Saturday, December 6, 2014

The Policeman is our Friend. . .Part Two

It takes a little over a year for someone who moves to a new state to be plotted back on the grid.  It comes in the form of jury duty and Moondoggy is definitely back on the radar.  Living where we do, with a high density of retirees, this area is ripe for the picking.

Jury duty here is a week long obligation. . .or one trial, whichever is more painful.   Moondoggy received his notice and was scheduled to call in on a Sunday evening to see if he needed to appear at the courthouse the next day or remain on call the whole week and stay within an hour of the courthouse. The first call was a reprieve and an admonishment to call again the next evening.  This continued all week until Thursday when the recording directed him to call in again Friday morning by 10:30.  Waiting around, he made the call at the appointed time and was then directed to appear immediately.  Begrudgingly, he showed up within the hour and was then directed to wait an hour and half until the lawyers and judge returned from lunch. Upon their return, the judge gave an overview of the trial, a DUI case and named the defendant as well as the arresting officers.  And that's when Moondoggy's ears perked.  The arresting officer's name rang a bell. . .and from what he could see, the guy looked vaguely familiar.  It was him, the motorcycle cop who had brazenly pulled Moondoggy over, on his bicycle several months ago and issued the $300 ticket.  The incident had been festering in Moondoggy's craw for months - the giver of the "chicken shit" ticket now a reviled legend. It was so bad that all I had to do was make a joke about stop signs and I could raise Moondoggy's hackles beginning a tirade that could last for hours. And there he was, in the same courtroom with the enemy. The enemy needed him.

By about 1:30, the beginning of jury selection began, seating all but 2 jurors by 3:00.  Moondoggy thought he was in the clear until they dismissed the rest of the group and decided to pick the last 2 jurors from the remaining group. . . of which Moondoggy was one.  Then, it was time for a small break.  By now, he is seething.

At 3:45,  they only need one more juror and they really want to get this jury empaneled and go home for the weekend. Moondoggy is called for questioning.  Normally, he is the first one to believe that someone who drives drunk should be prosecuted - a prosecuting attorney's dream. In most cases, that might be the reason he would have difficultly being impartial.  But when the judge asked him, "Is there any reason you might have difficulty being impartial," the weight of the stress of a week of being on jury call, the now four and half hours spent waiting for them to get this jury set on Friday afternoon (which meant that he would be obligated into the next week) and the trifecta of the resurging anger over the bike ticket inspired his response. "Yes, in fact, there is, your Honor.  I believe the arresting officer - Officer M- there, is the same officer who pulled me over and wrote me a ticket. . . while riding my bike."  The judge, who had been shuffling papers, looked up and suppressed a smile."Your bike?"

"Yes, my bike.  He said I blew a stop sign in a residential area." The titters and giggles started in earnest, first with the empaneled jury and then moved on to the attorneys and the judge.  "It wasn't a pleasant experience," Moondoggy continued, "$300 worth of unpleasant, actually."

The judge pulled it together and asked, "And you would have difficulty remaining impartial?"

"Yes, I believe I would."

It took about 3 seconds for the judge to dismiss him with the blessing of both attorneys who were still cracking up.  Moondoggy exited the courtroom but not without stopping for an extra long gaze at the cop who was now the butt of a courtroom joke.  Moondoggy just smiled. Karma comes full circle.  Now we just have to wait wait for karma to deal with the cyclists. 

Sunday, November 30, 2014

The Officer Is Your Friend. . .Unless He Hates You

Something happened last spring that changed my view of an activity I enjoy.  I hate it when that happens.  Moondoggy and I enjoy biking.  Biking is big out here (it's a year round sport, thank you, Mother Nature) and on any given day it is not unusual to see several pelotons of biking enthusiasts in their matching spandex, whirring en masse down the roads along the dedicated bike lanes and there are bike lanes everywhere here. I am not of that ilk - spandex on me is a fashion NEVER and my bike is not a road bike per se.  It is an upright, old-fashioned handle bar model and I sit atop and calmly tool down the road - think Wicked Witch the West.  I am not a threat on a bike and road bikers generally tolerate my presence.  Moondoggy, however, is far more avid and has been for years (he's ridden the Canadian Rockies, Grand Canyon to Washington state and up many local mountains, here) and he used to wear the spandex but, no more.  The bikers here, the spandex wearing, group riding die-hards, have a bad reputation and neither of us could figure out why until two things happened.

