Maiden Voyage

I shook the owner’s hand. "Text me when you get to Seattle !" She said. "I’m excited for you guys!" She pushed us off from the dock and threw me the bow line. The engine was warmed up, so with Andy on the tiller we backed up and started out on our journey.

Andy, John and I were headed from the marina of Port Angeles, Washington, to the Fremont Tug Boat Co on North Lake Union in Seattle. It was an 80 mile trip, and we had a chart of Puget Sound, several gallons of water, a cooler with turkey, crackers, chocolate and beer, and some other gear, including a propane tank and some ropes.

There were three of us. John was the most experienced sailor among us. He has a Laser and a 19-foot sailboat but he hasn’t done much distance sailing on larger boats. He had never dropped anchor or been through the locks. Nevertheless, I trusted him with my life. Andy is another useful person. He has experience fixing his jeep and he knows about motors and other mechanical things. He also is a lifeguard and has first aid and CPR certifications. He hasn’t really sailed since his sailing class sophomore year at Bainbridge High though.

And me? I’ve sailed my grandparents sunfish at their cottage a couple of times. I’ve ridden on my uncle’s sailboat on a tiny lake in Pennsylvania. In other words, I’m pretty much an expert. The first time I went to see my sailboat, the owner told me to take it out for a spin. I somehow managed to clear the slip. Then I ended up overstearing and doing a full 360 right in front of the fuel dock. A power boat drifting by joked to me, "Are you sure you have your boating license?" While attempting to dock the boat on the way back, I accidentally knocked the boat into neutral and almost drifted into another boat. Somehow (i.e. – with the help of a guy in a power boat who pulled me to the dock, and another sailor who grabbed my bow line and tied me up) I got the boat safely docked before the owner arrived. Naturally, I was confident that I could sail the boat 80 miles across open water.

The forecast told us that Saturday’s winds would be blowing at only 3 miles per hour, but thankfully they kept up at around 6. We were headed downwind, so John showed us how to jerry rig the jib open with a pole on port while the mainsail went out to starboard and keep the boat balanced directly in the center, thus catching more wind. We were flying across the sparkling sound, the dinghy tied to the back bouncing along the waves behind us. I turned the battery on and looked for a station on the radio. The only stations available were either arabic music or talk radio, so we settled for Arabic music and John and I bellydanced around the boat. The weather was sunny and perfect for sailing. Andy thought he saw an orca’s fin. He pointed it out and we kept watch until it surfaced again. There was definitely something there, whether orca or not I don’t know.

At 6pm we were still making good time. We’d passed Port Townsend and decided to cross over to Whidbey Island. Andy was asleep in the hold. The waves were getting choppier, and I asked John if I could take the tiller again. By now, the air was colder and I was dressed in long underwear, an underarmor shirt, and a complete set of rain gear, as well as a hat and sunglasses. The boat rolled in and out of the waves and I played with the tiller. There’s nothing like sailing a boat with the wind in the sails and the motion of the waves under the boat. And not just any boat. This was my boat and I was the captain. I was smiling ear to ear.

The sun was starting to set and the wind and waves were getting wilder. I had decided to anchor by the Keystone Ferry at Admirality Bay, since that looked like the most sheltered area on the map. The waves were pulling us toward Whidby Island, but the winds were pushing us in the opposite direction. Suddenly, the waves stopped and the ocean went almost surreally calm. The setting sun behind us cast a golden glow. We drifted along for a bit before I realized that this wind, or lack of wind, wasn’t going to get us to Admirality Bay by nightfall. "Maybe we should just anchor there," I said to John, pointing at the cliffs. "That looks somewhat sheltered."

I told John to get the anchor ready as we sailed in. There was a large anchor, two small ones, and a laundry basket full of rope – 200 feet of it. John sorted it out, took the jib down, and dropped the anchor. Just then, the waves picked up and the boat started to rock wildly again. Andy woke up and came out of the cabin rubbing his eyes. He exclaimed at the beauty of the setting sun, by now a ruby red sliver falling into a silver cloud. I didn't give him a chance to admire the spectacular sunset though, because I was nervous about being blown into the cliffs.

"Could you take down the mainsails? We just to dropped anchor."

Andy complied, sleepily fumbling with the ropes. I looked up to see the piece that goes in the top of the mainsail swinging in the wind. "Grab that!" I shouted.

"Grab what?"

"That!"

Andy looked up but it was too late. We’d lost the main halyard (the rope that pulls the mainsail up the mast). The boat was rocking back and forth in the waves and there was no way we could reach it. The boat also seemed to be being pulled by the tide toward the cliffs.

"This really isn’t a sheltered area," said Andy. We all agreed. I hadn’t wanted to use the motor at all, but it was almost dark and Admirality Bay was still a couple of miles away. Besides, the next morning we were somehow going to have to retrieve that piece.

We reached Admirality Bay after an hour or so of motoring in the dark and the cold. We passed the ferry dock and I found a spot behind what must have been an abandoned pier. I dropped the anchor from the bow, letting the chain and then the rope slip through my fingers. Finally, we were anchored and safe. We went below deck and started to prepare for bed.

I had taken my rain gear off and was shivering under a blanket, trying to get warm. John was peeing off the back of the boat when we heard him shout down to us : "Uh, guys...why are we not where we were? We’re really really far from where we were."

We ran up the stairs to to take a look. The boat had been pulled by the current, anchor and all, about 100 yards from where we had been. We were directly in the path of the ferry. The ferry was just appearing, a white dot on the horizon.

"What do you want to do?" John asked. "I suggest that we sail into the harbor."

I nodded in assent and Andy took the tiller. We started to head in. On the map, there looked like there might be a harbor entrance behind the ferry dock. Unfortunately, as we got closer we didn’t see any harbor entrance and realized that what looked like a harbor on the map was actually an enclosed lake with no entrance.

"Doesn’t look like there’s anything here." I said. "You should turn around."

"Too late!" Shouted Andy. The ferry was right behind us, a white monster with a blaring horn.

"Pull in here," John said, gesturing toward the boat ramp on the side of the ferry area.

We pulled out of the ferry’s way and spun the boat around. There was a boat ramp with a sort-of dock. John and I jumped off the boat and tied it to the dock. It wasn’t hard for us to make the decision to stay docked there for the night. There was a sign that said "30 minute docking only", but I figured that the coast guard would let us be for the night, especially since we were having some technical difficulties. Finally, finally we were able to go down to the cabin and get under the warm blanket. Out of harm’s way, it was actually quite funny. I started to doze off. Then I heard John’s voice again.

"Uh guys? I think the tide is going out and I can hear the keel scraping on the gravel."

Once again, we jumped up. This time I valiantly let the two men drag us a bit further down the dock into deeper water as I stayed below deck with the blanket wrapped around me. I checked my phone. It was midnight. I turned my phone off. The gentle creaks of the boat, the fenders hitting the dock, and the swoosh of the tide were the only sounds. Oh, and Andy and John snoring.

I was in the main v-berth, and I’d taken the canvas off of the skylight above me. Since we were out of the way of other boat traffic, I’d turned the anchor light off to save batteries, and the only light came from the moon. And the blue and red flashing of police lights. Police lights ? Oh no, the coast guard had come for us. I heard loud voices and footsteps on the dock and jumped up. "Don’t give me a parking ticket," I was thinking in my head. "Please don’t give me a parking ticket!" We pulled back the hatch and poked our heads up. There were two coast guard boats and a small motor boat. The motor boat was tying up on the other side of the dock, and two men in their fishing jackets were stomping around looking frustrated. From their conversation, we caught on that they had just been rescued. The coast guard motored away, and once again and for the last time I closed the cabin door and went back to bed.

The next morning, John woke us up with an annoying morning person smile. I couldn’t be too angry at him though, because I was also somewhat of a happy annoying morning person this morning. I was a new boat owner, and thrilled to be alive on a foggy, chilly morning in the Pacific Northwest.

I pulled Andy out of bed and we rummaged through the boat’s extra gear until we found the mast-climbing harness. John climbed the mast first and brought the main halyard down. Holding it, I saw what was wrong. The cleat didn’t close all the way, so when I’d rigged the mainsail I probably hadn’t gotten it all the way closed, and a couple of jerks from Andy taking the sail down had been enough to set it free. Thankfully, a quick squeeze from John’s leatherman fixed it. Unfortunately, John had brought the line down on the wrong side of the spreaders. We tried to tie it to another rope and pull it back up, but that didn’t work, so Andy climbed the mast and threw it down the correct side. It was fixed. There was a little cafe above the dock, and they turned the "open" sign on just then, so we went in and had some coffee and breakfast sandwiches. The power boaters from the night before were there too, and they told us their story. The motor had died and they’d been adrift, floating toward Port Townsend in the dark, so they’d had to call the Coast Guard to come rescue them. This morning they’d realized that the only problem with their engine was the ground to the battery, which had come loose. They’d fixed it themselves, after paying the coast guard $640 for a rescue.

