Officially Official

Officially an MA, that is.

Can you tell that the hood's choking me a bit? My gown didn't have the button it was supposed to have on the front to attach the hood to. Those things are heavy!

If you didn't surmise this, I finally graduated Saturday. I say finally because I feel like I've been done for a long time. I turned in my thesis in December, but I took my last class a year ago. Of course, I still haven't received my diploma. But I guess that's what you get with a state school going through major budget cuts.

A couple of rows ahead of me during the ceremony was a woman who had brought her 4-year-old son into the ceremony with her. She had somehow procured him a miniature purple robe and cap! He was adorable. I had to stop and be grateful that I did not have a child yet while working through grad school. And mad props to any single mom (this woman was young enough that I made the perhaps incorrect assumption that she was single and had gotten knocked up as a teenager) who gets a degree of any kind with young kids.

The speakers were...graduation speakers. They spoke many words that sounded inspiring, I'm not sure what they actually said that had any substance. You earned this? You deserve this? Go live your dreams? Please. And sorry for the cynicism. I heard Oprah speak at a graduation once and was only slightly impressed by her, so I'm not the one to ask for opinions on these kinds of things.

But I am happy to have jumped the final hurdle in my education. I think I'm done with school for a little while. I'm sure I'll be back again someday for something. I'm a bit of an education addict. But for now, I'm enjoying the fact that I'm sitting here and blogging on a Sunday afternoon rather than writing pages and pages about John Donne.

Oh, and the best part of this graduation? The gift I received from my very generous in-laws: a Kindle. In general, I do not own very many gadgets. I still have an old-school cell phone and am typing on a ten-year-old laptop. But what gadget could be better suited to an English MA graduate than a Kindle?

Fun, 1950s Style

I helped to throw a huge party this weekend. For about 120 people. During which we cooked everyone's meals fresh and made-to-order. I wore a real, live (well, not actually barking) poodle skirt. And roped my husband into reliving his table-waiting days and helping me serve the food.

Let me just zoom in on that skirt so you can appreciate the poodle in all her glory.

One of my coworkers made it for me without me even asking. And yes, that is a real Thunderbird behind us in that first picture. We called in the local Thunderbird Club (I didn't even know such things existed before this party) and asked one of the men if he'd like some free publicity.

The purpose of the party was to appreciate all the volunteers who help us run the children's program I help to oversee in my job. Those of us who get paid to do this throw a huge shindig every year to show those who are not paid how much we love them. We wanted to do something family-friendly this year so the volunteers wouldn't have to find babysitters, so we did a 1950s soda shop and diner. Complete with jello, hoola-hoops, yo-yos, slinkies, bubble gum, and, of course, milkshakes galore.

And then I went home, fell on the couch, and didn't want to move again for a very long time.

Win Philosophy Products!

I've won several giveaways recently, which of course feeds my addiction and makes me want to enter more. Here's the latest one I'm entering--I'm excited!

My Life as Story

Chris Brogan has started a conversation on his blog prompted by a new book put out by Donald Miller entitled A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life (whew, that was a lot of links in one sentence!). I have yet to read this latest of Miller's books, but it has been on my list since shortly after it came out. I do, however, know the premise of the book based on an interview with Miller that I happened to read a few weeks ago. This book is essentially about what it was like for him to write one of his earlier books, Blue Like Jazz (which I have read and enjoyed). About the strange tensions that arise when one is trying to put one's life into story form. And what happened in his life after that book sold over a million copies.

I feel compelled to participate in Brogan's conversation about what story means to me because the concept of story is one that I've thought about a great deal, and one that has played a crucial role in my life in several ways. It's also a concept that I've realized plays a large role in the way I think about the difficulties I encounter in life, whatever they happen to be at any given time.

I could edit my thoughts on this subject into a nice, coherent post with an introduction and satisfying conclusion. I'm pretty good at that after six years of writing literary analysis essays that require such things. But I've decided instead to use the fact that my subject matter is story as an excuse not to write this in a nice, linear, story form. Because the truth is that when I'm asked what the importance of story is in my life, my mind goes in several directions. And I want to explore those without having to tie them up with a nice storybook bow.

