motormouth's bloglife 1998
that was then, baby
that was then, baby
02/17/1998
My name is Monica Lewinsky.
I haven't said much to this point. Can you really blame me?
I guess that this whole thing can be traced back to when my parents divorced. I was just a kid when they split, and although they still paid for my tennis lessons it just wasn't the same. Parents like to think that their actions have no effect on the children. If they think that, why do they have children in the first place?
My Insecurity (I tend to capitalize that, apologies) caused me to eat.
A lot.
Despite my mother's wishes. She put me on the Scarsdale Diet when I was 7 years old and there was no looking back. Not that the diets helped or anything.
My weight ballooned. I was the fat girl.
My high school nickname was 'paperweight'. Naturally, that was bestowed upon me by the anorexics. Lucky bitches.
I sought recluse in the fact that they couldn't think of anything more clever than that.
Eager for some male attention, due to the fact that my Dad was rarely around and my brother was a geek, I sought the company of my male upper-classmates. Sought a great deal of company. I can say in my defense that I always felt I loved them. Quality, not quantity. Doing it gave me power. I loved to see men writhing, wanting me. So what if it was just physical? At least they wanted my body, which was more than I wanted of it, so why shouldn't I just enjoy it?
So I graduated high school, went to college and got a job interning at the White House.
I felt an affinity for Bill. We'd both "lost" our fathers (his from death, mine from divorce) at a young age, and we'd both battled weight problems for our entire lives, but he didn't wholly manifest his power by sleeping with people -- he was the President of the United States, for crying out loud.
I've never admired anyone the way I admired him. He dazzled me.
I always made certain to smile at him whenever he entered the room.
He noticed.
We got to talking one day and he took me seriously! What an incredible rush. When our initial conversation was over, I felt my heart beating rapidly inside my (heaving) chest. Here was a man I could get serious about.
So his job is really stressful and we'd play around. I can't even explain what it's like to kneel down in the Oval Office and take the president's Executive Branch in your mouth, watching him as he leans back against his desk for support, moaning above your efforts.
He bought me presents, called me late at night for marathon phone calls, most of which left me moist and gasping. Any woman who doesn't find Bill attractive, well, hasn't had a three-hour phone call with him in the middle of the night. What a thrill to pick up the phone, half asleep in bed, and realize that your midnight caller is the leader of the Free World.
As tends to happen when one of the parties is 21 years old, things soured between us. I'd rather not go into why. I told my friend Linda about it, which was probably a stupid thing to do but I had to talk to someone and since she was so much older than me, I figured she'd have some practical experience to pass along.
Now I know that the only thing she had to pass along was tapes of our conversations to Kenneth Starr.
What a bitch.
So, I'm no longer welcome in Washington. The job at Revlon that Vernon lined up for me came crashing through the minute the story broke (so much for the advancement of women).
I'm 24 years old and my life is ruined. And he didn't so much as ever get me off.
Bastard.
*****
08/09/1998
How I Spent my Summer Vacation
Yeah, OK, it's been a while.
Seems that right after I finished revamping motormouth.com into the lovely, classic site you see before you, I got really sick of Web sites (might have had something to do with the fact that I was also knee-deep in a revamp of IBIS's site at the same time).
To make up for my neglect of you, I've typed long and hard until the wee small hours of the morning.
I promise to never neglect you for this long again.
Well, for a while, at least.
***
My summer began with a camping trip to Yosemite with the junior-high youth group I advise.
Three advisers, eleven junior-highers, no running water. We all had a blast!
Steve, the male adviser, was quickly dubbed "MacGyver" for his now-I'll-make-something-out-of-twigs-and-string prowess. Kimberly (the youth director) and I borrowed an extra tent -- a six-person tent -- from one of the campers. The kids called our tent "Buckingham Palace." Other tents were nicknamed "Taj Mahal" (a dome tent, natch) and "Hearst Castle".
One night I was sitting near the campfire with two of the boys in the group. They asked me, "Lynn, do you know how tents are rated as one-person, two-person or more-person tents?"
I had to plead ignorance.
They continued talking amongst themselves. Pointing to a very small tent, Josh said "I bet not even Yoko Ono could fit in that tent!"
Matt replied, "Yeah, but he has a really cool Web site."
I was thoroughly confused, so it was time to interrupt. "Guys, I don't think that Yoko Ono is that big."
They looked at me and burst into simultaneous laughter.
I continued. "I really don't think that Yoko Ono is more than five feet two."
Then, a light bulb flashed above my head.
"You two don't mean *Akebono*, the sumo wrestler, do you?"
"Of course!" they replied. "He has a really cool Web site, too."
I sucked in my cheeks to keep from laughing before I could explain to them, "Yoko Ono was John Lennon's wife."
When Kimberly came back to the campfire, it took us five minutes before we could all stop laughing long enough to explain why we were laughing.
The Saturday we were there, we hiked up the Mist Trail to Vernal Falls. It was exhilarating and humbling at the same time. There's just so much water! My fingers prune up just thinking about it. A couple of the kids had a tough time making it up, but everyone arrived at the top in one piece. On our way back down, five of us sang "The Ants go Marching". We got up to 20 before we ran out of rhymes, so we sang up to 20 another two times.
:-)
***
What else? Sabrina and Dave (my married neighbors across the street) have had members of Sabrina's family in from France for the past four months.