The fog gradually rolled away as we sailed south toward Seattle. We arrived at the locks around 7pm. I was terribly nervous for this part, as I’d heard horror stories of ships coming untied and damaging other boats as the water rushed into the lock. Before the locks, there was a drawbridge. The sailboat ahead of us sailed in just fine, and the drawbridge opened up for it. It went down again before we arrived though, so we sailed in circles, confused as to why it wouldn’t open for us. A couple of power boats passed us. I was getting more and more nervous about us either running the mast into the bridge or hitting the wharves on either side. We couldn’t just spin in circles for forever. John suggested that maybe we needed to blow a horn. I thought maybe we needed to radio somebody. "No, I think we need an audible signal," John assured me, pointing to the sign that said we needed an audible signal. The sailboat and motor boats that had gone ahead had already entered the lock and were lining up. We were still on the wrong side of the drawbridge.

I tried making horn sounds with my mouth, but nothing happened. I went below deck and looked around for a bit. In a stroke of genius, I thought to look under the flares in the cupboard above the ice box. Sure enough, there was a funny looking kazoo-like metal instrument, a bit rusty but usable. John blew on it a couple times to blow the dust out. Then he took a deep breath and blew a loud "toot!" and just like that, the drawbridge opened. We went through and into the locks. It wasn’t difficult at all. We tied ropes around cleats on our port side, the gates closed behind us, and we and the three other boats in the lock gradually rose higher as the water slowly trickled in. Tourists all around us stared and pointed. We waved. It felt a bit like being in the zoo. The woman on the sailboat ahead of us gave the lock attendant a bag of chocolate coins. Then the gates on the other side opened and one by one we motored out into the brackish water of Lake Union. There were two more drawbridges before Fremont, so I got a chance to toot the horn a couple more times. Finally, we were home. Except that I’d never left home. Like a turtle, I’d carried my home with me for 80 miles. The sunset was red over the Seattle skyline, promising a beautiful morning.

Boat Naming Contest

So that's it! I have my very own boat. I'll give more details in a bit. First things first though, I need a good name for her. And not just any name. I've decided that I want the name to be a computer science pun. For instance, a friend suggested "Sea++", "Sea#", or "C Shell." The dinghy also needs a name (preferably something that matches). To up the stakes, the person who thinks of the best name for the sailboat or the dinghy gets to christen them at the boat christening party on August 4th.

To help you out, the boat is a 1974 29' Ericson with light blue trim and green sail covers. The sails are white and the spinnaker is blue and yellow.

The Most Beautiful Person in the World

I'm sitting in a café, getting frustrated with writing some JavaScript on a website that I've been working on. Every time this happens I get angsty. "I can't program. I'm just a dumb artsy person. I should have stuck to painting." I start to feel self-pity. What if I had gone to school for computer science? I would be miles ahead of where I am now. I'm the worst JavaScripter in Seattle and I know it. One irrational angst leads to another. What if none of my plans work out? What if I can't get a boat? What if I never move up in the world and stay in the same job forever? Suddenly the most beautiful person in the world walks in. She is about 5'2", maybe 25 years old, and has dyed red hair in a mullet and a spiky nose ring and two lip rings. She is wearing a hoody and ripped jeans. She is there with her date. He is a boy, about 14 years old, in a red raincoat that is too big for him. He walks trippingly and almost falls over himself as she guides him to his seat. "Do you want some tea?" she asks gently. Her voice is so gentle. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he puts his head down on the table and covers himself up with the big red sleeves of his red rain jacket. She pushes his tea toward him. He doesn't move.

"Do you want something else?" She asks. He still doesn't reply. "I'll get you something else." She gets up and goes to the counter and orders him a parfait. While she is there, he sits up with a mischievous smile on his face, and starts to laugh, a deep throaty laugh, as he drinks her tea. I'm laughing too. He puts his head back in his arms when she comes back.

"You did want tea," The most beautiful person in the world smiles. "I brought you a parfait. Do you want this?" Again, he doesn't move. "Do you want to see the fire?" She goes over and lights the gas fire in the back of the cafe. He looks up, attentive. He walks over to look at the fire, murmuring. She keeps talking to him. Slowly, he starts to talk back, mostly nonsense, sometimes laughter. He eats the parfait hungrily. I can't stop watching them. It looks like she is the babysitter, or the caretaker. But she genuinely cares for this boy.

I remember another night, a couple of days ago, when I was headed out dancing around 1am on Capital Hill. It was raining. A middle aged homeless woman was sitting in the dirt crying and a guy my age got off his bike to sit next to her. I couldn't stop staring. Usually in Seattle people shove homeless people out of the way, or else ignore them. But he was crouched in the dirt next to her, talking to her and she was nodding. He helped her to stand up. I couldn't stick around and watch, because I had to go dancing. Something about this scene sticks with me though. I have just come from a party of laughing, smiling, genuinely happy people wearing their finest clothes with their hair and makeup done to perfection. But here, in the mud on a street corner, I just saw the most beautiful person in the world.

In the cafe, I go back to the JavaScript problem. I forget my angst. I stop comparing myself to my friends. I think about the finished product - the kids who will be playing with this website when it is finished. Maybe someone like this 14 year old boy in the red rain jacket will enjoy playing with it. I catch his eye and smile. He laughs, covers his eyes, and turns away. Then he peeks back at me and I laugh too.

Just Focus Part 1

Like most members of my generation I have a terrible attention span. I have been known to be literally distracted by squirrels while trying to carry on a...SQUIRREL!I need all the help I can get with focus, especially when I have 50 tabs open in front of me on my work computer as well as my phone buzzing on my desk.

Besides yoga and distance running (there’s nothing like a long run to clear your head), my number one focusing tool right now is called a pomodoro. I discovered the pomodoro technique about a year ago, and occasionally use it when working on something that is time sensitive. Last week I realized that my productivity at work could use a boost. My outside life was distracting me from focusing, and my mind kept getting pulled away from my tasks by non-work related calls, texts, facebook messages and emails. So I did a quick search for a pomodoro app, and finally downloaded an app called “pomodroido.” http://www.pomodroido.com/

Smart phones are funny things. They can enhance your focus or they can destroy it. My phone was both the cause of my problems (the messages never stop) and the answer (my productivity apps now keep me on task).

So what is a pomodoro? From the Pomodoro Technique website:

1. Choose a task to be accomplished
2. Set the Pomodoro to 25 minutes (the Pomodoro is the timer)
3. Work on the task until the Pomodoro rings, then put a check on your sheet of paper
4. Take a short break (5 minutes is OK)
5. Every 4 Pomodoros take a longer break (10 minutes is good)

Anyway, I started using pomodoros at work. I experimented with different lengths (for instance, working for 40 minutes and taking a 10 minute break) before deciding to stick with the default. For now, 30 minutes seems to be my maximum attention span. Even that was a bit much for the first week - it was a real effort to get to the end of the pomodoro without being distracted. Also, five minutes is not very long for a break. That’s barely enough time to pick your nose and check your favorite blog.

I feel like my focus has definitely gone up after two weeks of using these though. I’m almost ready to go up to a thirty minute pomodoro. The best thing that this does is that it minimizes the time I spend doing useless things like checking my email. If I get new mail during a pomodoro, instead of being pulled away from my task to check it I consciously choose to ignore it until the pomodoro is finished. My email can wait for 25 minutes. It’s not going anywhere. It could probably even wait for an hour to check my email, but I haven’t yet achieved that level of patience and focus.

I also realized that bigger chunks of time, like an entire day, can be used in a similar fashion. Rather than constantly juggle every detail of my life, I can set aside certain days to work on certain things. For instance, I can have a “personal finance day” once a month where I make sure that all my bills have been paid. Or I could have a “chores” day like my parents had when I was growing up, where I do household chores like vacuuming and laundry. Days have been traditionally set aside for different chores, as proven in this old English poem:

Wash on Monday,

Iron on Tuesday,

Bake on Wednesday,

Brew on Thursday,

Churn on Friday,

Mend on Saturday,

Go to meeting on Sunday.

