A Long December..

I haven’t written in a while. And for me, it’s kind of like exercise – once you take a little time off, it gets harder and harder to start it up again. But instead of feeling guilty or bad or whatever that I haven’t written, I should just do it. I know, I know…

I’m happy to report that the solstice has just passed (the true reason for the season, in my book) and that means that the universe is adding precious minutes of light each day. Thanks universe! I haven’t ridden my bike in way too long – since early November – and right now it’s parked out in the back shed, and for this I try not to feel guilty.. but that’s the way that one goes.

My household has been crazy. Both of my readers (haha) know that my dad fell in early November and broke his leg – he fractured the top of his femur where the bone goes into the hip socket. He had to have surgery and was in a rehab hospital for three weeks. He’s home now, and for this we are glad – he has very limited mobility and I have accepted that helping to take care of him has become my full time job. I resisted this for a while but now it just is the way it is. I wish on more than one level that it wasn’t.. but wishes don’t go to the pharmacy or dole out medication. Wishes don't go to the grocery store or make lunch. Nor do they hold hands. My father told me that he was sorry that I had to do this for him, but I told him not to be sorry because there is no one else in the world that I would rather help in this fashion. And that happens to be the truth.

Today my best friend from high school, Malinda, came to visit. She brought her two beautiful girls and we hung out for a few hours. It was great. I miss her so much. She and John made beautiful babies.

When they were getting ready to leave, I brought Gwen – the newborn – in to my father so he could say good bye. I looked at her perfect little baby feet and toes and looked up at my dad and thought to myself for a moment about what people call the circle of life. I know, it might be corny to read about.. even the fact that I’m committing these words to the page in this manner.. but I felt it. And at the same moment I felt what I can only describe as a crush. No, not the kind of crush that you get on someone you like, when you can’t talk to that certain someone let alone make eye contact - but rather as a crush of life.. the feeling is like experiencing great sorrow and joy and fear and love simultaneously. Even now, hours later, makes my head throb and my heart ache.

I’ve been freelancing for the past few months, which is neat. I’m writing for a publisher that prints a handful of monthly community news papers. Not ironically, it was my father and his illness that precipitated such events. As you might recall we went on a blimp ride in September and that’s how I met my editor. I was thrilled that my father and I shared the front page of that issue – his picture and the story about the blimp ride, and my first professional byline in NJ, just to the right of him. This is special to us. I’ve been working hard to do what I need to do around the house and write a few stories each month. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m trying.

At the end of every year since the Counting Crows produced Recovering the Satellites, I have placed special significance to the song "A Long December" - and believe me, it will be a Facebook status update at some point over these next waning days of 2009, because that’s how I do. This year, I attach the same meaning to it. All in all, 2009 wasn’t terrible for me. Yes, it had a few, short terrible moments like every year does.. but it was filled with good stuff as well. Moving back was hard but necessary. Leaving my friends and the life I built in Albany could only be made better by returning home and rekindling some old friendships that were placed on a shelf for a very long time as well as meeting some new people who I have already come to cherish. This trade off was capped by honoring my responsibility to my family because in return, I’ve learned so much more about my father and also myself.

Sure, I lost the dream job in Philly. That ranks up there in the top three shitty moments of 2009. I was bitter and self-deprecating about that for a while, but I’ve decided to look a little deeper beneath the surface. It was an incredible experience and opportunity, but it just wasn’t meant to be. I am very proud of the fact that the day I lost the job, I still pitched a story I was working on for their cover and they took it. This simple fact reminds me of my resilience, determination and drive.

In all of its’ gloom, I’ve realized that I am actually lucky to have had this opportunity to take care of my dad because so few people get to spend so much time with a parent who has a terminal illness. The value of the comfort I have been able to provide to both my father and my mother in this time cannot ever be matched by business cards, bylines or newspaper clippings. Period. I’ve embraced this path on which the universe has me set.

2010 is filled with uncertainty, perhaps amplified by events which took place in 2009, but there are a few things that I know.. I’ve learned a lot about myself this year. I’ve learned a lot about my strength and compassion. I’ve learned a lot about my own corporeal body and what I can push it to accomplish. I’ve learned about friendships which endure tests of time and distance. I’ve learned about life and death and what it means to truly love – both others and myself.

Over the course of Earth’s next solar orbit, I have some goals I would like to accomplish. I will not list them all here because I do not believe in resolutions but they include things like renewing travel plans with my nearest and dearest, starting (and hopefully finishing) my first book, completing a century ride on the bike (and finishing as strong as I start), and beginning a cancer fundraising campaign. Maybe I’ll even find love in there somewhere. It could happen.

