Why not run a marathon?

The Long Beach Marathon is this weekend, and I was really planning on running it.

Unfortunately:

1) I am nowhere near my planned goal of 3:30...I would guess that I am just under 4 hours (again). That may sound impressive to some of you non-marathon runners, but it's kind of embarrassing when my friends' 60 year old parents are faster than me.

2) It might rain on Sunday; and even if it doesn't, the ground will be wet from Saturday.

3) Nobody is available to teach my sailing class, and unless I win the marathon, I will not be done in time.

4) I suffered a horrible head injury while following ICE (heretofore Snake Woman) out of our Spanish Class yesterday. Ice es antipatica y muy baja. I should have remembered how short she was, when she made it easily under the television that hangs near the door. Being of above average height, I was not so lucky. ICE found my misfortune to be very funny, and allowed me to drive home with a bleeding head wound. I shall never again complain when Nico hits me in the head.

Happy Birthday Newport!

What could be cooler than a Dick Dale concert on the beach? Sadly, after looking at the flier, I see we were at the wrong pier. Maybe next time. How old will Dick Dale be in 2106?

So back at the Newport Pier, Nicole and I tried to take a self portrait in front of the main stage. After about 10 tries each, here is the best we have:

Perhaps it takes a certain level of narcissism, that Nico and I do not possess, to excel at taking self portraits.

Instead of Dick Dale, we stuck around for Sugar Ray.

A fun game I like to play while watching Sugar Ray perform: "Count how many times Mark McGrath says he grew up in Newport Beach". It is possible that this game only works in the OC. At any rate I lost count after eight mentions...the game only lasted about six minutes. Interesting note: at the beginning of the concert, he distictly yelled: "Let me hear you, Long Beach". So I'm wondering: was this a mistake, a joke, or was the stretch of beach we were standing on called "Long Beach"? (The surfers have names for every section of beach in Newport--the Schoolyards, Blackie's, etc. I think the menu at Charlie's Chili has a map with all that local color. Anybody want to go to Charlie's Chili?)

Where is the top of the hill?

(Alternative title was: "Your tax dollars at work")

Actually I thought I had turned 34 a year ago, so turning 34 today is really not that bad. A year ago, I was working in the clinical department of RxSolutions (man, our website is crappy), nobody knew it was my birthday, and my evil, evil boss made me work 12 hours. This year, the charming coworkers in my new department catered a vegetarian lunch...well, a fishatarian lunch...maybe not fishatarian, what's a lunch made up of fish and vegetarian items called? People seem quite troubled if they can't eat meet meat three times a day. Read more about that here.

Quick email excerpts of my own:

Me-The spread is most impressive. Special Kudos to our new Social Director!

Offended Pharmacist-That is not a spread. Its called kashke bademjoon.

Me-Please see definition #8. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/spread
8. to set or prepare (a table), as for a meal.
Oh, and the kashke bademjoon was the best I’ve had.

In tax related news: The National Institute for Health is spending your money to post this song on their website. I cannot figure out why they are spending your money for this purpose. Snake Woman, who supports using your tax dollars in such a frivolous manner, says this sort of thing makes people happy. Did you know Michael Jackson owns the lyrics to this song? The Federal Government is paying a pedophile to make you happy.

I hate buying clothes.

The above sentence is unlikely to be a surprise to anybody who knows me. I tend to follow David Byrne's advice when it comes to picking a wardrobe: "If you wear the same thing everyday, people will remember you better". (David Byrne also said: "In the future, women will have breasts all over their bodies".) Apparently, I also continue to wear clothes long after they have gone out of style. I would not know anything about that, as my replacement timeline usually involves replacing clothes shortly before (and sometimes after) they begin to fall apart.

I hate Macy's. Sadly there are no midrange department stores left, and I cannot afford to shop at Nordstrom, even with my less than frequent clothes buying schedule.

Fortunately, I am better at saving money than anybody I know. Here's me holding $214 worth of savings.


I sent Nicole off to do a half hour of power shopping. She is not as good at saving money.

