“How Have I Displeased You, Oh Car Gods?”

or the alternative title, "My New Car Is A Piece Of Crap"

Okay, so the title alternative title isn't very creative but it conveys what I feel better than any other clever play on words that I could imagine. I hate my new Toyota Camry. But I'm trying to get my bitching over with and just live with it until I can trade it in for a proper German car.

So to be succinct (at least as much as I can be), I'm simply going to list my reasons (and a little commentary) for hating that hunk of junk:

1. It's wimpy and has zero power.  I redlined it getting on the freeway on an onramp that's really short. It's an automatic!!!

2. It's an automatic!!!  I use to have a connection with my cars; we worked together in a quiet synchronicity that only those with manual transmissions would understand.  That's gone now...sigh.

3. The suspension is mushy and the handling is like trying to swim in pea soup.  The last 5 miles of my commute are on a windy road through the Oakland hills and I LOVED driving it in my Passat. Now it’s a chore; I’d almost prefer sitting in the freeway traffic but that would prolong sitting in the piece of crap by about 15-20 minutes.

4. The brakes are scary and if you apply the slightest amount of pressure to them the seatbelt locks up. If you push the gas in too much too fast, the seatbelts lock up.  The accelerating thing wouldn't be a problem except the windows are tinted and I have to turn my head a little more to merge but I can't lean forward because the seatbelt has locked up! 

(And as a side note, I had to return it to the dealership after having it for a whole week because the steering column was shaking when you applied pressure to the brakes. I already knew the problem was the rotors but I didn’t tell them I knew that. They said they replaced the brakes and rotors even though they told me that they didn’t find anything wrong. Bullshit.)

4. The antenna is useless.  Some of the San Francisco radio stations don’t come in very well WHEN I’M IN SAN FRANCISCO! Now don’t start with the whole it-depends-on-where-the-transmission-tower-is-thing (yeah, I saw that episode of WKRP in Cincinnati too!) because I don’t care. It was never a problem in my VWs so what’s the problem with this car?

5. The seats are uncomfortable and the headrest is tilted so far forward that I can’t wear a ponytail with a plastic clip; I can only wear a rubberband type ponytail holder otherwise I get a stiff neck.  Yes, it’s adjustable, but I’ve adjusted it as far as it’ll go. I’ll bet you money that the group of Toyota designers didn’t include any women.

Yes, I could continue. But I’ll spare everyone the pain since most have heard me bitch since the day I picked up the car. So this post will be the last time I complain about it. Given that, did I mention that I hate this car? Allow me to repeat: I HATE MY NEW CAR!

I have to admit that I’m also a little tired of people asking “well then why did you buy it?” I bought it because I was tired of hearing the noises in the front-end of my Passat getting louder and louder. And while it may not be an issue for most, I was completely done worrying about breaking down and the realization that I don’t have that one person who I can call and know that they’ll drop everything to pick me up. I know that I could call either of my two brothers, or my Mom or a variety of friends, but I don’t know if they’re at work, in a meeting, at home or away on vacation or whatever. While yes I have people I can call, I don’t know if it’ll take one call or ten calls to various folks to see who is able to come and get me. And unfortunately, that’s a long way from the security of knowing exactly who to call and that they’re in their car at a moment’s notice.

There, I admitted it. Stop asking.

Bottomline is that I wish I could love this car, but the cons completely outweigh the pros. And the bummer is that I used to LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to drive but now my Camry is just a vehicle that can get me from point A to point B.

I can’t wait to trade in this piece of crap…


Free Counter

"Ponder This"

or, the alternative title "Whoa, That's Way Deep.  Cool.  Wait...What?"

A couple of weeks ago a friend and I were sitting on my couch imbibing in wine (and stuff) and our conversation took a very deep, philosophical turn. Yeah, it surprised the hell out a me too.  But I decided to put this out there for all to ponder.

The question I pose to the four people who actually read this is: if we as humans abide by certain moral and/or ethical rules, prohibitions, standards, or whatever you'd like to call them, does the reason you abide by a particular rule matter, or does the reason not matter so long as you abide by the rule? Allow me to provide an example.

