私は日本に行っている

Translation: I'm going to Japan!

About a month ago, my publisher and editor pulled me aside and asked if I would like to apply through the Rotary Club for a one-month exchange to Japan from mid-March to mid-April. I said "Why not?" and proceeded to fill out forms and write an essay.

Last Saturday, the district held interviews in Modesto. The lady in charge called me yesterday to tell me that I was accepted.

The Rotary pays all travel, food and lodging expenses. My paper is offering to also pay my wages for writing one story a week to send back for publication.

I can't wait. I don't think it has sunk in completely yet. Now I just have to learn Japanese.

Lesson learned: It's not always bad to get called into the publisher's office.

Dame Ali Bigh

So Saturday night I joined with a few friends in solving a mystery. It's a game you can purchase that is like real life clue. Everyone dresses up as different characters and through clues, try to figure out who murdered, in this case, Sir Roger Watersdown. There were eight of us, and we all received an individualized book that told us in each round what we should try to conceal about ourselves, as well as secrets about the other characters. You then ask questions of each other to attain more information.

My name was Dame Allison "Ali" Bigh, a murder mystery novelist, best known for my highly acclaimed book "The Knife Cuts Coldly," because of my uncanny ability to capture the criminal mind. We later found out this was because I murdered someone so I could write about it. I also was a hypnotist.

I, however, was not the murderer in the end, though we all attempted it to some degree. The real criminal happened to be the quietest guy in our group.

We did this over a four-course meal, which Sarah's mom outdid herself to present.

Lessons learned: Hypnotism isn't a very effective tool to murder someone.

Farewell Josh

Josh's last day was Friday. He is heading off to drive across the country, then travel Europe with his wife, Sarah. I did promise to write blog entry about him. So here it is:

All my friends at the paper and I went through a short-lived phase of having costume parties. We did the 1980s, '70s and western. Josh was always in contention for the best costume.

I think the funniest thing I ever saw was Josh singing "Hungry Like the Wolf" complete with split jumps and hip thrusts at a local karaoke bar. He was wearing turquoise exercise pants, a florescent green fanny pack, a black mullet wig and sun glasses. This was about the time that Josh was still making us all call him "The Wolf," a play on his last name.


The '70s party was in honor of his birthday. We actually went roller skating for this one. Again Josh came out in full force and ended the night with a surprisingly agile scissor kick for the camera, which turned out to perfectly frame a fellow coworker, Dyhanna, and I, who were sitting on a curb behind him.

But the most time I spent with Josh was undoubtedly at work, where he was our comic relief, a constant distraction and the older brother I never had. I'm not kidding about the last one. I think he actually put me in a head lock one time. Another, he stepped on my sandaled toe and pushed me, so that my body went back and my foot stayed planted under his shoe. I did what all little sisters do and tattled to our editor, saying I wasn't sure if I could take the ongoing abuse. Patty always took my side, even it if was me harassing him.

Our relationship pendulumed between praising each other's work, adding that we could only aspire to each others greatness, and giving lofty presentations of our own stories on that day's paper, saying things like, "Maybe you, too, will someday have a story above the fold" (the most coveted spot in the paper). On a few occasions Josh would bestow upon me a paper with his signature on it.

We also sometimes made a killer team with a double byline, since both of our names start with the same letter. On these days Josh was sure that there were lines of people outside of the door just before the paper came off the press, waiting for our combined brilliance. According to him, the paper's circulation doubled when the W & W team joined forces to create what can only be described as journalistic gold.

As you can see, the only truth in our office can be found in the stories we write.

Well that was our interaction. But Josh is best known for serenading Jenn in falsetto, operatic song. That and his attempts at "ninja" to anyone who threatened him. He always had loyal sources who leaked tips to him because he is great at schmoozing. He and the county counsel, for example, would banter back and forth constantly. Recently Josh called him, and after two attempts and two hang ups asked for the "president of the mediocre attorneys association."

So there is your column, Josh. Have a great road trip. The office won't be the same without you. (Check out Josh's travel blog at http://thebeautifultoday.blogspot.com/.

Lessons learned: I'm going to miss this guy.

Night rider

On about 15 hours of sleep total in the past three days, I set out with riding buddy Steve to go mountain biking last night. We decided to do the trail we did last time, which is a 17-mile, 2-hour loop.

