The Life Aquatic

Saturday, Kevin and I went to the California Academy of Sciences.

We learned a lot of interesting things about dinosaurs, including almost any odd feature dinosaurs exhibit (e.g. the spines on the back of a stegosaurus) are for flirting, not for fighting.

Actually, this isn't surprising to anyone who's spent any kind of time at all with middle school kids.

California Acadamy of Sciences

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mail and other mysteries

It's always interesting when we receive mail that's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Ross or Mr. and Mrs. Davis. Neither Kevin nor I are offended when we're addressed as the other; it's just a hazard of the territory, we reason.

But this takes the cake:

I just can't wait to see what kind of mail Baby Davis-Ross will receive. Or, should I say, Baby Kevin-Amy.

Baby Davis-Ross, Preview Edition #1

17 weeks down, 23 to go...

Mt. Tamalpais State Park

Yesterday, Kevin and I drove just minutes north of San Francisco for an easy 7.4 mile hike with 1,600 feet of elevation change.

We both were kind of curious how my almost-halfway-pregnant state would handle even an easy hike. As it turned out, I was fine, and we were rewarded with some amazing ocean views from the western side of the park. Once we finished the hike, we continued down to Stinson Beach.

Mt. Tamalpais

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Recommended Reading #4 and #5: American Born Chinese and Palomar

The first graphic novel to be nominated for a National Book Award (albeit in the "Young People's Literature" category), Gene Yang's American Born Chinese is a tremendous book.

The stories (or, more properly, story) are clever and engaging, but that isn't why I appreciated the book so much. Mostly, I'm relieved to read a graphic novel that's not a retelling of some painful past experience. Maus and Co. aside, the graphic-novel-as-cathartic-release grows tedious when all you want is some lighthearted pre-bedtime distraction...


...which is why I was thrilled when I saw the Mountain View library had a copy of Gilbert Hernandez's "Palomar" comics from Love and Rockets. While it's not a proper graphic novel, it satisfies my need to consume more than a comic's standard 24 pages.

In a way, this book is terrible bedtime reading, as it's a 500 page oversized hardcover book. I really couldn't figure out how to hold the book while reading in bed. (An additional compaction was that I couldn't rest it on my stomach, as I would have otherwise.)

That said, it's not really good public reading either, as it is explicit in parts. I read it while in Indiana, and was afraid my grandmother would flip through it and find all of the steamy sex scenes. I can't even imagine her incomprehension.

Seriously, though, Palomar is great. The town that Gilbert Hernandez has created is a curious mix of pure feminism (women seem to be the only competent people in town; the sheriff and the mayor are both incredibly strong females) and pure sexism (apparently, all women must wear skirts - the only woman who does not wear a skirt is the steroid-popping bodybuilder). While the end is weak - and drifts too far into magic realism for my tastes - the other 450 pages more than make up for it.

It's alive!

My doctor seemed dubious, but I can feel Baby Davis-Ross moving around. Apparently it's a bit early to feel the baby (especially for a first pregnancy), but I'm not crazy.

Either that, or some other alien creature has taken up residency in my lower abdomen. (I hope not the one pictured below.)

Guess who's first in line for a kiss from Coach K??

Last night Baby Davis-Ross was particularly frenetic while watching the Carolina-Ohio State game. I suspect she had joined her father in protesting Dick Vitale's inherent annoyingness. Few things make Kevin Ross as mad as when Dick Vitale starts in on Duke while announcing a non-Duke game.

Which, truthfully, is a particularly annoying habit when announcing a Carolina game. It's like wearing an I Heart Al Qaeda t-shirt to a Bush fundraiser.

I still think it's a bad idea...

Please cue up The Doors, "The End."

Yesterday, after a heroic 3 months of procrastination, I finally stopped into the Comcast office for our DVR box.

Kevin doesn't believe me, but this is some serious bad news. The only potential upside I can see is that it will help when Baby Davis-Ross arrives, since we'll follow the doctors' advice and put the baby in a TV-free bubble for at least 2 years.

Right now? I'm going to check in on those two episodes of The People's Court I have waiting for me, followed by some Martha, and then chase it all down with the Charlie Brown Christmas special.

Like I said, this is the end.

Thanksgiving

Our National Holiday of Gluttony and Excess found us in Indiana.

Other than a one-day delay in our flight, travel went smoothly.

The highlight of the trip might include a sinful chocolate silk pie I made. I really made it for the crust - shortbread cookies and crushed pecans. Oh, man, it was crazy good. It was a hit with my chocolate-averse father and husband.