Thankfully, we live in an awesome time when we don’t have to spend an entire day washing (or go to meeting on Sunday) but dividing weeks like this could certainly help with focus. Here is a modern version of the poem that fits my lifestyle better:

Build websites and climb on Monday,

Go to track practice or duck dodge and pay bills on Tuesday,

learn Windows 8 and go salsa dancing on Wednesday,

Run, climb and study app design at the library on Thursday,

Climb, party and network on Friday,

Leave town on Saturday,

Come home and take a nap on Sunday.

It’s not really as catchy as the original poem but it certainly reflects my more modern life.

Historically, humans have always divided their lives into smaller portions and even though these portions, like minutes, hours and weeks, have nothing to do with the seasons or the stars, they make sense. Whether you use a traditional seven day week or a ten day week (like they created during the French Revolution) or an eight day week like the early Romans (or the Beatles), dividing your time into weeks helps to create a certain structure and routine, which can help to make your life more organized. Of course, sometimes I do cheat on the pomodoros.

The Power of No

One of the greatest luxuries about being an adult is that nobody can tell you what you can't do. Nobody can say "Monica, it's a week night. You shouldn't stay up late working on that stupid business idea because you have to wake up at 5am tomorrow and that's two hours from now." or " Monica, you have a sinus infection. You shouldn't go running tonight, and then go to an absinthe tasting, and then go Salsa Dancing until 3am." It's also one of the most difficult things, at least for me. If there's nobody to tell me what I can't do, I end up doing everything at once.  Especially coming from a small town, the excitement of being invited to three or four events every night is a little overwhelming.

Which is why I am learning that I never HAVE to do anything. Another one of the greatest luxuries of being an adult is the power to say "No." "No," as in: "No, I'd rather not go to your cocktail party/windsurfing/Las Vegas. I would prefer to stay in tonight and read a book."

I think a lot of people forget that they have this basic human right.  You can say "no" to all sorts of things. You can even say "no" to work. You're sick. You're stressed. It's a beautiful sunny day out. You've been working hard all month. Say no to work and take a sick day. That's what they were designed for.

If you work for yourself, you can even say no to a client. "No," as in: "No, I'm not going to build this website for you because I already have a full work schedule. If you'd like, feel free to get on my wait list, but otherwise here's x's number - she's a great web designer also and would be happy to do this for you."

Conversely, you can also say no to social events because work is more meaningful to you. "No," as in: "No, I love hanging out with you but I also have an awesome job and I want to get a good night's sleep so that I can change the world one day at a time."

There's a whole list of other things you can say "No" to.

Say "No" to stress. Why worry? Things will either get done or they won't get done, but being stressed won't help.

Say "No" to your peers putting you down. If somebody says, "Monica, I can't believe it's already June and you don't live on a boat yet," I will reply: "go fry your head in a microwave," as I was taught to say in grade school. I do things in my own time.

Say "No" to people asking for more of your time than you want to give them. Some people are very needy. Just remind them gently that they need to find other friends because you aren't willing to be there for them at all times.

Say "No" to anything that bores you. Say "No" to people who sap your energy. Say "No" to situations that might become awkward. Say "No" to anything or anyone that doesn't challenge you. Say "No" to events that will be fun but that you can't enjoy because your schedule is already overbooked. Say "No" when you are tired. Say "No" when you really just want some alone time.

You never HAVE to do anything. Everything in life is a choice, so follow what excites you and keep growing.

50 Days of Morning Yoga

When I don't feel like biking to work, I carpool every now and then with one of my coworkers, Drew. About a month ago we were talking about stress back problems and I encouraged Drew to try yoga. A week ago, I rode to work with him again and he seemed extremely satisfied. "Thanks so much for suggesting that I try yoga," he gushed. "I've been doing fifteen minutes every morning for the past week and it's totally changed my outlook on life."

I felt like an idiot. Do as I say, not as I do. I hadn't done a lick of yoga in over a month and my lifestyle hasn't been exactly zen. In fact, I'm such a doer that the things that I do, which started out as enjoyable outlets for my excess energy, have started to cause more stress than joy. Even hanging out with friends sometimes feels like a chore - I'm thinking about the next task while I'm with them and I'm wishing I were at home working on my projects instead of with them. And once I get home, as I work on my projects, I start thinking about work the next day and worrying about how tired I'm going to be. This creates an endless cycle of worry, since I can't keep up with myself anymore. My tasks have taken over my life. That's when I have to stop and regroup.

I can handle a huge number of tasks as long as I stay in the moment during each of them and give each my all. For instance, when I go sailboat racing I have to be focused solely on getting the most out of the boat's sails, training my muscle memory to jibe and tack, and if I have a free second, enjoying the wind in my face and the salt air of the sound. I can't be thinking about the fact that I have rock-climbing in an hour, or that I'm going dancing after that. In other words, I have to FOCUS ON THE TASK AT HAND.

The best way to do that is the one I always preach to friends and haven't been following myself: 15-30 minutes of yoga before work in the morning. For the next 50 days I've decided to challenge myself to get back into it. Feel free to follow along if you like - I'd love to hear about your experiences doing 50 days of yoga. I'm right at that swing in the moving process where the adrenaline of a new place and new friends starts to wear off and the stress of the daily grind starts to set in (if you let it). But I won't let it.

Tomorrow can worry about its own problems. I'm going to stay in the moment.

Running Revisited

After going through hell at the 30K on Saturday (and not winning anything) I decided not to skip running practice anymore. That meant that Tuesday I went to "Getting Back on the Track" with the Antifreeze running group. It was pouring rain so there were only a few of us there. On a good day there are ten or fifteen people. We did six 800s. I've been getting queezy every time I run track. I'm not sure if it's motion sickness or if it's caused by my diet or drinking too much coffee at work or something else. It usually hits at about the middle of track practice, and I slow down because I feel like my guts are about to burst. I try to hang on, even though I fall to the back of the pack. I've tried running with my eyes half closed, staring at the sky, eating less at lunch and not drinking coffee. So far nothing has helped. Maybe I just need to do more track practices. I've been skipping for the past couple of weeks because things like Duck Dodge get in the way. If anybody knows any tips for not getting sick while running track, please let me know!

SSW (Matt Winberry's acronym) was there as always, keeping up a good pace. At the end of practice, he asked me and Tony, "Do you want to run Ragnar?" and we both said yes without a minute of thought. So now we're signed up for this. Something to train for. Which meant that tonight, even though I was exhausted from Wednesday night "tapering" (swing dancing in Bellingham most of the night and waking up at 4am to make it to work on time) I woke from my post-work power nap to get to Road Runner Sports "First Thursday Adventure Run" run by 7pm. This was my first time at a First Thursday, and I didn't realize what a big deal it was.  First Thursday Adventure Runs are scavenger hunts where you run from business to business claiming prizes and raffle tickets. I was ten minutes late, but there was still a huge crowd gathered outside of Road Runner Sports. They seemed to be a lot more festive than the usual Thursday group is pre-run. I realized that everyone had cups of beer and handfuls of raffle tickets. A large percentage were wearing blue "First Thursday" t-shirts. I managed to find Matt and Tony in the crowd and asked them what was going on.

"Hey guys, where did you get the raffle tickets?"

"Monica, where have you been? We got the tickets on the run of course. They hand them out on the scavenger hunt"

"The run? You guys ran already?"

"Yeah, this started at 5pm"

Wow. I was two hours late. Tony went to get another beer and handed me his tickets. The organizer was rapidly reading out the raffle winners and I tried to keep up. They were giving away t-shirts, backpacks, shoes and all sorts of sports goodies. I felt pretty disappointed that I'd missed out on all this awesome. I would have to wait another month for the next one. Suddenly I heard the announcer say "Monica...Monica Simone..."

"Hey, that's you!" Matt nudged me. They had drawn my name from a hat. Somehow I had won something even though I was two hours late and hadn't participated in the Adventure Run. I squeezed through the crowd and claimed my prize - $160 towards a new pair of Asics, $25 at Irwins Coffee Shop, and entries to six summer races! Apparently since I had RSVPd online they had drawn my name from the pool of RSVPers. Now I get to run six races AND Ragnar!

Sometimes just showing up is the whole battle.

I did go for a five mile jog later that night - just me and the lake breeze and the shadowy figures of lovers strolling around Greenlake, whispering in the trees. Running, I've missed you.