It's well established that murder is wrong. I think we can all agree on that setting aside any of the outlying arguments about abortion, capital punishment, justifiable homicide in self-defense, etc. But why don't we murder?  I would argue that most people would respond by saying that the taking of another human's life is morally and ethically wrong and contrary to acceptable societal rules. But what if the sole reason we don't kill others is solely because of the consequences; we're afraid of getting caught?

The question then is if it's morally wrong to kill a person, does it matter the reason?  Is it wrong that we don't kill someone because the reason doesn't follow moral guidelines?  Or, does the reason not matter; only the result or lack of a result in this case?  I argue that the reason doesn't matter if the end result is the same. 

My friend was surprised that I took the position that so long as people abide by basic human moral and/or ethical rules then why they abide by those rules is irrelevant.  I didn't think there was anything about which to be surprised.  The bottom line is that no matter the reason, the outcome is the same: a human being doesn't die.  To the potential dead  guy, I don't think the reason would matter either so long as that person gets to remain alive.

So there you have it folks, the outcome of a bizarre conversation is an open-ended question of what I would consider moral philosophy.  Hopefully I've finally given y'all a post that gives food for thought instead of posts about dead salamanders and decades old paper clips.  Just don't expect this kind of deep thought will happen too often...it would start hurting my brain if I had to think that much.



Free Counter

“What’s Up? I’ll Tell You What’s Up!”

Or, the alternative title, “The Company That Shall Not Be Named"

Yes, I know, it’s been waaaaaay too long since my last post. But quit your nagging already – I’ve been busy! And while I have a few more posts in the early stages of drafting, this post is generally about my new job. So, hang onto your hats because we’re about to go on a journey of discovery filled with amazing adventure…okay, not really. It’s mainly just me blathering on and on about nothing in particular. You might want to get a strong cup of coffee first.

Eleven weeks ago I started my new job at a company that everyone knows if they have a credit card. The odd thing is that technically I can’t identify the company because of our internal policies. And it doesn’t look good if I identify the company in violation of our company policies considering I’m in the legal department; more specifically, I’m a member of the privacy office. Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. While I’m sure that this is just me being a little tight-assed about company policies (which is ironic given my self-described moral flexibility in other areas of my life), I still would hate to be made an example if this became a bigger issue. So, let’s just say that I now work for the company whose little four-letter brand is on many, MANY credit cards around the world. For ease of this blog, I shall henceforth refer to my employer as “The Company” which sounds far more ominous and mysterious than it really is…trust me.

I have to admit that my first couple of weeks were more frustrating than anything. The number of meetings was overwhelming and prevented me from doing a lot of the projects I was assigned. The other enormous obstacle was not knowing the terminology or the acronyms or peoples’ names even. The question “what the hell have I done?!” came into my head more than once during those first days and I kept asking myself if I should have even made this move. Most people who are not in the legal field have no idea what a big change this was; I went from doing securities litigation at a law firm to working inhouse doing corporate privacy law. It’s a 180° change that most people don’t make. To be honest, I didn’t realize that until I finished my first week.

But slowly the meetings decreased and while I don’t know all of the terminology or acronyms or names yet, I am slowly but surely learning and getting to a more comfortable place. So, given all of that back-story, here are a few of my observations:

1. Not being required to bill time rocks! No more worrying that I spent too much time talking to the department’s admin about shoes and how that’s going to negatively impact my billable hours! (Yes, at first glance that seems like an inefficient use of time, but as a new person in the department it’s a good idea to get to know people – especially an admin whose been with The Company for 22 years. She knows where the bodies are buried and how to work the system.)

2. Holy crap, I work for the nicest people in the world and it’s a little creepy! For the first month I kept thinking that no one could be that nice and that there had to be a catch or maybe this was really a test or maybe there was a hidden camera or maybe I was the subject of a Twilight Zone episode. This week, my boss brought me a bottle of maple syrup from his vacation in New Hampshire. I mean come on – how many bosses bring their staff a souvenir?!? Oh how law firm life jaded me so…

3. I’ve never seen so much bureaucracy and red tape in my entire professional career! I needed to request access to get a profile to be able to sign up to access the office supplies system so I could order post-its. Argh.