Her brother, Michael, was a lot of fun and got me and Alex hooked on World Cup Soccer. So hooked, that while driving to my Mom's house on the day of the championship game, I searched in vain for a radio station with a live broadcast. The only one I found was in Spanish. When I heard the announcer say en Espanol that France was leading Brazil 2-0, I thought "naah, must be my rusty Spanish."
Upon arrival at Mom's, and after presenting her with her birthday present (a wicked cool Coleman gas barbecue with side gas burner), I rushed in to catch the rest of the game.
I talked with Michael a few days ago. He said that when he watched the championship game (he was back in Bordeaux by then), it was in a large hall with a big-screen TV. "Lynn, it was great. People were smoking and drinking, and when France won, well, I partied until 8:00 the next morning," he told me.
Sorry, Alvaro. But I wore my Brazil futbol cap for the weeks preceding the championship, so I feel your pain.
***
And, while I'm on the subject of Dave and Sabrina, they had their baby nearly two weeks ago. Their new daughter was 20 inches long and weighed 8 pounds, 4 ounces, which, incidentally, is what I weighed at birth.
(Jeez... I've put on like more than 100 pounds since then... :-)
The baby is really amazing. I got to hold her today and in the span of five minutes, she spat up a bit, and then she started hiccupping, and then her face like froze for ten seconds until she sneezed! Truly, she's remarkably intelligent.
When they brought her home from the hospital, the song playing on the radio was "Daughter" by Pearl Jam. Honest!
***
The vegetable seeds I started four months ago are bearing vegetables. I've got 15 ears of corn and God knows how many tomatoes. I got some heirloom everbearing raspberry bushes today from my friend Larry's grandma. The bushes grow wild on her property and bear the most luscious berries I've ever seen.
Larry has been teaching me how to shoot hoops. It's really fun, and I even beat him in a game of H-O-R-S-E two weeks ago. "Larry's a HO." I singsonged. It was even more fun to sing when he had H-O-R...
***
Yesterday was Johnny P's birthday. He's 28 years old, so I get to be two years older than him for another few months, which I'll be certain to remind him if the opportunity should arise.
I had dinner with him, his mom and his grandma last night and we had a great time. Buck's Restaurant in Woodside is terrific. I'm eager to go there for breakfast. Any takers?
No, you wouldn't nudge me, you'd meet me there. Smart aleck.
***
OK, so I guess I've talked about everyone and everything else by now so I have nobody left but myself.
My job I are no longer one. I've been doing some consulting and am *really* enjoying it. It's so wonderful to work at home, and the projects have been right up my alley -- tough to argue with that! My Duo is all hooked up to my 56k USRx2 modem and my Color StyleWriter 4100 (got a great deal on it at Fry's -- thanks, Dragon!). I've also appropriated the kitchen table as a desk: Figured I might as well because we never *eat* on it.
In my free time, I've learned how to sew and have two new dresses to show for it. I've read 20 books this summer, tended my garden, and have seen Kevin as often as his schedule allows. I think he enjoys suburban life, though it pains his citified heart to admit it. We went to Portland in June to visit his grandma, and recently spent a weekend at the Blackthorne Inn in Inverness Park. Magical!
***
Best of all, it's still only August, which means hot days for corn to grow and long days for shooting hoops.
Aaah, it's a good life.
*****
08/15/1998
A Case of Mistaken Identity?
OK, so I'd been *wondering* why my hit count has doubled this month. Silly me, I figured it was due to my recent spate of updates. Fortunately, my buddy Ben K. set me right. Via e-mail.
"Hey Lynn," he wrote, "did you know that your domain name is in MicroTimes this month?"
He saved me from driving out into the night to look for the magazine by sending me the URL of the article that mentions dear sweet Motormouth.com. Of course, the use seems to be entirely fictional. As far as I know, I've never met the author, David Strom. No, smart aleck, I didn't pay him off, either.
It's a real trip. He's got me (or rather MotorMouth.com) as the content-rich competitor of HarleyWheels.com and HotRod magazine. Guess they know I'm a leadfoot at heart... "The MotorMouth folks have pages of parts galore and are starting to draw lots of traffic. Worse yet, the print ad sales rep from HotRod are starting to hear more and more about the competition from these MotorMouth guys."
Uh, *gals*. Actually, *gal*. Also amusing is that he mentions the side issue that Harley Davidson might come down on our "two friendly [fictitious] Web gurus because of the nature of their domain name." Uh, been there, done that.
So, if you ended up at my site due to this MicroTimes article, a hearty welcome to you. Sorry, I don't have any motorcycle parts for sale. And there aren't any nekkid pictures around here either. I hope that you'll stick around for a while, regardless.
*****
08/16/1998
Marilynn and her Singing Dog
After Gregory, the Sheltie my folks had owned longer than they'd owned me, died, we mourned for him and were dogless until Megan, the dog across the street, got knocked up. She was owned by the mother of our neighbors, the Dodds. A tri-colored Shetland sheepdog, her manner was sweet and her eyes were clear and dark.
We told them that we would like a puppy from the whelping. They agreed. A puppy was secured. One morning shortly thereafter, Mom called me out of fourth grade to watch the pups get born. It was amazing. I remember being surprised that the puppies were born with their eyelids closed shut. I also remember being grossed out when Megan ate the afterbirth, something that the Dodds took in stride.
I visited the puppies every day. There were 10 in the litter, a group of squirmy blind small silken beasts. The Dodd's other dogs, including Misty, a prize-winning Norwegian Elkhound with a cinnamon-roll tail, felt left out so I was always sure to pay attention to them on my way in and out of the door.