Not because I don't believe such a thing as a perfect story exists. I do, in fact, believe that we're all living in a Story far grander and more perfect and linear than we can imagine: the grand and beautiful story of each of our lives and also of the whole history of the universe. But that's just it: we can't imagine what the story is like, how it's going to end, and even how it's developing right now. It's too big. We get glimpses of different pieces and elements of it--in our lives, in literature, in art. But not the whole. So, for now, I'm trying to be content in that cloud of unknowing while appreciating the glimpses of the Story that I see all around me.

So a few ways that story is important in my life, and then how it affects the way I go through the tough stuff of life.

Story as Fiction

I was raised on story. And I don't mean TV shows, but actual stories. Fiction, primarily. As a family, we didn't own a TV that actually received any channels until we moved from the Philippines to Philadelphia when I was 11. Instead, we read. I know that sounds terribly cliche and cutesy, but it's true. I almost always had some book I was reading through with my dad. For many years, I would lay in his bed and read to him as he fell asleep for his afternoon siesta. Something that took quite a bit of patience on his part, I'm sure, since I was still learning to read at that point. Once we moved back to the States, our tradition became that he would read to me each evening as I washed the dishes (we didn't own a dishwasher). I was so in love with reading that my parents actually had to limit how much time I spent laying on the couch with a book--to force me to do something--anything--else.

I don't want to go into the philosophical meaning of the story, and how reading a good story (or any story, really) affects our lives as humans. Fiction is profoundly meaningful, uplifting, and beautiful, and a good story helps us to discover what it means to be human. I'll leave the rest to CS Lewis, a fellow English major who has probably written more articulately than almost anyone about the implications of story. But I truly believe that being raised on a steady diet of beautiful stories is, in the deepest sense, a huge part of what made me who I am today. And nothing else can really compare to the feeling I get after finishing a really great work of fiction. Great literature feeds my soul more than any other form of art.

Story as Life

Though I have yet to read Miller's book, I think I can relate to at least some of the issues he explores in it--the tensions that arise in editing one's own life. In the Christian world, we have this tradition of getting people to give their "testimonies." Giving one's testimony involves standing up in front of a group of people and essentially telling your life story--particularly focusing on the Christian elements of it (ie, how you became a Christian, how God has worked in your life, etc).

The opportunity to "share my testimony" is a (ahem) privilege I've been given multiple times. And it seems like it gets more complicated each time I do it. Because I feel the need to somehow find a theme--some common thread that has run through my life thus far. Something I used to struggle with and how God has helped me to change. But any theme or thread I choose ends up feeling reductive. That's not all there is to the story.

I also always feel like I'm missing something--like there's something to my story that I can't yet see, even after a major episode or chapter comes to completion. For example, a few years ago I went through a few months of major insomnia that then led to major depression. I can definitely understand what happened and why it happened better now than I did while I was in the midst of it. I can even list a few good things that came out of it, like the fact that I don't stress about insomnia now nearly as much as I did before because I've seen that I can survive and come out the other side. But really, I don't understand why the insomnia led to depression. Why I suddenly felt like there was no hope in the world, like my apartment was a prison, and my bedroom a torture chamber. Why I suddenly had major doubts about God. And I can't really list that many good things that came out of such an awful experience. It was too miserable. I know good came of it, but I'm unable to fully articulate what that good was. But if I were sharing my testimony, I would need to at least find a lens through which to tell that story that left my audience with a sense of hope and meaning. And all the while, I would know that the lens was faulty and imcomplete.

Suffering as Story

As I'm going through the struggles and ups and downs of life, I often think about how I will tell this story as part of my testimony in the future, when I'm through whatever the current difficulty is. Every time I think maybe the problem is solved, or my emotions back to normal, I think about how perfect the story would be if this was finally when the suffering ended. How I had just finally reached a place of peace or surrender about the whole thing, and that's when God finally intervened. Or how the circumstances and timing are all lining up so beautifully.