It was like a different trail. I felt a little loopy from lack of sleep, so it took every ounce of concentration I had to stay on the trail. On top of that, I hadn't ridden my own bike with clicker pedals in two weeks. I felt like I was relearning how to click out. Consequently, I did take a nice spill off the side of the trail into some tree bark. Luckily, I only suffered minor road rash and a nice bruise on the back of my thigh. For some reason, it's always my right arm that takes the hit.

After only five miles riding along a culvert, I was wondering if I was going to make it. I tend to get really spacey when I'm that tired, so I kept doing stupid things like unclicking my left foot when I needed to undo the right. At one point as I wrestled my bike through a downed tree, Steve started laughing and said "You are acting a little punch drunk."

On a series of hills, though, I got my second wind. It was a good thing, because that was about the time it started to get dark — mile 10 of 17. By the time we got down to the bottom trail by the river, I could barely see Steve in front of me. Of course, we both were wearing all black.

It had been about three weeks since we have done a night ride. Last time we started at about the same time, did a three-hour ride and managed to finish just at dusk, so we thought we should be safe even though it's getting dark earlier. Guess not.

Fortunately, the trees are semi spaced out and most of the trail is a white dirt, so we just followed the "stripe." Sometimes though, I would enter a patch of thick trees and suddenly Steve would completely disappear. I just started following the creaking of his bike, but that was a little like the blind leading the blind. Suddenly every little rut in the trail become "like the Grand Canyon," as Steve put it.

Towards the end, the stripe wasn't visible, so we got off and walked. It felt like we walked forever, but it was probably only about two miles. On the bright side, the stars made a nice backdrop, even if they didn't provide much light.

We cheered when we saw the posts marking the end of the trail and decided that this trail should now be reserved for weekend rides.

Lesson Learned: It's time to dig out the headlamp.

Fun times at board meetings

Last night was another late one. I had to cover a three-hour school district board meeting. The disctrict passed a bond a year ago but has been involved in a conflict over how to proceed. They keep asking me to keep them out of the paper. I don't think they understand that that is up to them.

It's a tough story — it's hard to weed out the truth of what has happened in the past year to get them where they are today because both sides are saying something different and it's all very heated.

On a completely different note, I just proofed a story about how the New Orleans phone book is a microcosm of how the city has changed since Katrina. For example, there are pages more of contractors than before the hurricane, while beauty salons have declined. I thought it was an interesting way of looking at things.

Now I'm just procrastinating. I have two stories to write before 4:30 p.m. so that I can go on a mountain bike ride tonight.

Lessons Learned: If you're in construction, New Orleans is the place to be right now.

The toils of travel

I'm already back in California,and Montana feels a million miles away. My last day there was split in two contrasting pieces. I spent a quiet morning on a couple-hour mountain bike ride with my sister, then hung out at Larry's Lake relaxing in the sun (it's actually called Hanson Doyle, but my dad decided his name better suited it when we bought property on its north edge). The second half was a brutal 12-hour trip home, involving delayed flights and crying babies.

My flight was to leave Kalispell at 4:20 p.m. have a two and a half hour layover in Missoula, then another one in Seattle. I was hoping to get it changed so I could get into Sacramento earlier than 10:30 p.m. as planned. The lady sent me directly from Kalispell to Seattle and then booked a flight at about 6:30 p.m. from Seattle to Sac.

Well that didn't quite work out since my flight out of Kalispell was delayed. They ended up putting me back on my original flight from Seattle to Sacramento. For this, I traded my window seat in the back of the plane for one sitting right behind a crying baby and in front a teen with dread locks who, if felt like, was practicing kick boxing on the back of my seat. I was counting on some sleep on that flight, but it was hard to come by. The baby wasn't just like a bleating newborn - this kid had lungs. She spent most the trip screaming full on, to the point she almost choked herself. The guy I was sitting next to and I resorted to playing peek-a-boo over the seat, but that only distracted her for about five minutes at a time, and I can only play that game for so long.

My second flight was late, too, so by the time I got off the plane and went to the baggage claim, I was annoyed at everyone and everything - the girl talking loudly and incessantly about her trip to France ... the two teenagers nuzzling each other in front of me ... the guy standing a little too close behind me ... even the buzzer that signaled the coming of our luggage.