Home is Where Your Family Is

The worst thing about flying East is that you lose hours. I boarded a plane at 6am Friday morning, took a six hour nap, and when I woke up it was already 3pm and I was in Philadelphia. The weather there was balmy and muggy. English has the strangest words to describe weather. Philadelphia wasn’t the end of my journey as I still had a four hour bus ride to State College. Also, I had to catch my bus, which I wasn’t entirely sure how to do. I’m pretty sure the expression 'fly by the seat of your pants' was created with me in mind. Luckily I had my handy dandy android to tell me what train to catch to take me to the bus station where I needed to be in half an hour. What did people do before smart phones ? I guess they actually figured out where they were going before boarding the plane. I took another nap on the bus home. Thankfully nobody was there to take pictures, since I think I was drooling. I woke up to a downpour and the driver announcing that we were half an hour late, which gave me just enough time to think about how I would describe my time in Seattle to my parents. I went over everything I had done since moving to Seattle…

The day I arrived at my new home, a little over a month ago, the sun was glinting off Lake Washington. I had to be at work the next afternoon to sign some papers, but since my job didn’t start until April 23rd I had a whole week to rest up, run, and meet friends. I didn’t realize then how much I would need that extra rest. The group of runners I met that week (via meetup) would lead directly or indirectly to me meeting every single friend I have met so far in Seattle (other than my coworkers).

On my first Sunday I travelled to eastern Washington for my cousin’s track meet and saw grey velvet hills, scrubby tumbleweeds and lone ranches that I had only read about in books. The next weekend I found myself climbing in Leavenworth after a full weekend of partying (and a lovely pause on Saturday where I went to the farmer’s market and helped a friend cook an amazing vegan meal). Monday was my first day of work… After Monday, things started to accelerate like a…well, like a rolling stone. I convinced five people to take off their clothes and jump into Green Lake with me. I went to a party at the Corinthian Yacht Club and then dressed up to make an appearance at Bonza Bash on the same night. I travelled up and down Puget Sound looking at boats and learning how to determine what boat to buy. I signed up for sailboat racing lessons and got a membership at Vertical World climbing gym. I went to a Sounder’s game, went sailing in Bellingham, skied at Steven’s pass on the last day of ski season, stayed up all night dancing with my friends Scott and Adan, joined a yacht club, went to a party on a boat and jumped into Puget Sound afterwards, led a project at Startup Weekend, went to my first Duck Dodge, and networked at Girl Power Hour. I managed to get around Seattle without a car and only lost my bike a couple of times (and then found it again). I started an exercise fad at work, learned how to throw a frisbee (only got one bloody nose in the process) and tried slacklining. I planned a weekend trip to Smith Rock with my coworker Andy, went to see my cousin tapdance in his highschool play, and finally headed home for this weekend’s double feature – 30K and wedding in one day. At the wedding, my friend’s great Aunt Ruthie told me "I’m 75. I wish that I could live to be four hundred and seventy five because there is SO much to do!" I think I know what she means.

I've done a lot since I've been in Seattle, but isn't what I've done that makes Seattle the best city in the US as far as I'm concerned. It's the friends I've made. If I hadn't met those friends, Seattle would have been just another chilly, rainy city. Because I met them, Seattle is now home and they are my surrogate family.

Of course, I love being with my real family also. I woke up in my parent’s house Sunday morning to the smell of eggs and bacon. The sun was shining outside and everything was as it should be. Things never change in State College. We had a family breakfast where they told me about our dog Mungo’s new affinity for rabbit-catching. She’s five years old and she just learned how to catch rabbits. She is so excited by it that apparently she sneaks out of the house when my parents aren’t looking and runs away to track them. Most of the time she tracks them backwards though, so she’s sniffing in one direction while the lucky rabbit happily hops off in the other direction.

"Are you sure you have everything?" My mom asked me about twenty times before I left. "Yes, certain. I’m a travelling expert." "Hah!" My Dad scoffed. "A travelling expert? Remember that time in Mexico City when you threw away the stamp you needed to leave the country and we had to sprint across the airport to try to get a new one?" That’s the problem with parents. They never forget all of the embarrassing things you did. "That was six years ago Dad! I’ve learned since then!" I protested. But in the car on the way to the bus stop I suddenly realized that I didn’t have my passport. I jumped into the back of the van and started tearing my luggage apart. I found the missing passport inside of a notebook in my suitcase, where it had fallen and gotten wedged between the pages.

When we got to Philly the megabus driver couldn’t find a place to park so he yelled to us as he circled the block, "Y’all think you can jump out right quick and grab yo bags ?" I was the only person who shouted "yeah!" The driver parked illegally in a city bus lane, shooed us out and started to throw us our bags. "Quick people, grab yo bags and get outta here!" He shouted. "Y’all don see no po-lice comin? Grab dem bags!"

I was taking my sewing machine, snowboard accessories and snowboard back to Seattle with me so I checked them in at the counter at the airport. Or rather, I tried to check them in. When the concierge asked how I would be paying for them, I replied "credit" and opened my wallet to discover that the credit card slot was empty. I suddenly remembered that my credit card had been left in my parents car when I’d deposited some checks at the drive-through ATM that morning. "Uh…um…uh…." I stuttered. "Er, I have to make a phone call." I took my bags off the scale and moved out of the way as I dialed my parents. They must have been taking their Sunday afternoon nap because the phone rang and rang and nobody answered. I must have looked distressed because the concierge took compassion on me. "Do you have any cash? How much do you need? I’ll pay for them." The concierge, Vee, and I are now friends on facebook and I promised him a snowboarding lesson when he comes to Seattle. I still didn’t have a credit or a debit card, and I wasn’t sure how I would pay for the light rail to get home. Five minutes later, my phone rang. Another friend was  calling. "Hey, I was just thinking of you," he said.  "Do you need a ride home from the airport ?" "Uh, yes actually."

Later I found my credit card in my checked bag. Oops.

Rothrock Challenge

Everything ached as I threw one leg after the other in front of me in a lopsided shuffle-run. "Monica, the faster you run this, the faster you can take a nap at the end," I told myself. I sped up, despite the forty-five degree angle of the hill. Then I stopped, gasping, and walk lopingly up the remainder of the hill. I had lost my fellow Rec Hall Regular, Jim, on the first painful 1,200 foot climb at the beginning of the race, and Meira Minard, reigning champion of Rothrock Challenges, was already in the lead, so I found myself in a pack of random runners. I imagined Jim and Meira soaring ahead of me and I felt like crying with frustration. The alternate joy of knowing I was doing my best and anguish of knowing that my best wasn't going to win me a medal today was messing with my head. I hate not winning. I had entered this race hoping to win at least something, but exhaustion from jet lag had worn me out. At least that's what I told myself. I jogged along, making a thousand excuses for my poor performance. I didn't get any coffee this morning. I hadn't carb loaded. I was wearing the wrong shoes (I'm not even sure what the right shoes for a race like that are). I hadn't trained. Wait, that's not an excuse. I could have trained. As my mind wandered I began to mentally make up a training program. I realized that running was fifth on my list of priorities. No wonder I hadn't trained. I need to put running and sleeping enough at the top of my priority list. I know, I will cancel all of my dates, tell my friends I don't have time to see them, and run twelve miles a day every day...

Suddenly I soared into a patch of sunlight which glinted off the wet leaves of the mountain laurel. The sunlight brought me back to the present, to the beautiful day, and to the soreness in my feet. The weather was as bipolar as my mood. A hard rain last night had left the course slippery. I had already passed through waist deep water in one part of the course. The worst spots were the technical spots right after the creek, when my shoes were full of water and slippery and I had trouble balancing as I leapt from rock to rock. And yet, I love technical. I love the absolute focus that it requires. My mind goes completely blank as I focus on finding the next best foothold for my airborne feet.

It was humid. At each water station I dumped a cup of water over my head. A couple of times I found myself running completely alone, the ferns brushing gently against my legs. I got lost twice. At the last water station, the lady told me "you're at mile twelve," but I knew she was lying when, three miles in, a man on a bike called out "only five and a half more miles to go!" There were two more climbs and descents in those last five miles. Another woman passed me and I felt frustration again. The man ahead of me had perfect balance and owned the technical, but his love handles suggested that he wasn't a regular runner. I felt angry about being behind him and not being in the lead. Then suddenly, I noticed the view and realized that I was running in a beautiful forest on a beautiful day and I smiled a huge smile and just ran for the pleasure of running. I realized that it didn't matter that I wasn't winning - being out there, running my best and being humbled by this terrain were the point.