When we brought Chaucer (named by my Anglophile mother) home, he was a handful of puppy fuzz. His favorite place was our yellow vinyl beanbag chair. Dad constructed a wire-mesh puppy-pen for Chauce in our backyard. Chaucer taught himself to climb up the mesh ladder until he reached the top coil of leftover mesh, at which point he would whine piteously and I would lift him into the air and call him "Super-puppy".
It was around this time in his life that we discovered Chaucer's other talent. I was practicing piano when I heard a wail in the background. Chaucer was sitting on the floor beside my piano bench, howling. I tried to not take his action to heart. From that point, I shut him out of the room while practicing. The next summer, Frank Dill and Mike Cleary, then the morning men for KNBR-68, started talking about a festival. The festival was conceived by one of Mike's character voices, a fellow named Gus. Gus decided that KNBR should throw a festival in his own honor. The name? The Gus Festival! Frank and Mike commenced on-air petitioning for listeners to send in their wacky act ideas. Mom looked at me. I looked at her. I wrote a letter that same day.
Christian, my first friend in the whole world (my Mom and I drove her mom to the hospital to have her when I was six months old), was visiting from North Carolina when I got a response from KNBR. "Miss Benson," it read, "congratulations on being chosen for the stage of the Gus Festival, to be held at Pier 32 on the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend." I think the echo of the scream that left my lips is still echoing in the distant peaks of the Himalaya mountains.
Soon after receiving the letter, I started to hear my name on the radio. Frank would talk to "Gus". "Soooo, Gus, how are the acts lining up for your festival?" "Well, Frank, we're going to have a fellow who wrestles chaise lounges." "Hmmmm. Interesting. Got anything else?" "Well, let's see. Oh! We've got Marilynn and her Singing Dog!" "Wow!" Frank would exclaim. It was all terribly thrilling.
I chose a Rondo from one of my more advanced piano books and practiced ceaselessly, bringing in Chaucer only occasionally so he wouldn't strain his voice.
When the day of the Gus Festival arrived, I dressed up and made a placard that would be propped up on the stage for our act. We arrived with plenty of time to spare so we wandered the perimeter of the pier. People came up to us, asking, "Is this Marilynn and her singing dog?" They were thrilled to find out that it was, we were. KRON-TV filmed me standing with Chaucer and our placard, but I spent so much time telling Chaucer to look at the camera that they didn't show the clip.
Finally, it was our turn to perform. Chaucer and I mounted the stage, my hand clutching his leash, the spotlights blinding me to the 2,000 people who faced us. I set up the placard and went to the piano they'd provided stage right, sat down, cleared my throat, and began the rondo.
Chaucer didn't sing. I continued to play. Chaucer sniffed the edges of the stage. The dog wasn't singing. The dog wasn't singing! After all this, the dog wasn't singing!
W.C. Fields said that you should never share the stage with animals or children. Well, I was a child sharing a stage with an animal, and the only thing I could think to do was to finish the rondo. So I did.
Mercifully, that was when Frank and Mike stepped out onto the stage with us. One of them picked up the dog as the other welcomed the festival-goers to the event. After a few minutes of easy banter, they looked out into the crowd.
"Whaddaya say?" they asked. "Should we give the dog another try?"
The audience cheered.
I sat back down at the piano and called to Chaucer. Upon hearing the opening notes, he ran to the piano. And sang his little fuzzy heart out. When the song was over, I picked him up and nuzzled his neck with my face, and it was in this position that we took our victorious bow.
Chaucer doesn't sing anymore, which probably has to do with the fact that he's old and deaf deaf deaf. But until the rest of my days, I will be thankful for him, for the thunderous applause he brought to me... to us.
*****
08/17/1998
The Honorable Thing
President Bill Clinton will be addressing the nation in less than two hours. It will be what NBC News is calling "one of those unscripted moments."
Nobody has any idea what Clinton will say. But I'm willing to take a guess.
Bill Clinton, in acting reprehensibly in his "private life," has not only humiliated himself, but also his family. Not only his family, but also our government. Not only our government, but also our nation.
I'm one of those folks who believe that this isn't been the first time he's lied to his family and to everyone else. It's a horrible situation. In letting his desires lead him to a compromising situation, he has dragged every one of us down with him.
From the TV coverage I've seen, it appears that he admitted to an "inappropriate relationship" with Monica Lewinsky, refuting what has been one of the several lies he's told the nation with regard to every other woman who has complained about or filed suit against.
President Bill Clinton needs to summon up the scrap of integrity he has left. The honorable thing would be for him to resign and live out his days on a government pension in Little Rock, Alabama. Otherwise, may the impeachment papers be swiftly filed by Kenneth Starr, and efficiently voted into being by our government in Washington, D.C.
I wonder what Al Gore is thinking right now.
*****
08/17/1998 August 17, 1998, 8:00 p.m. PDTWarning: Strong language contained below.
I don't often use such vocabulary, but sometimes I find it necessary. Please move on to the previous column if such language offends you.
Ick. I hate Bill Clinton. The man is slime. I wouldn't want him to sell me a used car. How can we believe anything from a man who fucks around on his wife? And then consistently lies about it.
Nice that he took full responsibility for the "inappropriate relationship" between himself and Monica. I'm sure she'll think of that every time she collects an unemployment check for the rest of her life.
How did we end up with an adulterous president? I talked to my neighbor Danny about it. He raised the point that Kennedy screwed around on his wife. "Yeah, but nobody ever asked him about it," I responded.
