My Favorite Movies I've Never Seen

Thanks to a Facebook friend of a Facebook friend, I learned about KFJC 89.7 (in the San Francisco Bay Area) and its Saturday morning soundtrack show. The soundtracks can be instrumental or vocal, from movies, cartoons, television shows and even commercials. The host will play about three or four pieces in a row, and then generally tell what they were after they play. I enjoyed figuring out if I'd even heard each piece before, and then trying to place it, and, in rare instances, I could even name the composer. (Hint: if you listen this way, your default guess should always be Bernard Herrmann.

Although most of the pieces were unknown to me, I knew the first one played almost immediately (before it got to the familiar part with the horns that is very recognizable). So, here's what I said to myself: "That's from The Natural, composed by Randy Newman. Oh, I really like that movie." Then I realized that I've never seen the movie. I love the music, the actors, the costumes, the era that it depicts, the beautiful lighting used in the shots, but I've never seen it. And somehow, I've convinced myself that I have.

Most people have periods in their lives where movies were not a priority, and if you're old enough, there were no VCRs or DVDs to make up for what you missed when you missed it. Mine are the seventies, because I was in my early teens when most of the classics came out, and not allowed to see them, and the mid-eighties because I was raising small children, and the movies were kind of crappy then anyway. So most of my favorite movies I've never seen are from these periods, but not all. Some movies just kind of slip by.

The problem with movies like The Natural is that it's not something I want to turn to because I have nothing else to do. It is a sit down and give all your attention to movie (or I assume it is). So whenever it comes on television, I have to decide if I have a couple of hours to stop everything and watch a movie. And, apparently, that has never happened.

So, here are my reviews for other favorite movies I've never seen: Saving Private Ryan: Spielberg's done it again!; Nashville: Great ensemble; Taxi Driver: the first time I didn't see it, I found it too intense, but now I love it; Modern Times: The satire even holds up today.

I have a different list: Blade Runner, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Die Hard, Reds. These are movies that are liked or loved by many people I know. I haven't seen them, I should, but I haven't convinced myself I've seen them.

One day I hope to actually see my favorite unseen films and make an honest woman of myself. What is your favorite movie you've never seen?

Back to School Issue

Good news! I just finished a time-sucking part of the quilt I've been working on for well over two years (or not working on, since that's the problem). This summer, I decided I would work on it a bit every day, and what-da-ya-know, it actually worked! Now, I get to move on to a new section, and a less time-consuming stitching pattern.


School's back in session, and since I started out braced for the worst, it isn't so terrible. Eventually, the parents of California will realize that 40 kids in a class is not in anyone's best interest, and decide they're willing to pay more taxes to make things change. Won't they? By the way, we were given $100 for supplies for almost 200 kids a day for 180 days, and that's $100 more than most teachers in the state received.

But in the spirit of school, here are a couple of lessons I learned today:

1. Something I just learned today and wish I could take the lesson back: The cinnamon currant loaf at Acme Bread is delicious--really delicious, and it comes in a size a little too big for one helping but too small to save much for later. I'll try to forget I know this.

2. Something I learned today that has made me giddy with power: My teacher look works on obnoxious adults. When I got out of the San Leandro BART station today, there was a woman in a car with windows rolled down listening to VERY LOUD music. Not that there's an age where it's appropriate, but she was well into her thirties, and should have known better. So, I gave her my teacher look, kind of without thinking. My teacher look involves making eye contact and not letting go of the eye contact, while making your face look completely without emotion. This was learned in a study on primates, and alpha male behavior. Even I was surprised when she turned down the music. Warning: I've had years of practice with the teacher look, and I definitely wouldn't suggest a man try it on another man, since it can be seen as a threat. Remember that as much as creationists would like to ignore it, we are, after all, primates.

3. Something I learned this week that I should have known all along: the entire country has not suddenly awakened from eight horrible years to renewed compassion and common sense. I thought that a sensible and compassionate call for compromise would do the trick on Health Care, but a lot of people seem determined to continue our run as the only industrialized nation to believe that health care is only for those who can afford it.

And why do I think people will soon be willing to pay more taxes for what they want?

Mad Men, part 2

I saw Revolutionary Road recently. If you aren't sure what movie I'm talking about, I'm not too surprised, since it lasted about five minutes in the theaters. It was released right after Christmas, to a public thinking about the election and the economy--a preoccupied public. I think the people involved in it felt that it would get Academy Award nominations and get noticed then, but it was pretty much ignored. Too bad, because I thought it was an excellent movie.

Mick LaSalle, of the San Francisco Chronicle, wrote a review that captured some of my feelings about the film really well. In his review, he mentions that it is baffling and irritating to hear the film being compared to Mad Men because the former takes place around 1955 and the latter around 1960. In his mind, those 5 years make all the difference. In my mind, those 5 years don't make a big difference. Now, 1960 to 1965...that's five years that would make a difference. To me, Mad Men and Revolutionary Road could easily have taken place at the same time. In fact, on the surface, both have the same themes of unfulfilled people getting the message from everyone around them that they're supposed to be giddily happy with their lives and finding that they aren't. In Revolutionary Road there are no hints of coming changes; in Mad Men, there are some hints (beatniks, interracial dating), but they are few and far between.

So, at the risk of being baffling and irritating, I do feel the two can be compared in an interesting way. Revolutionary Road made me realize that Mad Men is very stylized. The clothing and the furniture and room decor definitely are some of the stars of the show. In fact, people write about these things more than they do about the stories. That's a shame, but it's also a compliment to the people who put the look together. I remember the first show I watched, I was so dazzled by how much it looked like 1960 that it was about 45 minutes in before I realized that it was also a really good show. Revolutionary Road looked like the mid-fifties, but the clothes and decor (except there's this one great dress that Kate Winslet wears) are not the stars. If I walked into a room on Mad Men, I would think I was in a museum display of 1960. If I walked into a room in Revolutionary Road, I would see a combination of styles and years that are more like a real room and less like a collection of museum pieces. If I dressed in any of the clothes from Mad Men or did my hair like one of the characters, people would think I was wearing a very cool costume. If I wore clothing from Revolutionary Road, people would either not notice or think I was kind of doing a retro thing. Don't get me wrong about Revolutionary Road. The set decorations and clothing were probably very carefully chosen. The main characters, who see themselves as different from others, have rooms that contain sleek furniture and some modern art; the other suburbanites have rooms that have furniture that was stylish at the time, but this furniture (think Lucy and Ricky when they moved to the suburbs) is considered out of date now.

What these differences did was cause me to look at my own reaction to the two shows. In Mad Men, the date is an antagonist. As I watch, I think about all that we have available now that could really change characters' lives. If Joan only could go about 18 years in the future, she would be running the company. Sal, a couple of decades later, could express his homosexuality. Betty might not need to go to the psychiatrist who reports everything she says to Don if she realized that a lot of women feel they need to do something besides keeping house. Don't get me wrong. Life is never really easy, but still.

You could watch Revolutionary Road and think time was the antagonist, too, but I didn't. I think that the clothing and sets were purposely chosen to allow us to easily see ourselves in the place of Winslet and DiCaprio. Feeling hopeless and soulless is not restricted to any one time period. Ending up with the wrong person as a life partner is not restricted to any one time period.

Mad Men, part 1

A young woman I know, in her twenties (I’ll call her M) and I are both fans of Mad Men. We both enjoy the attention to period detail, the acting and character development, but M really surprised me when she told me how much she admired the clothing and wished we dressed like that now. She especially likes the look of Joan, the famously curvy secretary

I later mentioned this conversation to two friends, in two separate conversations. Both are in their fifties, like me, with a twenty-something daughter. And both had had the same conversation with their daughters. It went something like this:

What??? Do you realize how restrictive those clothes are?
Yes, but they look nice.
But they kept women from being able to achieve equality.
Huh?

And there lies the problem. To us, having been children during that era, they aren’t just clothes. To these young women, they aren’t either. In fact, it turns out that what they saw was that a woman who is more full figured could be admired, and that there wasn’t one body type that was considered attractive. To us, these clothes (I’m not talking about the pretty little “Mad Men” dresses that are showing up in the stores now) and their undergarments go hand in hand with a time and place that we never want to return to. So to one generation, they mean strangulation both literally and figuratively, and to another, freedom.

Ho, Ho, Ho!

If you don't keep a blog, you may not realize that we bloggers are able to keep track of what search terms people use that end up sending them to our blogs. I love to find out how people find my blog. One recent search prompted the following conversation:

V: Some poor person was sent to my blog while searching for "middle aged woman back door doggie style movies"
M: What????? Middle aged?
V: I read you that string of words and middle aged woman is the part you comment on?