I flew down the last hill like only a skier can run, passing a dozen runners on my way down. The last runner I passed was a guy who I'd been playing leapfrog with all day, and as I pulled away from him he yelled at me "Nice job! You're awesome by the way!!" That was the only push I needed to finish the race running. The rest of the way was mostly downhill. The final half mile was the one stretch of pavement. I closed my eyes and felt thankful for having the life to run and feel this pain and joy. I passed the finish line at 4:11 and ran straight to the pond to jump in. Jim was there with his hand out to give me a high five. So was Tom Cali, who had run part of the race to help encourage Meira. I was 10th woman overall. No, I'm not happy with my place. But I know that I will train harder from now on. Also, never run a race when jet-lagged. Unless it's reverse jet lag. My next race will have to be in Hawaii...

Girl Power Hour

I’m not going to lie. I was leary about going to an event called «Fit and Fab(ulous) ». I go out of my way to avoid anything that talks about nutrition, excercise or weight loss, since I think that women in our culture are already overdosed with these things. Sure, I’ll read Running Times, or obsess over sports equipment, or join a climbing gym, but that’s different. I do these things partly for the enjoyment of physical exertion and partly for the mental edge I think they give me (believe me, I need all the help I can get). I could give a shnitzel if I gain or lose twenty pounds. So why did I go ? Well, I’ve started to miss my girlfriends since I’ve been in Seattle and going to one of the Girl Power Hour (@girlpowerhour) seemed like it would be a good chance to meet more women friends. I think the activities that I choose to attend – like Startup Weekend, for instance – are great for meeting guy friends but aren’t so good for meeting girls. My workplace is also about 70% men. In some ways I love this – I feel like it’s easier to keep my priorities straight.  A lot of times when I’m around women there is pressure to focus on babies, relationships, and appearance, three things that are at the bottom of the totem pole of my priorities (if they’re even on the totem pole).

This event seemed like it would be a place where I could meet like-minded women, since Girl Power Hour is especially designed for women who are interested in having a life outside of the « domestic » sphere.

Actually, missing my girlfriends wasn’t the only reason that I chose to go to the event. Sunday, with the exhileration of the presentation and the afterparty, I had completely forgotten my bicycle at startup weekend. In fact, when I arrived home from work on Monday I didn’t even know where my bike was and I thought it had been stolen for a couple of anxious minutes. Thankfully, when my memory of the weekend returned, I called the owner of the venue, "Makers", Caitlyn , and she said that she could hold onto my bike until Girl Power Hour, which was held at the same venue. I think I spend more time chasing my bike around town than I do riding it.

Maker’s is a beautiful coworking space in the middle of Belltown. It is open, light, and airy. The accent pieces, like an antique organ, are placed so that they add to the zen rather than clutter the place.  I was an hour and a half late to the event because I had spent the afternoon at a boat brokerage and then trying to get a Seattle Driver’s license at the DOL. Even though I say that I don’t give a shnitzel if I gain or lose 20 pounds, I was a little nervous as I struggled to zip up the back of my skirt. Over the past two weeks I have been too busy to run, and all of the free food at work had gone straight to my rear. I did manage to zip it up, however, and even though it is a tiny pencil skirt and I have to get into cars butt first and climb stairs sideways, I felt, well, kind of fabulous. On the way to the bus stop I almost bumped into several people because I was admiring myself in the glass storefronts.

Ironically, the first thing I heard when I walked through the door was a woman on a podium talking about how by excercising she had managed to add two whole inches to her butt. « Wow, » I remarked to a girl standing next to me. « I did that without even exercising. » I decided to go keep working on my butt by hitting the hors d’ouvres table.

The speakers themselves were fabulous. My fear about having to listen to judgemental talks about how many calories are in a spoonful of peanut butter was qualmed when I heard the vulnerable, inspiring talks on how to change our image from the inside out. I have never seen so many beautiful women in one place in Seattle. I met the organizers’ mother at the buffet table, a rockstar lady with little glasses. « Those are my daughters, » she told me, proudly. I found myself wishing my own mother were there.

There were women of all ages in the room, and although I was interested in meeting peers, it was also lovely to connect to some women older than myself. Two ladies introduced themselves. It was obvious from how they carried themselves that they were badasses. We started a conversation that immediately went deeper than the normal networking fluff. Laurie, a ballet dancer by trade, leaned toward me and offered me this advice : « Don’t even think about getting married for the next five years. Don’t waste your time in relationships. Be selfish. Have fun. »

This is the lesson that I took away with me from Girl Power Hour (although I’m not certain that it’s endorsed by the event). Laurie happened to have a  bike rack on her car, so she offered me a ride home. « See, » she said as I strapped my bike onto her car « I was meant to give you a ride home. » We drove past a statue of a giant popsickle and Laurie said «I have to get a picture of that, » so we circled around, jumped out of the car, and had a stranger take a picture of us pretending to lick it. Girls are awesome.

When I got home and opened the Seattle Times, it opened straight to this article which I thought was strangely relevant. Here's a snippet:

Back when Snow White sang, "Someday my prince will come," waiting on a prince — and raising his babies afterward — constituted pretty much a woman's entire range of options. Seventy-five years later, women have options their grandmothers could scarcely have dreamed. So is it asking too much that we relegate this tired narrative to the junk heap where it belongs?

Talk about girl power!

Seattle Nightlife

And now for something completely different. I'm a bit tired from Startup Weekend. I asked my coworker, Scott Bays, to guest-write a piece about our adventures in Seattle last weekend. Expect more Startup Weekend related posts in the week to come, but for now, let me present Seattle nightlife.. Seattle nightlife...

It has always been considered subpar compared to the nightlife of many other metropolitan areas.  You wouldn’t think this of the famous “sleepless” city of music.  It could be said that 90% of the population here knows how to have a great time in some fashion, but perhaps only 10% actually know where to have a great time when it comes to the night and what comes after.

This was my task.  Monica’s friend Adan, from college, was applying for a job at Microsoft and was only here for a night.  They gave him a powerful Dodge Charger to drive, and Monica wanted to show him Seattle.  She knew I was into the nightlife a bit and had hyped up venues before, so she trusted me to be the guide for this night.  Getting pretty into it, I probably went through about three or four starting places to sit down, relax, and enjoy a drink or two before going to the party. She honorably took the blame for the locale changes however, which I found humorous enough to let it be. The first place I chose for the evening:  Bathtub Gin & Co., a Belltown legendary bar and hangout place.  I had never been there, but heard amazing stories from pretty much everyone so I felt it was a good choice regardless and I would get a chance to try it.  10:00pm was our meetup time, and so the story begins...

It actually begins with a homeless man.

Yep.

9:50 comes around and I’ve located the elusive bar.  I text Monica some directions to the best parking lot to use and sit down to wait. No response by a little after 10pm so I decided to go ahead and call. No answer.

“You seem like you are spacing out a bit man.” A homeless man walks up to me while I’m leaning up against the wall of a building. “Girl not answering?”

“Yeah, not sure if my friends stood me up or not yet, so maybe.” I glance at the sign he is carrying that has “BEER ME!” written on it. I also notice the belt holsters carrying four beers in them, so it is definitely working out well for him.  “Nice sign!” I laugh. He laughs as well, and for a homeless man; he really doesn’t smell all that badly.

He goes on to tell me stories of Karma. Of people having accidents, or fortune, and all the karma related things involved in his life. They are actually pretty interesting stories, and I’m waiting anyway, so I nod my head and listen.   Some of them are also quite hilarious, so I give him five dollars out of the cash I prepared for the night.

“Let me rub some of my good karma off on you.” He says as he rubs his elbow on my shirt. I raise an eyebrow to this homeless man who is giving me karma. “Now try calling, she’ll pick up.”

By this time it is about 10:30, and I give Monica another call.  After a few rings, she actually picks up!  “What time is it?” She asked. Turns out she had a bit longer of a nap than intended.  I laugh and yell back at the homeless guy while Monica is still on the phone. “What is your name, man?”

“They call me Shadow.” He yells back. I nod my head in approval, as this sounds like it is straight out of a novel to me so I am already quite pleased with the evening.

I get off the phone with Monica so she can call Adan, and she texts me to let me know they are going straight to See Sound. This is the name of the club we were going to go to after drinking/meeting at the bar. I walk over there and listen to the music a bit. It’s not really to my liking, so I text her back a fallback plan for the first club. Let’s go to Trinity first instead, and give her the address. By the time I arrive they are already there, and the night finally begins.