"That's true. What would he have said if they had asked?" Danny riposted.
"He would have said, 'Hey, I'm a Kennedy. What are you going to do? Shoot me?'." Ahem.
Nice that Bill said that he was sorry that he hurt the two people closest to him -- his wife and their daughter. I'm sure Chelsea appreciated the mention, considering that he never bothered to thank her when he gave his second inauguration speech.
Mom was pleased that at least Bill Clinton had the decency to look like hell. Guess four hours of testimony about a relationship with a twenty-something mistress takes its toll on a guy.
So, Tipper Gore has probably put away the party hats. Hopefully she'll have the foresight to put them toward the front of her linen cabinet. I'll pray that she has the opportunity to use them before they get too dusty.
*****
10/22/1998 If you're neither 18 years old nor mature enough to handle frank talk about reproductive organs and adult relationships, please stop reading now.
I took my clothes from Kevin's closet last night. Coupled with that is the fact that I'm in the process of going off the Pill. Between the sorrow of recrimination and the wooziness of blood loss, it was one of my lousier evenings of record.
***
It seems that every single couple I know is breaking up. I talked to a former coworker last night and she's found the same to be true. I will wager a bet that the number-one reason women break up with their men is because their men no longer pay sweet attention to them. Comments?
***
I've reached a point where I'm tired of words. There's a great song in "My Fair Lady" called "Show Me":
Don't talk of Spring,
Don't talk of Fall,
Don't talk at all! Show me!
Never do I ever want to hear another word,
There isn't one I haven't heard.
Here we are together and it ought to be a dream...
Say one more word and I'll scream!***
So, as previously mentioned, I'm going off the Pill. It wasn't a conscious decision. I just forgot to take it for a week. Since I'm up on the chastity bandwagon again, remembering to take the hormone-studded wonder is a big pain. I've decided to simply do without.
I've been a bit alarmed at my resulting blood loss. I told John I thought I was hemorrhaging. It got to the point at Kevin's that I had to slump against one of his stereo speakers (his speakers are much bigger than I am) and let the world spin for a minute.
I stopped at Dragon's warehouse before driving to Kevin's last night. As I was leaving, Dragon stood up and sniffed.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"Come here." I suggested. He came closer to me and inhaled the scent from my neck. Michelle told him it was probably the air freshener emanating from the bathroom.
"No, that's not it." Dragon said. He looked at me as if puzzled.
I didn't want to tell him that what he smelled was my blood.
***
OK, so I know that there's always the chance that I'll fall off the chaste-in-singlehood wagon again. In that case, you may ask, what will Lynn use to prevent fertilization? Easy: Reality, the female condom. People laugh at me when I tell them that. I just say that means they haven't tried it yet. True, it's a bit of a pain to put in, but it is *so* worthwhile. It's the best "barrier" method I've found. And it feels great! The best thing is that I've learned is that it prevents nookie-related urinary tract infections.
Another tip for avoiding those is to use products that don't contain spermicide. They kill the good, germ-fighting bacteria. My doctor told me that the female condom is also more effective in hindering the spread of diseases such as herpes.
Two, uh, thumbs up. Lynn B. says "Check it Out!"
*****
10/30/1998
What an Incredible Week!
I swear that this has been one of the best weeks of my life. On Sunday (October 25, 1998), I saw the movie "Pleasantville." It was charming and delightful. I was accompanied by a friend with whom I've recently resumed contact.
After the movie, we walked on the beach and sprinted into a flock of standing pigeons. We watched the sun set over Santa Cruz with his buddy John and Calvin, John's dog.
After the sunset, my friend and I went out for really good Chinese food, and went back to his place for "The X Files."
On Monday, I called my potentially first client to set up a time the next day to have our final negotiation.
That afternoon I posted a request to alt.games.tombraider for survey participants. I've been asked by www.rightgrrl.com to write a bi-weekly column and knew who I wanted to write about, but not the focus of the article.
On Tuesday, Oct. 27, Motormouth Marketing signed its first client. The contract represents one-quarter of my time. I got what I asked for and couldn't be happier. Especially considering that the client is the Better Business Bureau of San Mateo County. Woo hoo!!
You don't know how difficult it was for me to keep my lips clamped shut during the meeting once the president said, "well, when your company is doing work with us...". I'm certain that anyone who watched me drive home after the meeting while I talked to my mom on my cell phone and waved my arms like a banshee thought I either a freak or a drunk. :-)
So anyway, Tuesday afternoon I had a celebratory lunch with my newly resumed friend and talked to Kevin, who congratulated me. I called a few people at my client's office (I love saying that) to set up interviews for the next day.
By Tuesday evening I was still pretty wild from the adrenaline, so I sorted through all my Tomb Raider/Lara Croft surveys. I got nine responses and was thrilled with them, and inspired, I wrote the first draft of my first-ever www.rightgrrl.com column. It's called "Lara Croft for President" and I'm *very* happy with it.
Wednesday I interviewed a couple of BBB people and handed the president the rough draft of a promotions flyer he asked me to rewrite. That evening, I picked Kevin up in the city (after having a smoke break with two of my favorite former co-workers and reaffirming that my decision to start my own business was indeed correct) and we drove to the Palace of Fine Arts for "The Next 20 Years." It was billed as "An Industry Insiders' Sneak Preview of the Future," but I figured it would just be an excuse to have a cocktail party in the Palace of Fine Arts.
