Avada Kedarva to Alibaba.com

Now that I've come out of isolation after finishing the final tome of the Harry Potter series (don't get me started), I'm back with a bit of news from my sharkophile pal up north. Patric is still fighting the good fight against Alibaba.com, quite possibly the world's leading distributor of shark fins.

Read more about it here:
http://www.businessweek.com/globalbiz/content/jul2007/gb20070720_756191.htm?chan=search

And if anyone knows of a word that really does mean "shark lover," please let me know. No reverse dictionary I've found has been able to help.

Never Heard of the San Juans? Pshaw.

It's been roughly four years since I read an article in National Geographic Adventure about the San Juan Islands, and the image the article painted for me was nothing like reality. Looking back, I don't know how I could have imagined such a darkly romantic locale existing in the real world; my imagination had conjured up some otherworldly realm that exists only in mid-century adventure serials, something akin to the Skull Island of the recent King Kong remake, only less violent and more bucolic. Oh, and without prehistoric vermin. Okay, very little like Skull Island, except in terms of cinematography and foliage.

During my short long weekend, I learned that the 700 islands of the San Juan archipelago have only one incorporated town, that being Friday Harbor, which also serves as the county seat. In just over 48 hours, I spotted at least six bald eagles, including one eaglet hopping about his aerie just outside the visitors center near the American Camp. I also learned that crime is such a rarity in the islands that few of the residents I met ever locked their doors; at least one claimed to not even own a set of keys to his residence.

Day 1: Escape From "Civilization"
Day 2: Water, Water Everywhere
Day 3: Farewell, Friday Harbor

Holy Springfield!

Yes, I meant to get to bed early tonight, but there's just too much dang entertaining crap on the Internet. And I thought TV was evil.

So, I was finishing up some thoughts on my recent trip to Washington State's San Juan Islands (more to come), when I came across the most fabulous website that allows you to Simpsonize yourself. Yes, folks, this is the most fun, procrastination-worthy site since the genius of The Wedding Crashers' "Crash This Trailer" site.

And lo, Jenna Simpson is born.

Because I'm Tired, That's Why

A week with the niblings. A few days in the Pacific Northwest. Time to reconsider my direction in life. That is the reason behind my silence the last few weeks. Now, as I prepare to write about the visitors and the visiting, I will entertain with a procrastinatory meme, courtesy of -- who else? -- Hannibal.

BLOG MEME: Q&A

I HATE: masses of people

I MISS: summers off.

I HEART: the open road.

I REGRET: more things that I haven't done than I have done.

I LIKE: catching up with friends.

I FEAR: zombies.

I DANCE: when only my cats are looking. And sometimes not even then.

I SING: when no one -- including myself -- can hear me.

I SHOULD: follow a new direction in life.

[IN THE LAST FEW DAYS, HAVE YOU...]

GOT HIGH? Only in terms of altitude.

DRUNK? Pleasantly buzzed, yes.

KISSED SOMEONE? Yes.

CRIED? Yes.

HELPED SOMEONE? Yes.

GOTTEN ILL? No.

GONE TO THE CINEMA? Just over a week ago, yes.

GONE OUT FOR DINNER? And some fine ones, too!

WRITTEN A REAL LETTER? Postcards count?

WRITTEN IN A JOURNAL? A bona fide paper one, too!

FOUGHT WITH YOUR PARENTS? No.

[WOULD YOU EVER...]

1. EAT AN INSECT? I accidentally did while kayaking this week.

2. BUNGEE JUMP? Not unless I could somehow make six figures off it.

3. HANG GLIDE? Yes, please!

4. KILL SOMEONE? Of course. Just not without cause.

5. WALK ON HOT COALS? I feel like I already have a thousand times over.

6. GO OUT TO EAT WITH A COMPLETE STRANGER? Again?

7. GO OUT WITH SOMEONE FOR THEIR REPUTATION? Only if they can explain this question.

8. BE A VEGETARIAN? Done!

10. RUN A RED LIGHT? I swear, officer, it was puce.

11. DYE YOUR HAIR BLUE? Egad, no.

12. MAKE SOMEONE CRY? Again?

13. STAY UP ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT? That's the only way to see the sun rise.

[THE LAST PERSON WHO...]

