The Loh Life | 89.3 KPCC

SUMMER FAMILY VISIT

The Loh Life — Mon, 04 Sep 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

So— We just had our big summer family reunion at a lake in Wisconsin.

You know what they say about family gatherings— That you should never discuss religion or politics— And we don't plan to— But because my older daughter Maddy has already started school back in LA and she doesn't want to fall behind in her homework—? While everyone else is fishing or swimming or prepping the barbeque— Maddy needs to works on her collage. . . for U.S. History.

The theme? What does her generation think is the biggest problem facing the U.S. Right away, we're in crisis mode. We have to find an art store to procure poster paper, a glue stick, highlighters, scissors and three current periodicals.

I remind this L.A. teen that we are deep in the woods of Wisconsin -- Yelp says the nearest "craft supply" store is a "Ben Franklin on Wachookooheesha Lake" an hour away.

So instead we drive 20 minutes to "Trig's" grocery store— "Oh, and can you pick up tortillas and cilantro?" my partner Charlie calls out. "Sure!" I say. "Cilantro! That's what we came to Wisconsin for!"

Trig's has tortillas, but no cilantro. More importantly, there are no scissors, no highlighters. There are glue sticks, and envelopes we can glue together to make poster paper. There are of course plenty of periodicals. There's Musky Hunter Magazine, Catfish Insider, Log Cabin, Gun Dog Magazine and a glossy publication called Concealed Carry. Which aside from guns, has a surprising amount of fashion—jeans and cargo shorts with many pockets for— You know!

For a Blue State metropolitan girl like my 16 year old, this glimpse of the magazine tastes of rural Wisconsin is a fascinating sociological journey. She reads eagerly from her trove to her boyfriend, safely back in land-locked Northridge— Until I tell her to get off the phone because my GPS lady is now lost and taking us in circles. "Harris Creek, Harris Lane, Harris Creek Lane, Harris Bog?"
"Oh, we'll find it," she says breezily, continuing to chat about Musky Hunters.

And I'm going, "Hey City Girl, this isn't the Galeria. We are seriously lost. In the back country. And all we've got to defend ourselves is a package of tortillas and Concealed Carry Magazine." (hum the Deliverance theme)

Next week: Dog Fight.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

HOME CARE

The Loh Life — Mon, 21 Aug 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

If only home reno was as simple as on "Fixer Upper"— The popular TV show featuring Chip and Joanna Gaines. These toothsome Texans show an anxious couple three falling down houses—

The couple picks one— Chip and Joanna sledgehammer it, tear off the "ship lap"— Repaint it cobalt, festoon it with design elements from Joanna's handy online store— Stainless steel fixtures, antique farm lamps, throw pillows thatsay "Gather"— Two months later, the Gainses pull apart life-sized photo panels of the old house to reveal the new, and the couple weeps with joy!

"You have to live in Texas to be on the show," says my friend Jan. "If it were LA, you'd spend a year just waiting for permits."

"I like how easy they make it," I say. "The couple just says what they're like—She says: 'I'm a homebody. He's outdoorsy.' They go away. Two months later they magically return to a landscaped backyard terrace that 'brings the outdoors in'—"

"With a throw pillow that says 'Nature,'" adds friend Mary.

"Exactly!" exclaims Jan. "In Eagle Rock we just wanted a drought-resistant yard! This master gardener— That's right, master gardener— Her estimate included 10 hours of design at $150 an hour and we had to participate! There was a lengthy questionnaire about our 'aesthetic goals' and 'plant preferences'— And I'm going, 'I already went to college! Just plant something—'"

"With a throw pillow that says 'Water,''" says Mary.

"Contractors!" I say. "I was trying to get just the outside of our house repainted. The same color.

From Angie's List, I got three estimates. The first—$20,000! Done in two weeks. Seemed like a lot. Second—$11,000! One guy. An artisan. He estimated it would take him two months."

"Until he falls off the ladder and breaks his hip—then years could go by," says Jan.

"Third estimate? $3500. Done in three days."

"How is that possible?" Mary asks. "Is the paint radioactive?"

"Oh no," I say. "The crew shows up on time, 9 a.m. on Tuesday, they're professional, they're neat, they're focused. They measure, cover, tape—"

"And the second day they don't show up," says Jan.