I was right. There were a bunch of companies with tables and stands, and I made a couple of pitches for Motormouth Marketing which were received fairly well. Four bucks for a glass of Mondavi wine wasn't cheap, but I'd wrangled a free ticket to the event so I figure I still made out ahead.
At 7:00, we were ushered inside to hear from our industry's experts. Dr. Merkle, a Ph.D. from Xerox PARC, discussed nanocomputing and I found his comments disturbing.
I found fault in The New York Times' columnist Denise Caruso's comment that "people don't want to interact with music." If that's so, then why is Karaoke so darned popular?
I shared my opinion with the gentlemen on my left and my right and they laughed. They were making similar wisecracks. It was almost like a really geeky "Mystery Science Theater 3000." Or is that statement redundant?
After the Q & A session, I approached the stage to talk to Dr. Merkle. "Dr. Merkle, if things start getting smaller and smaller, and cheaper and cheaper (he'd discussed "self-replication and low-cost" as the quest for the future), then where does spirituality fit in?" He said, "That's a good question. It will be more of an individual movement than a societal one. As people accumulate more and more material wealth, it is likely that they will each come to the point where they say 'OK, now what?'"
I thanked him for his time. I don't agree that spirituality will become an individual movement, though. I see people coming to spirituality and God in small clusters that congregate together.
After the event, I drove Kevin to his office so he could get my leather jacket and then dropped him off at his apartment. He said, "Thank you, Sweetie," gave me a kiss and left my truck. Whatever.
On Thursday, I worked on the BBB's flyer some more, then drove to Millbrae for another interview. Had what I think was a brilliant idea, presented it to the president and he went for it. I'll be interested to see what type of response we get.
Thursday night was a rarity because I was actually home! The youth group for which I advise usually meets on Thursdays, so I'm at church from 6:00 till 9:00 on those evenings. But since they were doing an event the next night, we opted not to meet the night before.
I spent the evening making chicken soup from scratch and it turned out liquid gold.
So today is Friday. I went through a final edit on my Lara Croft article with my buddy John, and then sent it to the Rightgrrl founders. Tonight I'm going to Pleasant Hill to see my friend Dean, who I've known since we were freshmen in high school and I was taller than him.
Ever since that time he's talked of wanting to do nothing but fly for the Air Force. He got his wings on October 2, 1998 and my heart just swells for his accomplishment.
It's just been amazing.This week has gotten to the point where whenever I get in my truck and turn on the radio, one of my favorite songs has just begin playing. It's crazy.
I think I know where some of this is coming from. The past few weeks I've made it a goal to make my faith a daily part of my life. Many of my friends have come to a similar point, and so I've had many discussions about it. I'm praying every day before I get up, and all the way to my final BBB negotiation meeting I kept repeating, "I will fear no evil, for THOU ART WITH ME!" The phrase and its spirit simultaneously calmed and exhilarated me.
So with that, I wish you all a satisfying and fulfilling Halloween weekend. May your next week be as good as this week has been for me!
*****
11/10/1998
Unfinished Business
I have a couple of loose ends I need to tie up:
First: With regard to my ex-boyfriend: I am sorry I accused you of programming a bot to poll my site for new material. Thank you so much for explaining what was really going on. I never would have guessed about that OmniWeb feature for bookmarked Web pages. When Dragon first brought that hit report to my attention, I couldn't believe that you'd do something as creepy as creating processes to electronically spy on me. It made me seriously doubt my judgment of you and about men in general. Thank you for summoning up the courage to send me an e-mail. Bark!
Second: Thanks, Chris, for plugging me in your Raw column. I got some great e-mail from your charming and literate fans! If you aren't Chris Zimmerman, you should read his Raw and Nitro columns about professional wrestling. I never watch wrestling, but have found myself stopping on Monday Night Nitro for a moment or two. Before reading his work, I'd never consider such an action! If you are a fan of the sport, Chris's commentary will reinforce your feelings. If you aren't a fan of the sport, Chris's commentary will reinforce your feelings.
Third: There is no third. OK. That's better!
*****
11/29/1998
Thanks for Coming, Y'all Drive Safe Now
I have survived yet another birthday.
I do a big party every other year on the odd-numbered birthdays. As this year pegged my age at an odd number (but not a big nor momentous odd number -- except for the 3-year old who showed up, I think I was the youngest person in attendance), I threw a big party.
At first, the party was in jeopardy. I awoke the Monday before feeling as though my roommate had snuck into my room and beaten me with lead pipes as I slept. I was seeing my doctor two hours later. I had a flu and a tonsil infection. Ugh. I got some antibiotics and went to bed for three days. I was back among the living by Thursday and feeling mostly human by Friday.
Saturday I started to run out of steam by 4:00, but pre-party adrenaline kept me awake until... well, I'll tell you in order of events.
There were nearly 40 of us in my house. All of my neighbors showed up, as did a ton of friends I know through my roommate. Also in attendance were people from every job I've held since college.
I roasted a 23.5 pound turkey and made stuffing. When Blaine tasted the turkey, he got down on one knee and made to give me his ring. So the turkey was good. I carved it and put it out with rolls and turkey sandwich fixins and we all had pre-Thanksgiving turkey sandwiches. It was really cool.
The IBIS contingency gave me the framed picture from when I was in the San Francisco Chronicle/Examiner -- they even took it off the Wall of Fame for me. :-) They also gave me a mirrored disco ball Christmas tree ornament and some red chenille gloves. Nik and Thida gave me a Bazooka lunchbox, chock full o'gum. Sean, my friend since third grade, played an anonymous e-mail game with me during the week and as such, gave me the tire pressure gage and chrome, high-performance valve stem caps I'd requested from him.