We also got to spend some time with my cousins, and we finally visited the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Museum. My cousins confirmed The Female Hypothesis, and were very excited for Baby Davis-Ross. (My uncle lobbied for a boy; I told him I'd "try my hardest.") Despite their best intentions, no one could guess the baby name, although my mother's guess of Hilary was interesting.

Alas, I gained about 4 pound during this week, which is a bit too much. Kevin said I can blame 3 pounds on our significant lack of healthy food options and 1 pound on that chocolate silk pie.

Link to some photos below, via Flickr:

Thanksgiving 2006

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"Amy scans really well"

The paparazzi have struck again!

More photos of Baby Davis-Ross, age 14 weeks.

During this US, the technician asked if we'd like to know the sex of the baby. It's early to know, but apparently I "scan really well."

In an unsurprising series of events, I had a moment of weakness and almost asked to know, but Kevin remained strong.

Democracy Inaction

Which of course means my vote didn't count.

Funny, though, about this sticker: the poll worker insisted I have two stickers, YET the same poll worker explicitly told Kevin he could have only one.

The power of feminine wiles...

Behind the Music: Charlie Brown

I've been reading old Charlie Brown comics this week. I'm not a particularly large Peanuts fan, but I do really dig the older ones - the kids look HILARIOUS, for one, with their gigantor heads. And the humor's a little more random than in later years.

Anyway, here are a few favorites from Fantagrapics' The Complete Peanuts 1950 to 1952.

Click on the comics to view a larger picture. And do it! It's worth it.

Charlie Brown, playground player.

First football kick (note: this isn't Lucy, but another earlier character named Violet.) Look at how strung-out Charlie Brown is in the last frame. As Kevin said, "he looks dead."

Yes he does.

Patty and Violet have strong opinions about Charlie Brown's new shirt.

This actually is a great demonstration of the difference between "anxious" and "excited." Charlie Brown has very good reason to be anxious about showing the girls his new shirt.


Schroeder's angry face cracks me up.

Some early comics with Lucy. Lucy, like Schroeder, were babies when they were introduced. While Schroeder quickly became a musical prodigy, Lucy looks like she stumbled into an unfortunate preschool crack addiction.
I love that in these early comics, Lucy refers to herself in the third person.

WARNING: This movie may cause physical pain

Oh, man.

Kevin and I went to see Borat over the weekend. Afterward, we had this conversation:

Amy (coughing violently): I almost had an asthma attack laughing so hard during that one scene.

Kevin (rubbing his head): I know! My head started to hurt halfway through from laughing.

So, please go see this movie. But be prepared for pain.

Crafts and Zombies

First, the crafts
Savvy readers may note that there have been a paucity of crafts posted in recent months. This is true, although I assure you that it's still Martha Stewart land up in here. Then where are the scarves and handbags and other ill-crafted kitch?

My friends, Christmas is a-comin'. And I suspect that everyone - nay, anyone - will be receiving some form of hand-crafted kitch to call their very own. I've been experimenting with some cool new knitting patterns, I've been mixing up some ridiculously yummy candle scents, and I've been dabbling in other dark arts as well.

So, if you don't receive any of my poorly self-crafted kitch for Christmas, count yourself lucky.

Until then, I present this:


What is it? A waistline extender. I'm showing, a bit, and my pants don't fit so well any longer. Mostly, it looks like I've been hitting the Ben and Jerry's a little hard, but there's a definite bump. So, this little gadget lets me wear my pants and keep breathing. I value both highly.

Now, some zombies
Kevin and I saw David Sedaris on Monday. He was really great - he read four stories we'd not heard (but are coming out in the New Yorker soon), and then blabbled for a half hour about book recommendations and Tokyo.

My favorite line of the night?
"Oh, look, I've spent all this time talking about zombies and there's no time for questions."

(I should add that there were exactly FOUR seats in the entire theater that were worse than ours, and this place seats 3,176.)

Winchester Mystery House

So, it's a tourist trap, and one that my father kept reminding us to go to. He'd gone while working out here a few years ago and really loved it.

We decided to go during one of the "flashlight" tours they offer - instead of walking around with the lights on (or during the daytime), everyone gets a flashlight and enjoys the spookiness only a rich and eccentric woman can create.

My favorite part, however, had nothing to do with the house, but instead was this conversation:

Person 1: Has there ever been a fire here?
Tour Guide: No, but there was a bad one across the street...
Person 2: I know! I ordered a pizza, but it never came.

