The best books of 2010

I've done a lot more reading than writing this year, so here's a sampling of what kept me busy in 2010.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

Henrietta Lacks was a poor black woman in segregated 1950s Baltimore, but her cancer cells served as the basis for decades of cancer research and even the polio vaccine. Amazingly, at least by today’s standards, she never knew the doctor at Johns Hopkins had taken her cells, and she certainly didn’t live to see the contributions to medical research they allowed. Rebecca Skloot chronicles Lacks’ previously-untold story and forces the reader take hard a look at medical ethics. As a cancer survivor, I find it particularly thought-provoking as I go back and forth between being both outraged by and thankful for her doctor’s actions.


Not in My Neighborhood: How Bigotry Shaped a Great American City by Antero Pietila

If you ever wonder why Baltimore is in the state it is today, you must read this book. Former Baltimore Sun reporter Antero Pietila details Baltimore’s appalling history of housing discrimination, complete with white flight, redlining, oppressive land installment contracts, and plain old racism. While I’ve always known that corruption is the cornerstone of this city, I was shocked to learn just how long some of the policies remained in place and the lengths to which our elected officials would go to keep certain people out of specific neighborhoods. Sadly, history truly repeats itself.


The Lost Dogs: Michael Vick's Dogs and Their Tale of Rescue and Redemption by Jim Gorant

This is a difficult read for animal lovers like me. I learned far too much about Michael’s Vick’s heinous behavior, as well as the local prosecutor’s reluctance to charge Vick, citing dogfighting as a fixture in Vick’s culture. The saving grace is that most of the abused dogs went on to be rehabilitated and lead the lives they deserve. It’s also nice to see the efforts made by so many to make sure that these abused dogs survived and thrived.


The Help by Kathryn Stockett

In her debut novel, Kathryn Stockett tells a fictional tale of growing up in Mississippi in the 1960s from the viewpoints of white women and their black maids. Some have criticized the book, saying the white author could never truly grasp what it meant to be black in the south, just as the civil rights movement was coming to a head. I believe Stockett did an amazing job of putting herself in the position of the women who lived in fear of the families they helped.


The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein

I’m a sucker for any well-written book about dogs. Tell it from the perspective of a philosophical dog and you’ve got me hooked. Although he tells a sometimes somber and other times downright heartbreaking story, Enzo is a wonderful narrator who goes where mere humans can’t.


The Great Typo Hunt: Two Friends Changing the World, One Correction at a Time by Jeff Deck and Benjamin D. Herson

Grammar Nazis rejoice: You’re not alone. The authors of The Great Typo Hunt fulfilled some of my greatest fantasies when they traveled (and chronicled) their journey across the country, correcting the misspellings, inappropriate punctuation, and other misguided attacks on the English language. Oh, and they get arrested.

Live music, take note

One of the best parts of summer are all of the concerts and we've been to some great ones this year. But even my recent outing to the amazing Paul McCartney show reminded me those who put on concerts still have a lot to learn from their counterparts in the theater world.

The best thing about live theater is that it's generally predictable. When you have tickets to an 8 p.m. show for theatrical performance, it begins at 8 p.m. When you have tickets to an 8 p.m. concert, you're lucky if the act you're there to see goes on at 9. First you have to sit through an opening act that few have heard of and even fewer enjoy. Then it's a waiting game as everyone checks their watch and makes guesses as to which 15 minute increment the artist will select to grace us.

In addition, when you go to the theater you know what songs you're going to hear, whether there will be an intermission, and you never have to sit through the charade that is the encore. I don't understand the need for encores anymore. You know the artist is going to do an encore. The artist knows he's going to do an encore. Cut the crap and don't waste our time feigning disbelief that we simply must have more. Finish with your big hit and call it a night.

Theater venues are usually must more comfortable places too. I know big stadium shows and other outdoor venues are considered the place to be for a real rock concert, but the shows I've enjoyed most are held in theaters. Give me a padded chair, clean bathrooms, and a temperature-controlled climate any day.

Concert-goers also have a lot to learn from their theater-going brethren when it comes to manners. When you go to a Broadway musical, you let the professionals do the singing. But when you go to a concert, there are inevitably drunk fans who sing along and usually loudly. When I pay upwards of $75 for a ticket to a show (and let's face it, it's usually far upwards) then I'm there to hear the performer, not the drunk frat boys behind me.

And yes, I understand that some songs scream for you to sing along with them, but not every song. By all means, feel free to belt out the lyrics to Piano Man, Hey Jude, or If I Had a Million Dollars. But please, oh please, keep your mouth closed when it's time for Yesterday.

I don't pretend to believe that all theater-goers are models of perfect decorum. I can't count the number of performances I've sat through where despite strict instructions to turn off cell phones, an errant ringtone inevitably disrupts an important moment. But, I've also never seen a group of theater-goers deboard a kegbus. It's just a different crowd.

Maybe I'm getting too old for concerts. And maybe that's a good thing because just about all of the artists I want to see are on their last legs anyhow. Thank goodness theater will always be around to keep me nice and cozy.

Twitter me this

Journalists left and right are falling all over themselves trying to convince the public that Twitter is the best thing ever.

And they're so very wrong.

Reporters regard Twitter as the savior for the news business when, in fact, it's really no more than a narcissist's dream.