I want to jump ahead to the next chapter in my story. To skip through this one, because it's hard, and I'm not enjoying it. And while I'm sure I have more I could learn from it, I think I've learned a lot. I'm ready to start the learning that will come through the next--easier--chapter.

Or I think about how my story would read as a novel. Some major editing would have to take place, I can tell you that. Because so far, I'm missing most of what makes a good novel. I've got the nuance and complexity and character development, but, let's be honest, a good novel does need a few themes, even if they're hard to perceive on the surface. And trying to make a biography read like a novel usually ends up sounding forced and reductive.

This is why I stick to reading fiction.

Jesus Is Coming!

Working in children's ministry has definitely made me more aware of holidays. I will shamefacedly admit that I'm one of those people who has never made a big deal about Easter, or any of Holy Week, really. Every year when it comes and goes, I tell myself that next year, I'm going to do the whole thing--Ash Wednesday, Lent, Palm Sunday, Good Friday--all leading up to Easter. I'll pick something to give up, I'll meditate my way through the right Bible passages, find a devotional, something. And every year, it comes and goes again with me having done little more than attending church on Palm Sunday and Easter. I don't feel guilty about it, but I would like to really experience it more thoughtfully.

Anyway, as I said, working in children's ministry at least ensures that I put more thought into what we're doing as a church to celebrate holidays. A long-standing Palm Sunday tradition at our church is that we get palm branches for the kids and have them stand outside the auditorium waving them and shouting "Hosanna!" When you live in California, I guess you have to take advantage of the availability of fresh palm branches.

This year, we augmented the thing a bit. The kids started the same way as usual, standing outside the auditorium with their branches. They waved them enthusiastically and shouted, "Jesus is coming!" as congregants entered the auditorium.

A lot of people (including myself until this year) always try to sneak in the side to avoid running the gauntlet of waving and shouting children, but we do our best to make them walk down the middle.

This year, though, we actually had ourselves a Jesus, in the form of the youth pastor, and twelve disciples.

In the middle of one of the songs during the service, we had the kids run into the auditorium shouting, "Jesus is coming!" The first few kids were followed by Jesus and the disciples and then all the other kids shouting, "Hosanna, glory to God in the highest," etc.

The congregation was surprised and, I think, delighted. And most joined in, which was good, because the younger kids froze up and didn't do much more than walk down the aisle waving their branches. Looking cute, of course. It was chaotic, noisy, a little confused--and thus probably a decent replication of the original.

It's funny. As hard as it can be for me to be around children and their parents when I'm feeling down, the kids themselves (especially those older than about 3) never fail to lift my spirits. So enthusiastic, so unpredictable, so unique. As Pete would say, they're just so stinkin' cute.

March Resolutions

A year or two ago, Pete and I went to see a screening of a documentary (or "rockumentary") called Call and Response. It was, in a word, devastating. I knew a lot about the issue of human trafficking and slavery--I had to write a paper about it my senior year in college (which was before so many people were talking about it). But it's always different to see pictures and videos. On a side note, if you ever get a chance to see this movie, please do. It's beautifully done.

Seeing the video and hearing Justin Dillon (musician and producer of the movie) challenge us in the audience to take action was the first time I really thought about changing my buying habits. But I simply didn't know how we could do it. First of all, finding information about where different companies source their materials and how their factories are run is very difficult. Second of all, if I really wanted to ensure that my money wasn't supporting the horror of the modern-day slave trade, I would need to spend a lot more time and money to hunt out and pay for the "clean" clothes, electronics, coffee, etc. Let's face it: "fair-trade" certified items are simply expensive. We aren't rolling in money, and we do give a lot away to charities. So, I figured, the less I can spend on clothes, the more we have to give away. Right?