My wish for you - both of you who might find time to read this - is that you give yourself the gift of time to reflect on the world around you, understand the bonds of commonality that should serve to bring us together instead of pull us apart, and realize the potential of what you have in your heart. Because life and death are beautiful - even if the former lacks the consistency of the latter.

This year may be drawing to an end, but the great cosmic cycle is pushing forward and once again adding minutes of precious daylight, tick by tick.

Thank you for reading and best wishes for a great next decade!

Pedalin’ through the Punkin' Patch…

Last Sunday morning, I woke up and stretched my legs to see how they felt after my ride and subsequent fall the previous day. My knees didn’t hurt that badly and there was no ache in my quads – all good signs. I checked out the grossness that had developed on my left knee, applied some anti-grossness ointment and band-aids and it was game on.

This particular Sunday, October 4th, was a long time coming. I decided in August that I wanted to set an end-of-season goal ride for myself, and SIBA's Pumpkin Patch Pedal was it..

The drive to Jamesburg was filled with pounding music, butterflies flittering in my gut and things to remember – like that this is a ride, not a race and most of all, the importance of stretching. I’m used to just kind of jumping on the bike and going, but considering both my fall the day before and the distance which was laid out in front of me, stretching would be important.

I was excited as I pulled into Thompson Park and finally found a parking spot – the place was packed with hundreds of cars and riders of every shape and stripe. There were the serious looking guys with fancy carbon road bikes and matching outfits.. all the way down to middle aged ladies and families with children on mountain bikes.

I signed in, got my goodie bag which includes this here coveted long-sleeve shirt, a water bottle (which will never be used for actual drinking water because it’s not BPA-free), a yellow paper bracelet which indicated that I purchased a post-ride turkey sub and my cue sheet.

This cue sheet will later become the infamous device which added an hour and eight or ten extra miles to the ride. Don’t worry, I’ll explain shortly.

You couldn’t have asked for nicer conditions. It was 72 degrees with sunny blue skies marbled with cotton. This day was perfection. My mom used to work around this area so I was familiar with the first stretch of the course. I remember going to work with her when I was a kid and always loving this one stretch road where sunlight shone through trees and mottled the pavement. I smiled to myself, remembering childhood, as I rode it.

I’ve gotten used to riding alone, I actually enjoy it most of the time. Maybe it’s an only child thing, but I think the individuality of this sport is one of the things that has drawn me so heavily to riding. Sometimes I ride with my friend’s husband, but that’s only happened a few times this season. So, you can imagine my pleasant surprise when about 12 miles into the course, one woman with road bike and fancy jersey and all, said that she lost her partner somewhere and she would ride with me for a while.

Sharon was the only black person I saw on the entire ride, and she was freakin' awesome. She’s a special education teacher for the Philadelphia public school system. “God bless ya,” I said. We rode side-by-side and chatted through Millstone and Upper Freehold, while I had the ability to chat anyway, before the hills came.

After that, this is the view I had of her most of the time.

She made me feel good because most of the time people don’t talk to me on the road. Ya see, I’m on a hybrid bike (looks like a road bike and a mountain bike had a baby) and although I am the new owner of fancy-pants bike shorts, I don’t have one of those special jerseys and wear New Balances instead of clip-system bike shoes. Please, this sport is expensive enough, one step at a time, thanks!

Sharon told me that she did her first century ride on a hybrid. This made me very happy.

Somewhere aftercrossing Route 537, Sharon dropped me. My legs were aching – not even my knees, but my legs. The churn was slowing and I realized just how dumb it was for me to have gone on the ride with Heath the day before. And there were hills. Whoever said this ride was “flat as a board” should punch themselves in the face. They weren’t terrible hills, but my muscles were just too fatigued. I did keep it going though.. even if it was embarrassingly slow.

I made it to which would turn out to be the only rest stop, 25 miles into the course, in about two hours. This was in New Egypt, but the sign said Plumsted. I need a proper map to tell the difference. Sharon was there, smiling at me when I arrived. Her partner (I don't think she's a gay, the other lady was just a riding partner) was there waiting for her. I shoved some bagel wedges into my mouth, washed them down with Gatorade, refilled my camelbak and was off again. Sharon asked if I wanted to ride with them. I said, “I’m sure ya’ll be passing me soon, this way I get a head start.”

It’s true. Sharon came and went in the hills on the way back.
This ride went through some gorgeous central Jersey farmland. I took some random snaps as I passsed by. I want to point out that ironically, I did not see one single pumpkin patch. The farmland looked something like this.