I also got 10 bottles of wine and two of champagne. Oh, and Abby gave me a certificate for a pedicure, and Dave and Sabrina gave me a fabulous halogen desk lamp. But best of all, I got to cook for all my dear friends and show them a really good time.
I have a small artist's sketchbook that I've used as my birthday book since my 20th birthday. I have all the guests at my b'day parties write or draw in it. We nearly finished it off on the night of my party. Next year we'll finish it for sure!
The last four of us were me, Chris, Sean and Kimberly. I got a few birthday kisses from Sean before he left. Kimberly left around 1:00 since she had to be up for work (which is also church) at 6:00 that morning. So that left me and Chris hanging out in my darkened, finally quiet living room, listening to the CDs I'd been given.
Chris never throws e-mail away. So when it came time to shop for me he dug into his e-archives and found a message I sent him a couple of years ago, asking him for a dub of a Fifth Dimension CD. He bought me the definitive collection two-CD set, plus a Global Communication trancey/ambient CD. Both are fantastic.
Also from Chris was a collection of "Red Meat" cartoons. Those are the cartoons where the art stays the same but the speech bubbles change. Before those cartoons really bugged me, but now I am a convert to the Church of Milkman Dan. It was a total Chris gift. It was great to spend some quiet time with Chris. We used to spend long hours together commuting to and from the Tri Valley Internet User Group. It is mostly my fault that he got hired at Aimnet (though I tease him by saying my involvement should ensure his perpetual indebtedness).
He calls himself a cynic. That seems to put people off.
"Chris, it's not that you're cynical," I explained. "It's just that you're right."
He proved my hypothesis for me. When I first announced my birthday game, Chris said: > hmmm, maybe if EVERYONE is too lazy to play the birthday game, I > should send you ONE link and I'll win! > Devious, ain't I. So he sent me two links. If I am ever in Sverige and want to buy "Celebrity Skin", I'm set. Consequently, this column is officially dedicated to Christopher Robin Zimmerman. Thanks, Chris, for being such a good sport!
So we listened to CDs, my head on his shoulder, until we both dozed off at 5:00 a.m. I awoke at 6:30 and changed into proper pajamas (I'd fallen asleep in my party clothes).
Chris woke up. "You need to go to your bed!"
I agreed.
"I need to go to my bed!" he continued. I agreed. He left.
And, despite my wholehearted promises, I didn't make it to church that morning. At least I didn't sleep alone. :-)
*****
11/29/1998
Bald Tires and Roaring Winds
This afternoon I went mountain bike riding with John and JV. I am pleasantly surprised that it came together. John called my house around 12:30 looking for my roommate, who was snowboarding. John wrenched his ankle dirt-bike racing, but was hoping to get some exercise in.
I was working but when he called me back at 2:30 I was at a stopping point. I got to their place around 3:00 and we loaded up the bikes, hit the gas station for fuel, food and tire air, and then drove over 92 to Half Moon Bay.
"Thanks for letting me tag along, guys!" I told them. "Tag along, nothing!" John replied, "you're part of the crew."
That made me feel almost as good as when Alex told me I was tough as shit. Guys are so neat. A nice word from a man who's a peer means more to me than a similar comment from a woman in my peer group. Maybe because I think men are so cute. Maybe.
The day was gray and windy. I've never been off-road biking, and had racing slick tires on my bike from my triathlon forays. My bald tires were not appropriate for the soupy mud. We'd hoped to see the 30 foot waves at Maverick's, but they were nowhere near that. I stayed as far away from the cliff edge as possible.
I only fell twice. The first time I dismounted backwards into a shrub. The second time I was trying to get up from the first fall. But the guys both fell before I did, so that was OK. I didn't feel like a loser girl.
Halfway through the ride the guys hooked up on a soupy mud path. I knew there was no way I could make it through, so I turned off onto a clearing by the reservoir where five windsurfers were skipping across the surface of the water.
The wind was incredible. Winter is blowing in hard, and God seemed so everywhere, so powerful.
The guys rode on for a while, then turned around and returned to me. We rode back to JV's vehicle, where they left me alone to change out of my muddy pants in the cab of the truck.
After we all changed clothes, JV drove us around Moss Beach and Montera (I want to stay at the lighthouse hostel there -- it's beautiful and right on the ocean). Then we drove back over the hill to the car wash by their house, hosed down our bikes, and went back to their condo, where John and I baked lemon-blueberry-poppyseed muffins and JV cooked pasta with red sauce and chicken. Their friend Jeff showed up while the guys were cooking and I was online talking with a friend.
We cleared off the table and popped a bottle of '83 chardonnay. John even busted out the placemats and candles. It was lovely. I need to put my knobby tires on my bike. Then look out coastline, here I come!
*****
12/03/1998
I went to a funeral yesterday.
The mother of a guy I went to SJSU with died on November 21, 1998, the night of my birthday party. Hers was nice a funeral as I've ever attended.
Johnny P. and I were our own little funeral procession. We each drove our respective vehicles to the church, St. Andrew's Episcopal on Saratoga Avenue."Butt-f*ck nowhere," was his way of putting it. He's a very spiritual man.
We got to the church at 6:35 for the 7:00 service. John and I parked facing each other, and a minivan pulled in to the left of me. Two kids and their mom and dad got out.