For the uninitiated, I should probably provide a quick primer before going any further. Twitter is a web-based platform that allows users to post 140-character updates, or "tweets," that others can follow on their computers, cell phones, or other mobile devices.

Unfortunately this Twitter mania is catching on. Politicians love it because it's a new toy that gives the impression that they're of the people instead of the elitists that they really are.

Just a few weeks back when President Obama addressed a joint session of Congress, a handful of our elected officials used the opportunity to do their own play-by-play via Twitter. Yes, instead of hanging on every word as the leader of the free world discussed the biggest economic crisis of our times, these politicians instead opted to text. Nice. I'm so glad to see our austere representatives are on the same level as a group of tweens at a Jonas Brothers concert.

Now I'm not saying that Twitter doesn't have its uses. I'm just saying that even with all of the amazing people I have in my life, not a single one of them is interesting enough to warrant a forum to keep me posted on their every move and thought throughout the day.

I think Twitter could be a very positive tool if used sparingly. For instance I think it would be helpful to keep people in the loop for important life events, especially when it's not practical to make a bunch of phone calls.

Example: "So-and-so is out of surgery and doctors are hopeful." Good use of Twitter.

"So-and-so's water broke and we're on our way to the hospital." Good use of Twitter.

"I am opening the ketchup bottle." Bad Twitter person!

Now some may accuse me of being a hypocrite because while I refuse to Twitter, I do update my status on Facebook. There is, however, one big difference between the two sites. Facebook is about more than just a status update; Twitter is only a status update.

Regrettably, it looks like Twitter is here to stay. I'll just keep my fingers crossed that it soon goes the way of the typewriter, telegraph, and cave paintings.

Catch me if you can (and trust me, you can)

I've been doing something lately that I never thought I would do. I've been running. And when I say running, I mean without being chased.

Since the beginning of February I've been doing a program called Couch to 5K. As the name implies, it's designed to get you off the couch and ready to run a 5K. I just completely four weeks of the nine-week program and I'm hoping to run the Bloomin' 5k on May 17.

I haven't told many people about my training, mainly because I was afraid I would quit before I got too far. I'm not the most athletic person and moreover, I've never been a runner, even back in my field hockey days. But, for some reason, I felt this was something I should do. Maybe it had something to do with turning 30.

I'm actually pretty proud of myself for sticking with it. I'm a big fan of being able to check things off a list and this lets me do just that. There's only been one workout I couldn't finish -- the first one of week four -- and I went back and did it a few days later. It was a nice sense of accomplishment.

Unfortunately I haven't seen the same progress on the scale. I started back with Weight Watchers at the beginning of January and while I was able to lose about five pounds that month, I've only lost a pound a half since I started running. It's frustrating because I know I'm doing everything right. I just wish the scale would recognize that.

Still, I know I'm healthier and building my endurance. My legs are definitely stronger. I'll never be a fast runner -- an elephant could lap me -- but I'm okay with that. I don't mind if I don't finish a winner; I just want to finish.

Over the weekend I took Buddy and Snoopy for a walk around my parents' neighborhood. The loop is about a mile and a third around and I was practically dragging the dogs behind me by the time I reached the halfway point. It was nice not being the one dragged for once.

-30-

On the occasion of my 30th birthday it seems only proper to take a look back at the three decades which have been my life. Happily, I feel I can honestly say I have no regrets.

My family, all its quirks included, has made me who I am today. I married a man who couldn't be more perfect for me. And, I was born to do the job I do.

I am undoubtedly one of the lucky ones. This doesn't mean that I haven't faced my share of challenges in life, but it does make me a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.

My first major hurdle came around the time I turned 12 years old. Struck by depression and anxiety, I stopped going to school. Through the amazing patience of my parents and grandparents, I started home-schooling which gave me the chance to stay up-to-date academically while sorting through the other issues.

My family's dedication ultimately led me to St. Timothy's School where I truly thrived. Thanks to the school's attention to the individual attention and academic rigor, I went on to college and then law school. Had it not been for St. Tim's, I wouldn't have gotten to where I am today.

Five years ago this week, I was diagnosed with colon cancer. That's a life-changing event, if I've ever seen one. It's definitely made me a stronger person, or at least I'd like to think that it has. I might as well get something out of it, right?

It's funny how all the little bits in life add up to make me who I am. I can't wait to see how life plays out from here on out.

My darling husband recently reminded me that in journalism, 30 signifies the end. I guess it's a good thing I'm not a journalist anymore.

Sundown

Getting thinner is usually a good thing -- but not when you're talking about my daily newspaper.

Last week the Baltimore Sun, my morning subway read, took another in its seemingly endless turns for the worst and completed an additional round of buyouts and layoffs. This cycle witnessed the loss of another 55 people.

Gone are the likes of Gregory Kane, Mike Himowitz, Roch Kubatko, Greg Garland, and John Wostendiek, as well as many behind-the-scenes players who kept the paper going every day.

Gone is a stand-alone business section.

And gone is any confidence a person could have in this once-great paper.

Yes, I'm more than just a casual news reader. I'm a media junkie, or maybe a media snob. But I also have a long history with this newspaper. I've been reading it every day since I learned to read. My very first job was selling subscriptions to The Sun.

And now, when I see an ad running on the front page of a this newspaper, I weep.

