It only took 3 years, but we finally went skiing at Mountain High in the San Bernardino Mountains this past weekend, after a drive out to Anza Borrego on the Cesar Chavez holiday on Friday (I posted a few pictures from the trip on Petri's blog).
I learned a very important lesson this weekend: I'm old. Among the things that made me feel ancient:
General:
- The "High" in "Mountain High" has nothing to do with altitude.
- We were 2 of maybe 5 skiers in the whole resort (the rest were snowboarders).
- We were 2 of maybe 5 people over 30 yrs old. Apparently skis & age are related.
- "Surfer dude" speech exists on the mountains in addition to the beach.
- I remember when snow gear was just supposed to keep you warm. Now? I'm pretty sure there's probably a fashion magazine out there solely for snowboarders. My pants were so uncool...as was my North Face jacket (but it blocks the wind!).
Body related:
- When I lifted my leg, I could feel my ligaments/ tendons pull away from my bones, from the weight of the skis. That was a confidence booster...
- I got tired halfway down the first run.
- I'm pretty sure I fell every single run I did.
- I was afraid of going too fast (I mean, what the ****?! Who am I?)
- I didn't want to stay the full 8 hours that I paid for.
Why do I love flickr? Because things like this happen: Two of my photos were selected for presentation in a digital slideshow at the San Diego Natural History Museum. It's for their next exhibit, Water: A California Story, opening July 19, 2008. As to be expected, the photos are history related: I mean, wow. I made it to a museum. I'm officially immortalized...unless their computer crashes.
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Isn't this map relaxing? Per a friend's request, I'm posting the map I'm checking in on every 2 hours or so for what seems to be the most up to date happenings in the region. If you zoom in and find "Evacuation Center: Qualcomm Stadium," we live just south of that so we're okay. I might start getting nervous if that southern fire reaches the community of La Mesa, but even then, there'd be a whole lot of concrete jungles to jump through, and the Santa Anas don't seem to be blowing west anymore. Nonetheless, it's a (very sad) view of the extensive destruction that's happened in what were some beautiful areas.
We've been taking walks down to the end of the street to watch the crowd at Qualcomm grow. This is the view from about 4pm today...almost looks like a black and white photo as a thumbnail through the smoke. The comparisons between Qualcomm and the Superdome have already started, which is annoying just because they're very different catastrophes with a very different demographic.
So far my favorite caller on the NPR station was a lady who said, "I just couldn't leave my house without doing the dishes first."
Thanks to all the distant friends and family who have called/emailed to check up on us. Luckily our area isn't in danger of burning, but in the event we die of smoke inhalation, we love you all...life was beautiful and nothing hurt.
Things are actually much better in our neighborhood for now than it was earlier (as seen in the photo taken yesterday), though I wish I could say the same for the areas where it's actually burning.
It's been an eerie feeling all day as the radio waves and TV stations announce evacuations of one city after another, schools shut down (including my class at SDSU tomorrow), the city shuts down, the normal air traffic overhead has changed its flight pattern, and Qualcomm Stadium lights up the end of our street with evacuees creating a traffic jam in the parking lot as opposed to the normal crowd on the surrounding highways. Needless to say it's made our third anniversary probably one of the most memorable that we'll have.
First we feel our first earthquake, then a couple of weeks ago there was a big landslide, now the fires...when's the tsunami coming?
A little more than a week ago I woke up in the very early morning to the bed shaking...not quite shaking but shivering. In my sleepiness I wondered why Ryan was not only shivering, but shivering so slowly. Being the compassionate one, I pushed him to wake him up and asked if he was shivering because I believe this was also in the midst of our California heatwave--boo hoo, I know. Point is, shivering would have been ridiculous. I wouldn't have allowed it. No shivering in the heat. Not unless you've been sweating in the heatwave and then walked into an overly air-conditioned store or restaurant OR have a thyroid problem.
Anyway Ryan had NOT been shivering and while I felt the bed slowly shiver a few more times, he did not. I even swore there was a slight rumbling sound at which point I thought, oh my god...an earthquake...an earthquake? crap. AN EARTHQUAKE...HOORAY! AN EARTHQUAKE!
I hopped out of bed that morning and went straight to the internet to read all the reports and accounts about the earthquake. I thought all the neighbors would be standing at the end of their sidewalks ready to talk about where they were and what they did when the earthquake hit. I was ready to chat it up with everyone but nothing. Nothing was reported. No one was hanging out outside. Just nothing. So then I was like, maybe it wasn't an earthquake...yeah...I guess car alarms would have gone off.
So later, I won't say where Ryan was sitting when he yells DID YOU FEEL THAT? I didn't feel it, but thought that if there was one place to feel an earthquake, it was probably Ryan's "chair," which happens to be very firmly attached to the ground. I didn't take it too seriously (because there would be reason for rumbling to happen in that chair. har), but still kept checking in on any reports. Nothing.