So, I signed up for the 50 mile ride (called a half-century in those circles). The cue sheet showed it was 53.4 miles but in reality, I rode 61.5. Why, you ask? Because one of the turns on the cue sheet was shittily marked. Short answer is we (Sharon, myself and this other guy Larry) all made a right when we should’ve made a left. It wasn’t until we got to Route 537 again that I was like, no, there is something wrong here. We had already crossed this road twice and since we were on our way back north, we shouldn’t be crossing it again. We turned around and headed back up. I say up, because there were many hills involved here, which added to be being pissed off about the situation.

When we got back up to that spot where we zigged instead of zagged, there were about 15 other riders on cell phones trying to figure out the right way to go – so it wasn’t just us. I bitched to the people at SIBA (Staten Island Bicycle Association) about this later. It added something like an extra 9 miles, and about an hour, onto my ride. And though I was sporting fancy pants bike shorts, they only delayed the inevitable ass-to-cheese-grater feeling. Also, due to their crappy directions, the next/last rest stop for the half-century was closed by the time we got there.

I pounded a Powerbar on the side of the road while watching purdy horses on some course. This was mile 41 on the cue sheet but 51 in real life, and I just needed to give my butt a rest for a minute.

The remainder of the ride was mostly mine in solitude. I kept playing leap frog with two ladies who were maybe in their 50’s. They were nice. My legs were moving slowly, my quads screamed at me for not resting the day before and my ass was absolutely killing me. Luckily the weather was amazing.

I realized as I got closer and closer to Thompson Park where my day started, that due to the cue sheet error, I had already accomplished my goal, now I just needed to finish and it didn’t matter how slow I was.

I pulled into the park and I couldn’t believe I had actually done it. Five hours and fifty-three seconds (5:00:53) after the start, I finished. I didn’t crash. My spokes didn’t fly off the wheel like shrapnel-y needles. I just finished. I rolled up to the gazebo where they were handing out the post-ride Subway lunch (my friends know that I will cut a bitch for a turkey sub) and saw Sharon, her ride partner Carol, and Larry all sitting on benches. They smiled and congratulated me on finishing my first ride. Sharon clapped as took off my helmet, before I limped over to the gazebo. I realized it was first time I looked at any of their full faces, sans helmets and sunglasses. I will never forget them.

Two dudes played acoustic guitar next to the gazebo. They played songs that seemed cliché but made me smile while I was horking down my turkey sub. At the moment, song titles escape me, but they played stuff like “Ramblin Man” and “On the Road Again”. If I could muster the energy to walk, I would’ve requested “Life is a Highway."

This was my first organized ride and for me it meant more than that – it was like a rite of passage. Next time, and yes, there will be a next time I’ll plan things out differently so that I can finish just as strong as I start.

Maybe next year I’ll do the century. Yeah. Goals we set are goals we get.

Broke as a spoke.

My spoke broke.

Again.

It’s the second time in a week that my bike is in the shop for the problem and frankly it pissed me off when it happened. The big ride that I’ve been planning is eight days away, and I feel like I need to be out as much as possible to prepare for it. Luckily I was heading to the gym only a few minutes from home and not up in Lambertville or Bulls Island or something ridiculous when it popped. I can change a tire on the side of the road, but that’s about the limit of my mechanical expertise at the moment.

At any rate, I called the shop – Bike King in Morrisville, PA – they remembered me, my bike and told me to bring it on in. They’re going to replace all the spokes on that wheel to make sure the problem doesn’t continue – which is cool by me.

So while I’m at the shop, I ask the guys about bike shorts. I hate to say it,
but I need to invest in ‘em. I’ve been wearing regular mesh shorts all summer, and even a 20 mile ride makes me hate my life. Ya see, bike shorts aren’t just about looking homosexual in lycra and spandexor the aerodynamics of such a snug-fit – hence these loose-style shorts which are a favorite of mountain bikers and casual riders. No, bike shorts are a necessary piece of equipment because of the chamois – or for lack of a better description, ass-and-crotch-padding.

I ask the shaggy-haired guy behind the counter if there is actually a difference between mens’ shorts and womens’ shorts. He laughed and said yes, adding with a smile, “we are different down there you know.”

Yes. I know. I’ve read about that. In books. And sometimes when boys and girls really like each other, they give each other special hugs. I digress.

Shaggy, all joking aside, took the time to actually show me the difference. In the shorts, I mean.

Wait.. None of this sounds right.

He took a pair of mens’ short and a pair of womens’ short, flipped ‘em inside out to show how different they are and why. Other than obvious differences in junk and plumbing, even our bones themselves are dissimilar – the pelvis or “sit-bone” is wider on women (for child birthin’ purposes) so the padding is shaped differently (wider, of course) for that reason alone. And anyone who has ridden a bike ten miles or more understands why that’s important. Not to mention cases of sexual dysfunction in some serious male and female riders.