Who would have guessed that only a year after its inception, The Baltimore Examiner, the free daily tabloid, would become the big guy in town? And moreover, who would have thought it would happen due to the Sun's own self-cannibalism?

Had The Sun paid any attention to the growing popularity of the Internet, I doubt it would face such a predicament. Instead, it casts off its popular bloggers and scrambles to function with what's left. I really sympathize with the Sun staffers who must truly do more with less. I know some of them, and I know what they're facing.

At what point did it seem like a good idea for The Sun to turn its efforts to b, its youth-focused publication where an in-depth story gets no more than four inches? Every day, I face several b hawkers and I grow angrier and angrier when I think that this is how the Tribune Company views my generation.

Please believe me when I say that I really don't care about someones greatest pet peeve, as submitted by text message in less than 100 characters. I don't need the Cliff Notes version of your newspaper which amounts to little more than borrowed wire briefs and unattributed summaries.

Oh, the poor Baltimore Sun... or poor, as Sam Zell would have you believe. I'll keep reading you everyday like I have since I was in elementary school, but it'll never be the same.

My brown thumb

I'm now one step closer to becoming my mother. I can no longer be trusted around plants.

I inherited an aloe plant with my office nearly three and a half years ago. Recently it took a turn for the worst.

Last week the state had to step in and take away my plant to put it in foster care. And by state, I mean my co-worker, the green thumb, who works three offices down. And by foster care, I mean she had to give it more soil and plant food before returning it to my window ledge.

I've always been very hands-off in terms of my plant. I did replant it in a nicer pot soon after I started working there. I give it water every once in a while but other than that, I try to leave it alone. Who knew plants like this need food? Not me, apparently.

This plant is just one in a line of my failures in growing green things. We suffered the loss of another plant at home a few months ago. Rich and I dug up our whole front lawn just last year, all in the hopes that something would grow. We're still waiting. We've also had to replant our front hedges twice since moving in.

Thankfully my work plant is starting to show signs of life again, as you can kinda see in the picture above. My co-worker even gave me a bottle of plant something-or-other to water it with next time it needs it. If that doesn't work, I'm just going to give it ice cream. That always helps me perk up.

The newest in old music

Come this fall I’ll once again be embracing my inner dork. I’m finally going to see the New Kids on the Block in concert.

The New Kids are a fitting addition to my summer concert lineup. Every other musical act I’ve seen so far or plan to see in the coming months has officially acquired has-been status. I'd say we're one step away from making an AARP membership or double hip replacement a prerequisite to seeing a band live.

We started the concert season with Van Halen – a performance that had to be postponed due to Eddie Van Halen's undisclosed health problems. Rich also wanted to get tickets to see Yes, but the band's front man went and suffered respiratory failure so that was a no-go.

This past weekend we went to see Lisa Loeb at the Recher Theater. At 40, she’s hardly old, but let’s be honest – she hasn’t had a hit since O.J. Simpson was just known as a good football player. I adore her and I’m very glad I went to the concert, but she's hardly a top heat seeker on the Billboard charts. (I don’t really know what that means, but I’m sure Adrian would be glad to explain.)

We’re going to Hershey in July to catch another Billy Joel concert. I feel like I can never get enough Billy Joel, especially when nobody really knows when he’ll wrap his car around another tree and be done for good.

In August we’re headed to Delaware for the Unicity Festival in Middletown. Rich hasn’t seen The Fixx since college and is very excited to go. And because John Waters, my favorite baby boomer, is speaking at the festival, I agreed to join him.

The following week we get a double dose of 70s and 80s goodness as both Boston and Styx perform at Pier Six. Pier Six has really cornered the market on aging musicians and their fans who aren’t quite up to a crazy evening at Merriweather. Sit on the lawn? Thanks, but no thanks.

I went to my first Pier Six concert last year where we saw Squeeze and we’ll we back later in the summer for George Thorogood of "Bad to the Bone" fame.

Sometimes I like to play a little game at these concerts and try to find the one person in the crowd who isn’t white, above 30, and investing at least 10 percent of their income in a solid mutual fund. I’m rarely successful in this endeavor. You know you’re dealing with a slightly more mature crowd – when the bathroom attendant notes that "Gosh, tonight’s crowd sure is polite."

Still, I wouldn't have it any other way. Give me a good reunion or comeback tour any day -- just as long as it doesn't go past 10 p.m. We do have to work in the morning, y'know.

Much too young to feel this damn old

Oh, Garth Brooks, you know me so well. I really am much too young to feel this damn old.

Here I am staring down 30 and I already have a medical resume to rival any senior citizen. I've grown tired of being a medical marvel and I'm none too pleased with my present affliction which, thus far, has garnered no diagnosis beyond malaise. (Stay tuned for test results which could show anything from underactive thyroid to Lyme disease to bubonic plague.)

I'm not sure what my parents were trying to pull when they got together but I'm pretty sure their genetic matter is some perfect storm of DNA. Neither family is much help. You name the disease and we can likely track it within a short distance of consanguinity. (Wow, I just proved myself wrong. I really didn't think I would ever use the word consanguinity after law school.)

I feel bad about complaining because I know I'm still better off health-wise than a lot of people. I may have had cancer twice, but I was insanely lucky to catch it as early as I did. And as crappy as it was, at least I just had to have surgery and not go through chemo or radiation like so many others.