"Oh no, the second day more painters show up. There are 12 of them, working 10 hours a day.

And then, in slow motion horror, I'm taking out a calculator, trying to figure out how much they're getting paid. The house looks great but I feel terrible. So I brought them cookies."

"Add a throw pillow from Joanna's store that says 'Guilt,'" says Mary.

"Oh no," I say. Too expensive."

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

HOME CARE

The Loh Life — Mon, 14 Aug 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

My 16 year old was complaining about too much light in her bedroom— Her curtains are too gauzy— It makes it hard for her to sleep in 'til noon, which she considers her right in summer—

Because I know nothing, I foolishly said, "Let's get you some blinds!"

Swirling a fresh cup of coffee, a divorced mom taking care of business, I contact my virtual "husband"— Angie— Who has a list.

I type in "blinds"— Do I mean "custom blinds"? Sure! Here's a 10% off coupon— I'm printing money! For a highly-rated custom blinds guy named Roger— Within two hours he's at my house for a free estimate! Hashtag Winning!

Roger is charming, friendly, conversational. He oohs and aahs over our old Craftsman house, with its large, beautiful, slightly "unusually-sized" windows. Thatshould have been the tipoff that another custom-zero was being custom-added to the price, but I thought nothing of it. Oh no! I offered Roger a cup of coffee— He asked what I did for a living—I said I was a writer— He asked what kind—

Now I know that this is called "bonding" and you should not do it when getting a quote unquote free estimate— I realize I should have said, "I am unemployed," and burst into tears rather than trying to make my career sound so lucrative. Roger then spends what seems like half an hour—he's thorough!—measuring two windows— Then he goes to his truck and returns with a thick, beautifully bound binder. Full of blinds.

Not just blinds. And I quote: "Window treatments of your dreams"— And I thought, "Who dreams of window treatments?" Someone, because there were honeycomb ones, blackout ones, vertical ones— With different kinds of pulleys, cords, and stylish valences— In complicated colors like Banana Ice Milk and Taos Midnight Persimmon— I start fearing that aromas will be next!

Bottom line? For two bedroom windows, it will take three weeks for the custom shades to arrive. Cost? $1500. "They will look amazing!" Roger enthuses. Inwardly, I agree. They will be the most amazing thing in my teen's messy bedroom piled with laundry, makeup, art supplies and crumpled tissues. We just want something to block the light. After Roger leaves— And the air is thick with mutual disappointment— I eye a poster board from my younger daughter's science fair project. I contemplate simply nailing blankets over the windows.

In the end, I give my teen a nice new sleep mask. Great solution! Although that night I do indeed dream. . . of window treatments!

Next week: House Painting Hell!

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

HOME CARE

The Loh Life — Mon, 07 Aug 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

I would like to apologize to our neighbors, block, zip code— Really, to everyone, in Los Angeles? For our front lawn. True, the word "lawn" is stretching it. It is more an ugly brown snarl. I want to throw a sheet over it, like a corpse! Or at least put up a sign that says, "We know, we know. And we're sorry!"

When I bought the house many years ago, the grass was green. Our gardener Vic was a genius at setting sprinkler timers— I have a physics degree, and couldn't figure it out— The lawns looked great and then we got our first—? Well, it was less a water "bill" than a water citation. A water tirade. A water hazing. Our utility company began mailing us hurtful bar graphs, showing what hogs we were compared to our water-conservant neighbors.

So in deference to Jerry Brown's drought emergency, we decided to let the lawn turn the color of the governor's name. It was a badge of eco-honor. But then, another problem. Every Saturday morning at 8 gardener Vic showed up with a high-pitched, shrieking machine that he would use to blow dead leaves around our dead yard for an hour. The ear-splitting sound was no doubt meant to show us that he was busy quote unquote "gardening."

It took another two years for me to let him go— The irony was that I would have kept paying him to stop leaf-blowing— But he refused— Then we go out of town for two months and it rains. A lot. We return to "grass" that is almost waist high. I use the word "grass" but in fact this greenery looks sub-tropical. There are giant tear-drop-shaped leaves and thick leathery stems and twisting vines.I struggle with the weed-whacker to take off the top foot of it— I'm startled by a swarm of exotic butterflies and insects. I hear a shuh-duh-duh-duh-duh. I'm actually a little spooked. What will I find in there next? A pterodactyl? A cow? A baby?