Spent Saturday afternoon pouring wine for the Boys and Girls Club. Maybe Tricia will be writing more about the event. Ms. Garden Grove made an appearance, but Nico would not take my picture with her. She said something about how people would think it was strange if I asked to have my picture taken with a 17 year old girl. Strange? Hey, I'm not the one walking around in public wearing a crown. Incidentally, Ms. Garden Grove is 21.


Sailing with my Darling Clementine (also known as my very favorite Korean Pharmacist) on Saturday evening. My Darling Clementine bought me dinner, securing her place as my favorite Korean Pharmacist for at least a couple of more years.


After my sailing class on Sunday. I decided to run to Bolsa Chica. I did so well on the way there (10 miles), that I was surprised when I could not make it all the way back. I had to make a collect call for the most grumpy SAG vehicle driver I have ever met. SAG vehicle driver: when you get a collect call from: "Michael at the HB Pier", you don't need to accept the charges. You just need to pick Michael** up at the HB Pier.

SAG driver said she was sick, and I was not feeling so great after a weekend of wine pouring...and running 15 miles...so we did not make it to Kol Nidre services. My mother was not very happy. There is a line in a movie (which might be "Keeping the Faith") about how every synagogue in the United States is built with removable walls, so that the synagogue can be expanded for the high holidays (and the 80% of Jews who go to services two times a year). I do not like being one of those Jews who goes to services twice a year, so my New Year's resolution will be: Attend more services. I will be needing Friday evenings off. Will the boss go for that?

**Tate: I hardly see how you can equate throwing lit cigarettes out of windows with referring to oneself in the third person.

I was planning on never writing about Rupert, the dead swan, ever again...but the local papers seem unable to stop...

Briefly, memorial service will be this Saturday. I'm guessing that if you don't own your own outrigger, you are out of luck. I want a canoe...or maybe a kayak. Really, I want some time to paddle a canoe or kayak around. I guess I do not really need a canoe or a kayak.

Here's a picture of Rupert's replacement; although he is much better looking than Rupert, he will not be making his debut in Newport Harbor any time soon.


In running news: I have 2 and a half weeks until marathon #1, and I am nowhere near my goal time of 210 minutes. Ran a little over 35 miles last week...only up to 7 miles so far this week. Good thing I haven't paid yet.

Sorry for my recent lack of blogging. I have had no time for posting, because I am supposed to be training 10 new pharmacists next month. Prior to starting the training, I have been entrusted with updating a very poorly written training manual. My first task was to trim the 160+ pages down to a hundred or so...sadly, I have ended up back at 140 pages. Most of the new pages are screen shots that I have made with (the only photo editing program available to me at work), Microsoft Paint.



Paint is a rather lousy program, but I have become so adept at using it, that I was able to touch up this picture of Snake Woman and her new boyfriend.

"Jewish, Whatever is a Jewish?"

My father always said this with a hint of a proper British accent, though it's probably funnier with a Southern drawl. Note to gentiles: You are most likely not allowed to say this sort of thing. Please consult woodyallen.com for more information.

So it seems that every Christian I know seems to know several (so called) Messianic Jews. I am perplexed, because this website tells me that there are only 20,000 or 30,000 Messianic Jews worldwide. I am also perplexed because Messianic Jews are supposed to be celebrating the Sabbath on the Sabbath, at least according to this site. So where are these Christians meeting all these Messianic Jews? In church? On Sunday? Wouldn't that just make them Christians? I have only met a few Messianic Jews (usually the crazy uncle at a Sukkot party, or something), and they have all insisted that they are indeed Jewish.

So what makes one Jewish? Are we both a race and a religion? Jewish law says that if your mother is Jewish, then so are you. But you can convert to Judaism...the Bible is full of Jewish converts, from Abraham on down. There are no races (of which I am aware) that you can convert into. Can you convert to Messianic Judaism? Evidently, not unless you are Jewish.

My test has always been: If you have a Christmas tree, you are not Jewish. I probably have some cousins who would disagree with me on this one.

Messianic Jews (or Jews for Jesus as you are more commonly known): I would hazard a guess that a lot of you probably do not have Christmas trees. You are still not Jewish...just as a Christian who follows the teachings of Mohammed is no longer a Christian.

