Every Rose Has A Lot of Friggin' Thorns

While on our evening dog walk, on a pleasantly warm spring evening, our wonderful Shaak Ti displayed her newest manifestation of what I can only assume is some kind deathwish. I don't understand her mental processes, nor do I think I want to, but often times the result is her hitting her head, falling down, or otherwise hurting herself, which though it does not faze her, leads me to believe that eventually her high risk behavior is going to catch up with her. She will inevitably decide that indeed an ostrich is not too big of a bird to chase, or one day eat another pound of fudge. Despite this seeming urge to end her own life prematurely she lives every day to its puppy fullness.

Now normally when we're walking, she loves to jump up, onto retaining walls or ledges, or any structure that runs along the sidewalk where she can explore and be higher up than if she walked like other normal dogs, i.e. at ground level. Having witnessed this behavior over several months, I've gotten used to it. Every once in a while she'll try to run ahead and jump up on a wall, misjudge how much leash she has available, and get yanked back to earth mid-jump. This doesn't seem to faze her a bit and she continues along her merry way.

On this particular we approached a house with a 2.5 to 3 foot wall out front. This house typically has a few cats running around and since Shaak Ti tends to get a bit ramped up as we approach, I was prepared for her to pull a bit on the leash, maybe even whine a tad. I wasn't prepared for her to suddenly stop, turn left and jump completely over the wall.

Now the other side of this wall was a good foot below the sidewalk level and there wasn't a soft cushy lawn for her to land on, but a series of rose bushes. And not just rose bushes, but the stumps of the rose bushes that had been trimmed back for the winter. As soon as she jumped I ran to the wall to find that she had impaled her back left leg and butt onto a big thorny rose bush stump. She was impaled so deeply that she was stuck in the bush and couldn't move. I had to gently lift her out and then spend the next several minutes pulling a dozen huge thorns out of her leg and paw. She wound up bleeding in a couple places where the thorns had penetrated deeply enough, but aside from shaking for a minute, was pretty much good to go.

The dog owner concept is pretty new to me, so this was my first time seeing my dog bleeding. I was somewhere between frightened and angry. Frightened because I care about my dog and didn't like to see my dog bleeding, and angry because who the hell jumps over a wall when they have no idea what's on the other side? Seriously, who does that?

After treating Shaak Ti with some doggie first aid spray, I continued to be mad at her for the ordeal and her lack of judgment. She was soon forgiven and I realized that the decision making and rational thought processing areas of her brain may be underdeveloped, but that makes her even more endearing and lovable.

A Day at the Beach

There has been some rain in San Diego over the past week or two, which closes the regular dog park that we usually take Shaak Ti to visit. Shaak Ti needs to play with other dogs on a regular basis, period. She needs to run, wrestle, chew on other dogs, and have other dogs knock her over. It's a fact of life as certain as poop and blue skies. Our normal regimen of two walks a day, play time, and the every other day three-mile run aren't quite enough for her. She needs to run, wrestle with other dogs, and completely tire herself out, at least three to four times a week. Since the dog park has been closed, I started taking her to the beach. Coronado has a terrific dog beach, fenced on two sides, with the ocean on the third side.

When Shaak Ti gets to the beach the first priority is of course, taking a nice long whizz, don't want all that extra water weight slowing you down now do ya'? Sometimes there is the accompanying bowel movement, and then she's good. Once the systems are all purged and she has introduced herself to all the dogs in the immediate vicinity, she sets out on her task of clearing the beach of all birds. This is done by chasing them until they fly away. No gimmicks here. Most days this is simple enough, a sandpiper or two, maybe a pelican out along the surfline that needs to be escorted away, but for the most part not a difficult task, then she can get to the dog playing that she so dearly loves. I'd like to think that she has a complex motto like "A beach full of birds is no beach for me", but more than likely the thought process is "unnhhhh birds chase" or something that effect.