The rains go away— And the area turns Jerry Brown again— But now, since I gave the jungle a very messy, tortured haircut, instead of just a sedate dead lawn it looks like crazy people live here. We consider installing a drought resistant garden, but we get quotes of $10,000! Maybe we should scatter dozens of pots of little cacti around the yard. Or maybe we should just park our cars there.

Yes, that's the ticket. My car is a Prius. It's eco-fashionable.

Next week: The window treatments of your dreams.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

IN A SPIN

The Loh Life — Mon, 31 Jul 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

So I became obsessed with Spinning. Not the act itself, but booking a class— It's so popular at my gym, it fills up instantly! An 8:30 a.m. class starts taking reservations exactly 26 hours prior— A digital clock ticks down the seconds—

So I am now setting my alarm the day before at 6:25 a.m. so I can book a bike at exactly 6:30.

The alarm goes off, I zip downstairs to get my phone with the gym's app, zip back up to get back into bed— Then, with a scream, at 6:29 a.m., I realize I left my reading glasses downstairs— The print's too tiny to see— I sprint back down— I'm not even in the saddle and my heart rate is up to 150! But—

Ding! I'm in! At 6:31 there are two bikes left, and one is mine, mine, mine!

I arrive the next morning, amped up, even though I have no idea how to spin. Tonya, our Amazon-like spinning instructress, approaches me. She asks if I am wearing cycling shoes. I do not know what those are. No matter. She fetches metal toe-holders that look like tiny bear traps.

I'm getting in deep.

All the arriving cyclists are very excited. They wear cut off shirts and bike pants and backwards caps. They're a team. And here we go, cycling, to the B-52's Love Shack. Tonya exhorts us to greet each other and exchange high-fives. "Woo hoo!" everyone yells. I've discovered a cult! I love it!

"Go to 70% of your max!" Tonya cries out. "Play with your edge!"

I ignore that and just continue at the easiest gear possible. I'm spinning! I sing along to the next tune: "Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand!"

But here's the thing. I start sweating copiously. It's ridiculous. It looks like there's something wrong with me. My face is dripping, as are arms, hands. Soon—and I am not making this up—even my bike is sweating. It's dripping from the handle bars. Oh, the horror.

The next day, my partner shows me an article about this new exercise-induced side effect called Rhabdomyolysis. Suffered mostly by first-time spinners, it's where overworked muscles strain your kidneys and your pee turns brown. "I'm amazed you survived!" he said. But I wonder how my poor infected bike is doing.
So that's it for me. I went, I spun, I conquered.

Next up? Yoga for nappers. Lavender pillows -- hold the toe clips.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

POOL

The Loh Life — Mon, 17 Jul 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

It has been a stressful year— Our politics are as nasty as ever, North Korea is shooting missiles, chunks of Antarctica are collapsing— And I think: Enough already! Summer's here! I need a break, to replace churning cortisol with calming serotonin— To take a breath, relax, find peace— so, we go on vacation, to a lovely hotel out of town.

As soon as we check in, I dump my bags in our room and venture down to the pool. The water is clear, blue, still— In one corner, a young woman in ear buds and a bikini sunbathes—

Diagonally across, a white-haired man in a sunhat reads a spy novel.

Selecting a lounge chair at a maximum distance from both, to maximize everyone's personal space? I settle in with my towel, Teavana and book. Very soothing, it's Ruth Reichl. MY KITCHEN YEAR. In it, the beloved food writer cooks her way through fresh produce, turning leaves, and gentle snowfall, in upstate New York. "When you pay attention," she says, "cooking becomes a kind of meditation."

Suddenly, the pool gate squeaks. There are high-pitched voices. Children. I look up. Like a too-gaudy Olympic opening ceremony from some woefully underfunded country, a surreal parade of gigantic inflatable pool toys marches toward us. There's a green T-Rex, a purple unicorn with fluttering eyelashes, a tropical yellow palm tree and an eight foot-long hot dog. There's no rhyme or reason here. If a giant gall bladder emerged topped by a maraschino cherry it would be no surprise.