Among the other strange recent searches:

"Have you seen my tweezers?" and "Trimming pot-bellied pig whiskers." Perhaps those two searchers could get together.

But the most searches by far are from people with Christmas in July questions. When PJ first suggested the name for my blog, we were both thinking of several things, including my July birthday, stories about my family's Christmases and unexpected blessings. I don't think either of us realized that a lot of people like to celebrate Christmas in July. Let what I just said wash over you: people like to celebrate Christmas in July. Don't get me wrong. I love Christmas--the music (well, some of it), the lights, the candles, the food, even the shopping. But it is exhausting and that's why it comes once a year. Anyone can understand why QVC would be observing Christmas in July. I can even understand why Australians would have a celebration during their coldest month of the year. But a Christmas party during Summer in the northern hemisphere?

Anyway, searchers, even if I can't understand what on Earth would ever, ever make you want to have a Christmas in July party, at least I can help you with your search questions. So here goes:

I am having a Christmas in July what should I serve: I have to admit to being honestly intrigued by this search, which is the number one search that I get. So, here you have this event which doesn't actually exist. You can do what you want with it, and yet you want to know what the traditional Christmas in July foods are? They don't exist. I actually have given this thought. You could have a regular Christmas dinner, with roast beef, ham, or whatever. Let's face it: canned cream of mushroom soup and canned green beans are available year round!! However, I like the idea of not doing that, but serving foods with a red and green theme: tomatoes and basil; strawberry ice cream; spinach pizza. Nature has given us a lot of red and green in summer. You might as well take advantage.


Christmas in July with fake snow: Sure, go ahead. Try this from QVC. But in these tough economic times, I like to rip up paper and dump it on the ground. Kids love it. Just make sure that it is recycled white paper.

Christmas in July wedding: I absolutely love the idea of taking life's two most stressful joyful events and combining them. Just think about the fights you can have. Not just about red vs. green velvet bridesmaid gowns but red vs. green velvet halter top gowns vs. strapless gowns. And, "I know your mother wants my bouquet to have roses and gladioli, but those are summer flowers!" And, "I don't care if Father doesn't want to officiate in a Santa suit. It's MY wedding!"

Is anyone wanna go to Vegas for a Christmas in July?: Of course I am wanna go to the hottest place in the United States to celebrate Christmas in July. I'm pretty sure that's what God intended when he came up with Christmas in July.

Christmas in July consumer ridiculous: Yes, so true. Now Christmas in December consumer sensible--that would have been a good search.

Christmas in July Golf Cart: I'm speechless (or at least the typing equivalent of speechless).

Catchy phrase for Christmas in July: "It's hot and so are the traditional Brown n Serve rolls."

What else is Christmas in July known as: July 25th.

Merry Christmas in July to all!

Costa Rica: Home Again

I was going to wait a day or two to write my last entry about the trip, wanting to make the trip last a bit longer in my head, but as I write this, I'm listening to news about California budget cuts to education, and I realize that this news is going to use up all my brain cells over the next few weeks, so I should end my writing about Costa Rica before it fades from memory.

I have already spent a lot of time writing about how much I dislike the "getting there" on vacation, so I won't bother any remaining readers with any major details. I will say that our taxi came just on time and our drivers (a father/son team) couldn't have been nicer. Marin's tip for taking taxis, honed from some bad experiences, is to get a clear idea of the fare before you even get into the car. This actually reduces stress greatly (Marin has had a couple of incidences where the driver stated a fare, but did not say whether he meant dollars or the local currency, only to charge the much greater and ridiculously large amount of the two at the destination). One nice thing about being a traveling American is that many people worldwide are more than happy to receive dollars. I ended up never trading dollars for colones the entire time I was there.

Oddly, it was in our final hours in Costa Rica that a couple of things went wrong for us. I slipped and fell in the shower. Our shower was tiled all around with no handles and no non-slip surfaces. Falls are always scary because you don't at first know how much you might have injured yourself. So, as I fell and hit the floor, here's what went through my head, in order: Oh, this is like how T recently fell in the shower; how is an ambulance going to get down that bumpy road; I don't want anyone to see me naked. It's amazing what can run through your head in one second. When I realized I hadn't broken anything, I was greatly relieved. Other than embarrassment, I only suffered some soreness and bruises.

As we were packing, Marin couldn't find her phone, which was also serving as her camera. We looked everywhere and it was nowhere. As the clock ticked away the minutes before our taxi arrived, the hotel staff was able to contact the driver of the van from our El Silencio tour the night before, and even though the driver had driven several people around after our tour ended, the phone was safely in the van. The hotel staff gave our taxi driver directions to the van driver's house, and the phone/camera was recovered with all of Marin's pictures safely still there.

I loved this trip, but I was ready to go home. I was missing dry California. I was running out of things to wear because everything felt wet, and I was tired of sweating all the time. I don't think I've ever showered so much in my life. I actually felt truly rested and ready to get back to repairing the wall in my living room that I left undone.

I know some people who return to Costa Rica time and time again. Teachers especially, because of our long vacation times, seem to find a place that they feel a longing to return to over and over again. For many people I know, this place is Tahoe. For my friend D, it is Yellowstone. I work with a couple of teachers whose place is Hawaii. My place is probably Alaska, though I've only been there once (it's okay though...the Redwoods of California work, too). I'm not sure I should return to Alaska because I felt such a strong pull when I was there, I was kind of scared. I suddenly understood how people can go away somewhere and not return. Craziness. Costa Rica--I loved the trip, but I don't feel that need to return.

A single trip to Costa Rica made me realize that a whole lot of Americans do go there and feel like they've found the place they want to keep returning to. That would be fine, but I can't stop thinking about the economic and social impacts of this decision on the citizens of Costa Rica. Everywhere I went along the coast, which is a lot of Costa Rica, there were For Sale signs in English. It felt like the whole place was on sale. While, as far as I could see, Costa Ricans live in homes like the one pictured in my previous post or in very small stucco homes, the homes being sold to Americans look like this. Even though Americans are helping the Costa Rican economy when they buy these places (though I would strongly argue that they could help it a lot more by staying at a hotel when they visit), how can this not lead to resentment in the near future? I can imagine how people here in San Leandro would feel if rich foreigners suddenly moved in, but not in the homes that are already here, but instead in a new development with homes much bigger and fancier than ours. And the resentment I'm imagining in Costa Rica isn't just about money. It's about resources. Costa Ricans are justly proud of their low energy use. The entire country's electricity load is handled by more than 90% clean and renewable resources (US electricity load has a long way to go: less than 10% clean and renewable). Huge homes and lots of appliances and air conditioning use a lot of energy. And then there's my observation that a lot of new places were being resold by the owners. That $700,000 dream house you bought two years ago that seemed like a good investment is probably the first thing to go when you realize that you've lost half of your investment money. So our money problems have become Costa Rica's money problems.

I'd like to encourage those who like to return to keep returning, though. The same dollars that I think will lead to resentment are also probably the reason that so many pristine beaches and forests exist there. Without our tourist dollars, people would need to make money in other ways that would no doubt put pressure on these places that tourists love so much. In a world in which thousands of acres of rain forest are destroyed every day, it's great to see a place where it is economically smart to not destroy rain forest.

A few years ago, when I returned from my trip to Alaska, I couldn't stand it for a couple of days. Alaska is really quiet and I had become tuned in to the quiet, even though most of the trip was on a ship--even that was quiet. BART and Amtrak, which run less than a quarter mile from my house were suddenly louder than I could stand. Every airplane, lawnmower and car stereo was more than my ears could handle. It was a sick feeling. I had never felt that way before, and I wondered how I would feel after Costa Rica. It turns out that it was a different experience, but it makes me sad. Costa Rica is noisy. The jungles are full of sounds: running water, birds, monkeys, and mostly cicadas. When walking around, my ears were listening to all of these sounds and especially for rustling leaves, which meant something was causing the rustling. At Arenal, add to all of those sounds an erupting volcano. Several times a day, the volcano would make a rumbling sound, followed by the sound of large rocks rolling down the mountain. You could hear them bumping into each other. The first thing I noticed on my return was that I was hearing BART too much because it sounds a little bit like the volcano rumbling. I also noticed that I heard all kinds of bird sounds, which made me happy because I hadn't noticed them before. But, alas, I was listening to too many sounds and it was overloading my senses, so I'm not hearing the birds anymore. So, this is a less painful return, but I wish I could tune in the birds and tune out everything else.