The last notable observations all involve The Company’s desire to be green. Simply put, the bathrooms freak me out…

4. The toilets are the kind that automatically flush. Unfortunately, the auto toilets have a mind of their own and they keep flushing while you’re trying to pull your pants up. I feel like I’m being rushed.

5. The toilets also flush with such an insane amount of force and is so loud that I worry about the decibel level causing irreparable hearing loss. That would be one weird workers’ comp claim for sure.

6. All five of the toilet seat covers in the women’s restroom are loose. The toilet seats in stalls one and four are particularly loose to the point of falling off so I avoid those stalls if at all possible. Again, that would be a weird workers’ comp claim.

7. The automatic towel dispensers are haunted. After one towel comes out, I’ll take it and start wiping my hands. But then suddenly it dispenses more! Do I take it and use more paper towel than I really need even though my hands are still a little wet?!? Oh the moral dilemma facing is overwhelming! Okay, I’ll take the towel. But then suddenly it dispenses more even though I’m not standing anywhere near the sensor! What madness has possessed the towel dispenser?!? It’s like the devil is trying to push me to the dark, wasteful side by tempting me with more paper towels. Weird.

So, that’s about it for now. And don’t worry, there will be more very Christy-esque (a.k.a. odd and of no importance) posts. There are just too many weird thoughts, ideas and observations swirling around in my head not to put them written form.




Free Counter

"A Little Something About Something Little"

or, the alternative title, "So Now What Do I Do With These Things?"

WARNING! WARNING! It's another strange post that tells you about what goes through my warped brain. And it starts with a little back story that goes a little something like this...

For many years, a rather wealthy widow (who I'll call Nana) lived in a large home on an even larger piece of property in Brookdale, a small town in the Santa Cruz mountains. During the war, Nana was one of the many people around the country who answered a request from the USO to open their homes to soldiers returning from the war who had to layover in various places including the Bay Area.. The 70+ soldiers who passed through Nana’s home from August 1944 through November 1945 left a little bit of themselves in Brookdale by jotting down a short note of appreciation, and in most cases, a home address in a plain bound daytimer. In the case of two of those soldiers, they each left a photograph paperclipped in the daytimer.

Sixty-four years later, in January of this year, that same daytimer was found by me and my loving, adopted second mother (we'll call her Beezy) as we sorted through the personal effects of her 97 year old father who had passed away (RIP Kenny, the world was a brighter place with you in it). Beezy and I thought it was one of the greatest treasures ever found since she lived through the war, and I've always been fascinated with it. Together we decided that we should try to track down as many of the names in the daytimer and send them a copy of their entry (no, we haven't quite figured out what the accompanying letter is going to say - we haven't gotten that far).

Here's where the sappy sentimental part takes a turn for the weird...

About a month ago I was copying the daytimer pages and I realized that the two small, partly rusted metal paperclips would eventually leave rust marks both on the photos and the pages. I replaced them with plastic clips. Just as I was about to toss the them in the garbage can, I thought "holy smokes! These paperclips are at least 67 years old!". Expanding on this weird realization, I thought that it was totally cool that I actually knew the age of these two paperclips!

If you think about it, it's not impossible to know the age of a single paperclip that you’re holding in your hand. But you have to admit that it’s not likely that you know its age. As far as dating a paperclip, it can’t be more than 108 years old since that little marvel we know modernly as a paperclip only invented in 1899 by the Norwegian inventor, John Vaaler. His invention was first patented in 1899 in Germany and Vaaler received the American patent in 1901. So anyone can at least argue that a particular paperclip is less than 108 years old.

On the flip side, you are likely to be able to look at the package of clips sitting in your desk drawer that you personally bought new and state with certainty that you know roughly how old it is. If you bought the package 1 year, 4 years, or however many years ago, you can be reasonably certain that every paperclip in that package is as old as however many years ago you bought it.

I also have no doubt around the country and the world even there are various museums that may, for example, have papers being held together with a paperclip that were drafted by Theodore Roosevelt in 1910. Yes, in that case you would likely be able to state that the paperclip is at least 99 years old. But that’s in a museum, and this story derives from some unspectacular event in the normal course of living our lives.

The bottom line is that in the here and now, I can say with a high degree of certainty that these two insignificant paperclips are almost seven decades old. How cool is that?!

