The Wire

This post is not going to be about Sarah Palin. I'm tired of reading about her. I mean, you've got to be kidding me.

I will instead tell you about The Wire, my most recent television related obsession (It's not airing anymore but you can get it on Netflix.)

The show creator, executive producer and head writer is David Simon. He lives in Baltimore (where the show is set) and specializes in criminal justice and urban issues. He worked as a police reporter at the Baltimore Sun.

Part of the beauty of this show is that it reveals things you thought you already knew and understood (but really didn't.) Such as how heartbreakingly slim opportunity really is when you grow up in the projects. (I am not claiming I now understand. Just that I've seen a glimpse of it.)

It's fascinating too because of its deliberate ethical murkiness. With a corrupt, bureaucratic police force, paralyzingly dysfunctional institutions and drug lords with a conscience, there is no clear right or wrong, good guy or bad guy. Everyone in the show is so irresistibly defective. Say what you want about virtue, but it's our flaws that make us who we are.

One of my favorite characters is Kima because she has learned to operate within a losing proposition of a system with strength and dignity, and manages to not lose sight about what her job is really about - to the extent she's willing to take a bullet for it.

I can't help but admire the rules and values the "bad guys" live by. How they look out for each other. How, functioning within tremendous limitations like poverty and ignorance, they manage to run an organized, cohesive operation anyone in the corporate world would admire.

I like Wee Bay because he's loyal and doesn't mind being in the line of fire (I mean that literally.) Deep down, don't we all want someone who'd kill for us?

If I was a woman living inside The Wire I'd fall in love with Lester because I like his perspective of the world and the fact that he's such a gentleman.

Stringer is the character that most dangerously walks the ethical line. While I'm horrified with him and his choices, I often grudgingly nod at the reasoning behind them. (He's good looking too. Lock up your wives.)

I think Mcnulty is a self destructive, egomaniacal train wreck. If I knew him in person I'd make an effort to stay as far away as possible. As the show evolves, so does my distaste for him. Since when does being good at what you do exempt you from the laws that apply to the rest of the world?

I'm fascinated by Bubbs (the snitch/addict) because I've always felt contempt for snitches and yet I think he's such a sweetie. We are nothing if not contradictions. The fact that we are strong doesn't mean we are not weak. We can be resourceful and brave and such cowards. The only thing stronger than his gift for survival is his penchant for self-destruction.

I could go on for pages about these people who inhabit my life for an hour a day. Omar and the scars that run across him. Avon, who I think gets it all wrong but might be the only one who gets it right. Daniels, who tries to be good and yet is stuck in a room without light. But the real star of the show is the expressive, foul, incredibly imaginative vocabulary the characters use. I genuinely worry that the language I hear on this show will seep into my subconscious and slip out during a client meeting.

If shows involving crime, race, violence, drugs and a consistent, complete disrespect for women don't normally attract you, just give it three episodes. After that, trust me. You're going to get got.

Mori Point

This past weekend we discovered an incredible new place to go hiking (well, new for us), called Mori Point. It's a relatively recent addition to the Golden Gate National Recreation Area. What makes me use the word "incredible" (besides the grassy trails, windswept bluffs and beaches and sweeping coastal views from Point Reyes to Pedro Point) is that it's a 10 to 15 minute drive from where we have been living for more than eight years, and we had no idea it was there.

After visiting, we learned that "the effort to preserve Mori Point is the story of community involvement and determination. For nearly two decades, various development proposals for the area were successfully opposed by Pacifica residents and environmental organizations. Instead of a condominium, a hotel, a convention center, or a casino, the site is instead home to red-legged frogs and San Francisco garter snakes."

Other old, new and future discoveries in or around Pacifica:

Old: The Shelldance Orchid Gardens that sell thousands of rare orchids directly from their greenhouse perched up on the hills.

New: A great new restaurant (again, new for us) called Nona's kitchen - 8 minutes away from our house! We hadn't seen it because it's hiding away in a strip mall, next to a gothic logo surfer shop called NorCal Surf Shop. I had a great "kitchen sink" salad with vegetables, blue cheese, tomatoes and fresh corn.

Future: A just opened Pakistani restaurant right on Highway 1 (I haven't tried it, but stay tuned).

Pacifica! Who knew?


Photo: www.pacificalandtrust.org

I wouldn't change a thing

Most of what I do is in some way related to my work. (By way of example, I'm married to a guy I've worked with for ten years).

This is why I make an effort to keep work completely separate from this blog: it's my non-work related space.

Today I want to make an exception to this rule to say I love what I do. Most of the time, maybe 85% of it, I can't believe I actually get paid to do it. (The other 15% I have deep, existential conversations with myself along the lines of "what exactly was I put on Earth to do?")

To put it another way, if I won the lottery I would still show up at the office every day.

I'm here!

One of our closest friends was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She is young and gorgeous, a wonderful wife, mother, daughter, friend and one of the best hosts I've ever met - you should be lucky enough to be invited to her house for dinner!

The news affected us deeply for all the reasons you would expect, compounded by the fact that she is an ocean away.