I guess there is no place like home because I'm glad to be back in this land of the IOU and bad economic news and healthcare fights. And don't even get me started about Michael Jackson.

Costa Rica: Days 5 and 6

I’m putting days 5 and 6 together because they were very, very similar. That’s not a bad thing, since we felt in no hurry to do anything, and we didn’t even have to (get to) choose where to eat because any place but the lodge restaurant would have involved the 5 mile grueling drive down the mountain followed by another approximately 5 miles into town--$40 round trip, not including tip.

It rains a lot here in the middle of Costa Rica, up in the mountains, and unlike closer to the Pacific Ocean, where we could see the clouds coming in and feel the air thicken, there is no warning before it begins. Even the lodge’s “naturalist” can’t tell when it is going to rain, though he pointed out that the howler monkeys know. They do call to each other right before the rain.

On our first morning at this lodge, we took the free tour of the surrounding forest. This forced Marin to, if not overcome, confront her fear of hanging bridges (or at least the heights at which they are hung).

The forest is beautiful, and there’s even a small area of primary forest (this is a big deal because primary forest has never been logged and some animals, like spider monkeys, will only live in primary forest).


Even Costa Rica, which its strong commitment to the environment, doesn’t have much land that hasn’t been logged. Unfortunately, we didn’t see one single animal. But Eduardo, our guide, did tell us the story of the volcano, which was pretty interesting. In this story, you begin to realize how much of the landscape you’re looking at has only been there since 1968. A lot of the hilly land surrounding us was flat farmland until it got covered with tons of lava and ash. The area surrounding the volcano contains patches of primary forest, secondary forest, very new forest, rocky areas with few plants, and flat farmland. The old forest was pretty untouched by the volcanic eruption. Then there’s new forest that has tall plants. That’s where the ash fell, but not the lava. Ash is soft and mineral rich. Plants grew fast and well after the eruption. Where lava has flowed and hardened, some moss is growing, but it will take many years to break up the rock into soil that plants can really use. I found the farmland particularly interesting because it changes the landscape so much. The rainforest is wet and shady and full of animal sounds. The farmland, without the shade of the rainforest plants, is sunny and full of light.


Our lodge was built specifically for Smithsonian scientists (Eduardo says there wasn’t a single volcanologist in Costa Rica prior to 1968) to study the volcano up close out of harm’s way as much as possible. After a day here, you realize that you aren’t really out of harm’s way. For a fairly big lava flow, there’s a river gorge between us and the rim, but for a pyroclastic explosion (the kind that sends huge boulders far away), you can’t be out of harm’s way and be this close. The advantage of the placement of our lodge is that the land is pretty much as it was prior to the volcano, which means old forest. It also means old farms are nearby. On our walks, we walked past a dairy farm. This means there are a handful of cows grazing out in the fields, and from the looks of the milking shed, they are milked by hand. This was very interesting to me to see a small, seemingly sustainable farm. The small farm neighborhood consisted of about four houses that were very, very small and simple. It’s odd to visit a place where you, the tourist, live so differently than the people whose country you are visiting. Anything I can say about this would just be a cliché, but I do believe that I saw enough to understand that we probably would envy things about each other.


Our two full days here involved a lot of walks on our own and two with Eduardo. The second walk was a combination El Silencio walk, which involved not much silencio, and a volcano walk. We were driven to a spot where the lava is still apparent, where Eduardo sat us down and repeated the same stories about the volcanoes from the day before. I’m talking word for word, hand gesture for hand gesture. This tour was far from free. It also became clear that Eduardo was a good local guide but no naturalist. When he saw a bird, he’d pick up his bird guide and look for a picture, just like I would if I had a bird guide. What Eduardo was good at was spotting animals that were pretty well camouflaged by their surroundings. We saw a pair of howler monkeys in a tree and a two toed sloth (the meaner of the sloths). All three of these animals were not deep in the jungle, but were in trees found along the sides of a busy highway.

We also used the lodge pool, which is probably the nicest manmade thing here. It is huge, and very welcoming after a day of walking. Even though the temperatures here in the mountains are very pleasant, it is still humid and sticky.



I’d like to say that we saw a lot more of the volcano, but it was obscured by clouds at least half the time (and by obscured I actually mean rendered completely invisible), and at other times, it wasn’t doing much. However, there were periods where it was throwing out some hot rocks, which we could watch rolling down the side of the mountain and we could definitely hear as well. We never did feel the ground shake, as some visitors do, but I have felt the ground shake plenty in my life, living in California.

Costa Rica: Day 4, continued

So, why did we go to Arenal? The main reason is that Arenal is an active volcano. An actual rumbling spewing out lava volcano. In 1968, no one had any idea it was a volcano, and one day it began shaking and making a rumbling noise, and a few days later, it erupted with enough force to throw large rocks a couple of miles and to cover an entire village and its 80 plus inhabitants under meters of rocks and ash. It still is active and has had a few major eruptions since 1968. Another reason to visit is that, due to the altitude, there is a different ecosystem than the rain forest we had just visited. It’s called a cloud forest. It still has many characteristics of the closer to sea level rain forests, but the plant life reminds me more of some of the redwood forests of California or the Hoh Rain Forest of Washington state.


We arrived at the lodge, which is 9 miles up a steep, rocky, horribly rutted hill. If you’ve ever been on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, where for about 30 seconds, you jeep throws you up and down, left and right, that’s what the ride up the hill is like, except it’s not 30 seconds. I felt as if my breasts were going to bounce out the window and go bouncing down the road. The lodge does not do any transportation of its own, but going down the hill for any reason and then back up again will cost $40 in a local taxi. This did not seem at all exorbitant after experiencing the road and realizing the wear and tear it must have on shocks, tires, and brakes. But it did make me realize that we were probably going to be at the lodge for all three nights without going anywhere else. Forty dollars is too much to spend for a casual shopping trip into town. I thought to myself that this lodge had better be really, really nice.

We checked in with a not very friendly receptionist. No one offered to show us to our room or to take a bag. (See, I did get used to great service after all). It was raining harder than I’ve ever experienced in my life. We rushed to our room, opened the door, and found a bed facing a large window, a small table (like a coffee table), another small table with a fan on top, a closet without doors, and a sink. The ancient mattress on the bed had no box springs. Behind a door, there was a bathroom that looked like it had had many repairs.


A message was posted on the front door to us “urbanites” to not get freaked out when “country guests” show up in our room. By that, they said they meant spiders and ants, but as we learned, it also meant lizards.


Marin wasn’t so bothered by the lack of television. She’s become accustomed to that while living in Russia. We were both bothered by the realization that we were out of luck as far as the internet was concerned. And then Marin pointed out that we couldn’t even see the volcano—the entire reason I got this room was the volcano view. On top of that, I was reading a book, The Master and Margarita, that I wasn’t liking too much. But there really was nothing to do but read. It was raining too hard to even attempt to look at the hotel grounds.

Then, the power went out, too. We heard a generator turn on, and about ten minutes later, the power was restored. The power went out a lot during our visit here.

The book I was reading was one of Marin’s favorite all time books, and that’s saying a lot. She was very amused at my not liking it because I had told her that the title had made me think that it was going to be about a rich guy and a servant falling in love or something like that. She said, “Do you even know me? That is never the kind of novel that would be a favorite of mine.” Since she was not liking the book she was reading much, she decided that she would write the story that I had expected The Master and Margarita to be, which she is letting me put here. She put her misery into creativity, and I decided that if I think of this as camping, we have a very, very nice tent, and I can live with that. Also, forced to read my book, I found that I got to a point where I couldn’t put it down, which unfortunately led to the realization that I hadn’t brought enough to read.

Around nine, we decided to call it a night and fell asleep. Sometime in the night, the rain stopped. I woke up, looked out our window, and saw the volcano very close by with red lava spurting out of the top and flowing down the sides. It turns out that we did have a view, but it was so obscured by the clouds that we couldn’t even see the mile or so to the rim of the crater. It was stunning.

Costa Rica: Day 4 Part 1

Today was a traveling day, so it will not be so filled with the joys of vacation.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve been on a vacation and didn’t want to leave a place, but I really didn’t want to leave the Gaia Hotel. I awoke extra early because we had to check out, be driven to a bus stop and catch our bus to Arenal, but I found that I had a little time, so I went back to the pool to see if the monkeys were there. Even though 6:30 is too early for squirrel monkeys, I was rewarded with the sight of many colorful birds (which must disappear when the monkeys show up) and the sound of the Howler Monkeys. They were far away, but their throaty roar can be heard for very long distances.