1. SAW YOU CRY? Can't even remember.

2. YOU SAW CRY? Don't want to embarrass anyone.

3. WENT TO THE CINEMA WITH? The niblings and Maliryn.

4. WENT TO DINNER/LUNCH WITH? Robin, the fab PR chick in the San Juans, and her step-son Sam

5. THAT CALLED YOU ON THE PHONE? Lena

6. THAT YOU CALLED ON THE PHONE? McKinley

7. TEXT YOU? Lena

8. MADE YOU LAUGH? McKinley (unwittingly)

[DO YOU PREFER]

1. FLOWERS OR CANDY? What's behind door #3?

2. GRAY OR BLACK? Black.

3. COLOR OR BLACK? Depends.

5. SUNRISE OR SUNSET? Sunset. Sunrise makes me sleepy.

6. STAYING UP LATE OR WAKING UP EARLY? Always staying up.

Farewell, Friday Harbor (San Juan Islands, Day 3)

Sunday morning in Friday Harbor is about as laidback as any other day in the sleepy burg, with few of the shops shuttering for the day in the hopes that weekend tourists will bring along more business. Since checkout was 11AM, I dragged my new "no-weight" (yeah, right) suitcase down Spring Street then over to First, where I finally made it to the Whale Museum, which, unlike other museums with a form of "whale" in their name, actually promotes the conservation of the mammals, not the commercial whaling industry. The museum itself is small, befitting its island location, but is packed with lots of eco-friendly facts and specific information on the pods that roam the Salish Sea, which I learned to call this pocket of the Puget Sound.

I spent roughly an hour wandering the museum and taking in bits of info about individuals in the pods, then strolled over to Pelindaba Lavender, where I'd spent my first morning with Robin. With me I lugged my suitcase, which had weighed just over 20 pounds before I boarded the seaplane at Lake Union, but was now a tad heavier that I had an autographed copy of Patricia Schultz's best-selling and oft-copied 1,000 Places to See in the U.S.A. & Canada Before You Die, which Robin had gotten for me the night before when the author made an appearance at a Spring Street bookstore. The San Juans, of course, made it into Schultz's book, and the whole lot of her vetted places made for quite a heavy tome. I wondered if my suitcase would pass the test on the return flight.

At Pelindaba, I purchased some lavender pepper -- bringing the number of varieties of pepper in my kitchen up to seven (lemon, cayenne, white, black, red pepper flakes, chipotle, and my newbie) and ordered the same delicious flaky mushroom pie and ginger soda I'd enjoyed when I first landed. Then it was off to the docks to await my flight. I watched as a family who had chartered a plane to themselves tried to unload their gangly, lop-eared mutt onto to the dock, then waited another 45 minutes before my plane arrived. (I was still in denial that I could arrive just a quarter hour before I was to leave and had left plenty of buffer time, during which I caught up in my journal.)

All too soon I was back in the air, soaring over small islets and then landing next to the houseboats on Lake Union. When I landed, I realized I'd forgotten to heed the advice of the proprietor of the metaphysical shop where I'd purchased a replacement purse: "Take a rock with you when you leave. It'll call to you to return to the islands."I'd forgotten to pocket a rock, but as I scrolled through my camera at the photos I'd taken, I knew it wouldn't be necessary.

Day 1: Escape From "Civilization"
Day 2: Water, Water Everywhere
Day 3: Farewell, Friday Harbor

Water, Water Everywhere (San Juan Islands, Day 2)

After a rather restful sleep in my comfy bed at Elements Hotel & Spa, a few short blocks from downtown Friday Harbor, I boarded the 46-foot Western Prince in search of J- and K-Pods, who had eluded me the day before at Lime Kiln Point and had headed farther north than usual. Owner/captain Ivan told me how he'd come to own his business, after relocating from sunny San Diego to the rain shadow of the San Juans. (I also learned that the Weather Channel had recently visited to discuss this weather phenomenon with San Juan residents.) As we chatted on the bridge, Ivan took us past a small islet -- little more than a sandbar with a large piece of driftwood, really -- where a bald eagle perched majestically, as if posing for the tourists aboard, and a harbor seal bobbed in and out of the water in the foreground. Ivan displayed his facility for multi-tasking by manning both the radio and his cell phone in order to find the whereabouts of the pod, and moments later six-foot fins could be spotted in the distance.

Ruffles, the patriarch of J-Pod, led the way, along with Granny, believed to be either his mother or grandmother. We watched the pod make their way back toward San Juan Island, the bursts of their breathing still very audible even from the maritime-law-imposed distance of 100 yards (Ivan normally gave them berth of even more than that, just to be sure). My little point-and-shoot digital couldn't sufficiently capture their grace from that distance, but the memory remains.