But after a good storm and the surf has kicked up, there are many interesting (and I assume tasty) things for birds to investigate and peck at on the beach, and as such there can be dozens of them all along the length of the shoreline. Such was the case the other day. Shaak Ti took her job so seriously that she tore around, full speed for almost twenty minutes until every bird was gone from the dog beach. She had the look of a crazed dog, tearing around at full speed, hell bent on catching her avian adversary, but alas, it was not to be. Once the dog beach was cleared, she turned her attention to the rest of the vast coastline full of birds (but forbidden for dogs) and took off at full speed.

Now being deaf, unless we have eye contact, and (and this is the important part) she is willing to come back, I have to rely on the faith that she will be a good dog and eventually come back. So far this has worked, but today I wasn't too sure. This seemed in doubt as she ran further and further down the beach, sprinting in wide circles to scare every bird to take flight until she was a good half a mile down the beach and still running in in the opposite direction.


To make a long story short, she eventually came back, sort of willingly. After jogging to get her, she ran by me and I grabbed her, so I guess that counts. Rarely does she become afflicted with the crazy crazy, but this was such a day. The good news is that she was really tired and a complaint and well behaved pooch for the remainder of the day. Until tomorrow....

A Mammoth Mammoth

OK, so I didn't really see a Mammoth, or even a mammoth mammoth, though I suppose that all mammoths are in fact mammoth. I'm also not sure what the record for the number of times that the word mammoth was used in a sentence, but I think that last one should be close. Back to the issue at hand though, if anyone has seen a non-mammoth mammoth (that isn't a baby mammoth), well then I'll buy you a nice big frosty YooHoo.

Last Wednesday we packed up my sisters ginormous Ford Excursion Diesel 67000 and trucked up to Mammoth Mountain with four people, three dogs, three snowboards, several sacks of snacks, and hopefully millions of happy little cilia that are resprouting in Super Gluten Free Gal's duodenum. Alliteration ahoy hoy. The journey was surprisingly quick as we had a CHP officer as a chauffer and we were on the mountain in a mere six hours. With the exception of a car sick, vomiting Chihuahua/miniature pinscher (Mocha, my sister's dog), the journey was relatively un remarkable.

Conditions on the mountain were ideal. It hadn't snowed in four or five days so there was packed powder everywhere, but it didn't get cold enough at night to significantly ice things over or create a hard pack. The temps were in the high 30s and low 40's, warm enough to soften the snow without making it slushy. The weather held for the four day trip and we enjoyed sunny skies, light winds and a wonderful time on the slopes.

Gluten free meals were prepared ahead of time by Super Gluten Free Gal and Soggy Rice Pasta Boy and the first night we chowed down on homemade chili (very tasty) and the next night gluten free pasta and veggie casserole (good for the two of us, not so warmly embraced by sister and her hubby). Oh well, you can't win them all, and hell, I'm not here to try and convert anyone, so it's no big deal if we don't wow everyone.

I Hate Northwest Airlines

I hate Northwest Airlines. With a passion, with a vengeance, with an almost incomprehensible ire that rises from my very soul. Normally I consider myself above such petty venting, but I feel compelled to share my story with others so that we may all speak with our pocketbooks and rid the world of the scourge of this terrible airline.

My girlfriend is from a small town in North Dakota, and the only feasible way to get there is to fly from sunny San Diego to Minneapolis, then take a connecting flight to Grand Forks, North Dakota. Mind you it's still an hour and a half drive from Grand Forks to her town, and though her parents come to pick us up at the airport, it still makes for a long day of travel. Realistically though, it's the only place to fly into. We could fly into Winnppeg, Canada, which is about the same distance away, but suddenly that's an international flight, more expensive, and troublesome for my girlfriend to bring her dog along in the plane. Fargo is a three hour drive from her small town, which is doable, but a bit unrealistic.
We flew from San Diego early on the day after Christmas and were checking our bags at the Northwest counter in San Diego(we had e-ticketed the flight) when the gate attendant casually asked what was in one of our bags. We had four total bags between two people, each of us had a piece of luggage and a snowboard bag. We were planning on doing some snowboarding at the Frostfire Resort in Wallhalla, ND since it got us out of the house and out into the great frozen wilderness of North Dakota.

We'd almost finished checking the luggage when the gate attendant casually asked "what's in the bags?"