I subscribe to a magazine called Relevant. Their most recent issue included an article called "Everyday Justice: 10 Lifestyle Choices that Can Tangibly Help Others." Reading it, I was convicted and reminded of my past guilt over these issues. I mean, how can I claim to be firmly against slavery and other kinds of injustice when I'm not willing to even change my buying habits to keep my money from supporting evil in the world? Ouch.

Another thing this article helped me to crystallize in my mind is the relationship between slavery and the environment. Both are justice issues. Forcing 10-year-old girls into prostitution is a brutal injustice. Raising cows in inhumane environments and consuming too many natural resources are also injustices.

I would strongly contend that the two are not on the same level. Humans are far more important than animals. I know many would disagree with me, but that's where I stand. What's interesting, though, is that I have thus far been far more ready to change my buying habits when it comes to food than when it comes to clothing (and chocolate and coffee, two of the most notoriously slavery-based products). Over the past couple of years, I have gradually started to buy more organic fruits and vegetables and even splurge for grass-fed beef or free-range chicken (when they're on sale or something). And I've traded plastic grocery bags for reusable bags and have even recently worked on cutting back on the number of produce bags I use. In fact, just last week, I signed up for a CSA, so that in a couple of weeks we will start to get weekly produce deliveries from a local farm (which I'm super excited about, but that's another issue).

After reading the article, I started wondering why it has been easier for me to make changes that will benefit the environment rather than those that will benefit other humans, even though I claim that humans are more important. My conclusion? Plain selfish laziness. I think a big part of me reasoning for wanting to buy more organically is health-related. I don't want to be consuming those pesticides and other weird chemicals. Also, buying more organic doesn't take any more time or energy. I simply choose the organic options on my normal shopping trip. Just a little more expensive, but really not that bad in small increments. Also, I live in the Bay Area where being green is all the rage, so I have to admit that peer pressure probably plays a bit of a role, as well. Plastic grocery bags are simply uncouth out here. And I actually had a woman scold me for not buying organic at the grocery store once.

Again, ouch. That realization is pretty convicting. Shouldn't I be willing to make a few sacrifices on the stopping-human-trafficking front, as well? No, we can't really afford to simply start shopping at fair-trade clothing stores rather than the usual stores (ie Ross, Kohl's, Target--all of which are within two blocks of our apartment and are dirt cheap). But I can afford to buy fewer clothes. And make the clothing purchases that I do make count. Or at least not count towards slavery!

Of course, it is true that few stores out there are willing or able to be completely open about all the sources of their materials. The final product is just so far removed from the factories that many of them simply don't know. But here's a start. I went to the site ChainStoreReaction and found all the stores that I might shop at that have responded to the many letters in a somewhat adequate fashion. In other words, they already have some good policies in place to do their best to make sure their materials are not being made in sweatshops or other inhumane conditions. I've written them all down on a list that I now plan to carry with me when I go shopping. I was quite relieved to find H&M, Banana Republic, and Gap all on that list. So I have a few decent options. If you want my complete list, you can find it here.

I also found a cool website that is a database of sorts of various fair trade clothing and food shops. I'm sure there are many more out there like it.

Finally, I plan to do my best to purchase only fair-trade coffee and chocolate. The coffee shouldn't be a problem. I'm off it for health reasons right now anyway, and even when I do drink it, I don't drink that much. Chocolate is a different story. I'm a bit of an addict, which means I like to have chocolate in the house at all times. Which means I like to buy it cheap. So I might need to make the*huge* sacrifice of cutting back on my chocolate consumption, as well, so I can afford to buy the fair-trade stuff.

Do any of you have any cool resources for incorporating justice more into everyday lifestyle choices?

The Case for "Alternative" Therapy (or, how I went from skeptic to seeker to...practicer?)

There it is. I just admitted that I believe that there is a case for non-Western approaches to our health. Most of you reading this--even my scientist friends--will probably not be all that stunned by that news. Most of us are willing to admit on a hypothetical basis that Western medicine and science probably don't have everything figured out. And that there might be the occasional herb or natural remedy out there that actually works. But I'm guessing that most of you probably think about the whole issue the way I did. Sure, "alternative" therapies can work, but only when they can be fully explained scientifically. Otherwise, any benefits are probably just placebo. And a prescription drug or medical procedure would probably be more effective.