Since I'd only had a scone before my three-hour tour, I trekked back into Friday Harbor with a grumbling belly and satisfied it at the Front Street Ale House, the local brewmaker conveniently located just strides from the dock. After downing a decent veggie burger and two well crafted pints, I headed back to my bed for a cat nap (I was still recovering from the 6-day visit with the niblings), then awoke in time to be chauffeured to the island's north shore by my gracious host Robin, from the visitors' bureau. We made a pitstop at Lakedale Resort, which was in the midst of prepping for a lakeside wedding that evening and so was decked out in rustic splendor.

After our drop-in, we headed up to Roche Harbor, a favorite vacation spot of both Teddy Roosevelt and John Wayne. Roche Harbor is less resort and more "community," as the property manager explained it, and I'd agree -- not only because of his convincing stories but because of the palpable aura that surrounds the many conjoined properties. Families roam the grounds -- sculpture garden, marina, artists' bazaar, mausoleum trail -- as if it were part of their own estates, and indeed some may think it is, since they've been returning to the same vacation spot for decades -- the same week and cabin each year, next to the same family who does likewise.

After getting an abbreviated tour and history lesson (Note: Is this really the only privately owned Catholic chapel in the country?), I hopped into a San Juan Safaris kayak for a sunset tour around the island. I was paired with a high school student who, from what I could gather, had never traveled far from his Ohio hometown, based on his frequent remarks ("This is the first time I've seen a real crab." "I've never kayaked before." "Are those mountains real?"). When our path put me downwind, I endured the spray from his paddles, but cringed whenever he spat chaw over the side. He was friendly enough though, and obliged by taking over all paddling duties whenever the urge to take a photo struck.

Although we didn't have the colorful sunset we'd hoped -- we were, in fact, drizzled on -- we were rewarded with several wildlife encounters, including a close encounter with a harbor seal and her pup that brought us within feet of both. We had stopped paddling as soon as we realized they were in our path, and with the current at our backs, we soon drifted so close that when Mom opened her eyes, she quickly shooed her charge underwater and both disappeared. Not long later, we spotted not one but two bald eagles communing in a tree, bringing my baldy tally to five thus far on the trip.

The San Juans being the laidback place they are, not an eyebrow raised when I strolled into the romantically lit dining room of McMillin's with the bottoms of my khakis drenched. Sam, Robin's step-son and long-time employee of the Roche Harbor properties, laid out the fixin's, including a deliciously bold, local red wine and a cheese plate that made me rethink my aversion to blue cheeses. Mushrooms, raspberry salad, and veggie-filled lasagna stretched my stomach to its limits -- and dessert was still to come. Since Robin and I had opted for creme brulee the night before, we went all out this time with chocolate decadence. As she drove me back to my hotel, I was already falling into a food coma. From the little I'd sampled of Seattle cuisine, I have to say the San Juans beat the Northwest's metropolis hands down.

Day 1: Escape From "Civilization"
Day 2: Water, Water Everywhere
Day 3: Farewell, Friday Harbor

Escape From "Civilization" (San Juan Islands, Day 1)

I needed this getaway. Hell, I needed any getaway, but I was overly fortunate that the San Juans fell nicely into my itinerary, due to a business trip in Seattle. I'd had the islands on my travel to-do list for four years, so I didn't even mind waking at the butt-crack of dawn to catch a seaplane (my first) to Friday Harbor.
I'd fantasized about what this island chain would be like, but I was way off. It wasn't the romantically gloomy, fog-enshrouded archipelago my imagination had cobbled up, but the remote world I discovered was just as refreshing, and in some ways even more singular. Where else can you find a community so safe that residents don't even own keys to their homes? What other destination boasts a national park whose sole purpose is whale watching? Such peculiarities seem downright normal the moment you set foot on any one of the isles.

My trip began with a moped rental from Susie's, which brought back memories of my dearly departed Kymco scooter (I'd curse the bastards who stole it, but that would be against the islands' nature) as I tooled around the inner portion of San Juan, the most populated of the islands and the only one with an incorporated village (Friday Harbor). The darkly wooded interior I'd imagined was soon replaced with golden rolling fields reminiscent of Northern Europe, complete with neatly rolled bales of hay wafting warm scents in the afternoon sun. At the start of my jaunt, I was joined by a dragonfly of iridescent blue, who criss-crossed my moped's path in a game of chicken, as if mocking my measly 50cc horsepower. Before the buzz of his wings had even been swallowed by the breeze, a bald eagle soared mere yards over my helmet, and I swear his golden eye was checking me out. Then, as if on cue, a small private aircraft swooped down to land on the airstrip of the farm I was passing.