I was a little nervous mine wouldn't make it in all the confusion, but it did. Thank God. If it hadn't I might have had to throw a tantrum of my own.

It didn't end there. I missed my bus stop when being taken to my car, then forgot my purse on the bus when I did get off. I ended up chasing it to the next stop wheeling my luggage behind me. As I walked back to where my car was, all I could think was, "I really should not be driving right now."

I did make it, though the exit I needed on my way home was closed, and I had to go the long way. I got home at 2 a.m., just in time for about five hours of sleep before I went back to work today. My bed has never felt so good.

I meant to write a post yesterday about our kayaking trip Sunday, but didn't have time. So here is what I might have written:

It pays to be an only child. Ever since my sisters and I moved out, Terry gets a new toy each month. My dad just bought a motor fishing boat (which we took out Saturday) and then my step-mom hooked him up with a kayak. She - of course - had to buy one for herself.

My sister and her boyfriend, Brad, also bought one for each of them. I remember when Amanda told me I was surprised and figured she would never use it. Now I want one.

So we took the four of them and a canoe out on the North Fork of the Flathead River. Anna came along, and we rotated riding in the various boats.

At one point, we went through a particularly hairy section,with about four-foot waves. Only Terry's kayak has a skirt, so you take on quite a bit of water in the kayaks when the water splashes over the nose. My step-mom made it through, but it shook her up a bit and she asked me to switch with her (since I was in the canoe).

So I did and we came up on the next set of rapids. My boat filled up pretty quick, but I managed to get it to the side to empty it out. I turned around just in time to see the bottom of the canoe as it dumped Anna, Mom and Dad into the water.

I guess the canoe only offered a false sense of safety.

Anna and Mom floated down and off to the side, leaving dad with the canoe, which by this time was almost wrapped around a rock. He was able to get it off when Brad went up to help him, but for awhile it looked as if the boat was going to snap it two.

The amazing part was that we didn't lose very much, just a fishing pole, and the canoe only has a few dings in it. Everything else was tied on well enough. I'm glad we ate lunch before we went through that section though, because everything filled up with river water.

Lessons Learned: Stick with the kayak and your original flight arraignments.

Back to school

Seven years after graduating from high school, most of us look the same. It was great to have the old crew back together again. We started off Thursday night with a reunion at the Great Northern, a local bar we used to haunt. Anna and I went in just to get my keys from my sister (because we were supposed to meet my old high school friend, Clare, at another bar), but we never left. We kept running into people we once knew. We made it about 20 feet and five different conversations about what we are now doing before we gave up and stayed.

The next day was the wedding, set at a Catholic church in Kalispell. I actually really liked witnessing a Catholic wedding. Sometimes wedding ceremonies are too hasty - a 15-minute exchange of vows before everyone runs off to party. This had some substance to it. The highlight was when the priest realized he had forgot the first page of the vows and left Annalee and Daniel standing at the alter while he went to get it, the microphone rustling as he went.

The reception was set under a large rectangle pavilion just outside Kalispell on a hillside. It was a great setting for them to start their married life. Even some of the boys who never danced in high school came out on the dance while a Blue Grass band played. I saw people there that I haven't seen in years.

Last night we had a barbecue at Anna's family’s lake house, on Whitefish Lake. We used to have Anna's birthday parties out there every year in high school. And every year Anna's mom would bring out a big flat cake from Costco. I forget how it started, but a cake fight became a yearly tradition, followed by a swim in the lake to rinse off the greasy frosting. This time, however, we managed to avoid it - mostly because we didn't have a cake, though everyone kept asking for one.

Still, it was fun to hang out on the deck as the sun set, eating burgers and drinking beer. Clare pointed out it was probably the first time we were out there drinking legally. Inevitably, all our most embarrassing or funny high school memories were rehashed.

Lesson Learned: As long as I reunite with my high school friends, my old nicknames will never die.

Home sweet home

So I'm in Montana now because two of my old friends, one I grew up with and one from high school, are marrying each other. I'm expecting a high school reunion - a little reminiscent of the college reunion I had a month ago at another wedding.