I know it's a problem in other places because I Googled it (Why are bikers such assholes), but here, especially, the large groups of people on bikes, have an attitude that pisses off drivers and pedestrians alike and I've heard complaints from people about "those" bikers early on. They want and have road rights (Ok), they want safety (Of course) but they also want to choose which road laws they have to obey and they do so on a whim.  Case in point, I was once at a stop light where the dedicated bike path ended about 25 feet before the intersection.  The biker (and his 20 matching friends), instead of waiting behind whatever car they came up behind - like cars do, decided to ride between the curb and the car to get to the intersection and turn right.  He (and his 20 friends) were indignant, furious even that I had not (nor had the five cars behind me) left 3 feet on the right so he could get by.  He decided to stop directly in front of my car and say so, "Bitch, you HAVE to give me 3 feet."  Um, no, I don't.  I have to give you 3 feet if you are RIDING on the road and there is no path and I come upon you and decide to pass. . .then, I have to give you 3 feet.  That is the law.  Otherwise, YOU, you little biker prick with all your biker prick friends, have to follow road law and get behind me (VC21650). And now, I get why regular people hate bikers. Apparently cops do, too.

Fast forward to last Spring.  Moondoggy was out on a lengthy ride that takes him through a residential area where the pelotons like to go.  He rode up a long hill, made it to the top and then turned to ride down, a time to enjoy the spoils of having pedaled up.  He is a lone rider.  He likes it that way. And as he is cruising down, wind in his hairs when along the path he hears a loud siren and it's coming up right behind him.  It's a motorcycle cop, lights strobing, and Moondoggy's getting pulled over and ticketed.  Why?  "Because we've had complaints from residents about bikers not stopping at the stop signs." People are slowing, taking in the scene as they drive by, this motorcycle cop with full on siren and lights flashing like it's a major bust, just sitting on the bike path as he lectures my gray haired husband.  Moondoggy looks back - there was a T intersection with a 3 way stop.  There was no sign on the bike path, no road on his side that intersected where he was riding and he had ridden through but, technically, had he been driving a car, it would have been a blown stop sign.  Ergo - ticket.  And while the motorcycle cop is writing out his $300 ticket (a moving violation on your license by the way), a whirring peloton whizzes by, ON THE ROAD, blowing by not one, not two but THREE stop signs (4 way stops, I might add where there is real cross traffic).  Moondoggy points out the mass violation to which Motorcycle cop responds, "I'm just one man, sir." The cop was as much of a prick as the bikers are and he (we) are left with a very bad taste in our mouth about both bikers and cops. Moondoggy has carried that anger about being caught in between the ongoing battle between cyclists and local cops not sure which he hates more when Karma stepped in recently and showed him that yes, there is an upside to anger.
. . .to be continued.


Tuesday, October 28, 2014

When Halloween Goes Global


My sister called the other day to share her latest assessment of life, as we do with each other from time to, when she stumbled upon a subject so glorious I just could not let it go. And because it would be poor form to not give credit to the genius who conceived this gem, I have to give a shout out to my sister’s highly revered
hairdresser – Tammy.

There was this costume party coming up and a group of women were discussing what to wear when Tammy suggested they all dress as GIRL SCOUTS! Not just any girl scout mind you, but as COUGAR GIRL SCOUTS! They would all wear their
uniforms with enough cleavage and bra showing to have no mistaking the intent. They would wear a sash that contained different levels of achievement badges (the “Walk of Shame” badge, the “Triple Play” badge and, of course, “Proper Condom
Application” badge) and carry canteens filled with. . .wait for it. . .  Cosmopolitans! Their troop number? 69!