Down to Cattle Point Lighthouse I puttered, snapping photos of hay rolls, quaint farm steads, and the overly fragrant False Bay, where the deep salt scent lured me though the flies seemed to flee in swarms. At the park's visitors' center, I did as Susie suggested and asked the ranger about the eaglet that had recently been spotted. Sure enough, in the branches outside the building was a nest, stocked with one brown-feathered baby whom the rangers, an elderly couple who delighted in sharing their information of the park, had named "Lucky." I shared their binoculars with the other visitors of the moment, all of us taking turns to watch Lucky hop about the branches outside her aerie.

After strolling the rocky shores of Fourth of July and South beaches, I returned to the road and headed inland for Pelindaba Lavender Farms, which I smelled before even spotting the undulating fields of purple. I would have visited longer, but I had to return my scooter to Susie by 6PM or it would turn into a pumpkin, and I had yet to hit the main attraction: Lime Kiln Park, the aforementioned orca-viewing grounds. Alas, no orcas that day, although the view of my second lighthouse in less than three hours and the sparkling Haro Strait were sights unto themselves. A glance at my cellphone told me that I had less than an hour to make it clear across the island and, knowing my vehicle's aversion to inclines steeper than an anthill and not knowing just how far "clear across the island" actually was, I hightailed it back down Bailer Hill Road, with far fewer photo pitstops than on the way out. When I returned my two-wheeled steed to Susie, she was surprised that I was so early, and when I glanced at my cellphone again, I saw that I was a full hour ahead. Ah, those tricky cell towers! My phone had been picking up Canadian service on the west side of the island, and Canucks don't observe daylight savings.

The cellular mishap was actually a blessing in disguise, because I now had time for a catnap before my dinner at Duck Soup Inn, whose locally grown produce made my meal a standout, especially after the overpriced, overhyped dinner I'd had in Seattle the night before. I would have asked chef/owner Gretchen for the recipe for her simple but elegantly presented twice-baked corn souffle, but I know I would only have mangled it, so it's for the best.

When I finally put my head to the pillow, I was as far away from my life in Los Angeles as I could have dreamed.

Day 1: Escape From "Civilization"
Day 2: Water, Water Everywhere
Day 3: Farewell, Friday Harbor

Sin Chicas, Silencio (Los Angeles, Day 7)

My cell phone is broken. A conspicous brown spot has appeared on the backseat of my once spotless six-month-old car. A fine film of sand covers the entire flooring surface of my home. There's gum on my wall.

But quiet has returned to my home. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that. I wouldn't necessarily say that quiet is better.

When I said goodbye to the chicas at the airport, I felt unexpectedly choked up. I was going to miss their crazy ramen songs and impersonations of impersonations of celebrities. I would no longer be peppered with questions about politics, environmentalism, or Greek mythology in the most unusual of surroundings. I'd also have to go back to work, dagnabbit.

I hope the chicas have taken with them lots of memories that they'll cherish for years to come. For me, my favorite memory was when the two embraced me out of nowhere and stared up at me with impish grins. When I asked what they were up to, they just shrugged and said, "Nothing, we just wanted to hug you."

"I'm going to enjoy this moment," I said gazing down at them as they snuggled closer while still wriggling with pre-teen antsiness. "In a few years, you're going to hate me." Why is that? they asked, such a thought still inconceivable. "Because most teenagers have disdain" -- they'd already heard this word many times on their trip -- "for adults. I did."

"That won't happen," Micaela insisted, shaking her head emphatically. "You're just a big kid."

I'll remind her of that sentence the first time she rolls her eyes when I offer advice. Oh, wait...

Day 1: Las Super Chicas Invade LA
Day 2: Santa Monica and the Hollywood Bowl
Day 3: Raging Waters, Raging Chicas
Day 4: Disneyland and California Misadventure
Day 5: I Think They're Turning Japanese
Day 6: El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family
Day 7: Sin Chicas, Silencio

El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family (Los Angeles, Day 6)

Las Super Chicas are slowing down, their seemingly limitless energy giving way to sleeping in and returning home early to see what movie Aunt Jenn can surprise them with next. We started our day late, with breakfast at my old haunt, Jinky's in Santa Monica, where we met up with the notorious Lenatic and her outrageous cackle. After scarfing our brunch ("I can't believe how much these two eat!" exclaimed a not-easily-impressed Lena), las super chicas were introduced to Rocky McDoodle, Lena's trusty red chow.

Next we headed across town to the La Brea Tar Pits (which translates, redundantly, as "The the tar tar pits"). The chicas couldn't believe that there was still trouble brewing beneath the surface, as evidenced by the gurgling bubbles -- and the stench. We watched the mammoth statues float on the tarry surface, then headed over to the excavation pit, where workers painstakingly cleared fossil specimens one speck of dust at a time. Not exactly a dream job for any of the three ADD super chicas.