Photos are posted in the link below. Remember: I was working without a flash...

Winchester Mystery House

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An ill-advised parking-lot rant

Said Jetta in question, third from right, barely visible through the see of "compact" SUVs.


Maybe it's because my first car was a Chevrolet Chevette, a little hatchback.

Or maybe it's because my second car was a Honda CRX, another hatchback, but with only two proper seats.

But, for whatever reason, I hesitated the first time I had to park a Jetta in a "compact car" parking space. I thought, "is this really a compact car? I certainly could fit five adults in here. It's not a Golf, for Heaven's sake."

But then I saw the other cars who'd decided to call themselves "compact," and realized that my car was downright miniature. Bordering on Smart Car, in fact.

At first, driving in California made me feel like a really good driver, and I suppose I am, by comparison. For example: I can park within parking spaces. This is a very rare skill, and one I might be able to market at some point. Also: I don't drive the wrong way down one-way streets. Again, should I ever parlay my nascent driving prowess into a career, this certainly would be a selling point.

I should note that no one has ever called me a "good driver" unless he was:
(1) impressed that I can drive a manual or
(2) intoxicated and needing a ride home.

Lemony Snicket!!

This was beyond hilarious. Bravo, Daniel Handler!

Daniel Handler plays accordion with a wistful look...

...while Stephin Merritt plays the ukelele...

...and I have my book signed...

...see!!!

I also had a copy signed for my sister, which led to a conversation about "Indiana-ans" and how Daniel Handler is "just a California Jew, with his own set of issues." This followed a bratty kid in front of us, who said that he was "so good looking" that people "want to kidnap him all the time." Even Daniel Handler was disturbed, and this is a man who tried to kill three innocent orphans over thirteen books.

The Female Hypothesis

Also, Kevin and I just read that in the fine tradition of old wives' tales, faster fetal heartbeats indicate girls. The fetal heartbeat range is 120 to 160 beats per minute; today, ours was clocked at 150 bpm.

Is Baby Davis-Ross a girl?

Stay tuned...

150 Beats Per Minute...

...is how fast our baby's heart is pumping.

This morning I had my first appointment with the family practitioner who will be my doctor and the baby's doctor. Other than a surprisingly painful flu shot, everything is going very well.

The doctor was surprised we could hear the baby's heartbeat this early (since it's usually obstructed by bones - or my bladder?), but there it was. This furthers my suspicion that the baby actually is about a week older than expected.

It's a Girl!
Not really. We have no idea, and we couldn't possibly know this early on.

But...everyone seems to have converged on this belief independently.

Kevin and I automatically assumed the baby is a girl. There was no question, really, that it's a girl.

My sister Kimberly has made repeated references to her "new niece."

Even my mother, who typically avoids statements of this sort, made a comment about a "little girl."

All of this means, of course, it will be a boy. Or we're all surprisingly psychic.

Halloween Treats

Mmm... chocolate-covered pretzel rods.

Corn Maze and Pumpkin Guns

Kevin and I love going to corn mazes in the fall.

But...we llike it better when it feels like fall outside.

When we went, it was in the mid-80s, and we came home with sunburns.

Oh, well. It's California.

October 2006

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Some crafts

Sundays, for me, used to mean slipping into a semi-coma shortly after lunch. I cannot account for it, really, but every Sunday I would find myself beyond fatigued, slipping into bed for a five hour nap, waking only to eat some Thai take-out, watch the Simpsons, and brush my teeth.

Since moving to California, however, my comas have subsided. I'm glad. I think. Personally, I suspect they were somehow a survival mechanism of some sort, as last weekend I MADE SOAP for hours instead of napping.



Soap making is a surpisingly messy affair. Plus, it really requires patience, of which I have none. Thus, my soaps came out a little mangled. However, they work well.

Required Reading #3: The End

"In my experience, well-read people are less likely to be evil."
Quigley Quagmire, The Slippery Slope




Oh. My. Word.

It's almost perfect!

Be well-read and read it, pronto.

Here's looking at you, kid

This is our fetus.

ETA: Early May, 2007.

Check out the foot in the second picture - the kid's already dancing.

America, it's time...

It's time to get out of the closet. The Marky Mark closet.

I'll go first.

Man, I love Mark Wahlberg. What's not to love? He's a master thespian beyond reproach. Specifically, I think he's hilarious.