By the way, the chamois on most of those baggy MTB-style shorts is gender-neutral - meaning they have largely the same padding regardless of mens' or womens'. I’m thinking that I need to be nice to my body and invest in a decent pair of shorts. And be prepared to spend $60 on even the low-end. Pun unintended.

Sometimes it’s hard for a girl with my figure to muster the lady balls - aka “thatchers” – to walk into a bike shop, let alone talk about clingy apparel with dudes. You might call me fat. doughy. pudgy. thick. or cylindrical – like a Pringles can (my very favorite self-descriptor). So, you can imagine the looks someone like me gets upon entering some shops – like what the hell is that girl doing here? And if I’ve never been in that shop before, I stand there sort of dumb-founded, wondering the same thing. I’m usually only browsing anyway, on account of being broke, so I just look at all the cool stuff I would want to buy if I could afford it or if my body-type and skill-level warranted such a purchase. But my guys? Shaggy, et al? They made me feel at home right away.

Bike King is a small shop. They don’t have huge rooms full of stock that you can get lost in – but what they do have, is excellent customer service. They proved that to me when I was shopping around for my ride, and they continue to prove that to me on the regular. That’s why they’ll be my go-to-guys for any mechanical issues I have. On the bike, that is.

In unrelated news: I’ve started freelancing, so that’s one reason for my sporadic posts recently. Working is good, especially if someone is gonna give you a few bucks for your effort. Dad is hanging in there, he’s on a new chemo regemin which is kicking his ass, but we’re not going to talk about that at the moment. Also, we have a video from the blimp ride which will be posted soon, just some last editing touches to do. And finally, I have a couple blog posts which are just itching to be written: one about Vick and the other about, shockingly enough, cycling.

And on that note, I was just informed that my baby is repaired and road-ready. So I gotta go. I have a ride to prepare for.

WMC: Can you Harvey Milk me, Focker?

Wednesday Mail Call!

When Cleve Jones woke up this morning, he had no idea he'd be penning a guest spot on the DIP. And he still doesn't know. I plucked this little dumpling as a repost from the mail bag for empowerments and edumacations.

Dear Catherine --


It has been over 30 years since my friend and teacher, gay rights activist Harvey Milk, was assassinated. Today, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people have won limited rights in a handful of states, but we are still second class citizens throughout the United States.

Harvey once said, "It takes no compromising to give people their rights."

This morning, Representative Jerrold Nadler, (D-NY) introduced a bill in Congress to repeal the so-called "Defense of Marriage Act" that bans same-sex marriages from being recognized in other states.

If passed by the Congress, the Respect Marriage Act would be a significant step forward in the march for full equality.

Join the Courage Campaign and Equality Across America and send a message to your Congressmember urging them to co-sponsor the Respect Marriage Act and to keep marching forward towards full equality for LGBTs.


Equal rights are not a "gay" issue. They are about our shared human rights: safety in our schools and jobs, equitable healthcare and housing, and protection for our families, to name a few.

Like all other Americans, LGBT people are guaranteed equal protection, but are currently denied it by Congress. Repealing DOMA is just a first step. Free and equal people do not compromise. That's why Equality Across America, the organization I founded, is marching on Washington October 11-12 with one simple demand: Equal protection for LGBT people in all matters governed by civil law in all 50 states. Now.

Please ask your Congressmember to co-sponsor the Respect Marriage Act as an important first step, and remind them that there are no fractions of equality.

When Harvey spoke at Gay Freedom Day at San Francisco City Hall in 1978, he invoked the words of the Declaration of Independence: "All [people] are created equal. No matter how hard you try, you can never erase those words."

No more compromises. We are equal.

Cleve Jones
Senior Advisor, Courage Campaign

P.S.: I am proud to announce that the Courage Campaign will be running a Camp Courage for hundreds of participants during the March on Washington. The only way we win full equality is by organizing in our own communities and Camp Courage will send the marchers home as empowered organizers who will continue to fight for full equality.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Courage Campaign is an online organizing network that empowers more than 700,000 grassroots and netroots supporters to push for progressive change and full equality in California.

PUBLIC OPTION NOW!

Wednesday night I watched the President Obama address a joint session of Congress to discuss his ideal healthcare reform bill. I watched with embarrassment while someone on the other side of the political spectrum called him a liar, and reminisced about the old days when no one called out President Bush for being a colossal liar that got 5,000 brave men and women killed in an unnecessary military venture. Ahhh, them were the days, but I digress.