We were quickly thrown into the real world. The hotel van dropped us at the bus stop (which was just another hotel) in Quepos, the nearest “city.” We were left standing outside by a casino and an adult entertainment place. Luckily, we weren’t there for long. Our friendly bus driver came right on time and told me that our ride would be about three and a half hours. I was happy because that was a half hour less than the website said the trip would take.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet about how few women we’ve seen in Costa Rica (other than tourists, I mean). At our first hotel, there was a room maid and that was it. The receptionists, drivers and waiters were all men. At our second one, even the room cleaners were men. At Manuel Antonio, all men. I did see women. They would be at the sides of roads waiting for a bus with a child in their arms, or they would be working at some of the less fancy restaurants in town. Marin, who had visited Egypt recently, was no stranger to this observation.

I found the bus trip a little scary. Almost all roads are just two lane roads, so our driver did a lot of passing and, a few times, I was sure we were going to have a head-on collision. I would have worn my seatbelt, but it was broken.

After three and a half hours of travel, we pulled into a stop that seemed to have about 7 or 8 other Grayline buses just like ours. We were told we had 30 minutes, and I wondered why we weren’t at Arenal. The thirty minute place had one tourist shop with very tacky tourist wares and two little restaurants without posted prices. There were some red macaws to look at, but it was a long 30 minutes. I noticed that premade signs, like Open House signs you might see at a corner, started going up next to the buses and that our luggage was being removed. Our driver found us and told us that we were going to now transfer to another bus. He introduced me to the new driver and the new driver said that the trip would take about two and a half hours. Ahhh! This is so different than what the company website said. But of course, we are in the middle of nowhere, and all I could think was that I was going to find another way back to the airport in a few days.

Our new bus took off and the terrain got interesting as we got away from the ocean and started climbing to a higher elevation. It started to look like California, but greener. There’d be fields of grass with cattle grazing (Marin called them goat cows because they have long floppy ears) and an occasional tree that looked exactly like an oak tree.

As we climbed, the roads got worse and the rain started pouring down, and pouring and pouring. There were only two other people on the bus and they were going to a placed called Arenal Springs Resort. The bus dropped them off at the front door, which meant we had to climb up a very steep part dirt road in the rain. It was unnerving. And Marin said to me what I was thinking already: “If they won’t do drop-offs at our hotel, what is the road to there going to be like?”

Our driver got a bit lazy at that point, and tried to talk us into transferring to a cab that would take us to the Arenal Observatory Lodge. He might have been trying to help, but the cab’s proposed fare of $25 to take us down the road a bit was too high, so I told the driver we wanted to be dropped off in town, as we had already said. So, back down the steep hill we went, and into the town of La Fortuna. La Fortuna is a touristy little town that is set up mostly for people who come to see the volcano. Most of the shops are restaurants or places selling tours. But it did have a little central park and a church, so we were able to get some sense of a Costa Rica town. We tried to do a little shopping, but the rain was getting to us, and we were worried about how to get to our hotel.

We walked to the park, as our wonderful Frommer’s Guidebook had told us to do, and there was a taxi. The driver’s proposed fare of $20 seemed good because he was driving us further than the other cab would have. But this made us realize that we weren’t going to be taking little jaunts into town, either. I hoped that the lodge was really nice, and had some television reception and internet access, along with the best possible volcano views.

It turned out that the driver of our cab was really kind and friendly. He spoke almost no English, so my poor Spanish had to do. We have learned on this trip that Costa Ricans love you to try Spanish, no matter how bad. Our driver felt that we shouldn’t take the bus back to the airport and offered us a ride to the airport at a fair rate, so I took him up on that. We had a few funny moments there where he didn’t know if my request to be picked up at doce mean noon or midnight, and I couldn’t remember which word in Spanish meant noon and which meant midnight, but we figured it out. So, as I write this, I’m trusting that he will be here for us as planned.

Costa Rica: Day 3

After just two nights in the same place, we were starting to feel more comfortable. We had figured out how to get around and we had come to realize that the heat and humidity called for a nice, slow pace. I’m used to rushing around a lot during vacations, but I quickly decided that the slow, relaxing resort pace could be a very nice one.

Marin had decided that she wanted to go snorkeling. It turns out she tries to snorkel wherever she goes, and as a result has now had the pleasure of seeing another part of Alaska, Egypt, and now Costa Rica. I almost went, but I wanted to see Manuel Antonio Park one more time and I actually had to think about Day 4, in which we had to travel to Arenal, an active volcano.

Our breakfast, like all hotel breakfasts I’ve had in the last several years, came free with the room. I’ve also noticed that the quality of these breakfasts really varies. So, from all I’ve said about the Gaia so far, it will come as no surprise that the breakfasts were really good. I think we liked the Huevos Rancheros Costa Rica Style breakfast the best. Two crunchy tortilla cups (about the size of a cupcake paper) had black beans in the bottom topped with some salsa, then a single poached egg in each, topped with a little melted cheese. It was very good. I think Marin most fell in love with the coffee. She stopped sweetening her coffee here because the flavor was so good it didn’t need the sugar. Later we found out that it wasn’t just Costa Rican coffee, but an especially good brand of Costa Rican Coffee called Milagro.

What made the Huevos Rancheros “Costa Rica style” was apparently the black beans. I tried to eat Costa Rican food as much as I could, but found a lot of it unsatisfying. While I could probably live pretty well on black beans and white rice, I was surprised by the blandness of the beans. When I cook black beans at home, I add some onions and garlic, and some cumin or coriander, and a little citrus. At one place, I ordered Costa Rican style chicken. I got a couple of pieces of chicken in a very bland gravy, a little salad, and mashed potatoes, and crowded onto this plate was a helping of black beans and a small pile of white rice. I guess we can think of it as their bread. There is fruit everywhere, but it doesn’t figure into the foods at all, except as a little thing on the side. And, where there’s coffee, there should be chocolate, but it seems to be found mostly in the imported Milky Way Bars. The crops we passed on the roads were pineapple, sugar cane, rice and coffee.

After Marin and I had breakfast, we parted, and I decided to take my laptop poolside and check out facebook and figure out how we could get to Arenal the next day. As soon as I got there, I realized I’d made a perfect choice. There was no one else around, and the forest right next to the pool was full of squirrel monkeys. There was one on top of the umbrella that was shading my table. I watched them play for a while, then, after making our reservations for the next day’s bus trip, I wrote a bit and read a bit and asked to be taken to the National Park.

I wanted to see if I could figure out how to find the animals the way that our guide did the day before. I couldn’t, but I was glad to go again. This time, I didn’t have William to protect me from people insisting I buy goods or tours from them. It wasn’t so bad though. People were a little pushy, but took no for an answer, and if the no was said with a smile, I got a smile back.

On this trip, I couldn’t find any howler monkeys, but I did see two sloths and a coatimundi, which looks like an elongated, pointier raccoon. I also got to enjoy the plant life more. The diversity is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. There are light greens, dark greens, huge leaves and small. There are many plants that I recognized as indoor houseplants back home. There are many plants that have found a home by growing high in the canopy on the side of a tree. It actually roots itself into the tree. My favorite thing is the vines that hang down from the tall trees—the Tarzan vines. I had always thought this was just a handy movie device. Nope. On top of that, there are plants that send roots down from high in the canopy, trying to root in the ground. One plant, rightly called a strangler fig, actually starts out by growing in a tree, sends roots down on all sides, and then eventually kills the tree that it was growing on, leaving behind what looks like a tree, but with a kind of hollow inside.

After I returned to the hotel, Marin returned from her trip, excited by the bottle nosed dolphins she had seen. She said that they even were jumping high out of the water. The snorkeling was just okay; the water was not too clear, but the dolphins were clearly the highlight for her. She had also been fed a nice lunch of grilled fish skewers on the boat. Marin followed her adventure with a long nap, I read and watched television. We went swimming. I went online and found many nice birthday wishes. We had a nice birthday dinner, though I missed Cameron and PJ. My birthdays are always nice, and this one was definitely no exception.