Take, for example, the great popcorn movie The Departed. Marky Mark - er, sorry, Mark Wahlberg - has a small but pivotal role in the movie. More importantly, his swearing-to-"real word" ratio is quite high; early estimates put it at 10 to 1.

This is no joke, people. Few things can put a smile on my face as easily as Mark Wahlberg's flared nostrils and South Boston accent can.

[Editor's note: It appears Ms. Davis has actually seen only the following of Mr. Wahlberg's movies: Basketball Diaries, Boogie Nights, Three Kings, I Heart Huckabees, and The Departed. She also admits to seeing The Perfect Storm, but doesn't recall Mr. Wahlberg's performance as she was distracted by George Clooney's raw sex appeal.]

It's time to stop ending commercials with the word "holy."

OK, fine, I admit it: when Volkswagon first did this with its crazy car crash commercials, I thought it was a nice touch. (I would have gone with the less sacred "what the?" but that's purely a personal choice.)

Now, however, it seems that every commercial must end with two characters, looking at one another in semi-stupefied befuddlement, uttering, "holy..."

And while I do appreciate the cleaning power of Pine Sol or the electrical charge of Energizer batteries, I rarely find myself resorting to cursing to express my delight/confusion/amazement whenever I mop my floors or change the batteries in my remote controls.

It's time to read Lemony Snicket.

It's almost time for Book the 13th to come. I'm frightfully behind on my book-a-day plan.

BUT, I have until the 28th to get caught up. That's when Lemony Snicket (represented by Daniel Handler), Brett Helquist, and the Gothic Archives (a.k.a. Stephin Merritt) will finally get the opportunity to meet me. They wait with bated breath.

Required Reading #2; Additional Literary Notes

Required Reading #2
Despite the (modest) criticism it's received, I'm going on a limb and making Sid Jacobson and Ernie Colon's 9/11 Report: A Graphic Adaptation Required Reading #2, for two key reasons:

First, this book is a faithful adaptation of the 9/11 Commission's report. You know, that book that nearly every American purchased but never really read past the "We Have Some Planes" section? Clearly, it's an abridgment, but with the imprimatur of Tom Keane and Lee Hamilton themselves, it's a well-conceived abridgment.

Second, it's really well done. It's sentimental and journalistic, logical and emotional. The graphic novel is a literary form that may be singularly adept at relating human tragedy in a humane manner - see Joe Sacco, for example.

Additional Literary Notes
(1) In preparation for the release of Book the Thirteenth: The End, I'm going to re-read the first 12 Lemony Snicket books, one per day. Wish me luck.

(2) Speaking of Lemony Snicket, I've just finished Daniel Handler's new book (Adverbs) and am delighted to report that he did not steal my idea for the as-yet-unfinished novel I am "working" on.

(3) I kind of secretly like Chuck Klosterman, mostly because does stuff like call Steve Nash a communist. But, really, don't hold it against me.

Killer Squirrels

About a week ago, Kevin announced his suspicion that "the squirrels are up to something." He'd apparently observed some unusual behavior while walking through our complex.

I, of course, tried to reason with him. Of course the squirrels aren't up to anything - if anything, we're just used to the over-tame squirrels of college campuses and national parks.

Kevin's description of the suspicious squirrel behavior isn't that unusual, really: they're skittish; they scatter when you approach; and they hide behind trees and other shrubs. Kevin maintains they try to "stare him down" and "keep their beady eyes on him," but, really, I think someone might be having his Beautiful Mind moment.

Well, it turns out that Kevin may have been right. There's been a rash of squirrel attacks at a nearby park in Mountain View. My personal favorite is the squirrel that jumped into the baby stroller, looking for food, but the squirrel who attacked a four-year-old boy for his muffin is a nice tale as well.

(We also have an abundance of these particularly malevolent-looking black Canadian squirrels, seen above.)

San Bruno Mountain State Park

Yesterday, Kevin and I hiked the mighty San Bruno Mountain. OK, it's just a glorified hill, but it does offer some spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean, the San Francisco Bay, and San Francisco itself.

And, we picked a great day to go - no fog, little smog, and amazing panoramas.

San Bruno Mountain State Park

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28 is the new 18

So, for the first time since graduating from high school, the address on my checks matches the address on my license.

And, apparently, my eyes are brown. WTF?

In other news, I look like a serial assassin (with a sense of humor) in my new CA driver's license.

Big Basin Redwoods State Park

Kevin prefers giant sequoias, but I think I kind of dig the redwoods.