Still, it would be nice if I could make it through a day without having to think about how badly I'm feeling. I can no longer remember a time when I didn't have to stress over every little ache and pain. Seriously, the herniated disc really just adds insult to injury.

Oh, how I long for the day that the only things that I share in common with the seniors I work with are my frequent trips to Atlantic City, interest in knitting, and propensity to cut coupons.

Tap water, now new and improved!

Once again my dad is way ahead of his time. First it was free refills on soda and now it's Prozac in the water supply.

According to several news outlets, an AP investigation has uncovered prescription drugs in the drinking water of at least 41 million Americans. Apparently we've got everything from antibiotics to sex hormones coming out of our faucets.

Please -- my father came up with this idea years ago. He's advocated this for as long as I can remember. And, whether it's Prozac in the water supply or giving Valium to trick-or-treaters, who wouldn't benefit from a little mood enhancement?

I'm not sure I even understand what all the fuss is about in the first place. Prescription drugs have gotten ridiculously expensive. My water bill, on the other hand, remains surprisingly affordable. It sounds like the solution to the prescription drug crisis if you ask me.

But no. All of a sudden, the same Americans who waste their money on those fancy enhanced bottled waters are now worried about tainted H20.

Well gosh, thank goodness my daily liquid intake is 95 percent Diet Coke. I am a health nut, after all.

To breathe again

I couldn't be more excited for Maryland to go entirely smoke-free this Friday, February 1. I also couldn't be more conflicted.

For, you see, as much as I absolutely hate smoking, I also hate the thought of the Maryland General Assembly stepping in and mandating what legal activities its citizens can and cannot do.

I've been putting off writing about this because this is such a difficult issue for me to reconcile. My libertarian leanings tell me to be outraged at this invasion into people's personal choices and the rights of business owners to respond to what the public wants.

But, at the same time, I've always put smokers right up there with drunk drivers, child molesters, and people who end sentences in a preposition. Are these really people I want to protect?

I come by this hatred naturally. For as long as I can remember, my grandmother made me promise that I would never smoke even a single cigarette because cigarettes killed her father. Yes, she used the word killed. And because of that warning, I've never so much as touched a cigarette.

The other side of the family shouldn't be left out. One of my favorite stories from my Aunt Judy, my dad's younger sister, is when she visited my parents soon after they were married. My dad was in the kitchen washing dishes and she lit up a cigarette just to see what his reaction would be. Within a split second, he turned the faucet sprayer on her and hosed her down. So yeah, we're not exactly pro-smoking in my family.

The matter is further muddied because of my passionate support for the American Cancer Society, a group that championed the ban. I feel the need to celebrate my ability to enter bars across the state without choking and reeking of smoke for hours after I leave. But I will only do so with a feeling of ambivalence.

What will you be doing this Friday as Maryland goes smoke-free? Regardless of your carcinogenic leanings, I hope you will consider dining out at one of the restaurants below that will be donating a portion of its proceeds to the American Cancer Society to mark this important milestone.

Restaurants participating in Dine Out for Relay For Life:

Bayou Blues Cafe at the Avenue at White Marsh (15% of sales, 4-6 p.m.)
Pizzeria Unos at Harbor Place (20% of sales all day.)
Greene Turtles across the state (10% of their sales from 11a.m.-2 p.m.; The Fells Point and North Ocean City locations will be donating 10% of their sales all day.)

Happy New Beeeeppppp

One of the things I've always loved about my cookie-cutter townhouse is the way the vaulted ceilings in the master suite soar upwards as the sunlight refracts across the angles.

I loved it until approximately 3:43 this morning as the overzealous smoke detector shocked me from my slumber once again. It's the smoke detector that cried wolf and somehow we have to find a way to reach it to turn it off.

In the almost four years that we've owned this house, we've been roused from bed in this manner no less than eight times. Being the safety-conscious folks we are, we still check for smoke even though we know we won't find it. Once we even called the fire department in the middle of the night so they could check out the whole house and alleviate our worry.

Once we're sure the coast is clear, we enter into the ritual that gets more annoying each time. With the alarm still screaming I grab the phone, awaiting the inevitable call from the alarm monitoring company. Rich grabs the Little Giant ladder.

Then, as we fight off the effects of our sleeping pills, we try to move our bedroom furniture, turn off the ceiling fan, and set up the heavy ladder. I stumble to the top to grab the piece of howling disc.

We've tried to fix it more than once. My dad replaced all of the smoke detectors in the house. We also replaced the batteries. Still, in the middle of the night -- and it's always in the middle of the night -- it goes off.

I think we have to move.

2007 -- In Memoriam

I fully admit that I've shirked my blogging duties as of late so please be patient as I do my best to redeem myself by featuring quantity over quality.

I contemplated fashioning this into one of those popular end-of-year top ten lists but later decided that I didn't want to limit and/or stretch my imagination by subjecting it to some arbitrary number. I'm also not so good with counting backwards.

Henceforth, you shall find my list of highlights and disappointments of the past calendar year, with no particular numerical values assigned. Enjoy.