No matter— Regardless of how different? All these dirigibles appear to be here for one reason: extremely loud and frantic water racing. "One, two, three, go!" a sunburnt youth bellows. Piercing shrieks as four tidal waves hit. Turning a damp page, an irritated Spy Novel grandpa seems determined to stay his course— Bikini Girl seems more protected by her ear buds and dry location.

Finally, an hour later, the children are exhausted from their time trials. They float to the pool's shallow end, spent. They fling their colorful vessels over the side onto the lawn. The dino, unicorn, tropical palm slowly deflate in their pool toy graveyard. A shaky silence falls. And then:

"Marco." "Polo!" "Marco." "Polo!" "MARCO!" "POLO!"

Grandpa surrenders and rises. What can he say? There are too many of them, not enough of us. Bikini girl holds her ground, until she gets hit on the butt with a ball— Because there's something magical about using a pool as a lacrosse court.

Soon after, I retreat as well. I go back to my room to relax with a glass of wine…and the dulcet sounds of CNN!

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

Kayaking Across America

The Loh Life — Mon, 03 Jul 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

When I was a kid, it was clear, when traveling with my family in summer—That we were cosmopolitan in attitude, but bohemian in cash. We would criss-cross Europe, yes— But we were car-camping, our luggage strapped to the roof of our shuddering VW fastback. Lunch was sweaty cheese and days-old ham from an unrefrigerated metal cookie tin. The bathrooms in our one-star hotels were. . . shared.

When I travel now with my teen daughters, I'd say we are basically middle-class—? But due to the complexity of mom's travel points—? We never know if we'll have a first or third world experience.

For instance, recently, using air miles, we flew United to Denver for free! Mostly. I splurged on the extra hundred dollars so we could actually sit together, rather than, as Basic Economy requires, being seated randomly all over the plane. I did not allow any extra bags carried or checked, because my girls may one day go to college.

Kayak-ing the white water rapids of cheap car rentals, I'd found a company called ACE offering a tiny car that looked like a Yugo— But, as they used to say at IKEA, "Impossible Price"! Upon arrival, I find out why. Our instructions? Walk past the Ground Transportation counter, get into "lane four," then turn left and walk half a mile, past all the Avis, Budget and Enterprise signs and wait, literally, and I quote, "under the sign that is blank."

"I know that we're not Platinum members of anything," I grouse to my daughters, "but standing under a blank sign? Can ACE at least not tape their logo up there? It's so humiliating!"

"Maybe they didn't have enough money to commission a logo," says my older daughter. Shuttle after shuttle whooshes by.

"We'll be lucky if the car has four wheels!" says my younger.

Forty-five minutes later, the ACE shuttle finally arrives. I'm strangely comforted that there are other passengers, as humiliated as we are. We are the people too cheap to get a real rental car. None of us make eye contact. We study our crumpled Expedia printouts as though we are important business travelers splitting the atom.

We are shuttled to the far side of town. Though not quite a van down by the river, the rental office is in fact a trailer.

On the upside, we are led to a vehicle that, while splattered with mud, is a giant black Ford Explorer. Added plus: it comes loaded with Sirius 1970's Radio! The minus — The first song that comes on is The Captain and Tenille, "You Better Shop Around!"

Next week: Running on Dr. Pepper, dry shampoo and Special K.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

BACK TO THE GYM

The Loh Life — Mon, 26 Jun 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

I had taken to working at home, on my laptop, in bed. But, talk about first world problems! After working in bed all day my hip went out and I could barely walk.

So I realized— I had to return to the gym. Where I hadn't been for a few weeks. Or maybe a couple of months. Where was my gym bag? In the trunk of my car, under some. . . Christmas stuff that I was planning to return. OK, so it had been half a year. Closer inspection revealed there were no less than two locks in the bag, both locked forever— Because so much time goes by between gym visits I forget the combination.

The first thing I notice, when I return to my fancy, brightly-lit yuppie gym, blinking like nosferatu— Is that if I'm going to show up for classes like Cardio Barre, I need better outfits. All the other Cardio Barristas are in stylish Lulumon wear— These sort of fabulous. . . yoga. . . leotard. . . cat lady. . . jazz pants— From the future— And I am basically wearing floppy board shorts. With paint on them. I have come dressed to clean out my garage.