Now, I wish this were leading into some great social commentary about society's descent into a self-absorbed disposable society where material goods are often discarded not because they are no longer useful but simply because they are old. But no, that’s not the point.

Nor is this story leading to a reflection on the war itself and the amazing soldiers who fought for freedom against one egomaniacal nutjob and his dreams of tyranny and oppression. But nope, that’s also not the point.

Nor is this a commentary on how this daytimer and its contents came to exist during a vastly different time with different people and my own cynical belief that, if asked by the USO to extend the same offer to soldiers returning home from war, American citizens would not extend the same kindnesses to unknown soldiers fighting for our country. And no, that’s still not the point.

(Okay, well maybe there was a little social commentary in there)

While this post is truly just about two small paperclips that gave me pause and made me smile (and of course gave me a strange blog subject), maybe the point was to just to give you a wacky story that made you think ‘huh, weird.’ Or maybe at the end of all of this you're only question is what happened to those two paperclips? Don’t worry because I just couldn’t bring myself to throw them out. They’re sitting safely in that section of my jewelry box where I’ve thrown various odds and ends like single earrings, backings from long since gone earrings, screws, and the occasional odd button from a shirt I probably don't have anymore. And in 50 years if you stumble across two small, slightly (or possibly completely) rusted paperclips while sorting through my lifetime of crap, I hope you remember this little story and just pause to think about where those paperclips came from and that they meant a little something to me. At the very least, I hope you smile with the realization that by those two paperclips are now more than 117 years old.





Free Counter

"Hello, I’m Happy For My Loss"

or the alternative title “Ooooh, Do You Have That In A Smaller Size?”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's been a while since my last post. I'm a bad blogger. So sue me.

In truth, over the last month or two I've had some great ideas for posts (and some that were really stupid in hindsight) but I've never been able to carve out an hour or so to sit down and write. So as I sit here on BART riding home, I'm going to write about my favorite subject...me!

Now don't worry, I'm not going to blather about how wonderful I am and that I'm so fabulous that when I fart rainbows come flying out. Nah, that's not me. But what I am going to do is basically the literary equivalent of patting myself on the back...tooting my own horn...giving myself some major props! Why you may ask? Because part of the reason I haven't had a lot of time to write is because I've dedicated much of my summer to trying to lose some weight. And while it wasn't "fun", it has been an accomplishment about which I'm very proud.

As of writing this, I've lost a total of 55 pounds since last summer. I even ran my first 5k last week and I couldn't be more proud than if I had climbed Everest (which, by the way, will be the first thing I do if I win the lottery)! And I won the entire race!

Okay, that's a total lie. I was slower than molasses. The hare AND the tortoise passed me. Snails were blowing by me like they were traveling at warp speed. But I did it. Yay for me. I decided to celebrate by running a 7k in two weeks and another 5k at the end of October. And I plan to win both of those too! Okay, I plan to finish. That’s good enough for me.

While I'm thrilled about where I am now, it's been a tough struggle; it's been far more mental than physical. You see, anyone who knows me really well knows that I am the hardest on myself. For whatever reason, I’ve learned to set myself up for failure. Yes, I'm a saboteur or my own life. I set goals for myself that are impossible to meet. I have expectations of myself that I can never reach. My insane To Do lists on the weekend (and at work for that matter) are pages and pages long. It allows me to not be surprised when I fail, and generally see myself as inadequate. A perfect example of this is that even after losing 55 pounds, I can only seem to concentrate on the fact that I still have 40 pounds to go. I’m working on it, but it’s something that doesn’t disappear overnight. But I digress...

So, (insert upbeat, happy music here) in an effort to recognize the accomplishment of losing 55 pounds, I have compiled a list of positive things that have come from it. Some items on the list are small; some are more significant. But if you've never had a weight problem, you wouldn't even think about these things. If you've had to battle your weight before, then you'll understand why this warrants getting on the list. I just want to remind myself that, in the immortal words of the prophet Bob the Builder, yes I can.

1. I don't fear when the escalator is out of service at the BART station. I can now walk up the stairs without thinking I need to take a break halfway up.

