermy. Yes, you read that correctly. Taxidermy. As in, dead animals, stuffed and mounted. MHQ was founded by an avid outdoorsman who hired other avid outdoorsmen, and they decorated the building with numerous hunting and fishing trophies. Birds, fish, mammals, you name it. A VP once lost a bearskin rug, made from a bear he'd slain himself, to theft over the weekend, a mystery that remains unsolved.
  
  Interoffice directions used to include phrases like, "He sits in the goat room" (an area presided over by a stuffed mountain goat); "The donuts are under the moose" (Thursday is treat day, and one department's pastries always sat on a file cabinet directly beneath a moose head); "Turn left at the bass" (because if you turned at the trout you'd go down the wrong hall); and "Meet me at the ox."
  
  The ox is the only trophy I'm going to miss in any way. The stuffed musk ox, dubbed Neville Oxbottom, graces the lobby of MHQ and is among the first things a visitor (or unwary job applicant) sees upon entering. Because it's near the front door, it's a common meeting place for groups heading out to lunch. Neville is a brooding, shaggy beast who has been sent out for cootie extermination more than once. He sometimes gets dressed up for holidays when no one is looking; I've seen him sporting buck teeth and bunny ears around Easter and a pointy hat around Halloween. I've grown sentimentally fond of the old brute over the years. Chances are the bookstore building has no Neville.
  
  And yes, we're sure Neville is a boy. Somebody checked. It was not me.

  
  

I've got two weeks left at MHQ. The countdown has begun.

Today around the world: March 14 is Canberra Day in Australia, Constitution Day in Andorra, White Day in Japan, New Year for Sikhs, and Pi Day in America -- because the date is 3.14, get it? Mmm, pi.

Occasionally, Saturday Night Live (or part of it) is still worth staying up late for. Last night's opening skit, featuring David Spade as a fresh-from-the-big-house Martha Stewart in a crocheted poncho, was a good one. I'm also fond of such classics as William Shatner telling Trekkies to get a life, Chris Farley and Patrick Swayze competing for a job as a Chippendale dancer, and just about anything involving Bill Murray and/or Steve Martin and/or Chevy Chase.

What are your favorite SNL skits?

What's the strangest thing you ever ate?

For me, it's the squid, eel, and sea urchin I once sampled at a sushi restaurant. Strictly vegetarian sushi for me from now on!

Mother Media is partial to peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches. I'm still undecided on whether that's more or less gross than the sea creatures.

Gimme a Breakfall

It's another Flashback Friday!
Originally posted Tuesday, February 12, 2002

Last night's judo class, my second, was good. I considered skipping, as I have developed a cold, but a quick nap before class did the trick. We beginners learned a couple new techniques and got to participate a little more this time than before. My legs aren't nearly as fatigued as last week, probably due to a decreased number of practice falls -- although we still did plenty. Again I got dizzy from the shoulder rolls, which I can only partially blame on inner ear congestion, but at least my timing of the slap is getting better. I'm told that this will improve as I grow more accustomed to being upside down.

My jump-break falls also need work. This is where Sensei kneels on the floor and the students jog up one by one to jump over his back and tumble into a graceful roll on the other side. I tumbled, all right, but did not actually roll; it was more of a splat, and I heard a few other students in line say "Oooh," the way people do when they've watched someone else do something painful. No harm done, really, but I may practice a bit on my own before next time. The fun in this portion of the class comes from watching the little kids, some only 4 or 5 years old. A couple of them are too small to jump over, so they have to climb up on top of poor Sensei and sort of slide off the far side.

The only rough moment came when my co-beginner Matthew (who I swear smoked a whole pack of butts before entering the dojo) fell on me while executing a throw and sort of jabbed me in the eye socket. It was merely a glancing blow (eye -- glancing -- get it?) from which the red faded before his worry about it did.

I'm proud to report that my belt stayed tied for the whole class, although I did have an iffy pants-related moment during the "drag yourself using only your elbows" drill.

Today around the world: March 11 is Commonwealth Day in Tuvalu. Tuva-what? In 1974, ethnic differences within the British colony of the Gilbert and Ellice Islands (in the South Pacific) caused the Polynesians of the Ellice Islands to vote for separation from the Micronesians of the Gilbert Islands. The following year, the Ellice Islands became the separate British colony of Tuvalu. Independence was granted in 1978.