"I don't know about wearing jeans to a funeral," he said, referring to one of the junior-high kids exiting the minivan. John was wearing an Armani jacket. "I'm gonna be dressed up, so don't laugh," he warned me the night before.
"John, I would never..."
"Oh, right," he said. "I would."
"Just part of your charm."
I wrote a sentiment in the card purchased for the occasion, licked the envelope, put on my brown fuzzy hat and got out of my truck. "OK, I'm ready."
The church grounds were huge, and there appeared to be an elementary school on the premises. St. Andrew's has lovely stained glass windows. The entryway is cavernous.
Dave saw us after we entered and approached. He looked pretty good, considering his mom died five days before Thanksgiving. He shook John's hand, and then offered his hand to me. I hugged him instead.
"How are you doing, Dave?" I asked.
"If I can get through the next two hours, I'll be OK."
I pulled the card out of my purse and gave it to him for later. His dad came over and Dave introduced us. I commented on the loveliness of the windows, and asked "is this where your family worships?"
"No, uh, we never got into the church thing."
"Oh."
"I really like Rev. Maggie. She's great." Dave piped up.
"That's wonderful," I assured him.
Dave's dad said that the Reverend needed to talk with them, so Dave walked away and John and I signed the guest book. It had a three column page and our signatures are square in the middle of the first page. We stood around in the vestibule for a while, until I got a little concerned that one of Dave's creepy friends who had an unrequited crush on me the entire time we were in the photojournalism program might show up, so we entered the sanctuary. Flags hung lengthwise across the cruciform worship house. The organ and choir loft were actually on a loft in the back of the room. The pews were dark and uncomfortable-looking, but we were spared from them because someone had arranged padded chairs in an alcove to the left of the altar.
I was about to comment that we wouldn't have to kneel when I looked down and saw the kneelers hinged to each chair. A grand piano stood behind us, and a pianist played songs that ran the gamut from "Mona Lisa" to "Try to Remember" to "Annie's Song".
At 7:05 the family filed in. Then Reverend Maggie led us in an opening prayer and addressed us. She hadn't known Dave's mom, but the family had spent a lot of time talking with her. The audience members who had known Dave's mom smiled at Rev. Maggie's comments. We read Psalm 25. Dave read us a poem he wrote that was really lovely. We prayed again. Dave talked about his mom, and what she had meant to the children she taught and the neighbors she cared for.
A neighbor who had been her neighbor for more than 26 years described the collecting and genealogy projects the two women had undertaken. Dave's mom entered more than 1,800 names of relatives into her PC before she died.
"When Nadine and I started going to the genealogy library twice a week, she wouldn't go near the computer. Not at all. But a lot of data is on the computer, so she finally took some tentative steps and began to use it. After a while, she learned that the same genealogy software is available for home PCs, but her family only had Macs in the house. So she said, 'I want my own PC.' And the family laughed, but soon Nadine had her computer. She learned Microsoft Office and went to town with the genealogy software."
I thought that was really neat. What a lovely way to be remembered. I never knew Dave's mom, but by the time the neighbor was done with her remarks I felt pleased to be among the crowd honoring her ascent into afterlife.
Rev. Maggie led us in another prayer, and then the Lord's Prayer. I hesitated when we reached the "forgive us our..." part, not knowing whether Episcopalians seek forgiveness for debts or trespasses. They say trespasses. Are Presbyterians the only ones who say "forgive us our debts" and don't kneel?
Her benediction addressed Nadine's entry into the Kingdom of God, and although we are sad for the loss we should celebrate that she is back with her Creator.
AMEN! Imagine a life of pure bliss. And no rent payments. And no creepy people to watch out for. And no ascribed kneeling. That's Heaven.
*****
12/24/1998 Wow, what a night.
I went to Katherine's place at 5:15 on Christmas Eve's eve evening to swap gifts and drink wine. Together we killed a bottle of Chenin Blanc and talked about subversive Christian literature.
Left her place at 6:35 to meet the 6:54 train that was conveying Erich, the fellow I was seeing for dinner that night. While waiting, I talked to a guy with a mountain bike at the train station. There was black ice on the asphalt. He told me it had been frozen for three days. He enjoyed skidding his bike across it to my laughter.
Bikeman got on the train and Erich got off the train. I met him at Chris's Christmas party when he asked me to dance. We've been e-mailing and talking on the phone for a little more than a week. Yeah, it was kind of a first date sort of thing, but I don't think I'll see him again. Or rather, I might see him again, but kissing will not be involved.
He liked my brown fuzzy hat.
Anyway, we put our name in at Max's (he'd not made reservations as he said he would...) and went to Barnes and Noble across the way. I believe you're familiar with it. The restaurant was his recommendation. I had a Cobb salad. And a glass of wine.
He opted not to drink with me. Strike two. (I'd adjust that penalty if I knew he was an alcoholic or never let liquor touch his lips, but he mentioned having a beer at the Christmas party, so penalty was granted.)
Dinner was fun, though. He told me a new Monica joke that his dad had invented. Time passed very quickly and we laughed a lot. I was surprised when he handed me a Christmas present (something I'd admired at a bookstore while Christmas shopping, but he didn't know that). Erich prefaced the gift-giving with, "I know we haven't known each other that long, so how about we pretend I've known you for a year and a half and I missed your 27th birthday party and was feeling guilty about it."