Our first reaction was to go out and buy some books we felt she and her family might find useful. As a result, I’ve been reading “Crazy, Sexy Cancer Tips” by Kris Carr. It’s such a treasure - joyful and inspiring and visual. It looks like someone’s journal (well, someone brilliant and very creative.) It includes many invaluable tips (from the importance of decorating the hospital room with things you love, to always getting multiple medical opinions, to finding yourself a patient advocate to help you navigate through doctors, treatments, medical insurance, etc.).

A few pages into it, it occurred to me that I (and everyone I know) should be following the advice in this book, with or without cancer.

It's not just that we could all use a support group or the creation of a sacred place or that we should be making lists of things we want to do before we die. It's that the minutia of our day blurs what we all know to be true. So here is a reminder: life is precarious and precious. We should be celebrating it more often.

Ew

I never travel without disinfecting wipes.

After walking in my socks across the filthy floor of the airport security line, I wipe the soles of my feet before putting my shoes back on.

On the plane, I wipe the arm rests, the tray table, and any other place frequently touched by gross, dirty fingers – remember, among other things I’d rather not mention here, people cough and sneeze into their hands - such as the seatbelt, the headrest, the buttons that control the flight entertainment, the one you press to push the seat back, the window and the wall around it, where I am likely to rest my head (which, truth be told, I’ve grown quite fond of.)

In the rental car, I wipe the steering wheel, the keys and the stick shift.

In the hotel room, I wipe all the phones (think how your sweet lips press gently against the same spot hundreds of other saliva laden lips have brushed against in the past few days.) Then, I wipe the door handles, the light switches, the remote control and the toilet handle.

I’m sure that the cleaning service of your hotel of choice changes the sheets and towels (or, am I?). But do you think the remote control ever gets a cleaning, the mouthpiece of the phone people drool into when they respond to their wake up calls before their teeth have been brushed?

(While I’m on the subject of hotel rooms, if the window doesn’t open, I sit down on the bed, take short, deep breaths, and try not to think about it. I’ll save the matter of circulated air for another entry.)

I’m convinced this wiping habit has prevented me from catching many a cold, and who knows how many other nasty, germy bugs I’d rather not dwell on.

Your turn. What won’t you travel without?

Used bookstores

I love used bookstores. I love that they are so down to earth and un-glitzy. I love that there are piles of books in corners and under chairs, that the attention is on the story line more than on the story line being in hard cover. I love that typically the people who work there have read most of what they are selling and offer running commentary on things I've chosen as they ring them up.

I love the inherent thrill of the treasure hunter, the sense of adventure in finding a book you're interested in reading. Anyone can just order something - it takes patience to find what you want in a bookstore that can never be considered completely organized or fully stocked.

I like the illusion of virtue in making a contribution to putting something back into the world. A book I buy there is not being wasted, is not sitting on a shelf somewhere, stagnant, cast aside. Its life is a kinetic journey that I'm a part of.

And, used books are such a steal. A used book in excellent condition is at the very least half the price of a nearly identical new one. I read a lot so it's good to find a cheaper way to finance my number one habit (OK, number two after making sure all doors are locked.)

I took a photo of the actual stack of books I found and bought during our last road trip (above). If you see something you like and can wait until I finish it, I’m happy to let you have it.

Road Trip

I’m about to conclude my first road trip in years. I was yearning for a vacation that didn’t require standing barefoot in a crowded security line, so we decided it was time to see North California and Southern Oregon.

Road trips are my new thing.

First of all, you have a suitcase the size of…well, the trunk of your car. You are free to take with you all kinds of things you might not consider when traveling by plane (such as walking sticks, extra hiking shoes and more books than you could possibly read in a week.)

You also get to pack a big canvas tote just for the back seat. With maps, snacks, water bottles, flip flops and a tower of CD’s.

The trip becomes about the trip, not about getting there (in fact, if you never get there, that’s OK.) You can stop whenever you want. Drive for as long as you want. Listen to music you didn’t know you owned and talk to your favorite person without having to rush, summarize or even get to the point. (OK. Your favorite person might appreciate if you do some day get to the point – but it can take you several days.) You can sit in silence as you drive through the Avenue of the Giants (that would be Coastal Redwoods.)

You can explore rural America, buy fruit off fruit stands on the side of the road, spend oodles of time in used bookstores. You can walk up and down several Main Streets in a single day. If you want, in very hushed tones lest someone think you a show off, you can congratulate yourself on your incredibly good eye for really delicious places to eat.

You can make your trip as varied as you want, and in the same week visit several state parks (such as Humbolt), a Victorian Mansion (in Ferndale), a teeny coastal town (Trinidad). You can stay in a cabin in the middle of the woods in Port Ortford, hike in Cape Blanco, and then drive all the way to the jaw dropping, eye popping sight of Crater Lake (which really is as blue as the photo you see above). You can spend half a day in a restored Western town looking at jewelry made with old silverware (Jacksonville). Top it off by catching a play in Ashland, famous for it’s nine month Shakespeare Festival.

At the end of it all, of course, you’re equally free to bring back whatever you want, even if it’s heavy (such as petrified wood specimens, an Ammonite fossil and a bag of really good books you bought for three dollars each.)

Which leaves you with just one question: are we leaving yet?