So I purchase some athletic leggings, pair those with a tank— Now I look in the mirror and realize—? Stylish workout clothes only accentuate the fact that my body's not like everyone else's. My hips are bigger than my waist. I'm pear-shaped. All the other Cardio Barre ladies have lean tomboy bodies like swimmers. Who are they? How much do they train? Is cardio barre their actual job?

I switch to Zumba, where the crowd seems more mixed— Which is to say, now there are also men in shiny leotard jazz pants. And listen. I'm not invested in being good at Zumba, the international Latin dance fitness sensation. I'm a fiftysomething Chinese-German Lutheran. You know how they say, "The Rhythm is Going to Getcha?" Well, it doesn't. And when I'm bested at Zumba by an 80 year old woman in a tennis skirt speaking Cantonese? The ego smarts.

Thank God for Cardio Broadway. My spirits rose when I saw a line of gold top hats along the mirror. "One! Singular sensation!" We began with Cabaret. "Wilkommen! Bienvenue!" To little knee bends and plies. But then our too young, too hip instructor starts going, "And this next number's from Hamilton!" Haven't seen it! "And this is from Kinky Boots! Newsies!"

Now, I've got my boss futuristic outfit, but I prefer an old-fashioned jam – say, Fiddler or Sound of Music. I guess I'll have to join the Senior Center. Where they do "Broadway" with walkers.

That's more my speed.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

Back to the Gym

The Loh Life — Mon, 19 Jun 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

True story. It may not be incredibly exciting, but it's true!

So! I work at home, on my laptop— Writing, editing, corresponding— In between I pay bills, schedule appointments, shop online for household necessities— In fact, in spring my to do list got so long I just took to bed. Oprah-style! I'm pretty sure she does that— I remember seeing something like it in O Magazine. Oprah's office is less a conventional box with desks than a soft boudoir of inspiration. With cozy couches, pashmina throws, vases of fresh cut flowers.

So in the name of what we women of a certain age call "self care"— I would plump pillows behind me, place my laptop on a blanket in front of me, sip herbal Teavana and I would type mindfully away for hours and hours. And one afternoon? I see it's time to pick up my kids from school— So I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, put my weight on them, and—

I can't walk! I literally can't move! My left hip is completely stiff! Maybe Oprah has people turn her during the day! As for me, I could star in that commercial: "I've fallen down and I can't get up!"

I drag myself down the stairs, hanging on to the bannister like an 85 year old. Correction! When my now-96 year-old dad was 85, he was doing handstands on the beach and swimming in the ocean!

And I realize, I've come to the age of that dreadful saying: "Use it or lose it."

I used to engage in regular exercise, it's true. My VISA bill— So heavy to lift! Suggests I even pay monthly dues to a gym. But I don't have the vanity I once had. Since turning fifty, I've acquired this new "menopot" on my belly. First I was panicked. But then I discovered "mom jeans" and even better, at Costco? Next to a $500 above-ground family pool? A heap of "Ladies Power Stretch Capris." How do I look in them? Fortunately I don't see very well in my Costco glasses.

And anyway, I have two teen daughters at home, for three more years. I'd started thinking: if I don't go to the gym, that's 90 minutes more in the day. 90 more minutes to not argue with them and just go buy the strawberry pineapple shampoo they're always requesting— And Prismacolor gray chisel tip markers— And mochi, has to be the green tea mochi— Flabby upper arms are a small price to pay for peace in the house!

But now I can barely even get to the car and, oh no! Can I even push the gas pedal?

Next week: Fear and Loathing at Zumba

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

13 REASONS WHY NOT

The Loh Life — Mon, 29 May 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

Life is stressful enough. And now—? I've been getting all these alarming missives from parenting organizations about the Netflix series "13 Reasons Why." As in, 13 reasons why this teenaged girl commits suicide— Which is depicted on screen, as is a rape! Yikes! Apparently all teens are secretly streaming it, so we parents need to open up the conversation.

But then I'm thinking: What if my two teen daughters are the only teens not watching it? And then my raising the topic would be—what do you call it? A trigger? It's so confusing these days! College campuses are full of "safe spaces"— But middle schoolers can stream suicide shows!