Highlights

Paying off my car - After nearly five years, I can officially call my Toyota Corolla my car as opposed to the bank's security interest. I've now satisfied my first significant adult debt. This is a nice contrast to my student loan, which I will be paying off until I'm 87. Now let's just hope I can squeeze another 200,000 or so miles out of my reliable wheels.

Subway garage - To quote the legendary Jerry Orbach in Dirty Dancing, "When I'm wrong I say I'm wrong." Yeah, I was wrong. I'm actually quite pleased with the parking garage at the Owings Mills metro station. Of course a dry barren field would also have made me happy after trudging through the mess of mud and construction for two years. Still, it's pretty nice to park somewhere that I can avoid the snow and rain, especially this time of year. My newly-paid-off car appreciates it too.

New familial additions - This year brought two additions to our extended family -- one of the two-legged variety and one of the four-legged. Aidan, my nephew, joined the family under somewhat less-than-expected circumstances but he's managed to win everyone's heart. And Eli, my step mother-in-law's service dog, has also been a big hit. I'm really curious to see which one, Aidan or Eli, will learn to talk first. Eli got a strong lead on walking so we'll have to wait and see.

Gastro-travel - As if travel isn't enjoyable enough on its own, this year I discovered the pleasure of gastro-travel. I don't know if this phrase exists or if I'm inventing it so in case the latter is true, I shall define gastro-travel as the process of immersing yourself in the cuisine of the area you're visiting, or, at minimum, daring to try something new. This is a big step for me -- someone who grew up with a palette only as extensive as the menu at McDonald's. Our San Francisco trip is the perfect example of how to eat your way through a city. I tried things I never would have willingly eaten before, such as cappuccino and fancy focaccias, and my colon lived to tell about it.

Laptop - Thanks to Rich and a great Black Friday sale, I am the proud recipient of a new laptop for my birthday/Chanukah. My new Dell is a huge improvement over my aging Compaq Presario and I truly enjoy living my untethered cyber life. With my birthday commandeered by Chanukah this year, the laptop was the best gift I could have asked for. It shall lead me into many more years of blogging goodness.

Bladensburg Quik-E-Mart - Sometimes you feel like society just doesn't get you and then this happens. I already detailed my love for the Springfield experience so you can review my fawning there, if you wish.

Disappointments

Striking writers and stagehands - Wouldn't it be nice to care so little about your work and the people you serve that you just go on strike? Oh, no wait, I have a sense of responsibility so I would never do that. It's not like we're living in the era of Upton Sinclair, where workers are really facing danger on a daily basis. Frankly, striking Hollywood writers or Broadway stagehands just minimize the legitimate efforts of those who came before them and really suffered. The greedy, self-absorbed unionites of today have no regard for the people making less money than they do and who they're screwing out of a paycheck by striking. If you don't like your employer, find yourself a new job. You're lucky to have that luxury. And in the meantime, stop messing with my TV viewing. It pisses me off.

Mayor Dixon - Until Sept. 11, 2007, we could still pretend. We could still delude ourselves into thinking that Sheila Dixon would never become the full-fledged mayor of Baltimore, and her short stint as acting mayor was just some cruel joke that would end soon enough. But once Baltimore City's primary election of 2007 came to a close, there was no more pretending. It was just disappointment -- disappointment that city voters actually elected Sheila Dixon to control the city for the next four years. Sadly, the city of Baltimore is getting what it asked for.

Baltimore Ravens - When the 2007 season started, the big guys in purple had just come off of a pretty good season, going 13 and 3 the year before. We had no reason to expect that this year would be too much different. We were so wrong. This season has been excruciating to watch. The Ravens managed to not just lose, but to really get creative in how they lost. They lost in overtime to the Bengals on a field-goal that bounced off the crossbar, and a few weeks later, tricked us into thinking they might defeat the undefeated Patriots. They followed that one up a few weeks later with a loss to the win-less Dolphins. If only they could put this much flair into winning.

(Notice that the Baltimore Orioles failed to make my list. While they hardly had a stellar season, I also never had any real expectations of them. I was too young to appreciate the World Series victory of 1983 so I really came of age in an era when an Orioles' win was something you often hope for but rarely got. As such, the Orioles are not a disappointment, but rather a way of life.)

Baltimore County - Fighting cancer twice was hard enough. I never thought I'd have to fight Baltimore County just as hard over holding a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. As a co-chair of the 2008 Relay For Life of Northwest Baltimore County, I was shocked when the county school board evicted our 11-year-long fundraiser from county schools. Adding insult to injury, the county's Department of Recreation and Parks also refused to host us. After a lot of effort from some dedicated people, we're thrilled to have found a home at Reisterstown Regional Park. So watch this space next year when Relay For Life takes the top spot under my 2008 highlights.

Maryland's 11 best days of summer

I'm such a sucker for the state fair. I love the food, I love the baby animals, and I especially love the chance to step right up, spin a wheel, and win a free pencil. It's like trick-or-treating for adults.

But what I really love is the fact that the fair doesn't change from year to year. It's the same exact tacky end-of-summer tradition I enjoyed as a kid.

The same attractions are always in the same place. The world's smallest woman is right across from the jacuzzi sales people. The bored state employees sit in the exhibition hall, fingers crossed and hoping that an altercation will break out over at the Jews for Jesus booth.

And in a cruel yet natural circle of life kinda way, the fresh pit beef is always right across from the cow palace.