Flying into the Flathead Valley always reminds me why I love Montana. From an airplane, you can see the peaks surrounding a large, flat expanse, dotted with lakes. The Rockies make the foothills look like washboard on a road. No offense to those who are loyal to the Mother Lode, which too has a unique beauty, it's just different. Much of that probably is because I grew up here and am a little biased.

I left this morning at 3 a.m., drove to Sacramento and arrived here at about 12:30 p.m. It was fun to see my mom and brother waiting for me as I got off the plane. New buildings keep popping up in Whitefish, but home is the same. My sister, Amanda, and I went for a mountain bike ride up the forest service road across from our house, which is about 10 miles out of town. I've done the loop a million times, but it seems like forever ago. We finished just in time for a thunderstorm, but now it is clear, sunny and a little chilly. I'm not used to it after the dry California heat.

My 12-year-old brother just took me for a ride in my old Subaru Justy. Yeah, that's right, he's 12 and driving. It's weird, but he gets so excited that it's cute. We just went up the forest service road, and I don't think we broke 5 mph the whole time.

Now I'm just waiting for my dad to get home. I had to call his cell phone and make him stop working, so he can see his long lost daughter.

Lesson Learned: There is no place like Big Sky country.

A serious retarded monkey situation

I'm just now wrapping up my day, after having what we like to call a "split shift" here at the newspaper I work for. That's where I work in the morning, have the afternoon off and then come back at night, usually for some sort of meeting. We have to be here in the morning no matter what for deadline, since we an afternoon paper — the only one left on the planet.

Let me tell you, it is so great to head back to work again at 6 p.m. And by that I mean it really sucks. However, it was nice to lie in the sun by the pool for a little while this afternoon.

Coming into the office late at night alone can be a little creepy, especially in this old building. Tonight I was lucky because Josh, another reporter, was working late, too. This has a downside — only that I don't get much work done when we are discussing his up coming trip across the United States or how to create links on my blog. (By the way, I now have a couple links on my blog, let me know if anyone else wants to be included).

But I did get to hear in great detail about what a moron the spokeswoman for the local hospital is. (Do I get paid for this time, since Josh is passing on his depth of knowledge as he departs and I step in to assume more responsibility on the health beat?).

I promised Josh that I would write a blog entry about him when he leaves, since his tireless efforts to get our columnist to write a column about him have failed so far (and Josh only has about a week left to convince him). My tribute to Josh is going to take some deep thought and preparation to really capture the essence of our working relationship, so it's not going to happen tonight. But here is a preview:

We were complaining about this new system that we have to work with. Josh's analysis of it was that a retarded monkey could have done a better job.

I was kind of half listening and replied, "I could have done a better job."

"That would have been a serious retarded monkey situation," he said.

Well I guess I asked for that one. I've learned I can never let my guard down with Josh; I always have to be in quick come-back mode. Unfortunately, he is way better at it than me.

On the other hand, he sometimes gives me the best compliments ever. A couple days ago, while complaining about how I hadn't updated this blog recently, he described it as his "liquid crack cocaine," and a "glimpse into my tortured soul." Wow, I mean, I knew this was an eloquent, provacative and cleverly written page-turner that rivals Dave Berry and Shakespeare both at the same time, but I had no idea it was sparking addictions.

Lesson learned: Someone else besides my mom is reading my blog. (Mom, sorry I haven't called you back, I will soon)

Eating at the adult table

I know I'm getting older when the parties I go to start to have kids at them. Last night I went to a barbecue with some friends from church. I was older than all but one of the women there, yet all but one had a toddler and a baby (if just on the way). All except Jenn of course, though Jenn is married.

So I'm sitting on the couch with one of the moms on one side of me as she feeds a baby, and Jenn on the other. The toddlers are running around the living room screaming, and Jenn looks up at them and says, "I feel like I forgot something," referring to the kids. The other girl goes, "Well you brought your husband." Then she looks at me and goes, "Where is your husband?" like this imaginative guy is a black lab or a set of keys. I reply, "I don't have a husband — not even close."

She says sympathetically: "Well don't worry, it can happen very quickly."