A quick drive in Eartha KITT (our beloved chariot) brought us back to Hollywood and Highland, where we parked and headed through the maddened crowd of muggles awaiting the arrival of the stars of the Harry Potter franchise. Las super chicas had no interest in anything Potter, even though the eldest is, like, a huge fan and would have been thrilled to catch a real-life glimpse of any of the actors. Alas, she had to settle for watching the tops of their heads bob through the Hollywood Boulevard crowd before ducking into the El Capitan for the Ratatouillespectacle, where my friend Marilyn joined us belatedly. The pre-show consisted of the requisite organ playing followed by several live dance numbers starring some of the most popular Disney characters. The film itself didn't impress the younger chicas as much as the pre-show and the theater itself.

We had a few minutes to duck into stores for souvenirs, then, because we hadn't eaten enough all day, we headed to the Valley to meet up with some of Jessica's family and some of my friends. Along the way, we picked up my pal McK, whom the girls fell in love with due to their mutual tastes in music and television (Avril Lavigne, American Idol, etc.). Once at the Pomorodoin Sherman Oaks, we enjoyed a lovely meal with Jessica's aunt, uncle, and cousins, as well as my surrogate family, Julie and Tyler. As McK watched the girls' ramen dance and non-stop chatter, he turned to me and said, "You've survived five days of this?" His is a lifestyle that moves at a much slower pace than water slides and roller coasters.

After bidding farewell to blood and surrogate families alike, we traveled over the Hollywood Hills to return McK to his home, las super chicas entertaining from the backseat by regurgitating various pop-culture shows. They then asked the question that would seal McK, who knew the answer, as their favorite person of the whole trip. "Do you know where Paris Hilton lives?" Las super chicas claim to hate Paris, but their unwavering fascination with her and their desire to spend money on merchadise with her likeness say otherwise. Now they insisted that their eagerness to see the Hilton homestead was because they wanted to toss eggs, which wasn't about to happen on my watch. We did, however, drive by 1467 N. Kings Road, while the girls protested ever more loudly how much they despised the heiress. Yeah, okay.

After dropping McK home, we returned to Playa del Rey and I forced the girls to shower -- no way were they waking me at 5:30AM with showers and hair dryers. While one cleaned up, the other, supposedly, packed, but there were still personal belongings strewn about the living room when we finally turned out the lights and the last of the giggles were suppressed.

Video: The Ramen Dance


Day 1: Las Super Chicas Invade LA
Day 2: Santa Monica and the Hollywood Bowl
Day 3: Raging Waters, Raging Chicas
Day 4: Disneyland and California Misadventure
Day 5: I Think They're Turning Japanese
Day 6: El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family
Day 7: Sin Chicas, Silencio

I Think They're Turning Japanese (Los Angeles, Day 5)

"Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." This is the movie quote du jour that las chicas learned.

We spent a rather relaxing day, compared to the previous ones. My shark-diving pal Patric hooked me up with his fishing buddy at the Aquarium of the Pacific, where we got a behind-the-scenes tour. We started out with an up-close shark feeding, where bull sharks, zebra sharks, sawfish, and other toothy pelagics swirled about to get their daily nibbles. Then Steve took us back to the main quarantine area, where we saw animals awaiting their turn to be put on exhibit, or simply enjoying life as they couldn't out in the open ocean. One in particular was a blind sea lion, who would have been Purina shark chow himself had he not been taken into captivity.

We got quick peeks at the animal food prep area, the diver staging area, and then onto the above-tank viewing area, where we looked down upon the ginormous exhibition tanks that all the hoi polloi could see only from below. Then Steve asked what the chicas' favorite animal is, to which they answered, "Sea horses!" Moments later, the girls' grins were wider than a porpoise's as they saw the hundreds of miniature sea horses, some less than a day old, galloping around in their tanks. We even saw leafy and weedy sea dragons, relatives to the sea horses but more like silky plants, say las chicas. Perhaps the thoughts of ramen are finally getting to them: Like Japanese tourists, they viewed much of the aquarium through the camera viewfinders on their cell phones.

After our VIP treatment, we headed back to join the masses, this time viewing the exhibits with the commoners. The girls were excited to finally meet Rungus, the binturong I'd told them smells like popcorn and looks like a cross between a cat and a monkey, complete with whiskers and prehensile tail. But their favorite part was the lorikeet exhibit, where dozens of the brightly colored birds fly free in an enclosure, even landing on guests bearing cups of nectar. Las chicas so adored this part of the aquarium that we returned after the first movie, and skipped a longer viewing of the puffins and sea otters. Actually, I take that back. Their favorite part of the aquarium was, of course, the gift shop, where they spent the better part of 40 minutes.