I wish I could remember specifically what date that was, but finally, FINALLY, I found some validation with a series of reports that have been posted about a series of earthquakes that have been happening around here. So I'm not crazy. And duh, this is old hat for SoCal residents. Kind of like this past Christmas when we were on a plane back to Cincinnati and while we were descending into Minnesota for our layover all the San Diegans were like, Ohhhh! Is that snow?! Wow! Snow! I just want to play in it! And I was like psshh. Idiots. And rolling my eyes at them.
Update: So my intention was NOT to post this on the same day as the Indonesian earthquakes. Total coincidence--no disrespect meant.
So what if there has only been 0.75 inches of rain in the past year at the Anza Borrego Desert State Park. Maybe it meant that hardly any desert flora was blooming, but a big reason to make the day trip out here from San Diego is just for the drive.
At one point in the two hour drive when Ryan reached into a bag to find something, I said, "Look. It just changed." In that one moment he was looking in the bag, we came over a hill and it went from lush, green mountainous landscape to tall yellow grasses and vast open spaces. We saw burnt hillsides from all those southern California wildfires you hear about, enormous boulders sprinkled on green mountains, people wearing shorts, people wearing parkas, the ocean, a desert, and an oasis. Actually we've made some of this drive before...I have some blogging to catch up on (note to self: Rose Canyon, Temecula, Big Bear Mountain/Lake). But each time we've done it, I'm always struck by the changing landscape.
The very tiny slice of Anza Borrego that we explored was awesome. I can only imagine what 500 more miles of dirt road has to offer. We drove in the Borrego Springs entrance and paid $6 to enter a campsite (even though we weren't staying) to hike the Palm Canyon trail. They call this a "moderate" 1.5 mile trail. At first I was thinking that the trail was too short. We drove two hours, dammit. I wanted to HIKE. But "moderate" definitely involved some scaling of rocks and situations where I genuinely had to consider how I was going to make my next step without injuring myself. I jumped off boulders A) because I'm fun like that and B) because I didn't really know any other way to proceed. Point is, "moderate" probably isn't for your parents. Overall, I think the hike up the desert valley to the oasis and back took us over two hours. It wound up being a perfect little trip that cleared up any guilt we had over the Mexican at Ponce's we ate the night before. And the oasis was cool. I don't know why but I guess I didn't really think that oases were real. I found myself wondering if they had planted the palm trees there because when you're hiking for an hour where everything's dead, it just doesn't make sense to come up on this thriving little tree house area, complete with running water. Anyway I recommend it. Bring water. Wear shoes (so many people were wearing flip flops?)
We saw real roadrunners on the way home. Turns out they look NOTHING like the cartoon version. They're not as big as a wolf, first of all. They're tiny. And frankly I think the cartoon would have been more interesting if this tiny ass bird had always been getting the best of Wile E. Coyote. They weren't blue. They didn't "beep" nor did they hold up signs to communicate to us. And they were kind of slow.
More pictures of the Anza Borrego adventure are up on my flickr account.
The latest ideas in the job search have involved the fitness world:
- I'd get the daily exercise in that I'm always meaning to do AND I'd get paid for it
- Talking is limited
- I'd get to wear comfortable clothes
So, I've been researching places around town where I can get my yoga teacher training certification and decided to check out this one place with a training session at the end of this month. The yoga I'm used to usually involves soothing music and poses at varying speeds/flows, depending on the type of yoga you're doing and an instructor that speaks very little. We'll call this Ohio yoga.
I believe in the mind/body thing with yoga, you know? But this place I went to yesterday? We literally chanted "om."
And then we had to roar like lions.
And I'm not kidding.
It wasn't the instruction that scared me so much as the other students. I mean, it's downright shocking how loud fellow yogis will roar or om or exhale. The instructor never stopped talking (albeit soothingly) about our auras, colors, third eyes, and higher gods. I'm all for quiet visualization, but when you ask for a response from the yogis, it's a scary look into how seriously people take this. I was waiting for someone to start passing out kool-aid, dousing themselves with gasoline, and setting the place on fire. That's just the "mind" part of this class. I won't even go into the Good Will Hunting moment.
Now for the physical part: all the rage in California is yoga in rooms heated to 120 degrees F just as this one was. I don't know about you, but the first thing I think when I walk into a sauna is, why isn't anyone exercising? Here, naked guy, take this parka. My only explanation for this is that native southern Californians have different blood than everyone else. 70 degrees is chilly to them. Or it's just a very bulimic way of sweating off the pounds. All I know is that I had to lie down three times because I started to faint. Lucky for me on the third time down, we started the floor exercise portion of the 1.5 hour class. You know how saunas have that sign posted where you're not supposed to be in it for longer than 15 minutes? That's just another thought to consider.