I suddenly felt like I was in the Sex and the City episode where Carrie writes about how married people seem to pity those of us who are not settled in marital bliss as well. I guess I never thought of being single as a thing to escape. Yes, I would like to get married someday when I find the right guy, but I don't want to get married simply to haves someone to bring to a barbecue. I don't view marriage as something you can go out and pick up like fast food. Honestly, I doubt she meant it how it sounded, but it was funny to catch a glimpse of her perspective.

Jenn's husband, Paul, said I should have told the girl that my husband was in jail. Darn, I just don't think that fast.

Lesson Learned: There are perks to being single and without children: I didn't have to sit at the kids' table and try to prevent a kid from eating a hot dog whole.

Getting in touch with my Rasta side

I’ve been slacking on postin entries lately, mostly because I still don’t have the Internet at home. It’s 9:45 p.m. and I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my car outside of a local café that has a free Internet connection. I keep getting strange looks from passersby.

The town I live in frequently has little festivals and street fairs, and Friday night was an event called Magic of the Night. All the stores were open and bands were playing in different pockets of the main street through town. The locals find it a great excuse to start drinking early. After a little shopping, the group I was with made one of our first stops in a bar called the Sportsman. Only in the foothills can one find a bar where you can buy beer and guns in the same place. Maybe I’m crazy, but I think saying this seems like a dangerous combination is a little bit of an understatement. This is California; I’m surprised it’s not illegal. After a drink, we wove through the crowd down to a spot where the fire jugglers were performing. I actually wrote a story on this group about six months ago. They are pretty impressive to watch.

Then there was a reggae band up the street we went to see. I’m not usually a huge reggae fan, but these guys were good enough to get me to go watch them again last night, this time at an event about an hour north of here called Summerfest. This festival was on private property in a remote location that I probably could never find again. There was a little pond with a zip line, barbecuing, mountain biking and camping — and hours of reggae music. I have never seen so many dred locks in one place. One guy gave me a sticker after asking if I have any “Rasta” in me. They had about six different trashcans for recycling and a sign above them that said “no profanity.”

In the background was the constant switching back and forth between two syncopated chords in what sounded like one song that lasted for about three hours. In fact, that’s how we found our way back to the site after going on a mountain bike ride on some of the back roads. But the band we came to see was worth waiting for. Their lead singer is a woman, and she is amazing. It’s fun to dance to, and they had their own showing of fire dancers as well during one intermission.

Lesson learned: I don’t know if I really have any Rasta in me.

KAVU

Sunday was one of those KAVU days. Probably only one person who may or may not be reading this will understand that. Unless of course, you're a fan of the clothing brand. It means Klear Above Visibility Unlimited — or the perfect day.

These days for me usually involve a few components: some sort of rigorous activity, sunshine, good company and beautiful scenery. Sunday it was a mountain bike ride. My riding buddy, Steve, and I headed up the hill to a place called Spring Gap. There is a trail head there that splits off the road near a bridge and follows the creek. It eventually ends, after crossing several culverts on wooden planks. Then there is a fire road that heads up an hill and through a hilly pasture with heifers wearing cow bells. Another trail head starts there. It is the origin of a single track that is basically a tunnel through tree branches on a bed of long pine needles. It comes out onto a fire road with a roller coaster of steep hills to the top of a ridge. The final stretch is a smooth trail back along the other side of the creek.

I did a lot better this time with my peddels. Steve loosened the settings for me, so it was easier to get out of them. I was nervous for the first 20 minutes. It's amazing the effect two little metal clips can have on my adrenaline. But I relaxed after awhile and started enjoying the benefits of them. I did have one minor incident, but I wouldn't really call it an official fall.

After we got back, we sat on some of the rock slabs in the creek, until there were none left with sunshine on them, and had a beer. We came down the grade just in time to watch the sun set over the Central Valley.

Lesson Learned: It's easier to enjoy the ride if you relax.

Renewed country fan

So the concert was fantastic, especially Carrie Underwood. She was supposed to be opening for Randy Travis, but I think she stole the show. I'm not a huge country fan, but I like it everyone and awhile, from some artists. Carrie Underwood, who was last year's American Idol, had a whole crew of back musicians, one who was amazing on the fiddle, and a couple on electric guitars. One song she sang, called "Jesus take the wheel" almost made me cry. I never do this, but I went out and bought her CD this morning just so I could hear it again. It's amazing to think that just a little over a year ago, she was just one of us with a good voice.

