Red, white and voting blues
04/05/2011
Less is fabulous, except when it comes to the number of people sporting “I voted” stickers.
I just voted in today’s municipal primary election. The big-deal race: Las Vegas mayor. The even bigger deal: it’s the race to succeed term-limited Mayor Oscar Goodman, the self-proclaimed happiest mayor in the universe. Add to that the fact that his wife, Carolyn Goodman, is running against some other strong candidates, and you’ve got yourself interesting hometown hype.
When I walked into Arbor View High School to handle my civic responsibility, the volunteers practically high-fived me. Hooray! A customer! Being the inquisitive type, I asked if it was busy earlier. They agreed that it was a “little busier” (so three people?), but seeing page after page of empty signature lines in the roster didn’t exactly confirm things.
Pathetic is the word that came to mind. When I lived in Erie, Pennsylvania, where it snows from Labor Day to Easter, the weather was always a worthy excuse. But this is Vegas, baby. The sun blinded me as I exited. My car’s thermometer read 81 degrees. Nope. Not the weather.
I dig the stars and stripes. I like voting. It gives a person the right to applaud or condemn elected officials’ decisions. It’s a cool privilege, and being in the marketing and public relations profession, I know how much cash the candidates – even the highly unlikely hopefuls – pour into advertising. Even if I’m not passionate about platforms, I at least feel like I owe ‘em one so they can see a little ROI, win or lose. But then, I’m also the person who responds to Banana Republic and Fresh & Easy surveys because I feel sorry for the marketing director who had to convince a higher up that it was worth the bucks to conduct.
I’m not the super political type. I don’t care who you vote for just as much as you don’t care who I vote for. Everything I could possibly write about low voter turnout has been written before. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve been solo in Arbor View’s gym. But today I felt like sharing my two cents. Lucky for me, I have this blog and freedom of speech. So, before I get too preachy or keep you from getting to your polling place, I’ll sign off.
(P.S. Ladies, wouldn’t it be fantastic if they gave us those red, white and blue shoes instead of “I voted” stickers? Turnout would be through the roof.)
Runners, take your marks. Thoreau, go home.
03/06/2011
Henry David Thoreau said, “Methinks that the moment my legs began to move, my thoughts began to flow.” He wasn’t among the 600+ runners at yesterday’s Red Rock Canyon ½ marathon, but I knew he’d haunt me. I was sure my legs would get me to the finish…if my mind didn’t stop me. People ask, “What do you think about when you run?” Well…mental minimalism is a goal I’ve yet to achieve.
Starting Line at Visitors Center (3740 feet elevation):
I love this so much. The view is inspiring. I made cool new friends. My water bottle belt is awesome.
Mile 1:
I hate this so much. The view is overrated. These annoying runners are in my way. I might strangle someone with my belt.
Mile 2:
My throat hurts. I’m sucking particle-filled wind. I need a dust mask. I’m panting like a dog. I’d be a pug. Short and scrappy. What if I suck in a bug? Mmmm, I’m glad my lip balm is raspberry flavor. I hate the kind of lip balm that requires you to stick your finger in the jar. Nasty. Germ pot. I need to buy shampoo. Did I get a Fresh & Easy coupon?
Mile 3:
My hands are on fire. Why did I wear these gloves? My friend lent them to me at a race…she won’t care if I throw them out. I’ll buy her a new pair. Target has cool gloves. Like their pillows too. I want to rip these gloves off and launch them into the desert. I’m taking them off. I’m carrying them. This is awkward and I need to focus on running, not gloves. I’m sticking them in my sports bra. No. Weird. Bumpy. I’m going to have a panic attack over these gloves, but I’m not a litter bug. I got a litter patch as a girl scout. I hated being a girl scout. I’m not chucking them off to the side. I agreed to follow the rules of this national conservation area. Some poor volunteer will have to pick them up.
Mile 3.5:
That cactus looks cold. It needs my gloves. (Toss.) Forgive me Father…for I have sinned…it has been 25 years since my last confession. Catholic school really messed me up.