Costa Rica: Day 2

A good sleep will cure a lot, so it shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did that I woke up feeling refreshed and happy and ready to explore. The afternoon before, I had had the sense to ask for a tour of Manuel Antonio National Park. I did this not so much because I wanted a tour. I like to explore on my own when possible. I couldn’t figure out how to get to the park. The cute little golf carts that took us up the hill were a sign that no taxi was going to drive right up to the front door of the hotel, so I figured buying a tour would be my way of ensuring transportation to the park.
Are all Americans this uncomfortable with great service? I have to describe more about what the Gaia was like. There were always two receptionists on duty, who stopped whatever they might be doing the moment I walked in. If I said, as I did on day 3, “I would like to go shopping outside of Manuel Antonio National Park,” one of the receptionists would get on the radio immediately and ask for a driver to be ready down the hill. Then a golf cart driver would show up right outside the reception area, whisk me down the hill, but stop to show me if there was an interesting animal in one of the trees on the way down the hill, and drive me right next to the van that would take me to the shopping area. Oh, and the golf cart driver would ask about my stay. When Marin was with me in the cart, there would be some friendly flirting as they tried to get her to speak some Spanish. The van driver would then take me to where I wanted to go, and ask what time I wished to be picked up. He spoke little English and was kind and grateful for the little Spanish I could speak. When I returned, there was the driver, waiting, and as we approached the hotel, he would radio that Senora Vicki was returning and the golf cart would be waiting. And what did I do? I felt uncomfortable because I didn’t know how to handle all this, and I especially didn’t know how, when, and how much to tip (I caught on after a while). It was probably good for us that the Gaia was pretty remote, so we had to learn how to negotiate all this great service.

What this brings me to is the National Park. Manuel Antonio is the smallest National Park in Costa Rica, and that’s saying a lot because this tiny country (put together New Hampshire and Vermont and you've got the size) has many National Parks (about 25% of the land). You can walk every trail in the park in one day, and that includes stopping to look. It is one of the most popular parks because it is relatively close to San Jose and easy to get to (by Costa Rica standards) and because it has a large diversity of plants and animals. William, the hotel’s favorite park guide, met us at the hotel. I noticed right away that he carried a large telescopic lens on a tripod. I thought it was a camera at first, but it turned out to be just for viewing.

In case the steamy weather and the tropical plants didn’t clue me in, I would have known immediately that I was not at home when we got to the entrance of the park. Before getting there, all the tourists are surrounded by guides who are dressed exactly like William and who are all carrying the same telephoto lens. The guides do not work for the park. They make a living by being hired by people to walk them through the park. Most people turn them down, but the guides keep following them all the way up to the place where you hand over your ticket and enter the park, saying, “You’ll have a much better visit if you hire me.” They are pushy. Worse than that, for most Americans, is that you have to negotiate the price of their services with them.

As soon as you’ve hired a guide, they back off. Since Marin and I showed up with William, we didn’t have to deal with them. William, probably in his mid-thirties, was older than most of the guides, and he probably is envied by them because he doesn’t have to stand out there and negotiate.

As soon as we got in the park, it was clear how necessary a guide was, and it was also clear that the very same guides who are hustling people outside the park really know what they are talking about. They become serious naturalists once inside.

This is what William would do: He’d take a few steps, look around, stop and look more carefully at what looked to me to be a sea of plants. Then he would place his telephoto lens on the tripod in the middle of the wide trail, look through his lens, make a few adjustments (the adjustments took all of about 10 seconds), and then invite us to look. There we would see a magnificent spider or bird or lizard. He would tell us about the animal—why it liked that plant, what its predators are, what its coloration did for it—and then show us how we could stick our cameras’ lenses onto the lens of his device and take pictures.


At first he was so good at this (and I couldn’t for the life of me see the real animal with my own eyes) that I wondered if he somehow had pictures loaded in the lens and was only making us believe that we were looking at animals, especially since the first animals stayed so still for us. Later, we got better at seeing the animal with our own eyes (but never at finding them ourselves).

In approximately two hours, we saw grasshoppers colored like none I’ve ever seen before, sloths (both the two toed and three toed species….did you know that the two toed ones are kind of mean?), Jesus Christ lizards, which run across water, spiders building webs, a toucan (that was really exciting), and two howler monkeys. One of the howler monkeys, asleep in a tree branch, had draped his bright white testicles over a smaller branch, so they were hanging there, kind of like laundry drying on a line. They (the testicles) are completely white. William, who exhibited absolutely no sense of humor, said, "Nature porn!" He was pretty amused with himself.


After a life of imagining steamy rainforest jungles as being way inland with a murky river nearby, it came as a surprise the the Pacific Ocean forms one of the borders of the park. As you are walking past the dense growth, you can hear it. Then suddenly, there it is. There’s maybe 100 feet of sand, then a stand of coconut trees, and then jungle.


We walked along the beach for a bit and then we exited the National Park. Immediately outside the exit gate, there are all kinds of people waiting to sell you things. Some of it looked poorly made (actually most of it looked that way), but much of it looked very nice. But it was such a shock to be suddenly thrust into the harsh light and heat and noise outside of the more shaded park, that I had very little time to think about all this. I did stop and buy some pottery and then William walked us back to our starting point, and there was Omar, our hotel driver, waiting to rush us back to the hotel.

Back in our room, I turned on the television. The day before, almost every channel was carrying Michael Jackson’s service, but today, Heaven. It was noon and All My Children was on. I decided that I was having a perfect day. Amazing natural wonders followed by a break in front of the television. Following that, Marin and I decided to try out the hotel pool. This is a terraced pool, built on a few levels going down the hill. I quickly realized that I should have used the pool the day before, too, to get the feeling of travel out of my system. After a swim, where we could stop often and look out over the land and the Pacific Ocean beyond, we went back to our room, where Marin took a nap and I finally figured out how to use their wireless internet system (it wasn’t functioning in our room, so we had to take the laptop somewhere else on the property). The dark clouds started to gather, the air felt oppressive (Marin had described it as walking through soup), and it started to rain.


After the rain, I went back outside with my computer and noticed that the trees were moving a lot. They were full of squirrel monkeys. I watched as they wrestled, tumbled, and jumped from tree to tree. There were babies, adults, and adolescents. I went and got Marin and we watched together for a very long time. At one point, I tried to count them, but they were jumping around so wildly that I couldn’t. There were a good two dozen of them, though, and many were not more than 15 feet from us. It seems hard to believe that these are an endangered species, but their habitat is getting smaller and smaller, and some groups have found homes right next to some of the hotels. Our hotel was built on a biological reserve that is no longer in use, but the builders made a commitment to preserve most of the reserve.

One thing that’s difficult to get used to is that, because we’re close to the equator, the summer days don’t lengthen here. At home right now, I have enough daylight for walking dogs until about 8:30, but the sun sets here at around 5 pm, and by 6 it is completely dark. I noticed that by day two, we were already kind of living by the light, feeling like the day was finished by 6. Before dark, we went to the hotel restaurant and had linner (or dunch). And thus ended a very happy day.

Costa Rica, Day 1

First, you must understand that I am a horrible traveler. I dread leaving home. I worry about my dogs, my plants, whether or not I left anything unlocked or turned on. I worry about getting there…what if my luggage is lost, what if the hotel isn’t expecting us after all, what if people don’t understand English. I really envy people who thrive on such nervousness. People have said to me, “Running into problems is half the fun.” That’s nice for them. By the way, all of those things have happened to me more than once, and I’ve lived, but that doesn’t stop the worry. Then there’s the part I hate most: getting there. I don’t like flying. The emptier the flight, the more likely (I tell myself) it is to fall out of the sky. Nutty, I know.

This trip to Costa Rica hit on all of my travel woes. To get there took two flights with an almost four hour layover between. The second leg left Los Angeles at 2:15 a.m. The flight, on TACA airlines, was completely full. TACA, which oddly goes by different names depending on where you buy tickets, is a major Central American carrier. The airplane was medium sized with three seats, an aisle, then three seats. This created the narrowest aisle I’d ever seen. Even the drink carts were about half the width that they usually are. The attendants, who were very professional and polite, kept bumping into my shoulder and elbow. They couldn’t help it. I’m sure they were doing it to a lot of people. I slept a bit on the flight and then they fed us breakfast. I ate because I thought I should, but it was really horrible. I had pancakes, which were not fresh off the griddly and which oddly came with a croissant and a muffin, along with a fruit cup. I ate a pancake, realized it tasted awful, and then ate nothing else. Soon I was looking at Costa Rica out of the airplane window. I could see green everywhere, with houses clinging to hillsides, blue sky, and mountains beyond.