I was surprised when I looked at my watch and it was 9:30. He had to catch his train so he paid for dinner and we hot-footed it over to the station. I hugged him goodbye.
I'd told Katherine and my neighbor Abby that I'd be at the Loading Zone (a bar on Broadway in downtown Redwood City) around 9-9:30, and that they'd know how the date went by whether I brought him along. I showed up at 9:50 and Abby, Katherine and neighbor Dino were all at the bar. A reggae band I heard at the great party I was at on Saturday night was playing. They're called "The Dread Truth". Good stuff.
Katherine was wearing the hat I'd just given her for Christmas. Abby looked at me. "Date went really well, eh?" Dino asked to try on my hat. He ended up wearing it most of the night. "Hey, I heard you were on a date tonight. Don't you have a boyfriend?" I told him of my split with Kevin. I think his eyebrows rose a bit at the news.
After all the wine, I knew I didn't want beer, so I ordered Jack Daniel's on the rocks with a splash of water. A graybeard asked me to dance, and I said only if Katherine could dance with us.
Then Oliver, the older black man who had been leaving as I entered and then turned back around to come in, joined us. After one song, I left the dance floor but Katherine and Oliver stayed out there. Graybeard asked me to dance again and I did, but with drink in hand. Finally a woman sitting alongside the dance floor took my drink from my hand so I wouldn't slip on the torrent of droplets that had splashed to the floor.
As the night went on, most of the neighborhood showed up -- my roommate (Alex), his buddy Brian, Abby, Dino, Katherine, plus people from Saturday's party. Abby tried to wimp out and go home, but I hollered at her, drill-sergeant style, and she ordered another drink, but not before I asked for more Jack Daniel's.
The bartender looked me in the eye and said, "I'm going to make it special for you." Beware of any bartender who says that while referring to you. So Brian and I watched James the Bartender pour four different types of unnamed liquor into a cocktail shaker. I think that two of them were JD and tequila. He blended it and poured it into a wine glass. "What do you call this?" Brian asked. "It's a 'James Daniel's'."
I don't like to drink strong hard cocktails, but this one was so smooth I could drink it all day. Well, all day until I hit the floor flat on my back. It did have orange juice in it, so I figured it at least had to be somewhat nutritious. Fortunately, by the time I'd let the neighborhood taste my drink, it was halfway empty.
So as the night went on, we're drinking our drinks and *smoking*, because it's not a smoke-free bar, woo hoo!, and playing pinball and pool, and Dino was loudly extolling the virtues of my brown fuzzy hat (while still wearing it and finding excuses to put one of his hands on any available semi-innocuous place on my body), and Abby's drinking continued and Katherine was hanging loose and life simply could not be any better.
We finally let Abby, Katherine and Dino take off. Alex and I stuck around to watch Brian play a game of pool. Near the end of the game, I was putting on my coat when I saw the cutest guy in the bar looking at me.
"Hi." I said.
He approached me shyly. "Hi. Who was that blonde girl you were with?"
Typical. "Oh, that's my neighbor."
"Who was that guy she was with? Was that her boyfriend? I wanted to talk to her but didn't want to hone in if that was her boyfriend."
I explained that no, he was a neighbor too.
"So they're not together?"
"No."
"Well, my name is Charles."
"I'll tell her, Charles. Her name is Abby. We'll probably be back some Wednesday night."
I walked back to where Alex and Brian were standing.
"Oooh, Lynn, did he get your number?"
"No. He wanted to know about Abby." We laughed. Alex drove my truck back to the house around 12:10 this morning where we proceeded to party at Abby's. She cooked dinner for herself and the guys. Her address stamper was on her kitchen table so I grabbed Alex's hand and stamped it.
"Great, thanks, Lynn, my girlfriend is *really* going to love this." Alex griped.
Dino asked, "What did she do?"
I clarified the situation by stamping Dino's hand, too. He was charmed. While Abby was cooking, I told her about Charles. She laughed. After dinner, Abby gave me and Alex our Christmas presents. She gave me a big, clear glass coffee mug chock full of candy. Alex got a small tin of mints with a ship on it. Dino settled himself in on the floor by Abby's stereo. He had a blanket over himself. I stuck my head off the foot of Abby's bed and teased him for his woeful condition. We decided that we wanted to go to Harold's Club (a bar so divey that even *I* haven't been inside) to play pool, and got Dino psyched up to go with us.
"OK, I'll run upstairs and get some quarters. I'll meet you back down here."
Fifteen minutes later, he still wasn't back. So Alex, Abby and I sang Journey songs at the tops of our lungs to wake his ass up:
SOMEDAY,
LOVE WILL FIND YOU!
BREAK THOSE
CHAINS THAT BIND YOU!
ONE NIGHT
WILL REMIND YOU!!!!!!!!!!!Abby called Dino on the phone and then announced we would not be seeing him for the rest of the night. So Abby and I drank what was left of her red wine, and I opened a good bottle of 1995 BV cabernet that I got for my birthday, and we three nearly killed that while playing drunken Jenga. Abby lost, big time.
So then she dropped out of the game and Alex and I played drunken power Jenga, where you start removing blocks from the very bottom of the tower. It was great until I lost.
Abby was ready to pass out by that point so I left. Alex stayed behind for a minute. I went down to my office to "talk" online with my buddy Chris, who was in the middle of a double shift that started at 4:00 p.m. on December 23 and was scheduled to finish at 7:00 a.m. on December 24. He said that he was paying rapt attention to me, but instead I think he was just laughing at me. Oh well.