We replied honestly that they had snowboards. Little did I know that this was a big mistake

"Well that's going to be an extra charge" she said, and after looking it up said, "it's an additional $80 per bag".

My girlfriend and looked at each other dumbfounded. She'd flown this same route four years in a row with her snowboard, always on Northwest Airlines, around the holidays and had never been charged and additional fee for a snowboard bag. I'd flown before with my snowboard or golf clubs dozens of times and had never been charged an additional fee on any airline, ever. We each gently explained this to the gate attendant, but when it was obvious she didn't understand this, I began making an angry face and told her "no, we're not paying that".

I asked for her supervisor, but since it was 5:00am, she was the only person on duty at the time, and there was no one else to help, and certainly no one else with any authority. We were left with no choice, having been dropped off at the airport, there was no way to leave the bags and not take them on the trip. After several more minutes of arguing and her calling "someone" on the phone who mysteriously confirmed the additional charge. I angrily and begrudgingly gave her my credit card and asked for the number of customer service so I could complain and hopefully get a refund.

Once we arrived in North Dakota we made three calls to Northwest encompassing a total of almost four hours with still no resolution. We learned that indeed the charge had been incorrect, and we should not have been assessed the additional fee. Vindication was fairly easy, refund of the money though, was a bit more difficult. It was only upon leaving from the airport in Grand Forks that a helpful (and competent – it is very rare to find competence in the ranks of Northwest employees) person finally started the refund process and gave me a follow up number for the refund department to call.

When I called the refund department today (a month after it was allegedly "processed"), they had no record of my refund claim. I was instructed to fax my refund claim information to their office in Minnesota where it would only take "a day or so" to process it. If it can happen that quickly, then why doesn't it? Northwest seems to thrive on poor customer relations, bad policies, inadequately trained staff, and poor customer service.

To top it all off, both the trip there and return trip, including each leg (flight to Minneapolis and connection to Grand Forks on the way there, and to Minneapolis and connection to San Diego) of the trip was delayed at least an hour and half, for every conceivable reason, but surprisingly enough, not weather. On the flight to Grand Forks we sat at the gate for over two and a half hours because they couldn't find the crew to load the baggage. Yup, bags were sitting right there beside t plane, but they couldn't find someone to load them. Inconceivable incompetence across the board.

I will never, ever fly Northwest again, and will advise friends, family, and anyone who will listen to do the same. If the proposed merger with Delta goes through, I will boycott them as well. As for future trips to North Dakota, I'll be flying into Minneapolis (on a different airline) and driving the 6 hours to get to my destination. It's cheaper and ultimately faster.

More Gluten Free Adventures

In sticking with the comic book theme from the previous gluten free post, once the introductions are made, the superhero has been gifted their new powers, perhaps even tested their new found powers or fought their first villain. It is then we see them return to ordinary life, take a job, and assume his alter ego, usually an unassuming, even boring occupation. In my case, I have assumed the identity of a non-mild mannered, opinionated, somewhat slackery accounting consultant. Be warned that the next accountant you meet, perhaps even the one doing your taxes this year, could in fact be a superhero's sidekick in disguise.

With 8 months or so of gluten free kitchen experimentation under my belt I now feel as though I have a wealth of wisdom, though surely that barely scratches the surface for people who have had gluten free diets for many years. Interestingly enough, diagnoses of Celiac Disease have only been brought to the forefront in the past few years. Whether doctors are better at understanding the complex and various manifestations of the disease, or simply the word has gotten out, incresing numbers of people are requiring gluten free diets. It is estimated that 1 in 133 people in the US have Celiac Disease, with higher concentrations in certain ethnic backgrounds (especially Irish).