We strolled the boardwalk a little bit, taking in such sites as the Queen Mary and lighthouse in the distance. Then we headed north to sate their hunger for the legendary ramen, which they haven't been able to get out of their heads ever since I mentioned it the first day. They asked what flavors were better, Oriental or Roast Chicken, and they were shocked to learn that those would not be options at Ramenya. When they got the menu, they had trouble deciding what they wanted, unable to find anything that would satisfy them both, since they'd be sharing the vat of soup between them. When the bowls finally arrived, they couldn't believe how big they were. The chicas' stomachs had finally met their match.

Then home we headed for a viewing of The Princess Bride, which went over well, despite having to rewind multiple times so they could pick up on key plot points. Their questioning and interruptions were nicely complemented by those of the grandson in the film, whom they wisely chose not to criticize.

Now they're performing minor surgery on each other's blisters in preparation for an early night to bed. Then they'll have to produce either a thank-you note (for Patric and Steve) or a journal entry before they get their nightly bedtime myth, which they now beg for.

Only one day left, and still a few fun places to squeeze in.

Videos:
Sea Horses and Cell Phones
Coral Crab Research
Sharks-to-Be

Day 1: Las Super Chicas Invade LA
Day 2: Santa Monica and the Hollywood Bowl
Day 3: Raging Waters, Raging Chicas
Day 4: Disneyland and California Misadventure
Day 5: I Think They're Turning Japanese
Day 6: El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family
Day 7: Sin Chicas, Silencio

Disneyland and California Misadventure (Los Angeles, Day 4)

I bet someone could make a bazillion dollars selling a book on how to kill time on theme park lines. For me, the saving grace for these hours in the sun has been that I've been rereading Edith Hamilton's Mythology and regurgitating while we queue up behind 40,000 other park visitors. Who knew that stories 2,000 years old could keep kids entertained? Since I used up most of the stories at Raging Waters, I had to fall back on the Trojan war. So yesterday, Las Super Chicas (they've been upgraded from the pedestrian "Las Chicas") learned about Ulysses and the great wooden horse and, when those stories were over, the great wooden rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (When they get back, ask them what the three most common sources for literal allusions are. I don't think they've realized they're actually begging to hear stories that they're going to complain about reading in school.)

In the mornings, the Super-Slow Chicas take their sweet time writing in their journals (they're currently two days behind), showering (my whole home smells like eau de theme park), and marrying their Tamagotchis. When we finally get moving a few hours later, they look at me as if I'm the cause for our tardiness. Since I'm not big on repeating myself, I'll stand near the door without opening it while they gaze up at me with eyes that say, "I know we're forgetting something. But we can't remember what!" Then Jessica will remember that the butter is still out or Micaela will run back to scoop a wet towel off the couch. After a few more minutes of my silent game, we're finally ready to leave.

Yesterday's culinary adventure was Thai, which Micaela still calls "thigh" but which she now loves. (They both still beg me to take them to "raymon," aka ramen.) First course: chicken-stuffed wontons with semi-spicy Thai sweet sauce. Verdict: Empty plate in less than four minutes. Second course: LSC shared their own concoction of glass noodles, broccoli, and chicken, having balked at the crazy Thai veggies listed on the menu. They knocked all this back with a shared Thai iced tea, which Jessica declared "smoke in a glass." Third course: coconut sticky rice and fresh mango. Overall verdict on Thai: "I don't think they have this in Connecticut," said Jessica. I assured them there was indeed Thai in the Constitution State, but the mango might not be as fresh.

Then we were off for the glorious kingdom of Anaheim. Las Super-Slow Chicas made insinuations that we weren't going to have enough time at the park, since it was after three. But seeing how tired they'd been the day before after only five hours at Raging Waters, I thought this would be the best course of action, now that the hottest part of the day was over and we'd be safely out of the triple digits on the thermometer.

On Disneyland's Main Street, I pointed out the only permanent religious object in the whole park: a mezzuzah. Stories vary as to why it's there, but I thought the kids would get a kick out of it.

After waiting in line for our 200th ride, Micaela commented that "people are looking at us." No kidding. It may have been something to do with the fact I was quite probably the only person in the park entertaining her charges with ancient mythology. Or perhaps it was because those around us had overheard my decree that any chica who does acrobatics inline or who bumps into a stranger gets flicked in the forehead. I could see total strangers mentally willing the chicas to forget their surroundings so they would bump into the disaffected emo boy behind us or the super-cute surfer boy in front -- everyone wanted to see some flickin' action. And guess who finally gave them the satisfaction. Yup, none other than Super-Chica Haas, who ran head-on into the stringbean surfer, who in turn looked both excited to see what would happen and embarrassed that he'd been part of the cause. When Micaela ducked her head to keep from getting flicked, she instead received two sharp pinches to the gluteus maximus (or "glucius maximus," as she calls it).