And my younger daughter? She's already fluttery, like a leaf. Sample text—and I can't convey how terrifying these words look on one's phone: "Mom. Mom. Mom. Please! I'm so scared. I don't know what to do! Help me!" Situation? She was in the bathroom at Starbucks and the toilet wouldn't flush. Fortunately Dr. Mom was right outside the door.

So with this one, driving home from school, I just ask, with an odd vague heartiness: "So. . . What movies or TV shows are all the kids watching these days?"

"All the kids?" she says. "What are you talking about? What kids?"

"You kids!" I say. "You! You and your peeps!"

"What?" she says. "Nothing." She goes on instead to describe her traumatic field trip. Instead of studying tide pools at a nice quiet museum, her class went to the actual beach! She slipped on a rock and all these kids from the Medical Magnet too-eagerly stormed her with gauze and bandages!

Okay. I'll let that fragile kid be. Now it's on to my older, more sophisticated daughter. The one with the nose ring—at least it's fake. I ask her bluntly: "So, what's the deal with this '13 Reasons Why' show?"

She groans. "I already read the book back in sixth grade."

"In sixth grade?" I exclaim.

Apparently at her old middle school, everyone was reading books about teen suicide— Which appears to have been an actual cottage industry, possibly it's own Young Adult genre. Sheesh! What happened to Nancy Drew?

She says she did watch the show but stopped during the rape scene, which was a bit much. In fact, now, on social media, the show's premise had surfaced as a joke meme. As in, "I asked to borrow a pencil. You said you didn't have one." Ominous pause. "It's one of the 13 Reasons Why." Ba-dum-bum.

In the end, Dr. Mom felt a bit out of her league. I guess I'll just have to trust that the teens are going to be fine. And to be on hand to flush the toilet.}

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

13 REASONS WHY NOT

The Loh Life — Mon, 22 May 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

Life is already hard enough, but with teen daughters— of which I have two, ages 15 and 16 -- well, let's just say that, what with everything going on these days, my mind is a bit addled. And my latest TV obsession isn't exactly helping.

"I have such a sense of dystopia," I complained to my friend Carol.

She replied: "Maybe you should stop binge-watching The Handmaid's Tale!

It's true. I've watched so many hours of The Handmaid's Tale, I've started to involuntarily greet people with, "Blessed be the day," "Blessed be!" If that's not familiar to you, you're probably not aware that in the oppressive futuristic society depicted here—? Fertile young women are farmed out to "commanders" and forced to have sex with them between their wives' legs, in order to birth mutant babies. . .

I'm old enough to remember "Happy Days." Do you remember the sitcom "Happy Days"? What was it about? Days. . . that were Happy! Teens hanging around the jukebox! With poodle skirts! The Fonz! Having shenanigans!

So I resolve to turn off the news— Except for the headlines that actually leap out of the radio— And maul you, like a wolverine— Ever seen that? Anyway—

I also take a break from The Handmaid's Tale— I turn instead to the comedy Grace and Frankie, with Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin! I embrace their comforting presences like the stylish pashmina throw either might wear— If The Cheese Nun was still on? I would binge-watch that! Very reassuring. The Cheese and the Nun.

But then I start getting emails -- the Concerned Parent E-Blasts I don't recall ever signing up for, a la—? "Does your teen get enough sleep?" No. "Is your teen ready for the SAT?" No. "Does your teen eat too much sugar and waste a lot of time?" Yes. Apparently that's abnormal behavior and there's medication for that. Good to know!

Well— The truly alarming news is that— Often unbeknownst to their parents— All of our teens are secretly watching this new TV series called "13 Reasons Why." As in, 13 reasons why this teenage girl commits suicide. She leaves behind the reasons in a box of tapes. One reason is rape. Shown on screen.

It's a long way from Happy Days.

As a responsible parent, I need to talk to my daughters. . . about this show.

Next week: A Visit with Dr. Mom.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

THE MARCH FOR SCIENCE AS SEEN FROM HOME

The Loh Life — Mon, 15 May 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

So, my 15 year old science magnet daughter and I experienced last month's exciting March for Science—! From home, as she was temporarily felled by some bacteria. Consuming an unscientific "cure" of chocolate pudding—? We watched the march on CNN.