Ah, the food. I mustn't leave out all of that yummy, patently unhealthy but oh-so-aromatic fair food. First you have your choice of meat, meat, and more meat. Add to that your choice of any deep fried anything on a stick and it's a veritable choose-your-own-heart-attack. Remember: Fudge isn't truly decadent until it's been deep fried.

Now this year I managed to experience a part of the fair I've never seen before -- the 4H livestock auction. I like my meat as much as the next non-vegetarian, but the auction was a bit more in-your-face than I would have liked. I can honestly say it's the first auction I've been to where they promise to "process" your purchase before delivery. Poor little rabbits.

But hey, Of course I'd be lying if I said I didn't love seeing all of the animals, even if I do have to ponder their demise. One of my favorite parts of the fair has to be the animal birthing area. I wasn't lucky enough to witness any of the little guys being born this year but I did catch a few calves and piglets who were born within the last day.

(Fun fact: Piglets grow at a rate of two lbs. per day. This is the same rate of growth I experience in the month of December.)

The end of the fair is always bittersweet. As a huge fan of fall, I'm glad to see summer fade away. But I will miss my chocolate covered frozen strawberries on a stick. You just can't find those at the Apple Butter Festival.

When weather attacks

That's not a layer of film on my glasses. It's really that hazy.

We're less than a week into the official summer season and I'm really not sure how much more I can take of this heat and humidity.

I'm the last person to go all Al Gore on you, but I do have what amounts to a somewhat unnatural dislike for this hot weather. I'm perfectly satisfied as long as the temperature is between 65 and 72 and slightly overcast. But a few degrees either way or an errant sunbeam and my otherwise pleasant demeanor turns remarkably less so.

I truly hate the summer. I don't handle the heat and humidity well and to make matters worse, my complexion was practically designed for skin cancer. And I'm certainly no fan of thunder storms (scattered or otherwise), tropical storms, hurricanes, or anything involving a front, squall, or clipper.

My severe disdain for summer weather goes back to childhood when I would freak out whenever it looked like it was going to storm. I don't know if it was a beach vacation ruined by Hurricane Andrew or the tornado that hit a few miles away when I was in 7th grade, but storms have always made me nervous. As I see it, rain leads to storms which leads to power failures, flooding, wind damage, lightning, cable outages, and all kinds of bad things. Don't believe me? Ask the people of New Orleans.

The TV weather people don't exactly make it easy on me. It's not a comfort to me when InstaSuperDopplerAccuWeatherTrackerPlus software can track a tornado watch to my street, zero in on my house and tell me to take cover in the basement. I don't have a basement.

Norm Lewis, John Collins, Bob Turk, Neal Estano, Tom Tasslemyer, Justin Berk -- all of them know just how to push my buttons. Sometimes it's a giant green L headed right for us. Last week we were right in the middle of a red quadrangle. Meanwhile, I envision the roof of my house being ripped off. So please don't talk to me about barometric pressure, dew point, or El Nino. Life is stressful enough without weather drama.

It's gotten so that the Weather Channel, formerly the beacon of all that is weather, can't even stick to simple forecasts anymore. Now we're given programming like Storm Stories, Full Force Nature, and It Could Happen Tomorrow -- y'know, just in case your own local weather on the 8's doesn't get your pulse racing enough.

Now in case you think I'm being unfair to summer, I should note that I could also do without winter weather. The weathermen can't get enough of that wintery mix, can they? They thrive off of the milk/bread/toilet paper insanity that is a Baltimore winter. Broadcasting from the salt dome is like Christmas to them.

But that white stuff is actually looking pretty good about now. And all I can do is sit back in my climate-controlled abode and count down the days until my beloved fall when it's safe to venture outside again.

No antiques at this roadshow

There's nothing like public television to tell you you're worthless. As if the pledge drives don't make you feel bad enough.

"Today's great programming has been made possible by viewers like you," they tell us. Yes, I know I'm a freeloader. I like it that way. Don't try to make me feel guilty. Now go back to the 10th anniversary of Les Miserables please.

But I digress.

Today I'm talking about Antiques Roadshow, the quirky little show-that-could that took up residence at the Baltimore Convention Center this past weekend. I was one of the few lucky enough to win tickets.

Let me rephrase that. I was one of the 3,400 given the opportunity to spend four hours standing on a hard concrete floor while lugging around items that may or may not be worth something. But even though all of our items fell into the latter category, it was kinda neat.

As soon as I found out we had the chance to go, I knew I would have to check out the treasure trove that is my grandparents' house. They have dust older than I am. So just as expected, trustworthy Grandma and Grandpa came up with a handful of interesting pieces for us to take.

The first two things we selected came from my great-grandfather's jewelry store. My grandmother's father, Anton Horvat, came to the U.S. from Hungary in the early 1900's. A professional jeweler, he set up shop on Charles Street in Baltimore. When the Great Depression hit, people brought in anything and everything made of metal to pawn for enough money to make it through the week.

A tea caddy, made by J.E. Caldwell & Co. of Philadelphia and engraved with the year 1906 on the bottom, is one of those items. According to my grandmother, the piece is a repoussé which I've since learned is a fancy way for describing an old technique of forming metal. The silver expert said the tea caddy should be worth about $100. It's a neat little thing and I wish I had an actual use for it. In the meantime, it's perfect for sitting on a shelf somewhere.