First of all, I should define what I am including in my broad-brushed term "alternative." Basically, I'm being extremely unscientific by including anything from yoga to homeopathy to acupuncture (chinese medicine, herbs, massage, etc). Anything that our traditional Western medical system has poo-pooed because they often can't understand how they work. Once our scientists can figure out a reasonable explanation for why something might work, they generally start to be more open to it.

Rather than trying to make this some kind of scientific argument, I'll explain my own odyssey in my understanding of "alternative" methods. I'll use the specific example of insomnia. Starting in college, I began to periodically have nights where I struggled to fall asleep. I never had a night where I didn't sleep at all, but I would sometimes just start to get a bit panicky as I lay in bed, fearing that I might not fall asleep. The psychological/spiritual/mental reasons behind why this happened to me are for another post; here I'll just focus on what I did therapeutically to help myself sleep better. (In other words, all of this was accompanied by tons of prayer, soul-searching, agonizing, and growth on my part.)

The first medicine I tried, which worked for several years, was simply Tylenol PM (dipenhydramine). Over-the-counter, few side-effects (except drowsiness), it seemed to be what I needed when I was experiencing only occasional insomnia. I grew up in a family where taking medicine was generally looked on as less desirable than toughing it out, though, so I always felt guilty about taking it. Like I was just giving in to fear.

Then, a few years ago, my general stress and fear about sleep grew to the point that I really started dealing with insomnia in full-force. As in, I stopped sleeping naturally, and dipenhydramine stopped cutting it. This lasted for several months and was accompanied by depression and anxiety. Early on, I emailed my doctor about it, hoping she would tell me there was some solveable disorder I had (like hypothyrodism or something). I at least hoped she would ask some more probing questions to figure out what the cause was. Instead, I received a reply consisting of a few short lines, telling me she had sent a prescription for Ambien to the pharmacy for me. What? That's how she was going to solve my problem? Throw a drug at me? Ambien ended up being far too expensive for me, so she switched me to Trazadone, which is an antidepressant with drowsiness as a side-effect. However, after taking that for two nights in a row, I fainted the next morning and nearly gave Pete a hard attack (he says it was the scariest moment of his life, actually, because he thought I was having some kind of seizure).

I toughed it out for weeks, researching all kinds of home remedies that never seemed to work. I knew there were all kinds of herbs out there that were purported to help with sleep, but I thought none of them could possibly be as strong as dipenhydramine, and that wasn't working for me, so...

But I got desperate. So I went to our local health food store and asked the guy who worked there what he recommended for help sleeping. I bought the bottle he suggested and started taking it. You know what? Within a few nights, I was gradually sleeping better. I did some fine-tuning on the dosage and kind of pill, and I'm still taking it on and off today. Herbal remedies? Check.

Fast forward a couple of years. A friend of my parents had put me on to oscillococcinum, a homeopathic drug that they swore did wonders for warding off the flu. Homeopathy. I thought only quacks fell for the idea that "like cures like." I mean, really. Like cures like? Since when? But I started doing some research and tried the oscillo (along with coldcalm, targeted for cold symptoms) the next time I started feeling a sore throat. The sore throat stopped in its tracks. Of course, that's no proof--or even good evidence--that the homeopathic stuff worked. So I found a homeopathic drug for insomnia and decided to give that a try. I've tried enough different kinds of sleeping medications to be able to tell pretty well when one of them is helping. I'm pretty good at distinguishing between my body's natural fatigue and a sleepiness aided by outside intervention. The homeo stuff worked! I fell asleep gently but fairly quickly. Of course, it's not strong enough for the nights when I'm really wound up tight. But for the slightly-wound-up nights, it's great. And even safer and fewer side-effects than herbs. It would even be safe during pregnancy. Cool. Homeopathy? Check.