Once you get past the foundation that just about everything has wheat in it, and many vegetarian and fake meat options (Morningstar fake chicken nuggets, Boca Burgers) all have gluten in them, you don't have a ton of choices of prepackaged prepared food. I still love the Morningstar fake chicken nuggets, patties, breakfast sausage links, and fake corn dogs, damn good the whole lot of them, but unfortunately Super Gluten Free Gal can't have them anymore. What you end up doing is preparing a lot of things from scratch or purchasing specialty gluten free items from Whole Foods or an equivalent specialty grocer. This unfortunately can get quite spendy. Whole Foods has a delicious gluten free herb bread that costs $9. Yeah, that's right $9 for an average sized loaf of bread. It's damn tasty bread, almost worth the price, but unfortunately with the dual handicap of girlfriend being a grad student and me having a bad attitude about working, it just ain't gonna happen on a regular basis. On the plus side, it makes great stocking stuffers. Many a gluten free food item was given on Christmas to rave reviews.

The two most difficult ingredients to deal with are probably soy sauce and malted barley, both of which are a no-no for a Celiac. Soy sauce is in literally everything, just about every Asian, Vietnamese, or Thai dish with a sauce component has soy sauce in it somewhere. This makes going out to eat at these types of restaurants difficult, not only because so many menu items are off limits, but also because communicating special dietary needs to servers is, well let's just call it "problematic". And malted barley is in almost every mainstream cereal and packaged baked good. So far the only cold breakfast cereal that we've been able to find are puffed rice (uggh) and gluten free corn flakes from Whole Foods (very tasty). Luckily Soggy Rice Pasta Boy is there most mornings to make a delicious hot breakfast for our superhero, eliminating her longing for those breakfast cereals which she cannot have.

The other big bummer is oatmeal. Oatmeal is intrinsically gluten free but either processed in the same facility as wheat, transported in the same trucks, or even grown in a field near wheat, so conventional oats are not guaranteed to be gluten free. So now due to cross contamination issues you've also eliminated all oats from your diet as well. This did not sit well with Super Gluten Free Gal since her upbringing on the wild North Dakota frontier had taught her to appreciate hot breakfast cereals, and sadly oatmeal was one of the few remaining options. There are a few place that offer certified gluten free oatmeal that has been tested and determined to have zero/insignificant amounts of gluten. Gluten Free Oats offers 2 pound, 9 oz bags for $10, plus a few more dollars for shipping and handling, but well worth it so Super Gluten Free Gal can have oatmeal again.

Next on the list donuts.....but you'll have to wait for that.

The Beginnings of Gluten Free Fun

All good comic books spend their first few episodes dedicated to detailing how the superhero (and sometimes his arch nemesis) came to be. Spaceship from another planet, radioactive spider, nuclear disaster, scientific experiment gone horribly wrong, or the ever popular gamma rays. Each cause had its inevitable effect and the result guided the direction of the comic book through the years. Well you're about to hear of the beginnings of Super Gluten Free Gal and her faithful sidekick Soggy Rice Pasta Boy.

Mealtimes and cooking have always been a source of enjoyment, relaxation, experimentation, and just plain fun for me for many years, having worked in the food and beverage industry throughout high school and then in the De La Guerra Dining Commons at UC Santa Barbara all throughout college. My girlfriend has also enjoyed those same pursuits having been a vegetarian since her college days, almost eleven years, and together we are quite the team in the kitchen. I tend to take the reins when it comes to tasks involving knives or taking things out of the oven, because though I love her dearly, she is incredibly clumsy in the kitchen.

When we first started dating, I'd go over to her little one bedroom apartment and chat with her while she prepared dinner. Her kitchen was so small that two people literally couldn't occupy it simultaneously, let alone both work in there. So I'd sit at her kitchen table and we'd talk while she would prepare dinner. Inexorably at least a couple of times I'd gasp in horror as she would come millimeters away from slicing her finger, or wince when she would forget that a pan she had just taken out of the oven was still hot and burn her hand. It was physically painful to sit and watch so I slowly started offering my help with the more dangerous tasks, and eventually commandeered any culinary activity that was to scary for me to watch her perform. To her defense, that tiny little kitchen had about a foot and a half of counter space, she had the wrong types of knives, and was using her grandmothers antique cutting board that was more slippery than a freshly caught bass, so the odds were sort of stacked against her.

Holidays and birthdays became opportunities to give her the gift of safety, non-slip cutting boards, manageable knives, etc. Not a day goes by where I don't hear "oops" or hear a bonking or clattering sound multiple times, but I worry less about her losing a digit than I used to, which is nice. The other day during a particularly festive breakfast I decided that I would count the number of "oops" for the whole day. Sadly I ended with a count of four midway through breakfast before I gave up with both of us laughing extremely hard.