Micaela's look of disdain is legendary, perhaps even more so than the story of the Trojan horse. But one way to wipe it from her smarmy face is to threaten to record it forever with a camera. Presto! Instant giggles.

After just three days, Las Super Chicas are already speaking like me (prepare yourselves, parents). They've taken my habit of switching around words (e.g., "muffins of English") to create their own sayings, my favorite being Jessica's "pul of ap" for "apples." They've also taken up singing songs about my cats, using "fluffy" as a synonym for "great," and talking like Pee-Wee Herman (sorry for that last one).

Screaming on the Maliboomer

Day 1: Las Super Chicas Invade LA
Day 2: Santa Monica and the Hollywood Bowl
Day 3: Raging Waters, Raging Chicas
Day 4: Disneyland and California Misadventure
Day 5: I Think They're Turning Japanese
Day 6: El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family
Day 7: Sin Chicas, Silencio

Raging Waters, Raging Chicas (Los Angeles, Day 3)

America's Funniest Home Videos would do well to place a permanent camera on the Flowrider attraction at Raging Waters. As we waited in line, those before us provided some much-needed diversion in the 95-degree Valley heat, but it was two tweens in particular who had the crowd in hysterics. Micaela lasted a few seconds before she was tossed back like a ragdoll in the spray. Jessica lasted a little longer, but got caught up in an eddy where she spun around like a dreidel before her board got sucked away.

Had I not hurt myself after the very first ride (slipping on a mat), I would have tried the Flowrider, too, which I'm sure would have made for footage that would have kept Ilene in hysterics at least until Micaela's high school graduation. But, alas, I had to sit out a few rides until my pulled muscle felt a tad better, then I rejoined the girls in aquatic antics.

While waiting on a ride with Poseidon as the mascot, I began telling las chicas some Greek myths, mainly to keep them from singing, as they had on the other lines, and also to keep them from trying line acrobatics on the crowd-control barriers. They couldn't get enough of the stories, so if we have a chance, I'll stop by a bookstore and see if I can find a book that might interest them. I considered renting Clash of the Titans, but I don't think they'd be able to get past the ancient animation style, so they'd probably bore quickly.




Jessica: Take 1
Micaela (Picking a Wedgie): Take 2
Jessica: You Have to See It to Believe It
Micaela: Revenge of the Flowrider
Las Chicas Gritando

Day 1: Las Super Chicas Invade LA
Day 2: Santa Monica and the Hollywood Bowl
Day 3: Raging Waters, Raging Chicas
Day 4: Disneyland and California Misadventure
Day 5: I Think They're Turning Japanese
Day 6: El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family
Day 7: Sin Chicas, Silencio

Las Super Chicas in Santa Monica and at the Hollywood Bowl (Los Angeles, Day 2)

We started off the day way early -- too early, some might say. The girls, still jetlagged, awoke before 6AM, an inhuman time by my standards, but they were good and kept as quiet as possible. We finished watching our movie from the night before, then got ready to hit the beach. First we headed to the Santa Monica Farmers' Market to stock up on supplies for the Hollywood Bowl later that evening. Jessica and Micaela couldn't believe they were actually allowed to sample items, and we spent quite a bit of time at one cheese stall in particular, trying several varieties of gouda, from mild to sharp, jalapeno to herbs & spices (we bought the medium). I also introduced them to the best darn guac in the country, Holy Guacamole, and the two loved it so much that we bought a container for our picnic. Cheremoya, kumquats, and a slew of other fruits and veggies were also sampled.

Although they opted not to try the savory crepes, we did go back to Acadie for dessert (strawberry and chocolate crepes), after trying Baja Fresh, where we lined up every type of salsa available for a taste test. Since we only had a limited amount of time (and energy), I gave them a choice between visiting the Santa Monica Pier, with its overpriced and lame rides, or Venice Beach. All I had to do was say "shopping" and the latter was chosen. After driving around for half an hour looking for a spot (no way was I going to pay $30 to park, even on the Fourth), we left Eartha Kitt (my beloved Prius) in the Venice Canals, where we happened upon a makeshift boat parade, including two women dressed as ducks tossing water balloons at the crowd.