The other piece of metal work we took in is one that I've always liked -- a card case, like women used to carry back in the 1800s. The appraiser said it's in really good condition and indicative of the interest in the culture of the Far East. The piece, engraved with initials and May '88 (presumably 1888) is said to be worth in the neighborhood of $400. I'm actually tempted to use it as a business card case but chances are I'd set off too many metal detectors.

My great-grandmother's purse turned out to be the big disappointment of the day when we learned that it's actually worth less than any bag you could buy at Coach. The intricate hand-stitching is beautiful but apparently a lot of people thought so too and they made tons of them. Because of that, they're a dime a dozen. Well, technically they're not a dime a dozen. Specifically, it would go for somewhere between $60 and $80.

The last thing from my grandparents that we took along was a set of African mask bookends. Unfortunately, the story surrounding the bookends is worth much than the bookends themselves. My grandfather's parents ran a tavern in Baltimore back in the 1930s and 1940s. Apparently some sailors came into port and spent the day flirting with my great-grandmother and running up a bar tab. They used these bookends, said to be from their world travels, to pay off the bill.

According to the appraiser at the tribal art section, the bookends are nothing more than reproductions made for tourist purposes. He said that between 1920 and 1960, you could find these in most places up and down the coast of Africa. Still, they're worth about $150. Plus, they've graced my grandparents' end tables for the past 50 years so that counts for something.

Finally, the one piece I thought was worth the least -- a small pin/pendant Rich's step-dad found years ago on a parking lot -- turned out to be worth the most. What I thought had to be fake actually turned out to be diamonds worth $400. I tried my hardest to take a picture of the pin but the sparkly diamonds defeated my best efforts.

So while we didn't exactly fare well at Roadshow and never made it on camera, I definitely look forward to tuning in come January for the highlights of the Baltimore stop.

And remember PBS: Maybe if my stuff was actually worth something, I could afford to donate a few bucks and snag myself one of those cool tote bags.

It's only a hyphen

It wasn’t until I got married and decided to hyphenate my last name that I realized what fear a simple piece of punctuation instills in people.

Changing your name, whether it's due to marriage, divorce, adoption, or parents who wanted you to get beat up, is hard enough as it is. And yet I decided to make it even harder.

Little did I know that somehow I was the very first person on earth to ever choose to hyphenate. I mean clearly, if anyone else had done it before, maybe people would know how to deal with it, right?

Apparently not. So to Jada Pinkett-Smith, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Jackie Joyner-Kersee, and Carol Moseley-Braun: I know your pain.

My bank started things off by telling me to pick just one last name. Then, a certain credit card company made life particularly difficult for me. “We don’t have hyphens,” the representative told me over the phone. “Okay, but um, that’s my name,” I responded. “Sorry. Nothing we can do,” he said.

Somehow people with other pieces of punctuation in their name don't face the same challenges. No one gets a puzzled look when they hear a last name like O'Malley. It hardly seems fair.

Every time I go to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy I have to ready myself for the inevitable confusion. I start out by saying “My last name is B-S. The first name is Alisa.” Then I get a befuddled look from the pharmacy technician. “It’s hyphenated,” I explain. Then they ask “Okay, so what’s it under.” I didn’t realize I’m supposed to be familiar with the store’s filing system. This has been going on for over two and a half years.

Now I’m fine with getting cards addressed to me as just Alisa B. or Alisa S., even though neither is technically correct. Heck, sometimes I use one or the other if the situation suites me. It’s the variations that get to me. Please don't mash both last names together. That just looks silly.

I read in the Sun a few months ago that Stephanie Rawlings Blake, president of the Baltimore City Council, got fed up with people calling her Stephanie Rawlings or Stephanie Blake and decided to hyphenate. I hope it works for her.

When it comes to me, I'm not changing anything. Both last names are all mine, like it or not. And hey, as long as the people who handle my paycheck get it right, I'll be just fine.

A sense of terror too familiar

Yesterday, as the details of the shooting death of 32 people at Virginia Tech began to unravel, I felt the same sense of shock and fear as any human being would.

But I also felt a strange feeling of déjà vu which instantly brought me back to the week almost 10 years ago when tragedy struck my tiny bucolic college community.

It was January 1998 at St. Mary's College of Maryland when we returned from winter break to learn that a group of students were attacked and raped during a study-abroad tour of Guatemala. This was my very first day as news editor of the college paper.

Obviously this isn't entirely analogous to the murders which took place yesterday --the St. Mary's campus, thankfully, wasn't a brutal crime scene -- but there are some real similarities.

I know what it's like to wake up one morning and see your dorm on CNN. I know what it's like to see a college campus overrun by media from around the world, all while you're still worried about the girl who lives down the hall.

I can tell you in no uncertain terms that it's insanely surreal to hear a helicopter circling over your dorm as you see and hear the same helicopter on a live national television broadcast.

I also know that the days, weeks, and months that lie ahead for Virgina Tech are going to be confusing. While united now, students will turn against one another when the discussions continues over who is to blame. Some students will embrace the comfort of media coverage that allows them to talk of the dead and injured while others with loathe the media circus created and get angry at anyone who dares to allow the tragedy to be commandeered for financial gain.