When I heard this, I howled. But, I could not just enjoy the laugh for the moment because the scope of this is priceless. Let’s drop the “girl” part, because face it, none of us look 10 anymore. Let’s call ourselves Cougar Scouts. And let’s forgo the traditional scout uniform and get a little creative. I, myself, have always coveted the
white patent leather go-go boots from the early ‘70’s so I think they should be the official footwear. I also like a cute tennis skirt with built in panties, after all, we may be cougar’s but we are not easy so it will take some fancy talking to get to the goodies. Any color is acceptable but it must be paired with a black tank top. I mean
we are hot – temperature hot that is, and we are NOT going to be burdened by unnecessary layering. Besides, black is slimming. To accessorize the ensemble, we need a belt – animal print of course, a matching wristlet to carry lipstick, compact and cab fare. Good scouts do carry canteens and they should be filled at all times
with the beverage of choice (mine is red wine) and instead of binoculars, I suggest blinged-out cheater glasses. If you really want to carry something more binocularly, how about a View Master with a picture wheel of gorgeous men? Brownies wore
beanies, Girl Scouts wore berets, Cougar Scouts will wear a scarf as a headband (with or without a Hollywood Bump It and fake hair) and, of course, a tiara for formal meetings. Meetings will be established by each troop with an annual meeting in either Florida or California on alternate years with an optional spa visit mid year.
We could sing altered camp song's:

Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble too and fro
Can you tie 'em in a knot, can you tie 'em in a bow Can you throw 'em over your shoulder like a continental soldier Do your boobs hang low-
Ok - now in rounds. . .

Forget Halloween, I see this as a national club with troops not only in every state, but every town across the U.S. This could be huge! But what about troop dues, you ask? There aren't any. Hell, we already paid ‘em!

Friday, October 17, 2014

No Beach, No Cocktail, Then it Must be China

Visiting China is a many layered cultural immersion.  It is not a vacation.  I've drawn this distinction in the past - there are vacations (lolling on the beach, cocktails, cabanas) and then there are trips (National parks, rafting, Europe, - anything that involves learning and thinking beyond whether I want to swim in the pool or the ocean.) China is a trip and I mean in that in all of it's layered meaning.

When you arrive, you hit the ground running and you don't stop until crawling into bed for the day. Our first tour day began with a western breakfast at the hotel (and thank goodness for them - I'll explain in another post) and BAM we were headed to Tianenman Square followed by the Forbidden City, The Summer Palace of the Dragon Lady and finally, the Pearl Market before heading back to the hotel with enough time to change, go to dinner and then to the Peking Opera. To sum up the sights, all I can say is 1987 Student Uprising is not a topic of discussion and watch The Last Emperor (you will see the Forbidden city AND get a feel for the Dragon Lady).  What I really want to tell you is about the Opera because THAT was a trip.

We had VIP seating which meant we had a table upfront and we were served snacks and beer.  Our tour guide told us the opera was an old tradition and truly a cultural experience.  Then , he said he'd meet us at the door when it was over. . .he wasn't staying and now I know why.  Our opera was made up of 3 stories that had nothing to do with each other.  There was, for clarity, an electronic sign on one side of the stage that ran the dialogue and song (and I use that term loosely) in English and Chinese.  The second story, perhaps the most memorable was about a girl trying to catch up to her lover who was on a boat going down the river.  She hires a man of questionable character to taker her down the river after him and then spends 10 minutes singing, screaming and yelling for him to go faster so she can catch her lover.  That's it.  That and the instrumental.  Between the music and singing, I felt like this assault on my ears was akin to watching what happens in my brain when too many glasses of wine produce a hangover.  Here is a Link - you only need to watch the first minute - minute and a half to get the idea. It is no wonder our guide decided to find something else to do while we enjoyed the cultural experience.

