For every down, an up

Needing a break from the failure of newspapers, hassles of health care and annoyances of unemployment, yesterday I took the bicycle out. My sister Michele and I had a great ride down the hill to Alki Beach, with its beautiful views of downtown Seattle on one side and the Olympic Mountains on the other, and enjoyed a nice fish-and-chips lunch at Sunfish.

Of course then it turned out that if you ride down to the beach you also have to pedal up the hill to get home. Still, all good.

A little exercise and fresh air on an usually pleasant, spring-like February afternoon. We agreed it was good day to not have a job.

Here are a few pics, beginning with Mich saddling up at my house.

President of Goofing Off

For Presidents Day today I took the day off, as usual, while Michelle went to work as usual. (I don't blame her; these holidays are good for getting some work done, and then you can save the day for another time.)

It was a pretty day here in West Seattle, and I was just getting ready to take the underused bike out for a spin when she called and suggested meeting at Than Bros. in the Junction for a bowl of pho. Yum, sounded good. I hopped on the ol' Giant, rode up the street and just beat her there by a couple of minutes.


Afterward, I coasted down California to Cupcake Royale, the girls' favorite hang, to see if they were around. I ran into Franny and Gina's friend Katy. They told me Gina had just left to walk down to the beach. They didn't feel like walking but were about to take the bus and meet her there.


By the way, Gina showed us a rough cut last weekend of "Stella," the not-quite-finished movie that she and Katy wrote and directed and that stars Katy, Franny and a bunch of their friends. Very impressive -- even better than I expected, and I figured it would be pretty good. Amazing the quality you can get with a regular video camera and the editing software that everyone seems to have now.

I can't wait for the final cut.

Jingle Bell Run!

About a block into this morning's Jingle Bell Run through downtown Seattle, on a slight incline up Fifth Avenue, I pulled out a stock M&M joke: "Who put this giant hill here?"

Franny, with the hubris of youth: "Dad, it's barely even a hill!"

That was the last time I saw her. She bounced off up ahead of me and disappeared into the sea of Santas, elves, penguins, gift boxes and other cleverly costumed runners.

No shock there. Last weekend, Fran joined Michelle and me for a one-mile practice run around our neighborhood -- or, really, she didn't join us, she just sprinted through the loop and waited for us back at the house. So this morning, before we started, I asked her if she was going to run with me or go fast and leave me in the dust.

"I'm not going to go fast," she said, "but I'll probably still leave you in the dust." Ho ho ho. Can you put a kid on the naughty list for telling the truth?

With the timing of a practical joker or old St. Nick himself, this year's Jingle Bell Run happened to coincide with what the Seattle Times might call "a significant weather event" -- snow, ice and, they tell us, the coldest temperatures forecast around here since 1990.


Truth is, the ultra-frigid temps haven't materialized yet, but Franny and I did wake up to several inches of snow and slick sidewalks and roads. We'd already paid our entry fee for the 5k run -- that's 3.1 miles to you and me -- and we weren't about to pass on the "free" long sleeve t-shirt. We scraped the snow off the car and headed into town. Gina and Michelle had contemplated joining us but thought better of it and stayed tucked snugly in their beds.

The Jingle Bell Run is a great event, one Michelle and I have run together a couple of times. Except for a few dedicated racers who get their own starting gun 10 minutes before everyone else, the focus is on fun, costumes and the spirit of the season, not on running. They hand out little jingle bells that everyone ties to their shoes, so the run lives up to its name. When the course enters a tunnel, runners spontaneously break into a group singalong, "... jingle all the way ..."

Now in its 24th year, the event is a fundraiser for the Arthritis Foundation, which expected to collect a quarter of a million dollars today. Runners go off in three groups. The serious competitors wear red number bibs and start first, followed by the vast throng of green-bib joggers like us, and then the white-bibbed walkers and baby strollers.

Without the pressure of keeping up with Franny, I slowed down, dropped back and stopped several times to walk or take pictures. Between the early hour, the icy patches, the crowd, the years, the gut and last night's gin (a key part of my training regimen), I probably only ran half the course. It was cold, but dressed in multiple layers I got warm fast, even at my slow pace.

At one point the course turns and doubles back on the same stretch of closed-down freeway express lanes, so I thought I might see Fran coming back the other way -- especially when I spotted a running gift box that started the race right next to us. But no. She was too fast and long gone by the time my straggler group hit the turnaround.

In fact I looked up eventually to see a bunch of white bibs around me -- the walkers! who started after we joggers! -- and decided I needed to kick it back into gear. I finished strong, by which I mean I jogged the last block or so to the finish line.