Kumquat Sasquatch

Brought to you by a stroll in the sun.

"Kumquat Sasquatch" is a term dreamed up by Lionel Essrog, the Tourettic protagonist of the superb novel Motherless Brooklyn (thanks for the tip, General). He uses it to describe an enormous, kumquat-eating assassin, whom almost no one else sees, leading him to doubt whether the man is really there.

So it was with my trip to Tucson these past few days. At times, I doubted whether I was really there. The weather, when my plane landed, was not much different from what I'd left: rainy, chilly, grey, upper 50s. I met up with Sister-san, Chef Jeff, and Princess J, whom I'd last seen in my own home. I had a novel with me to pass the time between sessions of the business conference I was attending. Same information, same diversion as on a usual day. Had I really left Sensational Acres and Media HQ?

Yes, as it turned out, I had. I could tell by the dryness of the air, the lowness of the buildings, the whiteness of the cars, the impassioned throb of Mexitechnopop on my rental Kia's radio, the Kia itself -- signs of desert, not of 10,000 lakes.

So I was there, and I was glad. I got to spend some time with family too seldom seen. We went to the San Xavier Mission south of town for a blast from the past and the Biosphere 2 north of it for some cutting-edge science. These were very interesting attractions, but they could not compare with Princess J's first encounter with pureed carrots. Moments before, she'd been bouncing on my knee, kicking her feet and grasping at danglies with her hands. And then the carrots showed up. All. Motion. Stopped. She had not yet reached this taste in her quest to put everything in the world into her mouth. You could see new synapses forming as she processed the orange, slimy information. She accepted several bites before fussing the spoon away, putting her a least one serving of vegetables ahead of the rest of the family.

The Princess and her entourage took off just in time for me to get down to work. Map in hand, I beetled off to my conference. Call me a big nerd -- because I skipped a sci-fi convention to attend this thing -- but I found the conference exciting. Surrounded by the latest research on the effects of nutrition on health, snacking on green tea and walnuts, manufacturing vitamin D between sessions (by lying in the sun beside the pool), dining on spa cuisine and PowerPoint presentations . . . there are worse ways to spend a few days.

Here's one, though: eating tofu. Tofu is icky. I have proof. I know you don't like it, so don't tell me you do. I don't care how healthful the stuff is supposed to be; no amount of sauce or marinade can compensate for that rubbery texture. The worst moment of my stay occurred when I discovered that tofu was the main dish at the otherwise spectacular breakfast on Tuesday. Thank god I had remembered to grab a cinnamon roll before leaving my hotel.

Interesting as it all was, there's no place like home. It's good to be back at Sensational Acres with my cats and my friends nearby. Spring is in the air at last, always a welcome light at the end of the winter tunnel. I have seen the Kumquat Sasquatch, and here's what he had to say:

• Don't drink soda or eat fried food.
  
• Do eat fruits and vegetables and take vitamins.
  
• Don't eat tofu for breakfast, or any other time if you can help it.
  
• Watch out for pureed carrots.
  
• Exercise.
  
• Have a little chocolate now and then.
  
• Wear sunscreen.
  
• Read Motherless Brooklyn.
  

Today around the world: March 10 is Commonwealth Day in Dominica, Dry Season Celebration in Myanmar/Burma/my hair, and Harriett Tubman Day in the U.S.

The Media Sensation will be on the road scouting new bands for the next few days. See you again Thursday, March 10. Thanks for stopping by!

Survey Sez

For your time-killing pleasure, Band Name of the Day proudly announces

The Jugglernaut Survey!

Because I got tired of being bored by my own answers to regular surveys.

WHO ARE YOU?

WHY DO I CARE?

WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE IN LIFE?

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO

juggle?

snuggle?

gargle?

water ski?

snow ski?

ice skate?

roller-skate?

bake a cherry pie, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?

catch a fish?

fish for compliments?

identify complimentary colors?

color inside the lines?

color outside the lines?

snort lines?

memorize lines?

line your pockets?

pocket the change?

change the world?

sing "It's a Small World After All"?

without going crazy?

you sure about that?

raise your hand if you're sure?

defend yourself?

express yourself?

offend yourself?

tickle yourself?

tickle Elmo?

tickle L.Mo?