Having a guide is beneficial for a number of reasons but, his ability to tell us in-depth history was a boon. . .until we realized not everything he (not just him - other guides we had, too) said seemed to stand to reason. It first occurred on our tour through a historic Hutong - a neighborhood that has remained untouched and is now preserved.  We walked past a charming mail box and he stopped us and said, "That is the oldest post box in China."  Many of us drank the koolaid but Moondoggy looked at the box and pointed to where above the slot it said LETTER in English, "But John," he said, "It says 'Letter'." To which our tour guide quickly changed the subject.

In Xian we saw the famous Terra Cotta Warriors.  There is nothing I can say to describe the magnitude of these clay men.  There are thousands.  They all have different faces.  It is simply overwhelming.  Our guide in Xian (along with John) was CiCi.  CiCi lived in Xian all of her life and was eager to share her city.  On the way to the warriors she told us the story of their discovery:

A farmer was digging a well when at about six feet down, he unearthed a head.  He thought he had dug up the devil and he was frightened.  So, he called the government knowing they would know what to do.  And they did.  They moved him out and built him a new home and started excavating. . . then, because this farmer now had nothing to do. . .they gave him a job. 


He is at the gift shop everyday to meet people (but no pictures unless you pay) and autograph a book about the warriors and their history.  So, we met the farmer and bought the book and had him sign it.  I mean, how many times do you get THAT opportunity?  We even bought the new updated version.  We know this because there was a yellow burst in the upper left hand corner that said "NEW".

Days later as we cruised the Yangtze River, we took an excursion up stream on the Shennong.  It was beautiful, hilly, lush and green.  Monkeys scurried along the river's edge and farmers worked their land.  There were soaring cliffs and caves along the route and high in the crags from time to time were coffins - yes the kind that hold dead people.  These coffins were perched in the crags balanced on two pieces of bamboo.  They were, our guide said, two thousand years old.  Well, looking at the coffins and the bamboo supporting them, it just didn't stand to reason so Moondoggy asked, "So those coffins have been up there for 2000 years?"  The stream guide replied, "They weigh 500 pounds and have been up there for 2000 years.   No one knows how they got them up there but it is believed being up there allowed them to be closer to God."  Which is another interesting anomaly because most Chinese are Buddhist or Taoists so. . . .  There is a picture attached of the coffin.  I'll let you be the judge - does it look like it has survived 2000 years of time, weather and seismic movement?

When we returned home, we got together with our neighbors, who had been to China in the early 2000s, to compare the experience.  At one point, during a discussion of the Terra Cotta Warriors, our neighbor disappeared and returned with a book she bought and yep. that's right, had signed by the farmer who discovered the first warrior.  

Her book, too, had the yellow burst in the upper left hand corner and the word "NEW" splashed across it.  Moreover, when we compared signatures - they were different.  Makes me wonder how many "farmers" they have and how many shifts of autograph sessions they hold? 

Because this was a trip and not a vacation (remember - no beach and no cocktail) what did I learn?  Don't believe anything you hear and only half of what you see.


Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Bucket List: China or 17,000 steps through Beijing

The trip from California to Beijing was a two day ordeal that included a night in Chicago before a thirteen hour flight from Chicago to Beijing.  Chicago?  A chance to see at least one of my kids?  Hell, yes.  So, after a lunch with youngest son we headed for O'Hare and a 13 hour plane ride?  Most people shudder at the thought of thirteen hours in a plane - with good reason.  But, THIS was a Bucket List trip thus; we upgraded to First Class (thank goodness for frequent flier miles!) And, Oh My Gosh, the secrets they keep.  You can go online anywhere and get a look at the pods (here, let me help, First Class Pods) but what they don't tell you is you get to keep the pj's, slippers and toiletry bags and even the bedding, which includes sheets, pillows and blankets.  And along with the personal Purser, free flowing wine, booze and beverages. . . they offer HAND DIPPED ice cream sundaes with Haagen Daz ice cream.  It's possible they offer massage, manis and pedis as well, but it's a secret and I am now sworn to it.