Afterward, panting and sweaty, I found Franny back at our meeting place, downstairs at Westlake Center. She was fully rested and told me excitedly about her adventure -- only stopped briefly once or twice, found herself competing with a little group around her -- and we drove home to an awesome "victory breakfast" of eggs, bacon and blueberry pancakes, by Michelle and Gina.

Very fun day.

JOA bowling night

Last night Michelle and I met my good friend Jim Simon for dinner, beers and some good old-fashioned newspaper war gamesmanship at the Garage, Seattle's retro-cool hipster pool hall and bowling alley. Jim is city editor at the Seattle Times.

I forgot to take a picture of the nice lanes, but maybe Michelle will upload one later.

One thing I noticed: Wii bowling is much easier than real bowling.

Between gutter balls I heard Michelle and Jim cooking up some antitrust-breaking scheme to save Seattle journalism. They got as far as agreeing that one paper should continue publishing in the morning and the other should be distributed free in the afternoon, but I don't think they ever decided which was which.

Settle the whole JOA thing with three lines of bowling and a best of seven 9-Ball tournament, and I like the P-I's chances.

Why do ...

... when you can overdo. That's one of Michelle's favorite expressions and it could be the official city motto of New Orleans, where it's almost impossible to say when. We've certainly had our fill here, and then some, during the excellent four-day New Orleans leg of Pie in the Sky II.

Oysters (lots of 'em), beignes (lots and lots of 'em), crawfish, music, alcohol, sightseeing, gambling, hanging out with friends, driving around looking for a parking place: We've done a lot of what this cool town has to offer, more than once. Very fun. But two weeks into the big road trip now and, honestly, we're kinda bushed.

Yesterday, Sunday, we spent another nice day at JazzFest. Totally different weather than Friday. Really hot, like 90, with huge crowds, pretty long lines and, still, people slipping around in the mud left over from the Friday and Saturday rains. We heard some good music. I especially liked the Rebirth Brass Band, the Raconteurs (Jack White's other band) and the excellent Neville Brothers set -- with a surprise guest appearance by Carlos Santana -- that closed out the festival to a beautiful sunset.

In honor of JazzFest and one of the big stages set up around the fairgrounds track, I've amended Michelle's expression to: Why do when you can fais do-do? That's funny to me, because I could never remember how to pronounce the Fais Do-Do stage (it's actually like "fay doh-doh," and named after a Cajun dance party). I've always said "fie dew dew," and Michelle teases me for being a know-nothing out-of-towner. So now I've made it official. Why do when you can fie do do.

This morning we played tennis with Freda and Sandyman (why do ...) before packing up and preparing now to hit the road for the next stop, Biloxi and Gulfport, Miss., where we hear there's good poker action.

Here are a few stray pics from the past few days.

Michelle at one of her favorite fast-food joints (this one in West Memphis, Ark.).

Entering Tennessee on Thursday morning.

We went to Beale Street, center of the Memphis blues nightlife scene, and both really liked it a lot. They had a big music festival scheduled for this past weekend and the lineup looked so good, including a lot of the acts from JazzFest, that we briefly considered putting off New Orleans and hanging out there instead. We both bought t-shirts from this Tater Reds place, and Michelle also picked up a cool painting from Mr. Red himself.

Memphis is also home to Stax Records, probably my favorite label. Instead of driving out to Graceland we made a short pilgrimage here, where Mavis Staples, Otis Redding, Al Green and many others made their classic recordings. Soulsville, USA! I loved it.

Crossing into Louisiana after a pretty drive south through Mississippi.

Michelle and her mom in the backyard of Freda's comfy home in Kenner, a New Orleans suburb. Freda's been a great host, putting us up for days and putting up with our late hours, constant eating and relentless search for neighbors' wireless connections. Also she cooked up some delicious crawfish etouffee, made her trademark Freda Salad and, just now, fried me up some post-tennis crabcakes. Hard to leave this place.

On Saturday Freda drove us out to a beautiful old plantation on the west bank of the Mississippi, Oak Alley. It was an interesting tour, full of history if a little detail-skatey about the whole slavery thing. The short version: In the early 1700s, some settler planted these 28 oak trees above in two long rows leading up to a little house. In 1836 some really rich dude bought the property, knocked down the house and had his slaves build the gorgeous mansion we toured to tempt his young party-girl wife out to the country from New Orleans. After the Civil War the place was abandoned and fell into disrepair. Some smart cat bought the whole shebang for $50,000 in the 1940s and spent another $60 thousand or so refurbishing it. When his widow died 15 years ago or so a foundation took the place over and now they maintain it by selling tours and doodads.

Also mint juleps, which I had never tried. But I figured how often am I going to be at a real Southern Plantation, with a veranda and a julep at the ready. Nice. I see why they got popular. We bought some bourbon and mint juice and made some more when we got home.