TAKE YOUR PICK

Kirk or Picard?

Spock or Dr. Spock?

DS9 or B5?

navy or indigo?

Army or Navy?

arm or leg?

Legos or Tinker Toys?

Tinkerbell or Peter Pan?

pan flute or pancakes?

cakewalk or spacewalk?

space bar or strip bar?

strip poker or poker face?

face off or face down?

down-filled or Gore-Tex?

Al Gore or Al Franken?

Frankenstein or Frankenberry?

Halle Berry or Hal Linden?

linen or polyester?

Polly want a cracker or nice kitty?

WHAT CAN YOU DO BETTER THAN MOST OTHER PEOPLE?

WHAT DO YOU DO WORSE THAN MOST OTHER PEOPLE?

HAVE YOU SEEN

the Mona Lisa?

Mona Hilton?

any Hilton?

The Scream?

ice cream?

the Muffin Man?

the Washington Monument?

Mt. Rushmore?

Rushmore?

Rush Limbaugh?

Limp Bizkit?

Betty Crocker?

sausages being made?

laws being made?

history being made?

Maid in Manhattan?

Manhattan?

Staten Island?

statin drug research?

stats?

hats?

cats?

mats?

brats?

rats?

TODAY, WILL YOU

drink water?

drink booze?

drink to your health?

improve your health?

watch Home Improvement?

go to Home Depot?

go to a train depot?

smoke de pot?

use the pot?

make a pot roast?

butter some hot toast?

visit the coast?

be a host?

with the most?

is that a boast?

lock someone in the cooler?

talk to a preschooler?

talk to a fool?

act like a fool?

think someone you know is a fool?

rule?

roll?

rock?

exaggerate your survey answers to make yourself seem cooler?

write your own survey to make yourself seem cooler?

Thanks for playing!

D'OHjo

Brought to you by me when I took my first judo classes three years ago. Talk about putting the D'OH in the dojo . . .

originally posted: 02/07/02

On Monday, I took my first judo class. I’ve long been interested in investigating judo as a supplement to T’ai Chi. Judo revolves around throwing and grappling techniques, and while we have a few of those in T’ai Chi, we don’t practice them all the way through. For instance, we’ll get into position to throw a partner and maybe get the person off balance, but not follow through and send them to the ground. We seem to have enough to keep us busy without learning safe falling techniques, too, so we don’t dwell on the throwing parts. I’m curious, though, so I decided to sign up for an 8-week introductory course.

Judo is an admittedly rough sport, but if you’re really looking for a challenge, try getting dressed to play. The gi, the traditional white jacket and pants worn for many Japanese martial arts, is at least as complicated as what you do while you’re wearing it. I had to ask a 7-year-old in the dressing room for help operating my pants; I couldn’t figure out whether the drawstring was meant to be pulled through the little loopy thing or not. The girl set me straight, though, and thoughtfully checked whether I knew how to tie a bow before leaving me alone with the pants. She probably had her doubts.

Next came the jacket and obi (belt), under which women usually wear a T-shirt or shirt-bra and men usually wear nothing. I’d been warned by friends that you have to take care to wrap the right-hand flap in first and the left over top; the other way around is the way a Japanese undertaker would wrap it on a dead person. So I got that part right, but I didn’t know how to tie the obi to hold the jacket closed. One of the senseis had to tie it for me the first time. It’s hard to be cocky about your martial arts skills while someone else is dressing you, but learning the “obi kata,” or belt sequence, is sort of an initiation rite among new students. Having been a Girl Scout ever so long ago, I was able to master the knot-tying fairly quickly. I managed to get through class without it falling off, at any rate.

Once dressed, I was ready to work out. Having observed a class at the dojo a few weeks previous, I was prepared for the vigorous warm-ups. I managed to complete the exercises without keeling over from fatigue.

Then Sensei Gary took me and the other beginner to a far corner to teach us how to fall on the padded floor without getting hurt. We started by flopping onto our backs from a sitting position, then from a squat, then from standing upright. When you hit, you’re supposed to slap the mat with your hand to absorb some of the impact. Also, always tuck your chin down so you don’t whack the back of your head.