Mile 4:
I’m going to barf. I’d think “toss my cookies,” but I had a banana for breakfast, not cookies. I love bananas. I love chocolate chip cookies. Oh no. There’s a woman tossing her cookies in the bushes. Don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t look. How many more miles? This course is excruciatingly difficult. I need to proof the annual report Monday. Ron’s taking me to dinner tonight! Or maybe he’ll make me homemade pizza!
Mile 5 (4,771 feet elevation)
Ya boy! The summit overlook. I climbed 1,031 feet. There’s an ambulance up there. Not inspiring. I’ve never been in an ambulance. I get carsick. Would I get carsick in an ambulance? Would it matter since I’d already be in the category of “sick?” Am I nuts?
Mile 6:
That dude’s shirt says “St. Patty’s Day Run 1997.” It must smell. He needs a new shirt. I remember getting a yearly Shamrock Shake with dad. I’ll get one this week. Green dye seems unhealthy. Whatever, if I die of this race or green dye – dead is dead.
Mile 7:
CRUISING NOW! I just ran a 7-minute mile down that hill. I am a cartoon character. If I trip, I’ll roll and crush my iPod. I love my playlist. I love this race. Where did I park my car back at Red Rock Casino?
Mile 8:
Where’s the 9-mile marker? My calves are She-Hulk like. Strange sensation. Her purple skirt looked good with her green skin.
Mile 9:
Where’s the 10-mile marker? If a half-marathon were 10 miles, it would be perfect. There’s a med-evac chopper. Someone bit the dust. Queen. “Another one bites the dust, and another one gone and another one gone…”
Mile 10:
My ankle hurts. I can’t wait to visit our niece in St. Louis. Suck it up and haul it Maras. Those rocks are really red. Pound the hills. Have fun. Just do it…every damn day. Remember what everyone (including Nike) said to encourage you. Go. Girl. Go.
Mile 11:
More hills? Am I on Candid Camera?
Mile 12:
Full-court press. Focus. Pump. Sprint. I can collapse near the bagel table on the other side of that finish line. I cannot BELIEVE I’m going to finish listening to “Runnin’ With the Devil.” Cool. I wanted to end on “Celebration,” but that’s several songs down the list. Sweet. I’m glad I’m not toting a walkman. How would I flip the tape?
Mile 13.1 – Finish:
“Now crossing the line, Tara Maras from Las Vegas, Nevada.” Wow, classy touch Calico Racing. Did someone on a walkie talkie tell the color commentary lady I was on my way? Done! I’m going to fall. Let’s par-tee!
Okay, so maybe I didn’t achieve mental clarity on my run. But I did write this blog post in my head.
Have you ever achieved mental clarity? Tell me how already!
Less (computer time) is fabulous
07/17/2010
In keeping with the theme of this blog, less computer time is definitely fabulous today.
Las Vegas is expected to reach 111 degrees, and I’m avoiding all heat sources, small as they may be…including my laptop. Sweaty wrists on a keyboard are not pleasant. And no, I’m not putting the AC into overdrive (a post for a different day). So without further commentary, I wish you a happy Saturday! Watch for tomorrow’s post, which I’ll type tonight when we dip to a cool 95 
Vegas or bust: Lessons from the road
07/07/2010
Nine years ago today we were homeless.
My husband and I had sold our adorable brick Cape Cod in Erie, Pennsylvania for the promise of warm weather, career opportunities and a new life in Las Vegas, Nevada. We were heading to a sight unseen apartment complex and to-be-assigned one-bedroom rental unit in Sin City. The apartment brochure promised free, hot-from-the-oven Otis Spunkmeyer cookies daily in the lobby. Where do we sign?
For five amazing days in the summer of 2001 our address was 1999 Honda Civic.
