I'm a very lucky girl; please don't think I don't know this.
I am surrounded by seriously amazing people with whom I've had seriously amazing experiences. I live in a place that routinely provides ridiculous opportunities, and if you're not too scared of falling down a rabbit hole, you just might find some serious magic in these parts. So coming up with a single "night that rocked your world" was more than a little difficult.
I managed to narrow it down to two nights which could not be more different from one another. One of them happened on the Playa, and I expect will become part of another post this month. The other happened fairly recently and brought together three of my social circles in a sort of warm, fuzzy Venn Diagram of life.
I was in San Diego, attending a conference I've been involved with for a decade. I knew that some of my favorite colleagues from a prior job would be there, and was looking forward to spending time with them. But my brother and my dear friend Thom (and his fiancee, Jen) live there too, and I really wanted to see them as well. The problem: I only had 36 hours on the ground.
So on my one night there, after the obligatory conference mixers and cocktail parties, two dear industry friends and I were picked up by T & J and met my kid brother and his roommate at Shakespeare's Pub & Grill for fish and chips, steak & kidney pie, and curry chips.
What ensued was a night full of conspiracy theory debates, healthy competition over a couple of pool tables, a few Sláintes and finally, a proper SoCal burrito (no beans, no rice, grilled tortilla).
I fell into bed that night after posting this tweet:
Gwen Bell, who is a cool and inspirational woman for many reasons, has started the Best of 2009 Challenge, and against my better judgment, I'm taking the plunge. That means you're going to see somewhere in the neighborhood of 15-20 posts from me this month. Some of them will have to do with food, no doubt. Most of them, I wager, will not.
I hope you'll follow me on this journey anyway, and perhaps play along. I'd love for you to link to your posts in the comments, or leave your own Best Of story for each day I write.
My best trip of this year was not much of a trip at all, or at least not in the traditional sense.
It was the weekend I spent walking across San Francisco with 2800 other women during the Avon Breast Cancer Walk.
Over the course of 30 hours and 39 miles, I experienced a range of emotions that left me raw and exposed for the better part of two weeks afterwards.
As we set off in the blustery fog on Saturday July 11th, I had no sense that the weekend would change how I would face both physical and emotional challenges for the rest of my life.
As we braved the winds and incessant noise as we marched north on the Golden Gate bridge, our excitement and energy kept us going. On the way back, our spirits were flagging from pain and exhaustion, but the fog had lifted and the sun was shining like a beacon on Wellness Village, where we'd be spending the night. It was a lesson in faith.
As we crawled into our sleeping bags that night, feet blistered and joints aching, I had no idea how I'd be able to walk another 13 miles the next day. When I woke in the morning, I felt restored and energized by the women surrounding me. It was a lesson in healing.
As we crossed the finish line at Golden Gate Park on the afternoon of the 12th, tears sprang from my eyes while I laughed hysterically and hugged my walking partner. It was a lesson in friendship.
And when I finally fell into the arms of the people I love dearly, people who cheered us on and helped us fund-raise and took us out for champagne to celebrate the accomplishment, I learned the most important lesson of all. It was a lesson in pride AND humility.
Get the flash player here: http://www.adobe.com/flashplayer
I find myself unsure of where I stand on the current, RAGING, healthcare debate. This, of course, has raised the ire of several of my friends. It has surely caused them to think I'm the demon spawn they always knew I must be. And it's even been remarked that I'm a traitor to San Francisco (which, really, WTF?!).
On the one hand, FORTY-SEVEN MILLION Americans uninsured. On the other hand, I'm terrified of turning over the reins of healthcare to a government that can't even properly manage its existing agencies -- seriously, have you tried to get something pushed through the SSA or the IRS lately?
So many of the arguments coming out of both ends of the political spectrum are clearly meant to polarize the members of each party, but they do no good helping our more moderate citizens break down the issues, the proposed solutions, and the long-term results of each.
For my own part, here are some of the key factors I'm looking at as I try to navigate these very muddy waters:
Is health insurance really a right? From the perspective of the Bill of Rights, not so much. On the other hand, I do agree that providing basic healthcare is a humanitarian issue, and shame on us if we can't make it so. The challenge here, of course, is defining "basic healthcare."
Pre-existing conditions... what a can of worms. If we are really calling this "insurance", then you SHOULD have to pay higher premiums if you have a pre-existing condition which makes you a greater insurance risk. My own father, who was self-employed, paid $700 per month in premiums because of his Pulmonary Fibrosis. While that sucked for him, it's the nature of insurance.
If we really want to force the hand of insurers against higher premiums for such conditions, then let's stop calling it insurance, and start calling it welfare, because that's what it will be. Wouldn't allowing insurers to compete across state lines create a system of supply-and-demand that could drive those costs down naturally?
I'm also extremely conflicted about the free-market aspect of health care. What other service or product do consumers in America partake of before asking what it will cost? How have we become a nation of people so ill-equipped to manage our own medical finances? So afraid to ask, "what will this cost?" How can we lambast the insurers (for whom, believe me, I have no love) when we are unwilling to take control of our own healthcare costs, and instead leave them to negotiate with highly trained clinicians for what we deserve and what we should pay for it? And honestly, do you think the government will handle it any better?