My history with yoga is a little more complicated. I was taught from a young age that yoga was not an activity in which Christians should engage. All the Buddhist meditation mumbo-jumbo was simply better avoided. But if you haven't noticed, yoga is all the rage these days. Everywhere. And I have a good number of Christian friends who got into it. So it wasn't too hard for me to let go of the sense of taboo I used to have about it.

That doesn't mean I started practicing yoga. I'm not naturally athletic and don't enjoy exercising, so my philosophy on exercise has always been to do what's the most efficient (ie fastest) and cheapest way to stay in decent shape. So I was a "runner." More of a recreational jogger, except I've never really enjoyed it so I wouldn't even call it recreation. I would also do some light weight-lifting at home and the occasional aerobics video, since I figured that worked out more of my core muscles and seemed to help alleviate tension in my back.

Then I got diagnosed with hypothalamic amenorrhea. I will spare you the details. But basically, I needed to shock my body out of the slight energy deficiency it's lived under for the past six years, since I got serious about exercising and eating healthily. For a while, I just increased my eating to gain a few pounds and kept with the running. I mean, could twenty-five minutes of jogging three times a week really be doing anything but good for me? But finally, when the increase in calorie intake didn't seem to be quite enough, I decided to give up the jogging. And switch to yoga, which I figured would keep me somewhat active, strong, and flexible (avoiding back pain) but is not intense enough to be doing whatever the running was doing to me.

So here I am, almost a month in to practicing yoga regularly. And I can honestly say that I've actually found an exercise that I enjoy. I always believed it had benefits--there's a lot of irrefutable research out there supporting that claim--but I figured anything that helps you relax and breathe is going to have benefits. Now, I'm starting to think that the actual yoga method does things to your body that no other form of exercise does as well. It stretches and strengthens at the same time. And the twists kind of feel like they're getting internal organs along with muscles and tendons (which is why you aren't supposed to do twists when on your period). Of course I don't meditate in the sense of trying to "empty" my mind in the Buddhist sense. In fact, I'm kind of bad in that I usually skip through the laying-on-the-floor-breathing portions of my yoga videos because I'm too impatient. But there's nothing wrong with deep breathing and relaxing.

My most recent discovery in the world of alternative/natural health is acupuncture. As I mentioned, I am recovering (I think) from hypothalamic amenorrhea, a hormonal condition. The traditional, Western approach to treatment would be very invasive, stressful, and, for us, not covered by insurance and thus astronomically expensive. As in, over $500 just for one doctor's (a reproductive endocrinologist) visit. My feelings about it not being covered by insurance are a whole different topic, but let's just say I was a bit frustrated when I found out about that little nugget. I have always wanted to try acupuncture, just to see what it was like, but never really went for it because of the cost and because I really didn't understand how sticking a bunch of tiny needles in my body could have any effect. But, a few weeks ago, I received a coupon for an initial consultation and treatment at an acupuncture/chinese medicine clinic for only $29. I decided I couldn't pass up such a great deal, so I went. And I fell in love with my acupuncturist. She completely understood my issues and, more importantly, told me she could fix them within 6 months of regular treatment! And though the treatment isn't cheap, it's waaaay cheaper than the doctor option. What's more, I really did feel some effects from the one treatment she gave me.

So, here I go. Down the alternative path. I have my next acupuncture treatment in about a week and a half. I expect she'll give me a nice herbal concoction to take along with the treatment. I've cut out all jogging and most other forms of exercise for the sake of yoga. Not that I would recommend that to others, but I needed to do that for the sake of my HA. We'll see how it goes.

Tasting North Beach

Pete and I are nerds. If you don't know that already, you should know it. There aren't too many people who would continue to do nerdy touristy things in the are they've lived in for almost four years. But we do. And not just when we have people visiting from out of town, though that's always a great excuse.