Trinity is Club. Pretty much what you would expect out of a club. Nothing amazing, nothing awful, just good standard Top-40s with a couple of branched off areas that play perhaps some dubstep or hip hop. Can’t really go wrong.  I get a drink, join Adan and Monica who are already into it, and start dancing. We did take a couple of breaks from the dancing to go upstairs and sit so I can actually meet Adan (even though this is quite difficult in a loud club of course). I also text some of my friends that are out to find out what they are doing. We get into a short sparring match over texts as they try to get me to come over to them and I try to get them to come over to us. All-in-all it didn’t really matter, Adan had already bought Monica and I another drink so we continue the fun.

Monica ended up meeting another girl there named Christie. They danced together, and Adan and I went to the other side of the dance floor.

Eventually the club started clearing out around 2:00am.  Monica mentions that she believes we're going to someone’s house.  We meet a few new people including the owner of another club who says he's having an after party. Monica asks him about her friends joining.  He turns to his friends and complains how he “doesn’t want a bunch of random people at his house.”  Of course you don’t want her male companions to be with her to make sure she stays safe tonight...asshole...

One of the friends, a shorter black guy was actually quite cool; I don’t remember his name however.  He kept trying to convince this guy that we were cool to chill out with them, but he wouldn’t have it. Christie at this time started walking off so Monica rushed after her. In the end, we decided to go to Noc Noc and quickly bailed from the situation.

A quick background of Noc Noc. This is the place. I was unsure about bringing both Monica and Adan here originally, as I have always gone with a group of friends that were well prepared for the night. This was my first time taking people, one of them I just met and it was my first outing with Monica as well. Noc is, during the evening, an 80s bar with a goth style.  However, on Friday nights and Saturday nights (Or rather 2:00am Saturday and 2:00am Sunday), it transforms into the greatness that is Noc Noc. At that time it turns into an EDM dance club where local DJs will come and mix some amazing music until the morning.  An after-hours club.  I have actually never been to the evening portion of it, nor do I actually ever plan on it. This iteration of Noc is the one I know and love, the 2:00am sorts. But it’s not for everyone. Still, all four of us were pretty in sync and were ready to continue the night.  So we walked there.

Or actually, a couple of blocks in Christie was complaining about the walk because of her shoes.  Adan picks her up and carries her on his back while she humorously calls him playful names that I’ll leave out from here. She also told me I should be carrying Monica.  Psh, yeah right. If I tried to pick up and carry Monica I would probably be the one that somehow ended up getting carried instead. (editor's note: are you calling me fat?)

Once we reached Noc we got in the line that is usually present on these after-hours. By the time we paid our cover Dave, the promoter, was watching the line. I go up to him to say hi. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if he would remember me without the rest of the group I usually come with since so many people go through Noc all the time. Not only did he recognize me he also knew the amount of time it’s been since I had last been there. I introduced him to the other three and let him know that Monica and Adan are fresh from PA. “Show them how it’s done!” He slapped me on the back and we went inside.

80% amazing people,10% creepers, 10% shady people.  That’s Noc for you. People from all walks of life end up in there dancing together. And everyone has fun.  Now in Washington, alcohol can’t be served from 2:00-6:00am. Thus, the only refreshments at this time is water and red bull.  But this is fine! Drunk people cause problems, people at Noc; not usually so much. Music was amazing at this time, which I later found out from a friend that one of his favorite DJs just happened to be there the night Monica and I went.  Christie ran into another guy that she was dancing with at Trinity, and they ended up leaving early. That would be the last we ever heard from her. At some point in time I realized there were a few people I recognized that went outside, so I followed them to chat for a while.

This is the only unfortunate part of the evening. Apparently while I was outside Monica had met another group of people and placed her purse under a girl named Nicky’s coat. It ended up getting stolen...Luckily she didn’t have too much in her purse, and we searched the place a bit to see if they just took the cash and left the rest in a trash bin. No luck. Looks like Monica will end up getting a new phone sooner than she thought. I always teased her about how bad her phone was anyway. Still,  Monica seemed to be having so much fun she didn’t even really care, so we just kept at it.

Adan and I also got some time at the bar where we chatted about various topics (mostly women). He’s a pretty cool guy, I decided. Thrust right into this but having an amazing time of it, glad I got to show it to him and I really hope he gets the job so we can all do it again sometime!

We ended up leaving Noc and hanging out with the friends that Monica had met there, including Nicky. That’s usually how it happens at Noc. You go there with friends, and end up with more friends. We went to a place called 5 Points Cafe. This cafe has been open 24/7 since the 1930s. It never closes. Even on holidays. There we chatted about neurology, anarchism, and all sorts of fun Seattlite things like that.   Eventually we realized that it was about time for the morning to end, as Adan had a flight to catch at to go back home.

He gave Monica and me a ride in his charger, we helped him load his things from the hotel, and he dropped us at my place so he could rush to the airport. Things got a little tricky at this point in time, as my house tends to have a lot of people over on Friday night, thus all my roommates were completely passed out. So to return Monica back home I found the nearest bus route and joined her. She had already given up on her early morning run at this time since it was nearing 11:00am. But she still had other day activities coming up because she is always busy so she had to get back to her place. I went along and we had a pretty epic bus conversation in the meantime. After she made it home, we went our separate ways.

Now I can say, welcome to Seattle.

(thanks Scott!)

Seattle Startup Weekend - Friday Night

Friday night. Or is it Saturday morning ? I’m headed home on the bus now since they closed up 92 Lenora Street to keep people from sleeping over. Upon arriving at the venue, a derelict building that had been repainted and is still being refinished in an open, loft style, I was greeted by the event coordinators and handed a name tag on a red lanyard. I soon realized that red lanyards were for designers, blue lanyards for developers, yellow lanyards for business people, and green lanyards for event coordinators. White lanyards were for mentors and speakers.

One of our speakers was tetris grand master Kevin Z Birrell (@kevinddr). He spoke on the power of determination and how it had helped him to improve to the level of TGM, or tetris grand master. I'm pretty sure that that's the level of tetris where the pieces are invisible and you have to guess where they're going to land. Afterwards we did an icebreaker where we had to pitch a company based on two key words that were given to us. Our team's were pitchfork and dental floss, so we came up with "Tridental, the world's first social flossing." A flosser attaches to your iphone and tracks each time you floss your teeth and sends a message to your friends, your mom, and your dentist to let them know that you've flossed. Someone please invent this in real life!

After the ice breaker I wandered around the floor, awkwardly extending my hand to anyone I made eye contact with and introducing myself. « Hi, I’m Monica, » I would say to anyone who would listen. I had thought up a brief pitch – an idea that I had been thinking of for a while and had revisited while on the bus on the way there.  People seemed to like my idea, so when it was time I went ahead and pitched it. At least thirty people were pitching – probably a quarter of the crowd. Everyone was given 60 seconds to tell the crowd their vision. Someone pushed me in the right direction and I found myself on the podium holding a microphone in my hand. I started into my pitch, introducing myself to the crowd and giving an off-the-cuff intro. Suddenly, I ran out of words. I stared around awkwardly, opening and closing my mouth like a fish as my mind churned. The more I thought about what I was supposed to say, the less I knew what I was going to say, until I realized that I didn’t even know what I was doing anymore. My mind was blank. Suddenly I remembered « So we really need app developers ! » I managed to shout before the timer buzzed. I handed the microphone back to the coordinator and he smiled at me. I jumped off the stage and slunk to the back. Someone came up to me and congratulated me on my "good pitch." I realized that what had seemed like several minutes of awkwardness had only lasted a couple of seconds in reality.

I watched the rest of the pitches. Some of them were brilliant. A team of therapists was pitching kinect games for autistic children. « SeaBNB » aimed to use the berths on board empty boats as hotel rooms.

After the pitches were over, the name of each pitch was written on a sheet of paper and taped to the wall. We each had been given three sticky notes, and these counted as our three votes. Whichever three ideas you liked best you stuck a sticky note to. I hung out in line for the one bathroom as people cast their votes. When I got back, I was surprised to see the results. My pitch had a thick coating of sticky notes. It had been chosen as one of the final groups!

Now it was time to assemble a crew. A whole host of electrical engineering students who happen to be awesome app devs gathered around our team. Two designers agreed that they were in. Several business people also joined us and began talking business plans and monetization. The final headcount was thirteen, but one of the coordinators came over and told us that we needed to thin out a bit, since that size group tended to be unwieldy and there were some groups that needed more people. We ended up with nine people and I volunteered myself to be the coordinator and liaison between developers, designers, and business people. Work started around 10pm and the hours passed quickly as we tried to come up with a viable plan of action.

At midnight they kicked us out so we headed to Belltown Billiards to get our groove on. Work hard, play hard.

I'll be back at 92 Lenora Avenue at 9am. Til then, I'll be trying to get some Z's.