Why isn't medical malpractice thoroughly addressed anywhere in these discussions? Have you looked at the figures that some doctors pay for insurance, and the utterly egregious punitive damages that have been rewarded by juries lately? Of COURSE doctors order tests and scans and specialists that may not be necessary -- we've put them in a perpetual state of CYA. I mean, did you know that you can actually sue a doctor for "wrongful life"?
On the flip side of all of these points are the emotions tied to my own personal experiences. Watching my father who, in the last months of his life could hardly work but wasn't eligible for disability, scrape together $8400 a year for his premiums, plus another $2000 in deductibles. Injuring my ankle last year, and seeing the Urgent Care center bill my insurance nearly $2500 for a lot of ridiculous stuff: $300 for crutches I could have bought retail for $150; $95 for a shot of painkiller that I didn't ask for and didn't actually need; $250 for 5 minutes with a Physician's Assistant who signed a form authorizing an X-Ray. And a bill at the end, for me, of nearly $1500 because the plan my small employer can afford covers only a minimum of urgent care. Meeting a 3rd grader whose eyeglass prescription is badly outdated because the minimal insurance his parents have doesn't cover vision care -- how can that kid be expected to do well in class when he can't see the blackboard?
I fully support healthcare reform. I know it has to be done, and I know that we are facing a growing firestorm if it doesn't happen soon. But I worry that the current administration's plan is actually moving TOO fast; I fear that it is not looking at long-term solutions to the issues, and is slapping a Band-Aid over a wound that actually needs a few stitches. And I worry that many of us are choosing sides based on emotion over logic, idealism over reality.
Where do you stand on the issue? What has made you a believer (or a non-believer) in President Obama's proposed healthcare changes? Please weigh in, and let's have a smart discussion in the comments.
Thanks to the many of you who took the time to email me, or comment on Twitter or Facebook, after reading my last post.
I want to apologize for the frustration of the Comments Form being "absent"; TypePad claims to be working on it, and they know it's a problem for several users (presumably those of us who were "upgraded" to the most recent "Gamma" version of the software). Unfortunately, they don't seem to know when it's going to be resolved.
Hope everyone had a safe and happy New Year's Eve celebration, whatever that means to you, and that you're enjoying this first day of Aught-nine.
I've sat down to write a post about my dad no fewer than a dozen times -- easily once a week since he passed away on September 9th. But something has always held me back. I'm not sure whether it's the fear that once I start writing, I won't be able to stop, or the concern that I won't do him justice, or the ever-present worry that no one really wants to read about loss and sadness.
Finally, this week, the time has felt "right". So please indulge me a moment, and let me tell you about Yahya Philip Khatibloo, and how he celebrated Christmas.
My father was not a man given to mindless behavior. Rare was the moment that you'd find him at a loss for words, and without an explanation for every action (or inaction) that he made. While this trait of his has made me a keen debater, and given me a sometimes-unhealthy level of curiosity, it wasn't exactly easy to live with. If my room wasn't clean, there had better be a logical reason why not. If I wanted to stay out late on prom night, I had best be able to explain why it was a GOOD idea, and not just why coming home earlier was a BAD one.
There were moments, though, that my dad threw caution to the wind, and embracing Christmas was one of them. In November of 1978, he and my mom had just made their way to America, toting along a precocious four year old. We parked ourselves at his eldest brother's house, where my mom and I whiled away the days apartment hunting with Aunt Bettie as my dad geared up for his MBA program at Adelphi, due to start the first week of January.
Looking back, I don't know how they did it. This move had come at a time at once fortuitous and deeply saddening -- they must have known Iran was falling apart around their families, and that it would be a long time coming before they'd set foot on their homeland again.
At any rate, as the holiday season rolled around, my parents decided to honor the Christmas tradition; a terribly difficult move for two people so far removed from every comfort they'd ever known, and one made from a place of pure love -- they didn't want me to feel an "outcast" in this culture, and they wanted me to have a history of traditions no matter where I lived.
From that year forward, we always had a tree, there were always presents under said tree, and my mom always made a traditional holiday dinner. Dad would put aside his stoicism, and our doors were thrown open to friends and cousins, and all THEIR friends and cousins. He would dress up as Santa, just because. He would trudge out in the coldest snowfall, me at his heels, to pick up a tree we could some years hardly afford, just because. As my brother and I grew up, he started to take us to Midnight Mass -- despite being a wholly unreligious man -- just because.
It's been a few years since all of us were together at Christmas; after my brother and I moved out, our folks no longer put on the game face like they used to. Dad would sometimes still go to Mass, because he came to love the music and ceremony of it. But the turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes and ham were a thing of the past for him.
This year, mom and bro came up to the Bay Area and, my, was it bittersweet. I had struggled all week with making stuffing from scratch, or making Stovetop, which he'd always loved. Of course, I made the Stovetop, and mom and I teared up a bit talking about it.