This weekend we went on a very touristy tour in the city. The company calls themselves "Taste of the City" and they do walking, food-oriented tours of Chinatown and North Beach (ie, little Italy) in San Francisco. My parents found out about it and gave us the Chinatown tour a few years ago as our Christmas gift. We had so much fun that we asked for the North Beach tour this year for Christmas. I have to explain that I'm a complete sucker for anything involving sample-sized foods. I have been known to make up excuses to stop by Whole Foods or Trader Joe's just for the samples. I'm that person.

After many weeks of traveling, busyness, and then rain, we finally got around to booking our tour for this past Saturday, which was forcasted to be gorgeous weather in the city. And it was. Absolutely perfect weather. One of those days that makes me want to live in the city. Cloudless cerulean skies, abundant sunshine, a breeze just cool enough to keep the sun from getting hot.

We couldn't have asked for a better tour guide, either. Our tour guide for the Chinatown tour was a little too awkwardly quirky for us, though he still did a great job. This guy was exactly the kind of person you would want showing you little Italy. San Francisco born and raised, Italian American, old enough to remember things and have great stories (and know some of the people he was telling us about).

Our tour began at coffee shop on Columbus. You know it's a good coffee shop when you can see their huge coffee roaster from the front window.

Our guide explained the difference between a place like this, which roasts their beans in small batches to ensure they're roasted to the perfect doneness, and a place like Starbucks, which bulk roasts all their beans to burntness.

We continued to XOX Truffles, which has consistently received accolades as one of the top ten chocolatiers in the country. The owner is a French chef who has focused all his energies on refining the art of the truffle. All thirteen of us on the tour crowded into the tiny shop to hear how the truffles are made. And we each left with little goodie bags!

We stopped at several bakeries and pastry shops, sampling the world's best focaccia (and I've had a lot of focaccia in my day), huge coconut macaroons, baguettes, Italian cold cuts, and a St. Patrick's Day green cake.

Our tour did, actually, include a few non-food related stops. We went by a historic catholic cathedral (and of course I can't remember which saint it's named after).

We stepped inside just as a wedding was beginning, so we ducked into one of the back alcoves and watched and listened for a few minutes (just until the bride came down the aisle). The beautiful rendition of Ave Maria (with classical guitar accompaniment) definitely added to the aura of the church, which was gorgeous.

We also stopped by Cafe Trieste, which is apparently where Coppola penned the scripts for The Godfather I and II. Pavarotti also used to perform here. I'm not sure if the two happened simultaneously, but our guide implied that they did. I could see Pavarotti being a good soundtrack for film script-writing.

Our tour finished with a place I've been wanting to visit since the first time we visited North Beach--but was always hesitant to bring it up because I knew Pete wouldn't be quite as excited about: the Beat Museum. I mean, this is where it all started. Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassady, et al. They held some of their famous (or infamous) poetry readings right on this corner.

For those of you who didn't live through the 60s, the Beats became the Beatniks (a name change apparently related to the launching of Sputnik, though I didn't quite catch the connection). The Beatniks then became the hipsters, who became the hippies. All right here in San Francisco.

Being the literature-obsessed person that I am, I can't resist ending with some of the most famous lines of the Beat Generation (from Allen Ginsberg's Howl).

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix;

Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection

to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.

Impressions from Noah's Ark

I've been sitting here for five minutes trying to think of a suitable title for this post, but I got nothing that's not weak-sauce, as Pete would say. But why am I impressed with Noah's Ark, you ask? Let me tell you.

I just (well, two weeks ago) got back from a week-long trip to Hong Kong. I traveled there and back entirely by myself, which I can't say is my preferred method of transportation. But Cathay Pacific is definitely my preferred airline, so at least I was taken care of in my alone-ness. And really, I can't complain about a flight that takes me to my destination on the other side of the world in fifteen hours with no stops along the way. Once I arrived, I spent most of the week thinking wistfully about being alone, as I was surrounded by people twenty-four/seven while there. I was even staying in a room with six other women (and thankfully, two bathrooms).