Pretty day yesterday at JazzFest. This was the Gentilly Stage, where we saw the Raconteurs.

The Neville Brothers (with Santana playing the red guitar), at the Acura Stage.


Last night we had dinner with Freda at Deanies, a seafood favorite hereabouts.


This morning's tennis group. Sandy and Freda let Michelle and me win two games before finishing us off 6 games to 2. I was shocked and proud, honestly, that we scored any points at all.

OK, time to go. See you on the Gulf Coast.

'Can't talk. In a tree.'

That was Franny, answering and hanging up her cell phone this afternoon all in one breath. We were hiking around Discovery Park, a big beautiful woods on Magnolia Bluff here in Seattle, and Franny really was climbing a tree, with Gina and Michelle.

"Who was that," Michelle asked.

"One of her five boyfriends," Gina said.

"Lars," Franny said. "And nuh-uh."

Ten seconds later the phone rang again. "Can't talk. In a tree." Snap.

Who was that?

"Nicky Nick."

Oh to be 13 and cool and beautiful.

It was a clear, crisp day, perfect for a walk around the park, which is an abandoned military base, Fort Lawton, with stunning views of Elliott Bay and the Olympic Mountains beyond. We had fun.

It's possible that Franny really doesn't have five boyfriends. Nobody else called.

I still went out too fast

I must've been over-excited by my cool new slow-jam workout mix. Still, as the easygoing music kicked in this afternoon I took my pace down and wound up feeling pretty good -- remarkably good, really, considering that I'm two days into my latest round of chemo.

The first few songs that came on -- shuffled randomly from the 85 or so I copied into the playlist -- were "Talking Old Soldiers," by Bettye LaVette; "There We Are," by James Taylor; "Don't Give Up," by Peter Gabriel; and "Body and Soul," by Billie Holiday, the one that gave me the idea.

Everything on the list isn't jazz or easy listening, though there's plenty of that. There's also some down-tempo Springsteen, Dylan, Angie Stone, Tom Waits, Pink Floyd and more. My only rules in picking the music were that they had to be songs I like but not so fast or rockin' that they might show up on "Guitar Hero."

I don't want to inadvertently get into shape.

Workout music

I noticed a couple things lately on the subject of listening to music while exercising, including this popular story in the New York Times and a new iTunes page devoted to workout mixes. The point always seems to be about what you'd expect: If you want to run faster, lift heavier or treadmill longer, crank some heartbeat-bumping rock or techno or hip-hop; doesn't much matter as long as it's fast. The idea is that your body will naturally tend to keep pace with the beat.

A typical quote from the NYT story:

Allison Goldberg, a 39-year-old life coach and amateur runner who lives in Texas and who is training for the Houston Marathon on Sunday, has been running to the Green Day CD “American Idiot” because, she said, “There’s no way you can run slow to Green Day.”

The "Lance Armstrong: Run Longer" mix at iTunes, with an average customer rating of four and a half stars, is full of headbangy stuff you might find on "Guitar Hero": Wolfmother, Audioslave, Weezer, Queens of the Stone Age ...

Rock on and everything, but I noticed on my short run just now that I may be better off going the other way.

I don't run very far or very fast these days, only a mile or so every other day at a pace I'm too mortified to write down. But I've been a regular runner for a long time, and until a year ago or so I went much faster and often farther. One of my biggest problems now is that out of habit or muscle memory or just plain stubbornness I start out running too fast and then poop out before I finish even my pathetic little course.

Today, though, halfway through my run, Billie Holiday's "Body and Soul" came onto my Shuffle and I found that it really helped. The previous random tunes had been something by Prince and some up-tempo Sheryl Crow song, just the kind of stuff the experts would recommend. But I almost involuntarily slowed down to match Billie's languor and -- wow! -- my breathing evened out, I felt better, and I finished the run stronger than I have lately or than I likely would have otherwise.

I'm thinking about experimenting with an all-slow mix. Maybe I'm in shape enough to get through one entire Pink Floyd song.

(Photo Credit: © Herman Leonard)

He's just old and red and sweaty

It's a chilly but very pretty day today, and it's my last afternoon before a week of chemo, so I decided to try to stretch out my normal mile-long run and go a bit longer. But I ran out of gas and had to walk the last few blocks back to the house.

So I'm staggering along the sidewalk, trying to catch my breath, when a little girl, about 3 or 4, emerges from behind a gate followed by her mother. The girl looks at me then turns around and says something I can't hear to her mom. I see the woman look at me and then back down at the daughter and, over the Talking Heads blaring in my earbuds, I hear her say, "No honey, he's not weird."

I was out of earshot before she finished the explanation.