Today I have been to the gym, then spent some time in the sun. It's great to have some time off.

Lesson Learned: Carrie is a star.

For my mental health, thank God it's Friday

This week has been insane. I'm so tired that the other day when I was driving I thought I saw a guy walking down the street in a toga. He was actually wearing a pair of shorts and a wife beater — but you can see how I would get the two confused.

Then, this morning when I woke up I didn't know where I was — even though I was in my own bed.

I just have had a lot going on at work. I'm working on two large-scale projects, an enterprise story about how electronics are changing how we communicate, daily stories about grants and new interim chancellors, briefs ... the list goes on and on. On top of that we're dealing with a new online computer system that has so many glitches we're thinking of scrapping it.

At home, I have another whole neglected to-do list. Despite that, I have been trying to have some fun on my off time. Last night, I let my friend Jenn from church convince me to go to a barbecue. I'm glad I went, although I should have been home doing laundry and balancing my checkbook. I had the best steak I've ever ate.

A couple who came brought their newborn and three-year old son. The little boy is has so much energy, but sometimes it backfires on him. Last week, he ran head on into a table at the couple's home, leaving him with two black eyes. Last night, I was in the bathroom when I heard a thud that shook the floor. He had hit his head on an end table. There was a red and puffy welt on his forehead when I came out. Poor little guy. The thing is that the family is supposed to have pictures taken on Saturday — not to mention racking up multiple concussions at the age of three probably isn't a good idea.

Anyway, I'm glad it is almost the weekend. I'm going to a Carrie Underwood and Randy Travis concert tonight at a winery. We'll see if that does anything to clear my head.

Lesson learned: My brain is too fried to even think of one.

Go Mac, Go

My work computer and my laptop at home have had a strange role reversal of late. Up until last weekend, my newly acquired MacBook was faster on dial up Internet than my computer at work with a high-speed network connection. There, our decade-old machines downloaded Web pages slower than I could run backwards up an escalator the wrong way.

No more.

We just upgraded our computer system this week, compete with new Mac Minis on an OS X operating system. We also have a new Web-based system for editing and processing stories. It's pretty much chaos around here while everyone gets used to it, but it's amazing the ease at which I can look up a Web site, organize interviews on my calendar, send e-mails, talk on the phone and type notes — all at the same time.

Meanwhile, all cyber-communication on my lap top at home has come to a screeching halt. I'm sorry to say, my newly found confidence in Apple is evaporating like gasoline on hot pavement. (I really am rooting for them to change the tide because I love OS X.)

The Apple and Mac debate was a hot topic among a few of my friends in college, and I always aligned myself with the PC supporters. My critisism was that Macs crashed, were slower and seemed more unstable than PCs. But in the past two years, I sort of changed my mind. With viruses infesting PCs, OS X's user friendliness and the new Intel core they have put in Macs, I decided to try on for myself.

Well, in the less than one month that I've had my MacBook, it has crashed more times than the four years I had a Hewlett-Packard. I've also spend about eight hours on the phone with tech support.

The problems started soon after I purchased it when it wouldn't shut down completely, then wouldn't turn back on. On my second call to Apple, the guy suggested I download the upgrade for OS X. Well, that seemed to fix the problem, but it also created one even worse. The minute I restarted after the download, my computer crashed and my Internet hasn't worked since.

Apple referred me to AOL. So I spent two hours on the phone with them, opening various folders, clicking different buttons on and off, logging on the Internet over and over. We even erased the AOL software and reinstalled. It never failed, the Internet would only let me online for a few seconds before disconnecting. He finally told me to call back Apple because maybe there's something wrong with the modem.

Two more hours-long phone calls later, the problem isn't fixed, but they're sending me a new modem. Hurray.

I know a few of you are asking why I am on a dial up connection in the first place. Of course, those of you who are make two to three times my salary and don't live in the foothills, where not that many forms of high speed Internet work. (I get dial up for free).

That said, I'm looking into DSL.

Lessons Learned: Look closer at the PCs next time. (Will someone please prove me wrong?)

Technical difficulties

I'm having problems with my computer lately so I can't get online. I'll post a new blog soon. Tonight I just have to get out of the office.