Startup Weekend Starts Up!

I was so excited for bike-to-work day this morning that I forgot to bring my laptop to work and barely made it to Startup Weekend. It takes me an hour to bike home, and another forty minutes to bike into Seattle. Guess how much time I had given myself to get from work to an event that starts at 5pm ? None. Zilch. Somehow I tend to bypass the mundane parts of existence, like eating, sleeping, and commute. I needed my laptop though, so I left work as early as I decently could and caught the bus using the most useful app I’ve downloaded so far,  "One Bus Away" that accurately tells you the time of the next bus that is close to you. I’d love to personally shake the hand of the inventor of this app. Unfortunately, it couldn’t entirely save me from my absent mind. I watched the sun glinting off of Lake Washington as I surfed my new phone and tried to come up with an idea to pitch. I got off the bus and started to walk home to where my laptop was waiting. Suddenly I had a feeling of emptiness. My bike ! My bike was still on the bus ! The bus had pulled away and was gathering speed as it hurtled down 25th Ave. There was only one thing to do. I sprinted. I sprinted hard. Somehow I found myself reaching up and rapping on the driver’s window. The stunned driver stopped the bus (there had been a change of drivers halfway through the route, so she didn’t know that the bike on the front was mine). She just stared at me, incomprehensive for a second.

"My bike !"  I shouted. "My bike!" That’s when she understood. Rush hour traffic was gathering behind us and there was no place for the bus to pull over, so she motioned for me to take it off quickly. I managed to get my bike off in record time, and I even had time to pick up my laptop from the apartment and catch the bus downtown, where I somehow found my way to Startup Weekend. That’s where I am now and that’s where I will be for the next 54 hours. Expect periodic updates.

Bike to Work

I'm on a biking-to-work roll. I have biked every day this week. Because guess what people? May is bike to work month! If you aren't already in on this trend you should start now. Tomorrow is Seattle's official "bike-to-work" day, so just for biking to work I get free donuts and treats. I understand that there will also be some refreshment stations along the Burke Gillman Trail - wait, I just rechecked the stats at this blog - there will be OVER 60 refreshment stations set up for those biking to work! Holy bike shorts batman! Check out the map online here. My first stop will be Ravenna park, where the Snoqualmie Nordic Club will be holding drawings for some giveaways. Next I'll hit 8050 35th street, where coffee, bike maintenance, & air will be available. Next stop will be 113th St & the Burke Gilman Trail where I can get my trail mix on. I'll ride by the stop at Burke-Gilman Trail & Ballinger Way NE in Lake Forest Park, sponsored by the LFP B.O.O.K. Club. It doesn't say what they're giving away - beer perhaps? Next stop is Logboom Park in Kenmore sponsored by Corpore Sano Physical Therapy & Sports Performance. My final stop will be at the trail behind Cascadia Community College, which offers bike assistance by Bicycles West. I'm not sure what bike assistance is - maybe they'll offer to push me up my final hill?

Wow, this is just another reason that having a twelve mile bike to work is awesome!

Glenfiddich Scotch Tasting

It may have happened a week ago, but's never too late to write about an enjoyable Scotch Tasting. You know you're an adult where you actually go to a scotch tasting and sip glasses of fine, aged scotch rather than mixing your friend's parent's scotch with coke and chugging it at a sloppy house party. Not that I ever did that. Last Thursday I had the privilege to a Glenfiddich Scotch Tasting at Seattle's secret startup basement, "The Easy" (@founderscoop).

While waiting for the event to start (and I did wait, despite the fact that three glasses of scotch were sitting at my place, tempting me) I took pictures with new friends in the photobooth, provided by Zagat, one of the event sponsors. I now have pictures of Mitch Bechard (@GlenfiddichMB, our host, wearing a pink feather boa and feather hat. Blackmail? Likewise, Peter Fosso (@peterfosso) was a good enough sport to put on some funky glasses and take pictures. I didn't even have to ask Jeff Shilling (@coctailparty) to take silly pictures - he was more than willing to don a gladiator outfit and ham it up in the photo booth.

After taking pictures, Mitch became (somewhat) professional and gave us the Glenfiddich spiel. I don't know much about scotch so it was very informative for me. We tried a twelve year, a fifteen year and and eighteen year scotch. All three were aged in American wood barrels. I learned how to add a couple of drops of water using an eyedropper to take the edge off of the scotch. My favorite was the eighteen year, and after the tasting I enjoyed a glass with the delicious buffet. Thanks to Charles Koh (@charleskoh) for hosting a great event!

Date with Monica

So I finally got around to scheduling a date with my all time favorite person. On my google calendar in a light lavender box, from 10pm - 12:30am, I have "Date with Monica" written in. It's been a while since I've been planning this, and I keep flaking out, but I've finally written it in my calendar, and my calendar is what dictates my fate. I'll probably read some books. Maybe I'll write a blog post or an email or two. I might even eat something, or do some yoga. I'm extremely excited, and a little worried that I might flake out again...but I won't.  

East Coast Skier meet West Coast Snow

I haven't skied a wide variety of slopes. Blue Knob, Seven Springs, Tussey Mountain (where I taught) in Pennsylvania. Valle Nevado in Chile. And that's it.  I never got to go skiing in France because I was rocking a broken wrist the entire ski season. I never got to go skiing on the United State's west coast because I had never been to the west coast until March of this year. But now I'm here - probably for good. And I have no excuse, not even the excuse of having left all of my equipment back in PA, because they have rentals here. And since Steven's Pass, only an hour away, is open until May 6th, I really had no excuse. Not that I wanted an excuse not to go skiing. So I went. My guide, Jeff, decided that the first thing we were going to do was go up the Tye Mill lift and ski some black diamond powder. At the top of the lift, taking pictures in front of the incredible backdrop (I asked Jeff if it was ok if I kept saying "Oh wow." "That's why I brought you here," he told me) we met a couple who had met skiing and were on their 47th year of skiing together. They were smiling all over. The man, well into his 70s, told us that he is learning how to butter. Groovy!

Powder...I don't know if I've ever seen powder in real life, let alone skied it. I've seen the pictures of the skiers whooshing down the slopes up to their waists in powder who look like they're causing an avalanche with their awesomeness. We skirted around the edge of the slope until we found some - soft, fresh and perfectly white. I didn't cause an avalanche, but I still felt kind of awesome.

At the bottom of the hill they had set up a giant air-filled trampoline underneath an 18 foot jump. "Do you want to go try that?" Jeff asked me. "I'm 60% sure that I do," I said. "But let's go ski some more and then I'll be 100%." So we went and skied the rest of the mountain. Jeff had brought an extra pair of headphones and a double jack so that I could listen to his ipod on the lift with him, but I realized that we were getting fewer runs in because we had to unplug everything at the top of the mountain, and that took an extra five seconds off the time that we could have been skiing. I danced to my own mountain music. As Jeff said, skiing is dancing on a snow-covered mountain (while wearing long skinny boards attached to your feet).

When we got down again for lunch, the line for the jump had grown to fifty or more, they were playing music, and everyone was watching from the lodge balcony. Seeing everyone watching, I went from being 100% sure that I wanted to try it to 0% sure. So instead, we watched with everyone else as we feasted on smushed up sesame crackers, pretzel crumbs, and melting chocolate. In fact, I was melting. It was so hot that there were girls skiing in bikinis. Actually, it wasn't hot enough for that, but they were doing it anyway. On the slopes I also saw some pirates, a clown, and a unicorn. I was looking for Waldo but I never found him.

Jeff and I danced some ski-boot swing to the music in front of the lodge and then went back up the mountain to get some more runs in before the mountain officially closed for summer. We caught the last lift up at 4pm, and waited at the top on a rock in the sun until all of the skiers had gone down. The lift guy skied by and hassled us. "After me there's no one left if you hurt yourself." he told us.

"What a goober," I said to Jeff as he passed. The guy obviously heard me because he turned around and laughed. "You guys have fun," he said. "You have to be careful," Jeff advised me. "Sound carries here a little too well."

The mountain host came by on his last run and asked to take our picture. "You guys are great," he said, and left. We were the last ones there. Then, like the curtain call of a play, we stood and skied down, one long, last run, to the bottom.

Except that it wasn't really that graceful, because Jeff got distracted by watching his own shadow in the snow and did an incredible face plant. Not that I hadn't already done a few of those earlier...

At the bottom of the hill, they had closed the rental shop where all of our stuff was stored, so we had to hunt down someone who could open it up for us. Thankfully, we found someone, and managed to make it back in time for me to make dinner for Stark, Victor S, and friends.