Now, the news changes so quickly you may not remember that just one month ago—? There were shock waves due to proposed massive federal budget cuts— Not just to climate change research, but to—surely the more non-controversial —National Institutes of Health. I mean, health? Who's anti-health? Even MacDonald's is serving apple slices now, and kale!

The march was a mix of passion and fun. There were lots of great signs, including one with the classic line: If you're not the solution, you're the precipitate! Marchers came dressed as Einstein, dinosaurs, polar bears.

Then again— And admittedly, at home, we were wearing bathrobes rather than labcoats—? A couple of humble notes.

Some of the speakers in DC were less scientists than YouTube science explainers. And pure research scientists—not to mention philosophers—might question some of the applause lines. And I quote: "Science is inherently political!" "Science is objective, but it is not neutral!" What? Then some of the marchers chanted back, with a decided New Age lilt: "Science is hope!" "Science is our planet!" "Peace, love, science!"

I heard myself grousing to my daughter: "Sure. It's like 'Nature.' To some, 'Nature' is a beautiful flower. But 'Nature' is also Stage 5 hurricanes and poison frogs who eat their own offspring. And—and pitcher plants! Have you seen pitcher plants?"

The chants continued: "Health is science! Safety is science! Clean water is science! I yell at the TV: "PS: Nuclear missiles from North Korea? SCIENCE!"

There were also heartfelt pleas from the stage for more "K-12 hands-on STEM-based learning." I sympathize. I marched for that when my daughters were in elementary school. Of course we want our children to be turned on to science— To the classroom volcanos comically exploding with baking soda. To the wonders of milk carton pea plants, sunny farms of ladybugs.

But eventually, inexorably, comes The Ugly. The multiplication tables, long division, algebra, trig, then calculus, if a career in science is really being pursued. I just heard about a senior I know, an exceptional—and well-rounded—student. He has a 4.5 GPA and almost-perfect SAT's, nosebleed-high! But he has been shut out by all the UC's he applied to, including his third choice, UC San Diego. Mwah! SCIENCE!

Still, quibbles aside, science is the future. We applaud all, and must forge on. Chocolate pudding recommended.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

THE MARCH FOR SCIENCE AS SEEN FROM HOME

The Loh Life — Mon, 08 May 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

In case you missed the March for Science, last month? I have the report! Not that I went, no. Science enthusiasts all, my household was planning on going— But then my younger teen daughter got felled by "bacteria"— Possibly brought on by a dubious "pizza day" at her science magnet.

So I spent that Saturday at home, taking care of her— But we streamed the Washington DC and other marches, live on CNN! So here is my report!

Let's quickly review the main points. Worldwide, there were 600-plus cities participating, with high levels of enthusiasm. The March for Science's stated mission was to be a positive, non-partisan march for scientists and scientific principles. That alone is such a wonderful, counterintuitive idea. Much humor and wit was seen.

As I did not get to go, and make my own hilarious sign—? To honor the spirit of the occasion I would like to share two favorite jokes.

First: How do you tell the difference between an introverted and an extroverted mathematician?
For the whole time the introverted mathematician is talking to you, he looks down at his shoes. When the extroverted mathematician talks to you, the whole time he looks down at your shoes. Ba-dum-bum.

I know I used the pronoun "he" in that joke— As if to imply all left-brained people are male. But no! So here's the saying from when I attended Caltech— Way back in the '80s— And the male to female ratio was 7 to 1. "Caltech: where the odds are good, but the good are odd."

Now to some of the funny—and sometimes punny—March for Science signs:

"If you're not the solution, you're the precipitate!"

That was next to: "Protest Cosine, Protest Sine." Get it? Protest. . . Sine? Puns are hard on the radio. So let's finish with the more "meta": "What do we want? Evidence based research! When do we want it? After peer review!"

Of course, there were less than non-partisan messages, too. Just reporting here? There were signs with the phrases "Black Hole" and "Absolute Zero" ghosted over our president's recognizeable silhouette. The live feed from San Francisco brought: "Trump believes there's no global warming, as nothing is hotter than Ivanka."

That one made me snort, but I had to quickly tell my daughter, "that is totally inappropriate."
We decided a good sign was: "Mitosis, Not Division."

And a cute one on a dog that everyone can agree on. "Support Labs." Labs.

Next week: Science is Love!