No luggage was lost, and the driver I’d asked the hotel to hire for us was there waiting for us. Unfortunately, we had a 3.5 hour drive ahead of us on rough roads. At first it was wonderful. When we got out of San Jose, the capitol city, we were surrounded everywhere by tropical plants. Then, I looked out the window and saw a bird of prey with a huge wingspan. I looked in my guidebook and realized it was an osprey. Soon, I saw many osprey, which are beautiful birds of prey, and because we were high above the forest floor, they were at eye level. However, looking out the windows was my second mistake (after the pancakes). With the exhaustion and the pancakes and all, I realized I was feeling really carsick. So I spent the rest of the trip worrying that I was going to vomit all over the nice SUV we were in.

About halfway there, our driver stopped at a bridge that was famous for being over a river with crocodiles in it. I was very glad to stop. My stomach settled some, and then there was the thrill of the crocodiles. They were huge. According to my guide book, then can get about 21 feet long. At least one of these must have been that long. At this stop, I also got to see one of the many restaurants we had passed on the road up close. They are called sodas, and they are basically a roof held up by posts with a few tables and a kitchen inside. It was dark and felt very inviting. And there was something very old movie-ish tropical feeling about it. I felt as if Humphrey Bogart was going to come out of the back and ask me when I got into town. Too bad I couldn’t eat anything.

Back in the car, more windy roads, and then, thankfully, we arrived. For our first three nights, I chose a hotel called Gaia that I’d read great reviews about. The car was met by two nice young men. One got on a walkie-talkie and announced our arrival to someone. The other shuttled us into the back seat of a golf cart and drove us up a steep hill. As we got about halfway up, he stopped the cart and pointed to a tree right next to the little road we were on. There was a sloth!

At the top of the hill, we were greeted by one of the receptionists, and another worker who brought us each a tropical fruity drink. It was cold, refreshing, and delicious. After they felt that we were ready, we were shown the grounds, including the pool and spa, and our lovely room with a DVD player, satellite television, and a Jacuzzi tub. Marin and I walked around a bit and then we had tapas at the hotel lounge, which is open air, like the sodas that we saw, except it was on top of a hill and clearly very designed. We could see osprey all over the place and we could see the rainclouds coming in from the Pacific Ocean.

The air just got more and more humid and the sky grew dark. We heard thunder. Then it started to rain. It was about 4:30. I was tired, but Marin said that we should stay awake. She’s the world traveler, so I listen to her. I turned on the television and Marin opened up her book. Five minutes later, the world traveler was fast asleep. I joined her and we woke up the next morning.

Get Thee to the Post Office

BEST. STAMPS. EVER.

Really. They're even better in person.

Fun with Wikipedia

While doing some research about Denali National Park this weekend, I ended up with a link to a wikipedia article about the Pizzly. Check it out. Move over, Ligers.

Two For One Memorial Day Special

End of the school year activities have gotten in the way of my all important Groomer has it blogging job. So we’ve missed a couple of episodes, which, except for one, were boring. Don’t worry—there are plenty of crazy groomers remaining. We’re at the half-way point, so six groomers remain.

The groomers are told that they are going to a chicken farm. They are not excited. They get to the farm, where they get a lesson on hoof care of pot-bellied pigs. After one lesson, they pair up to try their hand at flipping over a pig, keeping it relaxed, and clipping and buffing its hooves. These are not those tiny, cute pot-bellied pigs that I once tried to bring home. These look to weigh more than a groomer.

I suppose you’re wondering why dog groomers have to work with pigs? Host Jai explains that “As a groomer, you have to increase your skill set.” You can believe that or you can think the real answer is “because making you look foolish makes the viewers happier, no matter how far we get from dog grooming.”

First, the groomers wash the pigs. Then they trim the whiskers. They do not trim the hooves, so I sat through a hoof trimming lesson for nothing! Oh well. You never know when an unclean hobo pig is going to show up looking for some work and a piece of pie and need its hooves trimmed.

I digress. No doubt you are wondering which team won the challenge. The winning team is the team of Marco and Lisa. The judge, a woman who seems to live for pot-bellied pigs, said, “I swear I could eat off that pig.” This viewer is left wondering if the judge wants to eat a meal that is served on the pig or eat the meat off of the pig. I have to say the latter sounds better (as long as it’s ethically killed, of course). BLT, BLT….

Marco and Lisa get a treat—a kick boxing lesson. Lisa has always wanted to kick box but has “never had the balls.” Lisa is able to kick a board in half by pretending the board is one of the judges, Xavier, whom she calls “a cross-eyed little man.” Ouch. True, but ouch.

The groomers are given overweight dogs to groom and make look thinner with “anatomical” grooming. Marco and Lisa each get to take fifteen minutes away from a groomer, thus giving each of them a time advantage. Marco chooses Cassandra, who sits in a corner and, you guessed it, pouts. Bill, perhaps revealing more of his thinking than he should, explains that he is going to make his dog look handsome and sexy.

I usually can’t tell a good cut from a bad one. But this time, I can see that Cassandra has done a very poor, choppy job. She now has a fat dog with a bad haircut. The judges agree with me. However, they really pick on Marco’s dog. I don’t see the problem, but Xavier says, “This is the Titanic!”

The judges send the groomers away and deliberate. Lisa gets Best in Show for making her fat dog look thinner. Marco and Cassandra are in the bottom two, which makes for a few good moments because they are sworn enemies. I would explain why, but it would bore you as much as it does me. Xavier is very disappointed in both of them.

Cut to commercial, and……Marco has been clipped. The sanest groomer has to leave, and the poutiest one gets to stay. Farewell, Marco.

We are down to five groomers: Cassandra, the pouter, Lisa, the experienced one, Hubert, the one with a foreign accent, Danielle, the possible dark horse, always under the radar, and Bill, the one who’ll make your dog sexy.

To Have and to Howl

Like most viewers, I am a sucker for a wedding episode. How kind of Groomer Has It to throw a wedding show into its May sweeps schedule.

Who’s getting married? Why, dogs are!

But first, it’s time for the Pledge ™ Quick Sniff Challenge. The groomers have to put topknots on their dogs. And I learned something! Some breeds, when cut to standard, have hair that falls into their eyes. But some owners would actually like to see their doggies’ soulful eyes, so they ask the groomers to trim accordingly. However, the groomer usually wants to stick to the Breed standard, which often involves hair in the eyes. What’s a groomer to do? Rather than cut the hair shorter, the hair is rubber banded into a little pony tail, which is called a topknot. Artist, last year’s winner, is called upon to advise and judge. Here is his advice: “What you have to do is put a little creativity in it, make it look as close to AKC standards as possible.” Artist’s useful and helpful advice makes him the Paula Abdul of dog grooming judges.

The teams make topknots until Artist tells them they are perfect. The winning team was lead by Danielle. Her prize is that she can trade any of her teammates for other groomers on the other team for the wedding challenge. She swaps Marco for Bill and Cassandra for Hubert. Needless to say Marco and Cassandra are not happy. Marco, who earlier said that most dog groomers are crazy, actually takes it pretty well, but not Cassandra. She pouts. A lot.

Finally, we get to the challenge. One team gets the bride and her wedding party and the other gets the groom and his wedding party. The team with the “most unified bridal party” wins. I guess this means they all have to look alike rather than that they have to avoid drunken brawls at the rehearsal dinner.

Lots of scenes of grooming difficulties follow, but let’s cut to the wedding. Don’t think that I didn’t see the irony of this wedding taking place in California. The guests were assembled with their owners. Everyone was all dressed up. The bride had a wedding dress; the groom had a tux. The bride was a Scotty; the groom was a Westie. Mixed breed wedding. Let’s just be grateful that these dogs were of the opposite sex.

Here are some comments from the judges that you won’t hear at a regular wedding:
“You should have blended the skirt area.”
“I don’t think it was a smart move to give the bride to Hubert.”
“Why did she give the bride to Hubert when she knew Lisa had more experience?”
“Deal with what you’re given and do the best you can.”—Okay, maybe you will hear that at a wedding.

Oh, who won? Does it really matter? Aren’t they all winners by just putting “it out there,” whatever that might mean. Danielle’s strategy of trading her friends for a power team paid off, with the judges warning all four groomers on that team that they relied too much on Lisa (the no-nonsense, very experienced groomer). The person from the losing team that had to go home was Jessica. She was one of a handful of young, attractive groomers without enough experience to last long in the competitive world that is dog grooming.

Saturday, 9 p.m. What else is there to do?

Well, we’re down to 10 groomers. Even writing that exhausts me.