We did numerous repetitions of the falling drills, and while the falling-down part proved easy enough — gravity does most of the work, after all — the getting-up part was another story. Experienced judoka (judo students) know how to govern their momentum so that they can rise to their feet easily after a fall. Beginners like me, however, tend to do it a lot more slowly. This, it turned out, was the most strenuous part of the workout for me. While my legs are strongly conditioned for T’ai Chi activities, which involve standing and moving about, sometimes for hours at a time, all that rising from the floor really worked my quadriceps, the muscles on the front of the thigh. I was feeling the strain for the next three days.

Sensei next introduced us to the shoulder roll, which is a lot like a somersault. Again we started low, first tumbling from a squat, then from a bent-over position, and finally from an upright stance. I had had a friend teach me some rolls over the summer, so this technique was not new to me. However, I had eaten a heavy burger and greasy fries for lunch, and a few series of dizzying inversions were enough to leave me a bit queasy by the end. Next week I’ll eat a lighter lunch.

For the final portion of our lesson, it was time to get up close and personal. Sensei showed us how to square off with a partner and get a proper grip on his or her gi. This involves clutching the lapel, the material of which is heavily reinforced, in one hand and the sleeve in the other. We learned the footwork for a basic throw but did not complete the throw. Maybe next week, when our falls are a little more coordinated. We learned a simple wrestling hold. I could tell my male partner was a little uncertain about having a woman he’d just met reach through his legs to grab the back of his belt, but it’s all part of the sport and there’s certainly nothing sexy about it.

By the end of the class I was tired but happy. Judo is definitely different from T’ai Chi, but I think they’ll complement each other nicely. If nothing else, I’ll develop really, really strong legs.

Also posted today: He's OK

Today around the world: March 3 is National Unity Day in Sudan.

He's OK

Brought to you by former president Martin Van Buren, via Senor Editor.

Ever wonder where the expression "OK" comes from? Well, wonder no longer! I learned from Senor Editor today that Martin Van Buren, 8th president of the United States, brought this term into use. The phrase "OK" most likely was born during Marty's campaign for re-election as president in 1840. That same year, a Democratic organization was formed in New York that called itself the "O.K. Club," which was named for Marty's hometown of Kinderhook, New York, commonly referred to as Old Kinderhook.

The letters "OK" began appearing as slogans, written on posters and appearing in newspapers, with no one explaining what it stood for. Some claimed it stood for the old English words "Ole Kurrek," meaning "all correct," while opposition supporters made up meanings for it, like "Out of Kash." The campaign was effective enough that one newspaper preferred reversing the letters to "KO," since the campaign was said to be like a knock-out punch.

Van Buren lost the election, but the campaign slogan lived on and is now used in languages around the world.

Today around the world: March 3 is National Anthem Day here in the U.S., OK? It's also Martyr's Day in Malawi and Hina Matsuri (Doll Festival) in Japan. OK.

Thanks to BookGirl for this link to some gutbusting romance novel covers!

And go here for Recipe Cards from Hell.

And visit the granddaddy of them all, my blogological hero James Lileks' Gallery of Regrettable Food.

Sixty-five Dollar Baby

Brought to you by Marshall Art, ninja sherrif.

To look at my forearms this morning, you'd think I'd been in a fight. And you'd be right. All in good fun, of course. I’m referring to my regular Monday night sparring session with ichi-ban partner-san. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say there's nothing like a good clean fight to make a girl's day.

I can see your nose wrinkling with polite distaste. You think martial arts in general and boxing in particular are a bit brutish. A bit crude. A bit, dare we say, unladylike. You're too polite to say so to people who do these things, of course; to each his or her own. But you're thinking it. Fighting is not nice. People who say that martial arts, fighting arts, are a path to peace are a bunch of hypocrites.

No, madam, that would be you.

My earnest request to boxing bashers: don't knock it 'til you've tried it. Boxing will save your soul. It saved mine.

Once upon a time, I was married. The marriage ended when I decided I really didn't like his girlfriend all that much. Off he went, leaving me holding the bag — by which I mean everything we owned, from the house and cats down to his clothes, toothbrush, and unpaid parking tickets. I was upset, as you may imagine. I wanted to hit something. Anything. Now.