We made our way down to the beach, ogling the weirdos at Muscle Beach and ducking into a few vendor stalls to check out t-shirts. After romping in the waves for a little under an hour, they returned to the blankets where we took a power nap under a hazy Venice sky. Before heading back to Eartha Kitt, the girls got henna tattoos, fretting the whole walk back to the car about how much their designs were smudging.

Next stop: The Grove and the historic Fairfax Farmers' Market, where we picked up some bread for our cheese, more cheese (fresh mozzarella), chips for the guac, and a few other sundries. We watched as crowds darted out of the way of the The Grove's two-story trolley ("A lawsuit waiting to happen," says my friend Justin), then headed to Hollywood and Highland, where las chicas stuck their fingers and feet in the prints of every movie star available, even the ones they didn't know. We saw Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta's stars just feet away from each other on the Walk of Fame (yesterday we passed Venice High School, which acted as Rydell High in both Grease films), strolled past the Kodak Theatre, peeked into the Babylonian Court, then headed to the shuttles, which chauffeured our tired butts up the hill to the Bowl. There las chicas learned what I meant about "stacked parking" and finally understood why I didn't want to park at the Bowl itself.

We picnicked outside the amphitheater, where I knew there would be more space than in the benches, then heard the warning shot of fireworks that announced the start of the show. After hiking further up the hill (they really should give us crampons), we found our seats and settled in for a brisk night under the Hollywood stars. I could tell the girls weren't thrilled by the classical first half, which was dedicated to John Wayne on his 100th birthday. Micaela even cracked, "They keep talking about this 'inspirational' guy, but I have no idea who he is," even though she had her hands in his prints only two hours earlier. I filled them in a bit on The Duke, then gave up when the second half was announced and "Who's Gene Autry?" became the new chant. I threatened them with watching old movies the rest of the trip if they didn't sit still the rest of the concert. They enjoyed the second half more, with Riders in the Sky, the slaphappy cowboy troupe who wrote songs for Toy Story ("Woody's Round-Up") and several other movies, and who had a better sense of humor than the wooden mannequin who'd hosted the first part. Jessica fell asleep towards the end but woke up to witness "the best fireworks ever" (per Micaela).

Needless to say, they were both asleep before the lights went out at home, their final words being, "Are we going to Disney tomorrow?" Uh, no.


Day 1: Las Super Chicas Invade LA
Day 2: Santa Monica and the Hollywood Bowl
Day 3: Raging Waters, Raging Chicas
Day 4: Disneyland and California Misadventure
Day 5: I Think They're Turning Japanese
Day 6: El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family
Day 7: Sin Chicas, Silencio

Las Super Chicas Invade LA (Los Angeles, Day 1)

Las chicas landed in the sweltering Valley, skipping LAX for the more compact Burbank airport. After relating their ordeal of the overly attentive woman in the seat next to them (and having said woman almost overhear), Micaela and Jessica mentioned how they'd never before walked off a plane onto the tarmac or seen an outdoor luggage carousel.

We headed over to It's a Wrap, a second-hand store that sells clothing from TV and movie sets, but it didn't have the clothes labeled with the stars who'd worn the duds so we left pretty quickly. A few miles later we were at the Disney lot, which was pretty empty since it was July 3, which meant no lines at the commissary store. We strolled past sound stages and various historical Disney sites, then realized our stomachs were rumbling. At first we considered getting Mexican, but then, not wanting to drive all the way to Venice before eating, I remembered my favorite Japanese curry restaurant, Blue Marlin.

Las chicas dove into the medium-spicy curry and liked the spaghetti with wild vegetables and soy-butter sauce, but their favorite was the creamy risotto. Jessica liked the sauce so much that she ate a mushroom covered in it, then went on to try bok choy. I thought they were stuffed to the gills, but somehow they still had room for tempura ice cream, which was polished off in a matter of seconds.

Across the street we explored the Japanese market, where the girls squealed when they saw all the crazy dried fish products. We bought some candy and fruit-flavored sodas, then headed to the grocery store to stock up for breakfast. The girls couldn't believe the size of Ralphs, and when I told them there are bigger supermarkets, their eyes grew wide. With our English muffins and fruit, we then headed home, since we were all pooped. Halfway through a movie (Overboard), we gave up and hit the hay, intent on getting a headstart on the next day.


Day 1: Las Super Chicas Invade LA
Day 2: Santa Monica and the Hollywood Bowl
Day 3: Raging Waters, Raging Chicas
Day 4: Disneyland and California Misadventure
Day 5: I Think They're Turning Japanese
Day 6: El Capitan, La Brea Tar Pits, Friends and Family
Day 7: Sin Chicas, Silencio