2. I can walk my dogs without getting winded on the way back up the hill. It's only a mile.

3. I can cross my legs without the crossing leg sticking straight out or hurting because the circulation was cut off.

4. I no longer shop in the plus size department.

5. I can wear shoes with a heel higher than an inch (55 extra pounds can make your feet hurt from the added pressure).

6. I had to buy all new clothes, including underwear (although financially this was a bit of a bummer).

7. My slouching is getting better (after all these years, Mom can now stop whispering to me to stand up straight - and she was right).

8. I can't finish my plate of food at a restaurant.

9. I feel comfortable wearing shorts.

10. Men offer to give me their seat on the BART train (no, they don't offer when you're overweight). And for the record, I now say thank you and decline their offer. I can stand for the 25 minute ride home without my legs starting to hurt; I would dread that happening before.

11. I feel pretty.

There are more that I just can’t think of right now, but in the end, it all adds up to one thing: hooray for me.

Free Counter

"The Best Backpacking Trip Ever!"

or the alternative title “It’s All Fun And Games Until Someone Forgets The Water Purifier”

It’s about time that I finally post my post-backpacking trip . . . well . . . post. For those of you who didn’t hear about the change in plans, we decided not to try to hike to the Mt. Whitney summit due to some seriously unstable weather conditions. Rain, hail, thunder, lightening, and snow are five factors that none of us were particularly interested in battling just to get up to a summit that was completely socked in by clouds. And the conditions would have also meant that we would have been cold and miserable; not a great way to bond as a family. So . . . we chose a different location that resulted in the Best Backpacking Trip EVER!

Based on prior travels by brother “S” and his lovely wife “L”, we went to Kennedy Meadows just north of Yosemite. The weather was in the upper 70s and low 80s, and my pony couldn’t have been happier to be able to enjoy the fabulous weather as we hiked the trail from Kennedy Meadows to a secluded and completely AWESOME campsite along Lower Relief Reservoir. We were on top of a granite outcropping overlooking the reservoir with an abundance of water and a complete lack of other people. In fact, our first day after we set up camp, we all walked down the big granite rocks to the edge of the reservoir where we found this little niche in the side of the granite. From there we all laid back and watched the sun makes its slow trip down the sky and behind the ridge on the other side of the reservoir. This quiet moment quickly reminded me why John Muir fell in love with this area.

Now, if you think that this entire post is going to be lovely-granite-outcropping-this and surrounded-by-unimaginably-beautiful-nature-that, then obviously you don’t know me very well. And for anyone who knows me, and more importantly my family, you know that we had a ton of laughs (many at each other’s expenses) and our fair share of only-in-this-family-type moments. Allow me to summarize some of the highlights:

· I have to start off by giving some kudos to my sweet, loving sister-in-law who was able to laugh as my brother S handed her her alloted ration of toilet paper amounting to three squares. I silently patted myself on the back for bringing two half rolls (one for brother J and one for myself). We were in toilet paper heaven! Sorry L.

· The image of J passing through a portal to try and disrupt the time/space continuum was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Okay, this was really just J who noticed a really cool fallen tree and decided to crawl through it. The portal description just sort of developed from there.

· The mosquitoes on the first two days sucked! It took almost two weeks for me to stop itching. I hate those little bastards.

· There are always those things that, at least in our family, start out one way and then evolve into something even funnier. That was the case when S made a comment to me as I was trying to light the campfire. He said that one thing I could use as a fire-starter would be Old Man’s Beard (um, yeah, there wasn’t any where we were, so that was not going to help). Of course, neither J nor I could remember what it was called so on one of our dayhikes I came up with Uncle Bob’s Mustache. The name was further bastardized over the next couple of days until J finally took it to the next step and the name evolved into Grandma’s Butthairs. Yep, I love our family. We crack ourselves up.

· The bucket. Ahhh the bucket - that handy dandy little piece of collapsible equipment that was blown over the side of the granite outcropping and came to rest on a bush. And from that came the absolutely brilliant idea that S would repel down the side using some caribiners and parachute cord. Thank God they realized the danger and chose a different retrieval method.

· Wow, I had forgotten how incredible the Sierras are. The trees and the creeks and the rocks and the chipmunks and the osprey (okay, we only saw one) and the flowers and the views. I mean Wow! Yeah, ‘nuff said.