And where was that crowded room? Well, here's where the trip gets cool. That crowded room was on the top floor of this:

 

That is, in fact, what it looks like. A life-sized replica of Noah's Ark. Such a thing could only exist in Hong Kong. Most of the Ark is filled with several different kinds of museums that educate children about nature, conservation, animals, etc. And the top floor is a hotel. Interested in visiting? You can check it out here and stop by next time you're in Hong Kong.

The reason I went to Hong Kong and stayed in the Ark was to run a kids' program during the annual retreat of a non-profit organization Pete and I have worked with in the past. The woman running the retreat found out that I work with kids in my day job and asked if I would be interested in taking my schtick to Hong Kong. I agreed. So I spent my mornings and several of my afternoons working with a charming group of children, aged everywhere from 3 to 8.

 

A few are missing from that picture, but that's most of them. They were each so darling and 90% well-behaved. I loved hanging out with them.

I didn't get to do much touring because my schedule was so packed, but I did go out on the town a few times. Including once when I picked up a pair of real American Eagle jeans (not knock-offs) for $12 with free hemming. Let me repeat, free hemming! You can see why I may be attracted to the idea of living in Asia.

Someone recently told me that a good way of reflecting on a trip is to come up with a top ten list. Since my trip was less than a week long, I'll do my top five. In no particular order.

1. Staying in the only life-sized replica of Noah's Ark in existence. How many people can say they've done that?
2. Hanging out with eight amazingly cute and fun TCKs.
3. Being served a delicious, five-course, Western-style meal on the top floor of one of Hong Kong's universities. Not that I didn't love the Chinese food I ate, but real mashed potatoes really do taste good after a week of rice and noodles.
4. Watching my new jeans get hemmed in under four minutes flat. And the hem quality is outstanding.
5. Arriving home to see my honey after three weeks of being apart. He was traveling for two weeks before I left and we had one day together in between trips. So yes, I was ecstatic to see him when I finally made it through the long customs line at the airport.

Just for good measure, I have to end with one last picture of one of my three-year-olds. She's just so dang cute with the little pose she threw for me when I pointed the camera at her.

The Manifesto

I've been around the blogger world long enough to know that when someone stumbles across a new blog that looks interesting, they go back to the first post to see what and who it's all about. Or at least that's what I do, and I'm fond of projecting my habits on everyone else. Horribly self-centered of me, but I'm convinced that only self-centered people create blogs--especially blogs called "The Tiniest Record Player." So my name is Charissa and I'm self-centered. I'm married to Pete, and he helped me come up with this title, so he gets to be implicated, too.

Let me give a stab at this manifesto thing before you get too bored and start clicking on my links to go to another page. I expect that our most faithful readers will be our parents (hi, parents!). We love them. Second to them, I expect that our friends who blog will probably read on occasion, since I try to subscribe to their blogs and will probably start linking to them (hi, friends!). And in the future, when we move out of this country for more exciting locales, I expect that we will pick up a few more readers whose lives are so boring that they need to live vicariously through someone else whose life is more exciting. Woops, did I just put that in print? I just offended half my future imagined readership! What I meant was that we will pick up readers who want to keep in touch with us and pray for us from across the Pacific Ocean. Hi, future imagined readers! Thanks for caring enough to follow our lives!

As far as what this blog will contain, I probably have more ideas about what it will not contain than what it will. Nothing cheesy. Nothing containing the m-word (and if you know what that is, please censor your comments appropriately). Nothing overly introspective. (The ugly introspective stuff is all on another anonymous blog I keep that probably has more readers than this one because it fits so nicely into a particular niche. Trust me, you probably don't want to hear it. If you think you do--well, email me, I guess, and we'll chat.) And no last names. My first name is unique enough, and when coupled with my last name, I'm far too google-able. Beyond that criteria...well, I promise to do my best to keep it interesting and as concise as possible. I'm an English major who just turned in a 120-page thesis, so brevity, though the soul of wit, is not always in my soul. But concise I can do.

Oh, and the title. What can I say? The idea was mine, but you can blame Pete for the fact that I actually went for it. I suspect that each of you will read something different into it, and that's fine by me. Like the best literature, it's up for interpretation.