*Thanks to Scott for the title!

Yacht Clubbing

The best time to look at a boat is in the rain. If you love it in the rain, you will love it even more in the sun. I had planned to bike over to see it, but I arrived home from work looking like a drowned rat with my fingers frozen into the handlebar position. My thumbs were so numb that I couldn’t even move them enough to shift gears, so I had to use the side of my hand. When I walked in the house dripping wet, my awesome uncle and aunt told me to just take their car to go see the boat. So I did.

Driving in Seattle is weird. Main roads have two lanes - one is for traffic that is turning (but it’s not a turning lane) and one is for traffic that is going straight. If you’re in one lane at rush hour it’s pretty much impossible to get into the other. Also, there are confusing double stoplights. Anyway, I made it all the way to the boat without getting run over and I even found the McGinnis Marina, an industrial looking place near the locks on Lake Union with giant tug boats and fishing boats towering over a handful of tiny sailboats. The owner, “B”, welcomed me aboard his 30’ Newport where his wife was waiting. They took me over the boat and explained all the parts to me. I felt a little more comfortable telling the owners that I was clueless this time. The more you know about something the more comfortable you feel admitting that you don’t know anything. Not that I know much about boats. I found that out when they asked me if I would like to take it out for a spin since the rain was letting up. Would I like to? Are boogers salty?

I gripped the wheel as I motored the boat away from the dock. Driving a boat is a sensation of extreme power. I had never driven anything this large. If I wanted to, I could have caused thousands of dollars worth of damage to this boat or any of the other boats in the lake. I probably could have even sunk some of the other ships if I had rammed them hard enough. I could have run over kayakers or canoes or anything smaller than me and caused havoc. It was an incredible feeling. No wonder Blackbeard became a booty-plundering pirate.

The wind picked up so we raised the headsail.I’m sure there’s a better expression than that in sailor lingo but I don’t have time to look it up right now so I'll just say "Luff Cringle" again. "Luff Cringle." I sailed for approximately three whole minutes. Then B and his wife decided that that was enough of that and told me to head back to the slip. B took the wheel from me before we docked the boat. He must have noticed that glimmer of power in my eyes and he probably didn’t trust me to not ram the boat into the dock. Trying to be helpful, I tied the boat to the dock with a half hitch, which I had learned the other night in Des Moines. B took my half-hitch apart and re-tied it when he stepped off the boat. “Any more questions?” B asked. I told him that was it and I’d be in touch. Then I headed to the Corinthian Yacht Club for their Cinco De Mayo/Opening Day Party.

I wasn’t sure whether to walk in or not, since the sign on the door said “Members Only” and I wasn’t yet a member. But I spotted my friends inside and they waved me in. The party had already been going on for a couple of hours and the tabletop was littered in empty bottles and glasses. The conversation had turned to weigh-ins at races. “I always volunteer to man the scales when the Italian men are weighing in. They literally don’t wear anything for their weigh-ins! They just strip right down to the buff!” Exclaimed the elderly lady across from me. The table of women sailors erupted into laughter. “I always watch them and I’m thinking ‘do they realize that that’s illegal in this country?’ But I certainly hope they don’t!”

All the women talked about the benefits of having a heavier crew. Finally I've found a sport where I can put my love of eating to good use!

Half of the women at my table had sailed around the world at some point. I was in awe, but I realized that we actually had a lot in common - I was able to talk to them about the cliff divers in Acapulco and hanging out on nude beaches on the coast of France. They welcomed me as a Seattle newbie, and talked about the what they loved about living in Seattle, such as being able to sail on day and ski the next. Which happened to be what my plan was for the weekend.

And we all agreed that “There is nothing half so much fun as messing about in boats.”

Which is exactly what I did all day Saturday on lake Whatcom in Bellingham. My coworker Andy took me and we met his friends and sailed from noon until five in the alternately rainy and sunny weather. Since we hadn’t tipped the boat, Andy and I decided to celebrate by diving into the lake. I don’t know why this always happens. It just happens.

I took a dive off the dock and as I hit the water I felt the shock of the cold immediately freeze me hands into the t-rex position. I tried to swim to the dock but I could barely doggy paddled with my clenched-up muscles, and when I got to the dock I wasn’t able to lift myself with my jelly muscles out so Andy’s friend Leo had to give me a hand. Even so, standing on the dock in the mild sunshine I felt rejuvenated. There is nothing like diving into a freezing lake to make you feel like you’re alive.

Tonight, Monday night, I returned to the Corinthian Yacht Club for my first official sailing lesson with Stark. We hadn’t read the chapter of “Getting Started In Sailboat Racing” that we were supposed to read, so I read it aloud in the car and we started to pick up the lingo, like “Spinnaker pole,” “Leeward,” and “Windward.” Somehow, amazingly, we made it there ten minutes early. We were probably the youngest people in the room and the people with the least amount of sailing experience but we didn’t care. Actually, I think we might have also been the most excited people to be there. “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Stark said as we left. “We’re going to be sailors.”

Sailing and Ukuleles

I never realize the connection between sailboats and ukuleles until last night, sitting on a sailboat in Des Moines, WA. The rain was pouring down in sheets, so what would have been my first ever sailboat race was cancelled, but sitting inside a cozy boat listening to a ukulele concert drinking Californian beer and learning how to tie a bowline knot was not too much of a disappointment. Our hostess, Joan Marie, decided that we should invite the next door neighbors over also, so we walked across the dock and knocked on the side of their 40 foot boat - "The Filthy Whore" (yes, the name was painted on the stern). Two large sailors appeared carrying tiny ukuleles and more beer.  They argued for a bit about which one had the honor of being the namesake of their boat.

Joe, the male half of the duo, was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip flops despite the cold. He pointed to the boat in the slip across from him, a 42 foot cruiser whose windmill was spinning and turning in the wind.

"The owner has a hot tub inside his boat," said Joe. "If you ever run into him, he'll ask you to come in his hot tub. Whatever you do, don't do it."

Joe seemed to know what he was talking about, so I agreed that I wouldn't go in the neighbor's hot tub. Instead, we went back in the beautiful red 28 foot Islander that I was checking out. That's when the ukulele concert happened. Joan Marie had learned to play when her grandmother, who had also lived aboard, was sick. She said her grandmother had loved it when she played the ukulele. She played Iz's rendition of "Over the Rainbow."  Joe followed up by playing, "Hiphopopotomous" by Flight of the Concords. Yeah, imagine that on a ukulele.

My coworker Andy was pretty handy with the ukulele and caught on quickly. He strummed along on a tiny pink uke that happened to be sitting behind us. I learned the "C", which is really all I need to know since it's the pirate's favorite cord. It's the third fret on the first string. Not to hard.

Joan Marie promised me ukulele lessons if I bought the boat. It was a hard sell.

We played so much ukulele that we were almost an hour late to the documentary Indie Games, which is why I'm not going to post a movie review. From now on though, Fridays will be film review days on the blog.

Sounders vs Galaxy

I'm not going to lie - I went to see Seattle Sounders vs LA Galaxy Wednesday night with the hope of seeing David Beckham. Unfortunately, he was injured and didn't even bother to show up. Fortunately, the Sounders won. I learned most of my Spanish palabrotas by going to futból games. The Sounders game was my first US pro soccer game and I had to learn a whole new set of chants.

First of all, there was the original "Soouuuunnndderrrrss!" shouted in chorus from one side of the stadium to the other. Then there was the creative chant "FIGHT....and WIN!" The people behind us made up their own original chant: "We're better than you!"

We weren't in the crazies section, so we missed a lot of good chants that I probably shouldn't repeat here anyway.

I realized halfway through that the Sounder's Game that the Sounders were my team. I was screaming at them to "step on the ball!" or "kick it in!"  or "Just kick it in, #@% it!" We only won by two. Apparently if we had won by three goals, everybody could have gotten a free haircut, so I had a lot of incentive to encourage the Sounders to win. As it was, since we won we still got free appetizers at Hard Rock Café. We also got glowsticks, and I accidentally cracked mine and got glowstick oil all over myself. I smeared it onto my jeans and my face on the way to the Hard Rock Café. Unfortunately when we walked in they told us that they were closing early. I complemented the waiter on his flair and showed him my glowing jeans, but he wasn't impressed and shoed us out. We ended up in The Alibi Room, Pike Place's worst kept secret bar. Their vegan pizza is scrumptious.

I don't know how it happened. I've been here for three weeks and I'm already saying "we" when I talk about the Sounders. I must already consider myself to be a Seattleite.