So, thirteen hours later, we arrived in Beijing - and were met by our guide, John who informed us that the rest of the group would be arriving the next day.  They were, he said, a group of 14 who all knew one another.  This opened up many concerns we had not considered.  Who were they?  Where were they from? There were few western tourists in our hotel but there was a group of 14 Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority sisters that had arrived - which, if they were our group would have made for some interesting group photos (See link) and as the only male, might've made Moondoggy feel uncomfortable.  There was also a group from New Zealand -  elderly, walker-pushing Kiwi's which would make for a slow trip.  Judging by our itinerary there wasn't going to be much down time.

Imagine our relief when, the next morning we met our group and found they were a bunch of Kansas City Midwesterners. They claimed to by 70ish but I didn't buy it.  Fact is, these people out energied me by a long shot. Among them, one of them was a travel agent (which was helpful), one retired dentist, one retired school secretary (and we all know they REALLY run the schools) and 2 retired teachers (a staple in any travel group).  And as always, there was one who had a naughty streak and she toured the whole of China wearing heels.  Betts, whom I often referred  to as "Betts in Heels" was a retired ER nurse and she approached China like a crouching tiger.  I saw this woman climb the Great Wall, navigate the uneven brick walkways and slick modern squares in heels and always with a smile.  Seriously, these people were game for anything so I had put on my Big Girl Panties and go with the flow.  Which brings me to my first observation: It is a wonder that the Chinese are not a dehydrated culture.  On any given day, I consume a good gallon of water (I live in the desert).  Our hotel room offered a complimentary 16 oz bottle of water every day - an amount I drink before coffee in the morning.  They are very clear, DO NOT DRINK WATER FROM THE TAP thus; bottled water was a requirement and after your complimentary bottle, you can purchase from the mini bar another bottle at a cost of about $12 a bottle.  Uhh, no.  So our first mission was to find bottled water at what was a Chinese version of 7-11.  A gallon of water cost $3 so I bought 3 and lugged them back to the room.  And it's a good thing I did because the second surprise was that meals came with your choice of beer, wine or water. . . in a 6 oz glass.  BUT JUST ONE GLASS.  Asking for more totally threw the wait staff off their game - even when we were clearly willing to pay.  It became our running joke - anything you want to drink is included.. . but just one glass.

I knew I was going to like this group after our first tour day in Beijing.  We had walked the length of Tienanmen Square, explored the entire Forbidden City and walked along the Long Corridor (that's what it is called, really) of the Summer Palace, learned more Chinese History than was packed into an entire semester of school and walked a total of 7 miles by the end of the day (and all of it with Betts in heels).  We had about an hour and half to rest up and get ready for a Peking Duck dinner.  Most people would head back to their rooms but not this group. . .they headed to the bar.  Yep, we all got along just fine.


Friday, October 3, 2014

Bucket List: China

When my kids were growing up we tried fairly hard to give them a fully rounded life experience beyond the confines of Ogle County, Illinois.  We traveled often, trekking across the country to National parks, up and down both coasts, Alaska, Central America, the Caribbean and across Europe. We've snorkeled the Caribbean, zip lined through the rainforest, skied the Austrian Alps, climbed mountains, rode trains and flown in small 4 seater planes over glaciers.  In Europe we prided ourselves on navigating through the countries and their cities on our own.  We'd see the big tour buses pulling up to the sites, the people stumbling off wearing headphones and following their guide who usually carried an umbrella or a flag high in the air as they lead the line through the locale. We would snicker as we took our time, ambling on our own, feeling pity for the people forced to arrive and leave on a schedule. "I can't IMAGINE EVER traveling like that," I said, smug and self righteous.