In Spring 2007 my girlfriend was diagnosed with Celiac Disease, an autoimmune disease that is essentially an allergy to all wheat, rye, barley, and gluten containing products. She was diagnosed after several years of gastrointestinal issues and two bouts of pancreatitis within 18 months. Considering that she is not the likely candidate for pancreatitis, one of her doctors finally realized that something else might be at work and ordered the test for Celiac Disease. We were simultaneously relieved (glad it wasn't something more serious) and confused, "what the heck is gluten?". Well gluten is in just about everything as it turns out and we've had to rethink how we do just about everything, from ingredient label reading, food storage, meal selection and preparation, it's been an interesting process, and we've had some fun along the way. She often thanks me for being willing to experiment with new foods, and try new things, and above all cook her delicious gluten free foods, but she's wonderful and deserves it. Besides, I have my stash of regular wheat bread out in the garage where she'll never find it.....

Woof Woof What???

As previously mentioned, I am the proud owner of two dogs who also just happen to be quite deaf. Actually owner is probably inaccurate as I am more the pack leader than an owner, since both dogs recognize and respect my authority as pack leader. Tito the Wonder Puppy has been with my girlfriend for almost six years and Shaak Ti has been part of the family unit for six months.

When my girlfriend moved in last Spring, we had long discussed getting another dog, both for us and as a companion for Tito. I had been browsing the local Humane Society, ASPCA, and Helen Woodward Animal Center Websites for dogs of appropriate age and size, and were aiming for a dog in the 20 to 30 pound range since a dog any bigger would probably not get along well with Tito. It was during a random search on Craigslist that I saw an ad for a "Very Sweet and Loving, but Deaf Dog". Thinking to myself "ha, wouldn't it be a hoot to have two deaf dogs", I forwarded the link to my girlfriend as kind of a joke, who immediately thought it was a wonderful idea. D'oh. In all honesty the picture of the dog was pretty cute and she seemed to be about the right size, so in retrospect it wasn't that silly of an idea. Though if you had gone to Vegas a year ago, the odds of me becoming the proud pack leader of two deaf dogs would have been about 160,000 to 1.

I sent an e-mail to the Craigslist ad and got a very nice response from a woman named Katie who runs a dog training and boarding service (http://www.collared-scholar.com/) and rescues deaf dogs from Southern California shelters on the side. Katie was fostering the dog and was impressed that we already had a deaf dog of our own. We arranged a chance for all of us to meet (including Tito) Shaak Ti - whose name was Elsie at the time. The rest is the typical "love at first sight" that happens with awesome dogs. She was a great little dog, affectionate, but not needy, and not only got along well with Tito, but spent a lot of time just quietly playing around with a toy, giving the impression that she was good at keeping herself entertained, which turned out to be kinda true.

Katie explained that she had trouble adopting her out because many people incorrectly assumed deafness to be an immense handicap that would never allow a dog to be happy or enjoy its life. She also had people who balked at the nominal $50 adoption fee and had assumed that "she'd be free since she's disabled" or something to that affect. People seem to have very strange misconceptions about deaf dogs. First of all, unless people are told, almost no one knows that the dogs are deaf. Once told, I get a lot of "Wow, they seem really well adjusted" and "You can't even tell they're handicapped", which strikes me as odd since dog, person, or canary, I wouldn't consider deafness a handicap.

The drawbacks of having a deaf dog are pretty obvious, they can't hear when you call to them, but most dogs, Tito especially, but Shaak Ti as well, make up for this by maintaining eye contact with you as much as possible. We take both dogs to the beach and dog park and as they scamper around having fun, regularly look up and check in with us. If we want them to return we give them the hand command and they (usually) return. Teaching deaf dogs is really no different than hearing dogs, positive reinforcement, a few treats, and pets when the command is performed. The only difference is that the commands are hand signals instead of auditory signals. Of course when the dog is misbehaving, like getting into the trash can, well they obviously aren't too keen on making eye contact, and this is probably the biggest change from a hearing dog. Instead of sitting on the couch and yelling "No!! Bad Dog!!" I actually have to get up off my ass, and go over to correct her behavior. For 95% of Americans though, being able to overcome this inherent laziness is akin to asking them to fly.