Even in my fury, I knew that I'd better be careful with the hitting or I'd just cause myself more grief. So the week El Pendejo checked out, I joined the Eclectsis class at the T'ai Chi studio. Eclectsis is a modern, eclectic martial art that blends western boxing with southern preying mantis kung fu and street fighting. Yeahyeahyeah whatever. They hit things, right? I showed up early.

I figured class would consist of a few minutes of Sifu showing me how to make a proper fist and throw a straight punch, followed by a long stretch of me thrashing the holy heck out of some focus pads or the heavy bag, or maybe even one of the men in the class. I was totally ready for that. Foaming at the mouth for it, in fact. And I was disappointed. At first.

Sifu started us newbies out slow, so slow that it was a year before we did any sparring of any kind. We spent weeks and weeks making good stances and jabbing air before he put pads in front of us. We spent months and months polishing four or five different kinds of punches, learning the footwork, learning to read the pads and to hold them for each other.

That was all very nice, but it wasn't the real education. The real lesson was that you can't fight when you're pissed.

No, you can't. Anger will get in your way. You have to be relaxed and focused to box well, or to do any martial art well. You're not going to connect with the sweet spot on the pads, a target the size of a mini-muffin, if you're not focused. You're not going to remember your punch combos if you're mentally composing a letter to your attorney. And you're not going to dodge diddly squat if you're busy plotting revenge. If you're not concentrating in the moment, you're not in the game, and you will get your ass kicked, either by failing in your practice or by failing to defend yourself intelligently in the ring.

Well, I hate to fail. Hate it. Unacceptable. So I chose to apply myself to where my hands and feet were, how I was breathing, what I was seeing, whether I was being a good padholder. Though the class only met once a week, I eventually developed these skills enough for Sifu to allow me to swing at someone else.

Huzzah! I bought myself some gloves and headgear and started doing some sparring with my classmates. And let me tell you, the first time I got clocked in the head, I forgot all about whatshispants and focused my attention squarely on what was in front of me. No time for distraction. Time to concentrate on hands up, chin down, feet light, breathing deep. Time to parry and counter, time to duck and slip, time to assess and strike, time to reel and recover, yes. But no time for the ex.

So I learned about boxing. And I learned about myself as a boxer. And as a woman. I learned that I can take a punch and remain standing; that I am nimbler and quicker than you'd expect; that I can control the ring by standing firm in the center and letting the other guy wear himself out circling me; that I have an iron gut; that I have great balance; that shelling up will only get me so far, and after that, I will hit back; that hitting back does not make me a bad person; that no one is going to cut me a break because I have boobs; that I can hold my own among some very tough people; that if I slow down and let it flow, I'm actually pretty good.

Yes, yes, thank you for the After-School Special "I've learned something very important here today" speech, right? U go grrl, sing it sistah, etc., etc., etc. Yawn. Yeah, I know.

Well, I also learned about having a partner. This is the interesting part. I discovered that my sparring partner is not there to kill me. In fact, he does not give a belgian waffle who I am. It could just as easily be somebody else standing there panting; he does not care. What he cares about is the challenge of making good art (and anyone who thinks that the martial arts are not arts clearly has never tried one, because it's pure collaborative improvisation — physical jazz a deux). He cares about finding the opening, setting up the lock, landing the strike, thwarting my attack, all at top speed. He does not care about my personal feelings in the matter.

Because it's not about me. And it's not about him. It's about art and sweat and patience. Hell, hurting me is the last thing he wants to do, because then the game would be over. And the last thing I want to do is hurt him, because I'm lucky to have him there willing to do this with me. He's my best friend. I know what it is to hold someone's well-being in my hands and to trust him with mine, and it's made me a damn sight more considerate than I was before.

So you see, the boxing I do is not so brutish, not so crass. It's an exercise in trusting, both myself and my partner, and in being trusted, by both myself and my partner. It's a source of the knowledge that I don't have to hit things — or to keep getting hit — to prove I'm tough. And it's a source of peace, because I understand my power to hurt and the responsibility that goes with it, and I don't want to abuse either. This knowledge is better than a million dollars. It's priceless.

Today around the world: March 1 is National Pig Day in the U.S. Did you hear that, Six? Piggies!