Big Basin Redwoods SP September 2006

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Kevin Ross, Secret MC

The last pieces of my birthday extravaganza came into place last night, as Kevin presented me with Ice Bat.

However, this being a gift from Kevin, it also came with a song-and-dance routine. Specifically, something called the "Ice Bat Dance" and a specially-crafted rap.

It was tears-running-down-my-face hysterical.

ICE BAT RAP
to "Ice Ice Baby"

Ice B-A-T
Can't kick it

All right, stop. Refrigerate and listen
Da Bat is commandin' your attention
If I grab ahold of you tightly
You'll freeze like an ice cube, I don't mean that lightly
Will I ever chill, fo sho
Cause once I get to know you, I'm really mellow
I love ice cream over wine and a candle
Lied in a cave where the glaciers did amble
Packed my bags and flew out my room
Now I'm chillin' with you as a present from your groom
Ugly, and I ain't got no alibi
"Ice" cause I'm frozen, "bat" cause I fly
Love it or hate it, you better apreesh
Your husband's been working on these gifts for weeks,
Any math problem, Kevin'll solve it
Check out my tush while IB revolves it.

The Beatrice Letters

Wasn't it so thoughtful of Lemony Snicket to put out his newest book on my birthday? I thought so, too.

Unfortunately, I'm not nearly smart enough to figure it out, which is depressing, given it's a series of children's books. I mean, I'm painfully aware that I've already peaked and am on a precipitous decline (a la Flowers for Algernon), but still...

What I might have gleaned: Beatrice is more properly Beatrice Baudelaire, and there are two Beatrice Baudelaires, as well as a ship named Beatrice. One Beatrice may have been the Baudelaires' mother; another seems to know the children as adults. The rest, I'm not so clear on. I think Count Olaf and Lemony Snicket may have switched identities at one time.

I suspect all of this means either (1) I have far too much time on my hands or (2) October 13 cannot possibly come soon enough. Either way, I'll be spending tomorrow decoding anagrams and encrypted letters, poolside.

A Lesser Known Natural Wonder

The best part: it was all Kevin's idea.

PS: That's Mt. Shasta McNasty in the background.

Jelly Belly factory

Along the drive to Crater Lake, Kevin and I passed the Jelly Belly factory, which offered free tours daily. How could we say no?? So, on our return trip, we stopped at "The Jelly Belly" for some free beans and some ice cream.

And I got a little carried away.

Jelly Belly Factory

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Crater Lake, Oregon

For my birthday, Kevin and I visited Crater Lake in southern Oregon.

I've wanted to visit Crater Lake for years now, lured by the oh-so-blue photos in our Frommer's Guide to National Parks of the American West. I can't even really begin to articulate how badly I've wanted to go to this park. And now that we live (relatively) close, we were able to visit.

The park lived up to every expectation, and more. Let me begin with the water: it's blue. It's frighteningly blue. It's fake blue. It's Kool-Aid blue. It's so blue I expect that, if I were to cup some in my hands, it would still be blue.

In some ways, Crater Lake looks pretty-fake, like women with too much makeup or plastic surgery. It's so pretty, it causes you to speculate, "well, it couldn't possibly be real."

Oh, it's real.

We spent two full days there, which was more than enough time to hike down to the lake, take the boat tour, hike to the top of Wizard Island (the volcano in the middle of the island), and hike to other vistas in the area.

Kevin also did some (minor) cliff diving.

We took hundreds of photos. How could you not? I've tried to cull some of the better ones, but it was a difficult task.

Crater Lake 2006

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Five things I love, this week

Amanda Church
She's much less creepy than my other artist favorites, even if she is more sad.

Silver Foxes
Take your pick: Anderson Cooper, John McEnroe, or the dude from ESPN or those Progressive auto insurance commercials (you know, the one who plays it all deadpan when he offers you a pink flip-flop?). Either way, I'm a winner.

Jasper Fforde
Amazingly good novels about nursery rhyme characters and major literary figures. Is it fantasy? Science fiction? Mystery and crime? Parody? All of the above, and more. How can it possibly miss?

Space Camp
My exit from the Bayshore Freeway is the same one you'd take to go to Space Camp.

This brings me an unreasonable amount of glee.

Project Runway
This is a family favorite. Kevin watches for Heidi "boom boom" Klum; I watch it for the sewing machines.


And the jury's still out on:

Cilantro in a tube.
Pros: It's cilantro, whenever you want it.
Cons: Why does it taste so sweet?