Eventually the media will leave. (At St. Mary's, we had Monica Lewinsky to thank for that.) But life at Virginia Tech will continue.

I am no longer in touch with any of the St. Mary's students from the Guatemala trip but I do think about them often. I hope they have been able to put the horrible memories behind them enough to live the amazing lives they deserve. That's something the Virginia Tech survivors will struggle with for the rest of their lives.

I'm self-aware now, or so I'm told

I apologize for not posting lately but it's been a busy couple of weeks. I just completed an intensive (read: exhausting) week-long mediation training course with an assortment of my fellow state employees.

The training was amazing. Obviously I've been through mediation training before (it's somewhat of a prerequisite to training other mediators, I'd think) but this one was completely different.

As a part of the training, the instructor introduced a self-identifying personality test called the Enneagram. Basically you read a series of paragraphs describing each of the nine personality types and then once you've decided which one best fits you, you move on to read all about what things in life cause you comfort or stress, and how you approach problems.

I quickly realized I was a classic type six or the "Loyal Skeptic." Psycho babble aside, this means that I view the world as a dangerous and fearful place. I look for the worst-case scenario and plan accordingly. I am preoccupied with what can go wrong and feel the need to develop contingency plans. I hate surprises. (And believe it or not, I have a Jewish grandmother.)

This outlook is eerily familiar. During one of our exercises, we answered questions from someone of a different personality type so that they might better understand where we were coming from and we might better articulate our own tendencies. I explained how from the moment I wake up in the morning, I'm already thinking about the obstacles I will face that day and playing out several scenarios in my mind for how I will address them.

In fact, I suppose it starts even sooner than when I wake up on the morning because these worst-case scenarios permeate my dreams. A few nights ago I was overly preoccupied with the 2007-2008 season lineup for the Hippodrome Theater. That night, I dreamt that they announced the shows, starting from "An Evening with David Hasselhoff" and things only got worse from there. (The actual Hippodrome schedule came out on Thursday and is a topic for a separate post.)

Similarly, several weeks ago I attended a Bagdaddy purse party where we could design our own bags. I've been waiting anxiously for the bag to arrive and two nights ago, I dreamt that the bag came but it was completely wrong. In my dream I went so far as to seek out my original paperwork, scan it, make copies, and start drafting a letter to the company. (As a side note, my bag arrived yesterday and it's perfect.)

Surprisingly, the realization of my type six personality has been a liberating experience. I've learned how thoroughly exhausting it is to always plan for the worst and spend all my time thinking about what could go wrong.

Also, I've gotten to know my directive tendencies and several of the experiences we did this week helped me practice how to resist my problem-solving mindset and allow others to deal with their own problems. One might think that the fact that my brothers have called me Captain A (short for Captain Asshole) for so many years would have given me some kind of indication that I can be, uh, ahem, bossy, but I guess it was something I needed to figure out for myself.

So rather than bore you all with more talk of myself (although you have to admit that I'm pretty fascinating), I'm curious as to whether anyone else is as enlightened by their Enneagram type as I am. I can't be the only one.

The impending baby boom

Starting in the next few weeks, everyone I know will be having a baby. Okay, that's an exaggeration. Not everyone will be having a baby. Men can't give birth.

But sometimes it sure feels like just about everyone I know is pregnant. I guess it makes sense to some extent. I did go to an awful lot of weddings over the past three years so a baby boom isn't entirely unexpected.

Still, I'm a bit overwhelmed by all of the pictures of nurseries and ultrasounds. To me, the ultrasound (or is it sonogram?) pictures are no different that those Magic Eye pictures from the 1990s. I couldn't make out anything in those either. Oh, yeah, I see it... that's the uh, uh, leg maybe?

I do feel the need to clarify the fact that I'm thrilled for all of my friends who are pregnant. While I don't pretend to relate to their excitement over weight gain, financial burdens, and lack of sleep, I really am happy for all of them. I can't believe how much these girls are beaming, even as they're puking on a regular basis. Clearly they're meant to be mothers and I'm not.

Often it feels harder to defend my choice not to have children than it would be to just get pregnant. It seems like nobody questions the decision of a married couple to reproduce, but somehow I'm defective as a human being by deciding that I don't wish to breed.

I can honestly say that I've never felt the urge to have a baby. People say I'll change my mind, and I can't discount that because I don't know what the future will bring, but I've never felt as though I'm that talented or important to create a life in my own image. (Perhaps if I had the ability to birth a litter of puppies, I might feel differently.)

Some of my reasons for not wanting children are more noble than others. First, I would never want to pass along my cancer genes to anyone. I would feel like the most irresponsible person in the world if I brought a child into this world knowing that there was a chance they'd have to deal with the health issues I have.

But aside from that, I'm really just a selfish person. I don't want to give up the time I have to sleep, relax, travel, etc. I also don't want to give up the money.

I'm grateful that my husband is so supportive of my view. While he'd make a good father (after he gives up his two-door car, eating out, weekend getaways, gambling jaunts, and coughs up private school tuition), he understands that this is one of those decisions requiring two-party consent.

Anyway, I wish everyone who is pregnant or trying to get pregnant the best of luck. If you ever need someone to remind you how pleasant a child-free life can be, I'm here for you. Oh, and I can babysit too.