After my first year of college (the first time around), I decided to take a year of organic chemistry over the summer. I can no longer remember why...something to do with the apartment we had rented requiring us to pay rent for the summer. Anyway, there were four (three hour) lectures per week and three (three hour labs)...or was it four (four hour) lectures? Every Thursday was a midterm exam, and every third Thursday was a final; nine weeks of this horror. I remember thinking during these lectures that sitting at home and staring at a wall would be more interesting that watching the collection of PhDs they had rounded up to teach this course.

In retrospect, I had it all wrong. That much organic chemistry adds years to your life.

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Dunbar loved shooting skeet because he hated every minute of it and the time passed so slowly. He had figured out that a single hour on the skeet-shooting range with people like Havermeyer and Appleby could be worth as much as eleven-times-seventeen years.

'I think you're crazy,' was the way Clevinger had responded to Dunbar's discovery.

'Who wants to know?' Dunbar answered.

'I mean it,' Clevinger insisted.

'Who cares?' Dunbar answered.

'I really do. I'll even go so far as to concede that life seems longer I -'

'- is longer I -'

'- is longer - Is longer? All right, is longer if it's filled with periods of boredom and discomfort, b -'

'Guess how fast?' Dunbar said suddenly.

'Huh?'

'They go,' Dunbar explained.

'Years.'

'Years.'

'Years,' said Dunbar. 'Years, years, years.'

'Clevinger, why don't you let Dunbar alone?' Yossarian broke in. 'Don't you realize the toll this is taking?'

'It's all right,' said Dunbar magnanimously. 'I have some decades to spare. Do you know how long a year takes when it's going away?'

'And you shut up also,' Yossarian told Orr, who had begun to snigger.

'I was just thinking about that girl,' Orr said. 'That girl in Sicily. That girl in Sicily with the bald head.'

'You'd better shut up also,' Yossarian warned him.

'It's your fault,' Dunbar said to Yossarian. 'Why don't you let him snigger if he wants to? It's better than having him talking.'

'All right. Go ahead and snigger if you want to.'

'Do you know how long a year takes when it's going away?' Dunbar repeated to Clevinger. 'This long.' He snapped his fingers. 'A second ago you were stepping into college with your lungs full of fresh air. Today you're an old man.'

'Old?' asked Clevinger with surprise. 'What are you talking about?'

'Old.'

'I'm not old.'

'You're inches away from death every time you go on a mission. How much older can you be at your age? A half minute before that you were stepping into high school, and an unhooked brassiere was as close as you ever hoped to get to Paradise. Only a fifth of a second before that you were a small kid with a ten-week summer vacation that lasted a hundred thousand years and still ended too soon. Zip! They go rocketing by so fast. How the hell else are you ever going to slow time down?' Dunbar was almost angry when he finished.

'Well, maybe it is true,' Clevinger conceded unwillingly in a subdued tone. 'Maybe a long life does have to be filled with many unpleasant conditions if it's to seem long. But in that event, who wants one?'

'I do,' Dunbar told him.

'Why?' Clevinger asked.

'What else is there?'

Marla, that sore on the back of your heel that would get better if you could just stop rubbing it with your shoe.

Almost completely healed after my purchase of $12 NewBalance socks. It looked much worse a few days ago, when it was still oozing. Who says I'm not giving the public what they want?

My first injury of the marathon training season (except for my chronically bad knees and my chronically deformed right pinky toe). My mileage has been greatly reduced (only 19 last week). Do I have enough time?

2 Days in the Valley....not that Valley, this Valley.

(There would probably be some cool pictures on this post, if someone had remembered the camera...I shall see what I can steal.)

400 miles isn't too far to drive for free wine tasting, is it? We also made a little visit to the oldest Japanese Gardens outside of Japan, or something. The zen garden was in a state of disrepair, and looks better in this photo:

These turtles look surprisingly like the turtles in the garden. I never seen a turtle.


There was tea at Santana Row. I think this was our waitress. She had a crush on me, probably because only old ladies and their granddaughters usually go in the place.

Dinner consisted of tequila and appetizers. I like tequila...not your cheap mass market tequila, but real tequila. I feel another expensive hobby coming along.

Bonny Doon on the way home. Ever have raisin wine? Really nothing to write home about, but come on, it's made from raisins. How's that even possible?