The benefits if having a deaf dog? Almost too many to count. Fire engines, neighborhood dogs howling, loud music, thunderstorms, doesn't faze them for a second. My brother was helping me with some house renovations, cutting through wood, drywall, and stucco with a reciprocating saw, screeching and cutting and Shaak Ti was snuggling on my lap ten feet away, totally oblivious to it all. And when we're on our daily walk, if they don't see the dog barking from the backyard fence, they won't even look over, prompting more than person to remark "what well trained dogs you have". Rather than spoil their nice compliment with the truth, I simply say "thanks".

Synchronize This

A previous post about my childhood trauma with grapefruit was so much fun (and quite cathartic) that I thought I'd wander down the path of fuzzy memories yet again.

For those who have never been lucky enough to come into close contact with synchronized swimming, there are a couple of things you need to know. First of all, it strikes me as a somewhat difficult sport. There’s a lot of extended durations of holding ones breath, or being underwater upside down, along with some strenuous swimming and treading water. But other than the physical requirements, there’s a lot of weird beauty pageant elements to the whole thing that freak me out today, let alone as a seven year old. All participants are wearing a nose plug, swim cap, have lots of waterproof makeup on, are constantly smiling, and I think have Vaseline on their teeth to help them/make them smile more/better. Weird to me now, really weird as a kid. Actually to a seven year old these girls (who due to my age were already icky and cootie ridden) looked like aliens.

Twice a week for an entire summer my little brother and I would go with my Mom and sister to Helix High School in East County of San Diego. I couldn't quite tell you how long practice was, since as a seven year old, all concepts of time and space are not yet fully grasped. The practice probably ran about an hour, hour and half, but we'll be conservative and say it lasted an hour. So what did my brother and I get to do for this hour? That's right, sit in the bleachers with my Mom and watch synchronized swimming practice. You may have at some point accidentally happened upon synchronized swimming while watching coverage of the Olympics, or maybe a sadistic significant other tried to force you to watch it on the Oxygen network, and in case you're wondering, yes I can confirm that it's just as boring live in person, possibly even more so. Now imagine how boring this activity is when it's just the practice. Mind numbingly, bone achingly boring, magnified by the fact that I'm a seven year old kid who just wants to run around and poke things (or my little brother) with a stick.

The culmination of this synchronized class, what all these little girls were training for, was the big recital at the end of the session. All the parents would show up, sit on the cold metal bleachers, and glowingly watch their daughters spin around in unison underwater. This particular class was preparing their performance to the tune of "The Rainbow Connection", the song that Kermit the Frog sang in The Muppet Movie. I probably heard this song several dozen times per session, perhaps a thousand times over the course of that summer. More often than not it the same snippet that would play over and over and over as a particular move/sequence was practiced over and over and over while the coach would yell "no no no, when you come out of the water, you smile, then spin to the left, not the right", and other helpful, life altering truisms.

All summer my brother and I would sit there and watch the splashing water and the coaches shouting instructions and wonder what we'd ever done to deserve this. Perhaps the subtle nuances of all the complex underwater maneuvers were lost on us since, well we couldn't see what the hell was going on underwater, but we really didn't care. Every so often my brother and I would start up some little kid bitching and my Mom would let us run around on the grass behind the bleachers. On special occasions we'd get to bring along an awesome toy like a tennis ball, and we would make up fun games like "throw the tennis ball back and forth". It was great.

I couldn't really tell you what happened the day of the big performance, since all of the Rainbow Connections blended together into one great big happy mass of Kermitty positive energy and hopeful attitude. The moral of the story is that anytime I see a Muppet (especially Kermit), hear the Rainbow Connection, or god forbid see a snippet of synchronized swimming, it takes me back to that fun summer of sitting there watching synchronized swimming practice, feeling my brain getting numb. Good times.