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

IT'S TAXING

The Loh Life — Mon, 01 May 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

Dave Ramsey— The financial radio talk show host— Says every couple has two people. One is the nerd with the calculator. The other is the spendy free spirit.

In my couple, I am the nerd. I am calmed by a seven-by-seven Ken Ken and a mechanical pencil. No surprise that I have used Quicken now for several decades. But it seems in the last five or 10 years— What with the Russian hackers stealing our info to get porn— The cheapo, Windows-based laptops Quicken favors have gotten very buggy.

So buggy, I bought a sacrificial Dell laptop just for Quicken. But even that lasted barely six months without crashing. So Charlie, the free spirit, took over paying the bills! Writing checks by hand! Notating them in a large, impressive leatherette binder! The checks are pretty—tan and sort of antique-looking. There's a stagecoach on them.

This was all charming until I realized it was tax time. To get all my financial info into the computer, I was going to have to hand-enter each check. With a quill pen and a butter churn.

While in the joyous process of hand-inputting each check that went out in calendar year 2016— I learned some interesting things!

That beautiful 8-lane highway we drove on that time we visited friends in Orange County? That was a toll road that we apparently didn't pay for. 250 dollar fine! Plus--We're subscribers to something called Cook's Country Magazine, even though I am NOT into "homestyle cooking." And -- we've been paying hundreds of dollars a month for gym memberships that I didn't know we have!

Argh!

Losing it, I throw in the towel and buy myself my own personal version of Quicken—for Mac— There's a help line to call— And unbelievably, an operator immediately answers. He's a courteous gentleman with a lilting, slightly British accent. He answers my "sign in" question, and asks: "Do you want me to stay on the line while you try it?" "Sure!" I say, surprised.

We click pleasantly through a few more windows— He's marvelously patient, and attentive— Wanting to be entertaining, I actually start reciting my passwords aloud as I type them.

"Let's see—2, 3, 4—asterisk, star, Sparky Sparky, that was my first pet— "Now I'm actually going to have to go downstairs to get my purse," I say, "and maybe go to the ladies' on the way 'cause I've had a lot of coffee— "
"It's fine!" he says—
"Well you can continue playing Solitaire or whatever you're doing!" I say. And he chuckles!
Doing your taxes? It takes a village. And a butter churn.

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.

IT'S TAXING

The Loh Life — Mon, 24 Apr 2017 00:00:00 -0700

The Loh Life

Shout out to my 20 million brothers and sisters- The one in seven U.S. taxpayers who waited until the last minute to file.

This year, the IRS even gave us 'til April 18th- So the 18th is when I filed- For my extension! See you in October!

In my defense, it was not due to lack of effort. It feels like I spent 200 hours on my taxes this year, because they were unusually complicated.

Back when I was in my twenties? Much effort was put into stacking red milk crates for bookshelves and trying to fold up a futon without mangling my fingers-30 years later, I'm trying to do really smart grown-up things.

To wit, my life partner and I have been business partners for almost 20 years. We used to be young- Now we're-ahem-"less young"- Picture the Boomers you see in those ads, silver-haired, in wet suits, running towards the ocean with surfboards, very at peace with nature and our fully-funded 401-K plans - Except that we don't surf and, regarding those 401-K plans?

Well, what I have written on the notepad I stole from Charles Schwab is- And I quote:
"Retirement and write it off, and something about medical."

When I look at this enigmatic scribble, an image comes to me: A friendly thirty-something man dressed in charcoal gray business casual- And a desk, and a plant- And that man is saying:

"Sandra, by all means, you need to form a C corp! NOT an S corp!"

But wait, is that what he said? Maybe it was:
"Sandra, by all means, you need to form an S Corp! NOT a C corp!"

It was like being in school and confronting a page of long division- Or sitting in a deadly after-lunch class like "US Government"- There's this mix of incomprehension, coupled with boredom, that makes it all sound like white noise.

S corp, C corp- These things involve a part of my brain that refuses to fire. All I know is there was one kind that was right, it's not the one I did, at some moderate expense, and now I'm going to jail.

Where at least I won't have to fold a futon. I think.

Next week: Separate Bathrooms, Separate Quicken Accounts

This content is from Southern California Public Radio. View the original story at SCPR.org.