We traveled to China recently; it was a tour.  We had a guide who carried a flag and we rode around on buses. We wore headsets that broadcast his running commentary on what we were seeing while we milled about the sites and we then we would get back on the bus.  In short, we were "those" people that I once loathed.  And you know what?  I'm not ashamed.

How was it? I never had to purchase an admission ticket.  I never had to stand in line to get in with the thousands of others who were visiting the same sights. I got detailed information on what I was seeing instead of having to stand at every sign and read the English translation. I didn't have to drive in the traffic nor navigate my way through a Chinese airport alone. And I never had to schlep my own luggage anywhere.  It was picked up from my room and reappeared at my next location without a hiccup - even when one of the flights was delayed by 13 hours.  That, alone, is worth its weight in rice. I can't imagine seeing all that we saw, flying around that country from city to city and cruising down the Yangtze without our guide.  His name was John and because of him, my view of guided tours has changed completely.  Well, it was him or I am just getting older.  The company was Avalon Waterways and yep, I'd do another tour with them.

My next several blog entries are going to be about this trip.  So, join me or not - it's up to you.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

You Can't Fight City Hall

When Moondoggy retired, he decided that in honor of leaving an atmosphere that was stress heavy and meticulous, he would endeavor to be kinder and gentler.  And, he will tell you he has been fairly successful, if you ask.  So, it was with a bit of shock that I watched him slowly get spun up about something as benign as a dog license.

As new residents in SoCal, we wanted to do what's right, be good citizens, and that included getting our two dogs properly licensed with the city.  So, after we took the dogs into the vet and got them all caught up on shots, we trotted across the street to the city hall to register them and get their licenses. Easy, right?  We had immediate proof of shots in hand, cash at the ready and the desire to do the right thing.  Except, that the city hall people don't care so much about the shots as they do about making sure the dogs are fixed.  For what it's worth, mine are both males and they have been neutered.  

The city hall employee, who, I am positive was sick the day they taught customer service at city hall school never even cracked a smile when she boldly said, 'I can't and won't license these dogs.  I need their official certification that they have been fixed."  Um, ok, how hard can that be, right?  They have been seen by the vet and she can confirm that have been neutered, so we trot back over and ask the vet for official certification of neutering.  The answer? "We can't give that to you because they weren't neutered here."  Moondoggy, still of the kinder and gentler demeanor says, "No, they were both neutered in Illinois but sense you have it on record here that they are in fact, unable to reproduce, can you give me something to take back to city hall?"  The simple answer was "no."  

Moondoggy has a vein the pops out of his forehead when he starts to get frustrated and it was throbbing by this point.  But, instead of getting worked up, we went home and called the vet in Illinois who happily volunteered to send whatever paperwork they had concerning our dogs.

That paperwork arrived yesterday so today we headed back to city hall ready to be good citizens.  Moondoggy waltzed in, proof of shots, and paperwork from Illinois that included the date and bill of Porter's( my 2 year old dog) surgery and a medical record for my 12 year old dog, Moose, that was labeled "neutered."  The same city hall lady who shunned us before took one look at the paper work and said, "those aren't official certificates of neutering."  Moondoggy kindly explained that Illinois does not have those certificates but this paperwork proved that both dogs had been fixed (one 12 years ago).  She glanced at them again and said that since there was a date of surgery and a bill that said "paid", she would license Porter because it proved we paid for it, but she could not license Moose.  The vein popped on Moondoggy's forehead but he took a deep breath and said,  "I don't have a receipt for a 12 year old surgery on my dog, but the paperwork clearly says he is neutered."  She indignantly drew herself up a few inches and replied as if it should be perfectly obvious, "But it doesn't show you paid for it."  The logic of that argument completely gobsmacked Moondoggy but he recovered brilliantly, "Ok," he said, "I need a one license for my dog Porter, please."  

"What," she asked, "about the other dog?"

"Moose?  I don't need a license for him, he's a cat."