The show begins with Krista returning to the doghouse after not being eliminated. The other 9 are noticeably unthrilled. Krista cries (remember she’s the one who doesn’t do that), and says to the confessional camera, “I’m not going to groom like I’m in a sorority house with a bunch of backstabbing witches. I need to groom like I’m sick of these people and I can’t stand them so I’m going to kill them off one at a time.” Since I’m watching this for all of you, you must imagine Pam on The Office, but with those words coming out of her mouth. Uh, pass the sharp grooming shears?

For the Pledge Quick Sniff Challenge, the groomers are told to pair up. They are taught how to massage a dog. Perhaps my cockapi love being handled more than most dogs, but I just don’t see this as a challenging task. Each pair is given a Jack Russell terrier to massage..

Sherri, the woman who has something to prove, tells the cameras several times that she is a massage practitioner. She figures she has an advantage, but the judge says that she and her partner talked to each other instead of to the dog. Marco (the guy who thinks groomers are weird) and Huber (with the accent) are superexcited to win and get a leg up and a treat…a trip to the dtox day spa. Marco talks about how sophisticated this massage was compared to the others he’s had. He did not share any details of these past massages.

Marco says, “Two people have gone home so far and that really worries me.” I don’t think he should be worried. I believe that’s how the show works.

For the elimination challenge, they are to groom the dogs of high maintenance clients. One claims that her dog needs to see a picture of her (the owner) at all times. One dog needs only filtered water and every ten minutes. One needs to be sung to. One owner needs his dog to attract women for him because a psychic told him so. He tells the groomers he hates his dog’s tail because it looks like someone put a firecracker in its butt. I wonder why such a charmer has trouble finding women.

The groomers don’t know that the clients are allowed to watch and listen to them on hidden cameras. The water woman thinks that they are using tap water. She’s angry. The singing groomers anger the owner, thinking that they are making fun of her by singing too loud and high (she is an opera singer and she demonstrated how to sing to the dog by singing loud and high).

Then the groomers of the dog of the man on the make take a big chance. They tip the dog’s tail with a bit of green coloring. Sherri says that she will take the fall if the owner doesn’t like it.

It’s judging time and the groomers are very shocked to find out that they were being watched. I wonder how they’ll react when they learn their actions are being filmed for a television show.

The judges are torn about the tail color. They agree it was a risk and they like risk-taking, but they are concerned that they should have checked with the owner first (though that would have removed the risk). Lisa and Bill win by doing a good job and constantly showing the owner’s photo to the dog. Sherri and Jessica lose because of the tail coloring. Sherri takes the fall and sobs because she doesn’t like to disappoint people. She can barely get the words out because of her crying. It actually is a little heartbreaking. Then she goes on about how she disappointed her family. I’m trying to picture her husband sitting at home, crushing his empty beer can with his bare hand and saying, “I told ya not to color those tails,” and her teenage daughter worrying that no one will ask her to the prom because of the humiliation of her mother being cut from Groomer Has It.

Well, 9 groomers left. I think I can make it to the end. I’ll do it for you, loyal readers. I’ll bring it!

End of vacation round-up

Gratuitous cute dog photo for no reason.

Well, what an interesting Spring Break it's been. Let's tally it all up. In the plus column: I slept, I shared meals with several friends, I enjoyed hosting Easter dinner at my house, I planted a little vegetable garden, I finished taxes, I took walks, I caught up on mail and bills and the need to cancel some subscriptions, I watched 5 movies, I blogged a lot, I finished reading In Defense of Food.

In the minus column: I had a dentist appointment in which the novacaine hadn't quite done its thing before the drilling began. I love my dentist, who felt worse than I did about the whole thing, but since this is one of my greatest fears, the memory stuck with me for several days. In related news, I found out that I can really jump right out of a seat when I need to. My tax bill was rather high, to put it mildly. I have a litter of kittens in my basement. In related news, dog doors to outside also can be cat doors to inside. Although I made real progress on parts of my yard, I made almost none on other parts. And I had the strangest Deja Vu experience ever. It still has me shaken. But it is actually too boring to go into.



About the kittens: The mother gave birth in an abandoned computer monitor. I didn't look there because I hadn't realized that Cameron had gutted the monitor. Marcel (my dog)found them and now he's obsessed with them. Their eyes are open, but they're not walking around, so I'm guessing they're about 3 weeks old. I went to take a picture tonight, only to be met with some very scary growling. Apparently, the mother (probably a victim of a foreclosure) is taking care of her babies.

This Post from V. Baker, NBCT

We start out this week’s episode right after the last elimination. The groomers are as surprised as I was that Micheal had to go.

Time for the Pledge Quick Sniff Challenge! Nemo, the messenger dog, is dressed as a little construction worker to let the groomers know the theme. Inside the grooming salon, there are 25 common safety hazards that each team will have to find. The team that lost the last challenge wins this one. No one seems very happy for them.

Back at the Doghouse, the groomers have a big argument about whether or not certification is important. People seem to be very emotionally involved in the argument. How have I been kept in the dark about this controversy? I listen to NPR every day, for Heaven’s sake!

Lisa, the no-nonsense groomer, says to Huber, “You have already touched my life in a way that I’ll never forget, and it doesn’t matter to me that you don’t have letters after your name.” They hug and cry. Krista says that she’s not all weepy and huggy because she’s not wired that way, which makes her start sobbing uncontrollably. Huber, talking about Krista, says, “She has chosen to piss off the wrong people.” Huber has seen The Godfather one too many times.

Krista says (to camera) that she has decided she has to groom her ass off. Let’s just say that’s a bit of a tall order.

The elimination challenge arrives not a moment too soon. The groomers will be working individually to try and correct botched grooming jobs.

Jessica and Krista won the Quick Sniff Challenge, so they get to match botched dogs with groomers. They give Lisa the paralyzed dog, which actually doesn’t seem like a disadvantage to me. (Lisa explains why it is not an advantage later).

Chicken Joe was excited to get a Pomeranian, as he is the self-declared Queen of Pomeranians.

Two hours later, the groomers defend themselves to the judges. Cassandra talks about the problems she had working with her dog’s “poop canal.” One of the judges says that Cassandra should be absolutely enthralled with herself over the good job she did. From the looks of it, mission accomplished. Chicken Joe says that his dog left a paw print on his heart.

Cassandra gets Best in Show.

Krista and Chicken Joe are in the bottom two, which means one of the show’s major personalities will have to go. Will Chicken Joe and his eyeliner be sent back to his island to make bitchy comments to his animals? Or will Krista have to take her Vegas pizzazz and return to her Fur Academy, leaving the house much, much quieter?

Goodbye Chicken Joe. He’s been clipped. He tells the camera that he is very happy to get back to the island with his 24 dogs.

Krista returns to the house to what will no doubt be an unenthusiastic greeting. She is reminded that she needs to keep out of the back of the pack next time.

It's Back!

Oh, loyal readers! Forget about my taxes and work problems. Groomer Has It, a reality show about dog groomers has returned for another season on Animal Planet. If you are surprised by this news, you are not alone. As far as I could tell, I was the only one on the planet watching (other than some of the writers of The Soup, who featured it quite often last year).
If you have not been dreaming for this day to arrive and have no recollection of last season, let me catch you up a bit. About a dozen groomers who think they’re Top Dogs (their pun, not mine) in the dog grooming industry gather in Los Angeles to compete for the honor of being the best of the best. They are judged by (of course) a panel of three judges, one kind of sweet, one haughty, and one who looks and acts like a character from the Sopranos. All three judges, along with Jai, the host, have returned this season.
That just leaves the groomers to introduce. What new and exciting people have the producers chosen for us this time? Last year, the groomers consisted of several types: a kind of bitchy guy who dropped names of his rich clients and was proud of his work with poodles, a very bitchy guy with a foreign accent, a middle-aged woman with a no nonsense attitude about being the best dog groomer in the country, a woman who claimed to be in psychic communication with dogs, and a Black guy.
Let’s meet this year’s group:
There is a no nonsense middle aged woman named Lisa. She has won many best in shows.
Cassandra is young, blonde, and loves to groom. She could just do it all day! She’s never been in any competition and here she is in the best she could ever be in! Whee!
Chicken Joe, who lives on an island, is 58 years old and has been grooming dogs for 52 years. We see him at home feeding lunchmeat to a tortoise. He tells us that he is going to put the “style back into doggie style.”
Sherri seems to turn on the waterworks at the drop of a hat. She sees herself as the underdog in this competition. Before she even touches the first dog, she’s already crying, saying, “I am doing this for my family so I can show them that you can accomplish anything.” Hang onto this moment, Sherri!
Bill sees himself as the poodle guru with “lots of tricks up my sleeve.”
There is Krista, who owns a grooming school, The Fur Institute. She seems to think she puts Pizzazz into dog grooming. She sees herself as a Las Vegas type of dog groomer. She looks like your third grade teacher. In the first shot, she is showing that pizzazz by wearing a feather boa with a color that exactly matches the top she’s wearing, rendering it almost invisible. She has a quiet pizzazz, I guess.
Vanessa communicates with animals telepathically.
Micheal (notice the spelling) seems sane, and he is the sole Black guy, like last year’s Artist. In fact, like last year’s Artist, he is the sole minority of any type, unless you count homosexuals, who seem to be plentiful both this season and last.
Marco, 24, says that most groomers don’t know how to make money because they can’t communicate with people and because they are “just weird.”
Huber is our groomer with a Spanish accent. He predicts that his Grandfather will come down from “wherever he is” and give him a big hug when he wins Groomer of the Year. Top that one, Survivor.