Unless I can find an Ohio speed of yoga out here, I guess idea #5938 for a job is out. Wet, hot, lion yoga might work for some people, but it's not for me.
Idea #5939: I might try pilates next. Less spiritual. I think.
Friday night, Ryan and I hit the road to LA to see the Jimmy Kimmel show. I hated The Man Show when it was on--Adam Carolla was, quite simply, a d***--but I'd give Jimmy Kimmel a break sometimes because it seemed like he was poking fun at his supposed "manhood." His late night show is a million times better (the few times I've caught it) and since Sarah Silverman was appearing, I thought, heck, why not?
I questioned my assessment when we walked up next to the El Capitan Theater on Hollywood Boulevard (where I thought Jimmy Kimmel was taped) and it turned out that the show was in the building next door--the Hollywood Masonic Temple. Holy Man Show, indeed.
Aside from feeling like I compromised a part of myself by walking into the former house of the Mason b*******, it was a good time. The studio filtered the crowd into certain seats and they put us right smack in the front row...as in it was more comfortable for us to rest our feet on the stage instead of the ground in front of us...as in the third and fourth seats from the center, next to the extended stage where Kimmel does his monologue...as in 12 feet from the guest's seat and Jimmy's desk...as in it was borderline invasion of each other's personal space. I'm still wondering what the criteria was that put us there because by "filtering" the crowd I mean that they sized us up with another couple that was clearly ten million more times gorgeous than we were--so much so that pre-show when Jimmy Kimmel came out to prime the crowd, he commented on how tan they were and how beautiful their teeth were--and said, yep, these people belong in the first row. My guess is we looked boring and harmless compared to the millions of hard core Slayer fans that showed up, which meant we wouldn't be a disruption or distraction "in the only rows that they could see when taping."
The camera really does add ten pounds. Sarah Silverman was a stick and Jimmy Kimmel isn't *that* bad.
Otherwise two American Idol rejects from Seattle were guests along with an actor from Hero? Heroes? I didn't know the guy. The American Idol guys are clearly a part of the mean-spirited portion of aspect of American Idol, and potentially lend themselves to more mean-spiritedness by appearing on Jimmy Kimmel, but I liked the way he handled it. He straddled a line of acknowledging that the larger public sees them as odd, but he treated them like people. I guess we'll really see on Monday after they spend this weekend with him at the Celebrity Golf tournament, interviewing celebs.
Now we have to get to The Price is Right before Bob Barker leaves and the Ellen Show.
I first heard about Phil the Sore on "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!" Phil's whole deal is to promote syphilis awareness as he plays the villain in a variety of ads, commercials, and even shows up at community events as a 3-D swollen, bumpy sore! Go on, kids! Gather 'round the Sore for a picture!Now *I* would say that Phil falls into a category I talked about a long long time ago called "physical threat advertising."
Take a look at these negative/aggressive traits:
- He's red--the color of anger, itself
- Downturned eyebrows, which say, hey! I'm mad! but those curves at the end suggest he's mischievous as well
- Tough buzz cut however sparse suggests a militaristic side
- The earring is questionable--could be the Don't ask, don't tell part of the militaristic or a I'm so tough, I can take a small needle through the ear! I'm a rebel!
- His eyes only want to look at you when he can be head-on with you
- And he's baring his teeth
If you looked at the comments section of the "Physical Threat Advertising" post, one of my very smart, beautiful friends (and fellow blogger, publicprivate) had this to say:You will find this funny, but I learned from my health messages classes in public health grad school that negative images practically never work. The only thing that works to get someone to do something is to punish them when they do it (or don't do it, if the case may be). But people rarely are scared from fear-based ads. Because we know the Rhyno can't actually see us, and won't actually come after us after we do something that is unhealthy. If the posters were a warning that there is a Rhyno on the premises and he will, in fact, kick your ass if you are participating in underage drinking, well, that's pretty convincing. Especially if you are witnessing, out of the corner of your eye, Rhyno beating someone up for underage drinking not ten feet away.
Seeing as Phil the Sore is specifically part of the public health sphere, I was wondering how he fares in the realm of health message effectiveness. He has many negative/aggressive traits, yet may be on the premises and will essentially punish you so that makes him effective no matter how strange a mascot, eh? Or does his smile (which I find to make him seem opportunistic in conjunction with his eyebrows) and "cute-ification" (if there's something such as a cute sore) nullify the negativity?
Then again, if I was an onlooker who knew nothing about Phil, how would I know he's not The Angry Raspberry?
And just for comparison there's the brother campaign of Healthy Penis.