Everyone says the first year is the hardest, and I can see why. It was so hard to set a table for four, knowing he'd never butcher the turkey again. It was utterly bizarre, as I shopped for gifts, to stop myself when I'd find something perfect for him. And the scolding I'd get when those gifts cost more than he thought I should spend on him... I do so miss that.
I hope that you and yours had a wonderful holiday, whichever one you celebrate, and I hope that 2009 is filled with light, prosperity and health for you. And I thank you for allowing me to go on about my father, who is dearly loved and sorely missed this holiday season.
Yahya Philip Khatibloo March 12, 1946 -- September 9, 2008
I know, I've been gone a while. Consider it a summer sabbatical. Or hiatus {tee-hee}. Truth is, I just haven't been terribly inspired in a while.
And then, sometimes it comes in spades, all at once. In a very short period of time, I have:
Celebrated a good friend's birthday at South Food + Wine, which has renewed the excitement for my trip to Australia in November.
Felt magically lit from within at the Fatted Calf dinner at Piccino, bubbling over with the thrill of great food and great friends and beautiful spaces.
Shown my kid brother some of the best food in this amazing city, and watched as it lit a fire in him to pursue his dream and go back to school.
Eaten the most perfect San Francisco summer sandwich: Fatted Calf mortadella, Dirty Girl tomatoes, butter and basil on Acme Pain de Mie...
... washed down with a glass of rosato...
... whilst watching a magnificent sunset!
Drunk a bottle of bubbly anchored behind Treasure Island
Ate a post-Ferry Plaza Farmers Market picnic on a blustery day in Walton Square
Drunk my way, with several awesome people, through half the San Francisco drinks listed in the Food & Wine Cocktails 2008 book.
LANDED A NEW ACCOUNT!
It's been a good summer, no doubt. But this week, in particular, seems to have broken me out of my writing stupor. I'll be back later this week with a couple of delicious bites -- I have missed this pretty pink page, and I've missed all of you!
I know I sometimes have a warped view of my world... For example, for the past several years, I've flown over 100K miles per year on United, which has bestowed upon me the status of "Premier Executive 1K". Which basically means I'm that schmuck you hate as you're boarding, who's usually seated in Business Class with a glazed look in her eyes, trying to remember which city she's heading to next.
There are, of course, some nice perks to this program -- the aforementioned upgrades usually clear, I get treated pretty well if there are irregular operations (e.g., weather, equipment problems, etc), and... and... OK, maybe that's mostly it.
But the thing is, once you get used to the perks, it's really hard to think about going back to a lower level of status. Like I said, a warped view.
What does this all have to do with Memphis? Well, United was running a double-miles promotion, and I've always wanted to eat at C's favorite barbeque joint, the Bar-B-Que Shop, so on a total whim, we booked a ticket that would put us on the ground in Memphis for almost exactly seven hours.
It was an exhausting journey (we were in the same clothes for exactly 28 hours), totally indulgent (three meals in 5 hours), and totally invigorating. It was one of those days that leaves you marveling at how amazing the world we live in is, and was a reminder to throw caution to the wind and take life by the balls sometimes.
Remember how I struggled with my decision? I posted on Facebook, I update my Twitter, I asked everyone who would indulge me. I studied every review, every YouTube demo, every blog post about the Canon EOS XSi.
And then? I ordered it. I waited with bated breath as my delivery window was posted on Amazon, and then delayed by two days. I said goodbye to my loyal little point-and-shoot. The one that followed me from Burning Man to Italy, and re-ignited my zeal for photography.
Yesterday, my brand-spankin' new camera was delivered. And in the evening, a special angel arrived bearing a "Congratulations" gift bag loaded with the things a newbie dSLR owner may not know she needs: a polarizing filter, a UV filter, a lens hood, and a cool Lowepro shoulder-strap that lets me carry around an extra battery (also gifted).
And today? Today I must admit that I have fallen completely and totally in love with my new camera. Why? Because I am more confidently taking photos that make me feel legitimized, if you can imagine that. Even after two of these:
Hangar One Mint Gimlet
2 oz Hangar One Kaffir Lime vodka
Juice of one Key lime
6 torn mint leaves
Agave nectar to taste
I like the mint flavor to be slight subdued in this drink, otherwise I think it overpowers the delicacy of the vodka. It's why I don't muddle. Simply shake all ingredients, with copious cocktail ice, until frothy and ice cold.
I love, love, love whizzing lime zest, sugar, and the tiniest bit of kosher salt in my spice grinder to rim this cocktail. It makes the presentation a little more special, and only serves to subtly enhance the flavors in the drink.
Olive is nine months old... It's hard to believe the time has flown by so fast since she was this wee thing.
Raising a puppy is hard, HARD work, and C really does deserve 80% of
the credit for this one. In exchange, he gets the undying adoration of
that adorable brindle face, who thinks he's the neatest thing since
sliced bread. Or Nylabones.
PS - Does anyone know how to set my blog posting settings in Flickr? I don't like the way it sets up posts at all... but it's so damn convenient!
Recent Comments