For the first quick sniff challenge—excuse me, the Pledge Quick Sniff Challenge-- they have to “beg, borrow or steal” their tools from the residents of the rich suburban neighbor they’re in. What an unexpected surprise for the residents, since they surely haven’t noticed the camera crews and lights in the middle of their street, and no doubt have not signed releases.

So, they groom their St. Bernards with the borrowed tools. Already, some contestants are complaining of having disadvantages. For example, Sherri just gave birth a few days before and she is a little slow going door to door, and her team grows tired of this. The red team, which includes no nonsense Lisa, wins and everyone decides that Lisa is the one to beat.

Next, they go to the Doghouse to get to know each other before the next challenge. Everyone seems to quickly dislike Krista, of the purple boa, because she won’t shut up. She’s not saying anything wrong necessarily; she’s just talking. A lot.

It’s time for the Elimination Challenge! The contestants are going to be grooming Standard Poodles. They are told to groom the dogs “not in Standard fashion.” The example they are shown is a poodle who has been groomed to look like a camel, including brown dye and a hump. It looks hideous. Why? Why? Why? That’s just me crying to the Heavens about how strange people are to do this to a dog.

Their designs are to consist of the cuts that they make in the fur and paint, which is air sprayed on. They can also use costumes, but this seems to be frowned upon as a lesser art. Each three member team has to pick someone to be in charge of cuts, cleanliness and creativity. It sounded like they were choosing diamonds.

The blue team decides to go for a Hollywood theme, and they get right to work.

The yellow team has some trouble deciding on their theme. There is some argument. One member suggests pants and a jacket. Very dignified, you know.

The red team decides to do the AIDS ribbon and the Breast Cancer ribbon because “this is what we’re here for.” Huh? They’re on a dog grooming reality show because they want to make people aware of AIDS and Breast Cancer?

Poor dogs. They look ridiculous in their strange cuts and paints. Let me describe:
1. The Wizard of Claws. The dog is wearing a hat and has a single pink heart painted on one back leg. That’s it.
2. The Red Team with the AIDs and Breast Cancer ribbons (let me point out that these ribbons are shaved into the dog and airbrushed).
3. The Hollywood dog. I’m not sure what the idea was there. You know those pictures you used to see at butcher shops with the side of the animal sectioned off so that you could see where your cut of meat came from? That’s what this poor dog looked like.
4. Devil Dog. The tail was a trident dyed red. The body was done in a mowhawk. The judges said they “captured the dog’s personality.”

The ribbon dog won. Tears.

The Hollywood Dog loses and the judges decide that Micheal has to go home because one of the other contestants scraped the dog’s leg, but he was in charge of cutting. Bummer for him. Jai, the host, tells him, “You’ve been clipped.”

I can’t wait for next week.

What Is Wrong With Me?

I am in the middle of a week of vacation. I am doing what I like best, and spending it at home. I knew that the first half would be busy. I help science teachers achieve National Board Certification and many of them had an April 15th deadline. I couldn't get too irritated with them for their procrastination, since I also had to file my taxes this week. I also like to set aside time for friends and family. I saw family on Easter; I have a couple of lunches with friends planned. I need to start a new book and I need to read up on Global warming, since I want to teach a unit on it.

For vacation, there were two jobs that I actually HAD to do. One was taxes (done) and the other was getting my garden to look presentable. I have a fairly small plot of land, so the task should be doable. Should be.

Yesterday, in the middle of doing taxes, I glanced over at a new copy of Sunset Magazine and I decided to see if there were any new recipes I should try (there were). While thumbing through, I couldn't help but notice articles on backyard farmers. One article was about a San Francisco resident who had a tiny backyard (so do I) that was covered in concrete (so is mine). Usually, these articles involve bringing in a designer who transforms the yard into a tiny Tuscan getaway. That's what I love about Sunset. Everything is just out of my grasp, so I can dream it but do nothing about it. This one was different, though. The San Francisco guy just put a bunch of pots and planters right on the concrete and on the fences and started to grow his own vegetables. Well, of course, I need to do that! That, I told myself, will give me the incentive to pull out those weeds! And even though I know this is crazy, I'm going to do it.

And speaking of crazy, there are my taxes. I ended up with a tax bill that was beyond my imagination. The money I sent to the IRS and to the state yesterday is what some people in this country live on in a year. If you know me, you know that I am a good saver (my children would say cheap, but they'd be wrong), so I'm lucky that I'm able to pay it (and lucky to have a job in the first place). But here's the strange thing: logic would tell you that this unexpected surprise would cause me to think that I have to save a little harder to build the money back up. But instead, it's like the floodgates opened, so let's let it all go. I spent part of yesterday evening looking at prices for Honda Fits and for energy saving windows. (I can even justify both..putting people to work, helping the economy, saving fossil fuels, etc.)

I'll be back at work on Monday, so how much damage can I really do in the next five days?

Life Imitates Art

Last week at work, as all of us slogged sleepily to what seemed like the latest Spring Break ever, I received an e-mail requesting that something my department had been working on be turned in the next day (two days before the original agreed upon deadline). I wondered why, and frankly, felt that I was suddenly shut out of a process that I had been a part of for years now. I sent out a polite e-mail to the supervisor making the request and was told, that it was a decision from above (she didn't say who made the decision or why). I sent out another polite e-mail to the person I originally set the deadline with asking if he could give me any information. The rest of this story could probably be predicted: the second e-mail was forwarded to the person from above who changed the time, who then took offense at my asking the question, and, in what I felt was a rude way, wondered what I was doing getting involved. And he forwarded my e-mail and his response to several people, stopping just short of the superintendent.

One of my favorite books is Little Dorrit, by Charles Dickens. I read it in my early twenties, and then I saw a really good movie version of it about ten years later. Now, there's a new production on Masterpiece Classics, which I'm enjoying very much. When I first read the book, I was the same age as Amy Dorrit, the title character. I think that, at the time, I was aware that I loved the book because there were many parallels between Amy Dorrit's life and mine. I'm even more aware of them now, but the funny thing is, this time around, it's Amy's father I'm finding interesting.

Mr. Dorrit has been in Debtor's Prison for Amy's entire life and he sees himself as more important and dignified than anyone else there. He expects all new arrivals to pay their respects. As played by Tom Courtenay, he's beautifully brought to life and seen as the poignant blowhard that he is. Amy spends her life protecting her father from reality. He does not realize that the world has passed him by (or maybe he does--it's what makes him such a great character). In trying to hold onto his view of himself, he is not above hinting to guests that money is what they should give to such an important gentleman, or humiliating his daughter when her decisions do not result in more comfort for him.

So, this week, it became all too clear why Mr. Dorrit was the person I was finding so interesting. I'm just trying to hold onto my little piece of the world and want the respect I feel I deserve, and the set of e-mails, which, due to those wonderful cc and forward buttons, ended up involving four people in my department and five superiors, made my status public, and I'm much too self-aware to not find that embarrassing.

The story should just stop there, but the evening after the e-mail mess happened, I had a pleasant evening with PJ, and thought that I was done with the whole thing. But when I woke up the next morning, I felt angry and hurt all over again. Before school started, the supervisor who had sent the first e-mail (not the rude one) called and apologized. It was a real apology, not an "I'm sorry but you should have...." or a "now let me tell you how I feel" apology. It was kind and heartfelt. As soon as I got off the phone, I realized that an apology was all I had wanted all along. My bad feelings disappeared. Completely. Which, depending on your point of view, points out either the incredible power of a real apology or how petty my problem was in the first place. Or both.