· And finally, it was only appropriate to have one slightly bad thing happen for which we could blame J. In this case, he forgot the water purifier on our second dayhike. It was alleged that his passing through the portal and disrupting the time/space continuum was the reason for him forgetting it. So what could he do to fix the situation? Duh, he was going to have to go through it backwards! And so he did. And after he did that, he didn’t forget anything else. The fact that our trip was done the next day is irrelevant.

Other than the mosquitoes, I’m not quite sure how this could have been any better. The weather was ideal, the water and firewood were in abundance, and the location was indescribable. And for the record, the wine was well worth the weight (even though pony appears to have had a little more than her fair share by the campfire!) Most importantly, the company was perfect and I have always loved being able to spend time with my brothers. This trip was no different. We laughed and we were silly and I felt so lucky to also be able to time with my sister-in-law. I always knew what a kind and loving person she is, and this trip reinforced that to the nth power. I’m glad I was able to share this with her. And God help her if after all of that she still likes us, because I think most people would run screaming from us and never look back!

Thanks S for your amazing organizational skills, your attention to detail, and your planning of our fabulous outing. Thanks J for financing my portion of the trip and coming so far to make this adventure with us. And thank you L for taking all of the pictures as well as for just being you and always smiling and laughing even when our jokes are so bad they should be illegal.

And that’s why the 2009 backpacking trip was The Best Trip Ever!

"The Perpetual Get Out Of Jail Free Card"

or the alternative title "Holy Crap, Christy's Gone Sentimental On Us...Run For Your Lives!"

I've always found it strange the phrase 'you can't pick your family.' In truth, that's only part true since you can choose your mate who may or may not have kids, or who your sibling or parent marries, etc. But for the most part, you really don't have any choice in your parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins...well you get the point. So then given this, what makes it the case that we are willing to forgive so often the actions of family members that we feel are wrong, or insulting or hurtful, or inconsiderate, or whatever. Why do we give family members a free pass? I know I certainly do.

At work, I'm completely the opposite. If a vendor screws up a project, I don’t use that vendor anymore. Simple.

Yet with my family, I won't utter a peep. I'll let some comment or some action go by and I'll just simmer (or try not to cry). Many a phone call has been made to our mother or one of my best friends to vent so I don't explode from either anger or hurt. Then, no more than a month needs to go by and I've forgotten what was said or done to upset me so much. In fact, I've been reminded of things that happened 6 months earlier and I only have a limited recollection, if any, of what happened. While I can remember with great detail the crappy things any ex-boyfriend did to me 10 years earlier, if it involves my family I wash it from my memory. Why is this? But the most ironic and curious part of all of this is that this blog entry was originally started after something happened that really bothered me. I was really hurt and I had a little crisis of family for a brief second (well, more like nanosecond). And now, more than a month later, I can’t remember why I was so angry. Apparently I have “Familial Short-Term Amnesia”. Yes, it’s a recognized condition. Look it up.

(I’m about to get uncharacteristically mushy – almost sentimental. Brace yourselves...)

Seriously, I wish I had an answer. I suppose it all boils down to one word: family. It's a noun (and sometimes an adjective) that has numerous definitions in the dictionary. Yet, none of the definitions I found truly convey the meaning of family. That simple word really has a greater, much deeper definition that can't be explained with words. My brothers are the world to me; my idols. Their children are my joy. And I have developed an unlimited love for each of my beautiful, sweet sisters-in-law. I would do anything and everything for any of them. No strings attached; with all the love I have. No, you won’t find a definition to explain those feelings. This definition can't be found in the dictionary; it can only be found in the heart.

In writing this, I've realized that trying to truly understand why my family means this much to me is futile. What I do understand, albeit fleetingly, is that I have an overwhelming need to have my family be happy and get along. Do I want this for the sake of my Mom? Likely. She's the same way when it comes to wanting her kids and their spouses and grandchildren to get along. Does that mean that I learned it from her? Definitely. But is this bad? Definitely not; at least I don’t consider it a bad thing. It’s just the way I am.

So, I have to ask myself: "Self? What's the point of all of this?" Well...there really is no point other than to realize that you can't answer the question: why do family's get a free pass? The answer is because. There’s no logic. There’s no quantifiable explanation. Love is just another way of saying family. It just is. Accept it.





Free Counter