It was just us, travel essentials and our most important worldly possessions. The list included our wedding album, family photos, our computers and an aloe houseplant that made the entire cross-country journey perched at my feet on the passenger side. Why did I feel the need to let a meaningless houseplant crowd my feet for a 3,000-mile ride? Hey, I was about to sign a lease because the management company dangled chocolate chip cookies in front of me. People do weird things when they leave home.
Knowing that we could never go back (even though physically it would have only required throwing the Honda in reverse) and that a huge question mark punctuated the horizon was both exhilarating and terrifying.
We had no home. We had no idea what Vegas was really like. We had no friends waiting to greet us with open arms.
We had no cell phone of our own.
Oh, and our stuff was en route via moving van, with no guarantee as to when or in what condition it would arrive.
It was the best journey of my life.
I’ve been fortunate enough to enjoy some pretty good times too, including visiting cities from sea to shining sea, hanging out in beautiful Canada, cruising the Caribbean and exploring much of Ireland. I’m no Samantha Brown, but I’ve logged a few frequent flier miles and have had some amazing dining (and drinking, thank you Ireland!) experiences.
None if it compared to our time on the open road.
Here’s what I learned from that once-in-a-lifetime trip:
- The United States is overwhelmingly beautiful, vast and amazing. You should drive cross country at least once.
- The best experiences aren’t the most expensive ones. We spent less than $500 on gas, hotels, food and sightseeing. Primitive, yes. Thrilling and a little gritty in a reality TV show kind of cool way, yes.
- Stuff doesn’t matter. All that matters is the person sitting next to you in the driver’s seat and the loved ones back home cleaning up from the goodbye parties.
- Don’t try to make good time. If you do you’ll miss seeing the horse race at Churchill Downs, the Grand Ole Opry, the Oklahoma City Memorial, Graceland and the Painted Desert.
- Don’t make reservations. There will always be a Motel 6. They’ll leave the light on for you.
- Do pose in front of the Route 66 sign. You might not be back.
- Put down your book and keep the toothpicks handy. Read and sleep later. Keep your eyes open and inhale the landscape.
- Don’t ask “Are we there yet?” You will be soon enough, and then your magical coach will turn back into a pumpkin. You have the rest of your life to drive the pumpkin. Enjoy the coach.
- Arkansas is scary. There are highways in Texas with no speed limits. The mountains in New Mexico really are purple.
- It’s true what they say. The journey is the destination.
My job recently took me to a community pool for a public relations opportunity. As I walked the deck and slowed down for a moment to take in the sunshine, two pre-teen boys caught my attention. They were awaiting their turns to dive. Based on the conversation I overheard, I knew I’d be in for a show when the lifeguard gave them the go-ahead…
Kid in Hawaiian trunks, sunburn forming, he’ll wish he slathered with SPF 75:
“I’m gonna do the moon walk up to the edge, turn around, and then jump in the pool like I’m doing a Michael Jackson dance move. Then everyone will see that white kids can dance!”
Kid in striped trunks, approximate weight 35 pounds, no chance of making a splash:
“Oh ya? Well I’m gonna do a cannonball but spin to the right, so it makes a giant, humongous splash on the kids in line.”
I was impressed. Both swimmers executed their choreographed moves. I seriously think Hawaiian trunks could hold his own in a Michael Jackson video, and tiny shocked me with the tidal wave he produced.
As I wandered on to handle business, my mind drifted back to my own childhood. It was filled with strings of endless, carefree summer days. My sister and I spent hours at the community pool planning and attempting embarrassing synchronized swimming routines and dives done Wrigley’s “Doublemint Twins” style. It all seemed so important. Equally critical was deciding what flavor of Popsicle to have when we returned home.
Our only job was to have fun. To be kids.
This 4th of July morning, I’m taking simple pleasure in knowing that for a few hours this evening, we’ll all feel like kids again as we oooh and ahhhh at the fireworks in our respective towns. Today our only job is to remember, and to have fun.
Let’s raise our flags to our country. Let’s raise our Popsicles to childlike fun. We are so lucky to live here.