See, I watched because I’m invested in this healthcare thing. It means something to me and it should mean something to you too.

There are three main facets to the Obama plan. Consumer protection , a marketplace exchange and requirement for everyone to carry health insurance like some states require every driver to carry auto insurance.

Do I like the idea of being mandated to carry health insurance? No. I’ve always been the kind of girl who when you tell me I have to do something, that’s the last thing I want to so. It’s not a non-confirmist thing, it’s being compelled that usually bothers me. But in this case things are different. See, I WANT health coverage. I need it. Not like the people in the video below - thank god – I’m lucky enough that despite being a self-proclaimed beefy lady, I’m actually in pretty good health. For this I am thankful.



But all that could change if you’re one of the uninsured and you don’t need a duly elected president to remind you that you’re only one accident or illness away from bankruptcy. Ask my friend from Upstate NY, a Lymes disease patient, who chooses between meds and rent. Ask my friend from Central Jersey, a single mother of two with a family history of heart problems – she’s in collections for an $800 EKG. You think she needs the stress of bill collectors calling for a routine preventative procedure or test? Yeah, that’s great for her heart but in reality it's only a drop in the ocean.

These are just two examples of people what I know who are falling down this rabbit hole. I’m sure I know more if I dig further. I’m sure you know someone who isn’t a deadbeat but has to face this medical insurance madness every day.

One of the great ironies of the health care crisis for me personally has been the rhetoric or “debate.” As someone with a degree in political science, I’ve always had an appreciation (even if sometimes disdain) for the political process and now – at one of the most important times for millions upon millions of uninsured Americans – the dialogue has been hijacked by our own extremists who would rather rip this debate to shreds than find the common ground we need to forge meaningful change. It makes me sick, pun unintended.

If you take the president at his word, he won’t sign any program that will add a dime to the deficit – and let’s face it, it’s not like the previous administration ever cared about that. If it was up to them, they would’ve privatized social security and fed it to the stock market. Yeah, that woulda been cute. I digress.

Personally, I’m in favor of adding the public option to the insurance “exchange” that is being discussed. I just don’t believe that the collective bargaining power of the uninsured will be strong enough to achieve affordable plans without the public option. It will foster competition for insurance companies which will help the individual consumer within that market place. Also, if I’m paying into the system, I’d rather not have that system spend money on advertising and crap that has the company logo on it for giveaways. I don’t need all that garbage, I’d rather have the money go to good doctors who can help keep me healthy.

I also believe that affordable coverage for the individual consumer would spur entrepreneurialism – people just might feel more comfortable starting their own business or going to work for a small business (an independent spirit our country was founded in). Think about it. Americans would be able to pursue their true talents as opposed to finding some corporate machine job that they are interested in based on access to benefits alone. There’s nothing wrong with that if that’s what you want, but if you’re me, having the option to do something different (and still feel safe and secure about it) is a good thing.

That’s why I support the public option and emailed my three representatives in Congress and the White House urging them to stand fast on this piece of the healthcare reform puzzle. I urge you to think about this rationally and make a little bit of constructive noise. I urge you to email your representatives. They need to know where you stand on this (even if it’s not with me). If you’re not sure who your Congressional representatives are click here for House and click here for the Senate. I can see how the House might be confusing, but you really should know who your Senators are.. and they’re the ones that need to hear from you the most.

After the President’s speech I turned on Comedy Central. I’d like to say that I needed something lighthearted to concentrate on after that very emotional and stirring address, but it’s actually just what’s usually on in my room.

Chris Rock’s 1999 comedy special Bigger and Blacker was on, and at one point he said, ”you better have some medical insurance or you gonna die.” It’s not funny, precisely because it’s true. I’ve been saying something sadly like it for years. People without health insurance go bankrupt or just die.

Seriously. Doing nothing or falling back on half-assed reforms will cost more in both money and lives than you can even imagine. And there is no amount of Robitussin that Chris Rock’s dad can pour on this one to fix things.



If you’d like to read more about comprehensive health reform, click here. I have no intention of finding the lame GOP-friendly sites who would like nothing better than to torpedo reform and maintain the status quo. Frankly, because they’ve sucked up enough of our attention.

It’s simple mantra that I’d like for you to repeat: A healthy America is a strong America.

Did you hear that? A healthy America is a strong America.

Seems like it would make sense, doesn’t it?

Does this blimp make my ass look fat?

Today, the Caperello family got the chance to share something totally unique – a ride on an airship. A blimp. It was freakin’ awesome.

The event, a birthday celebration for cancer survivors explained in my last post, was put on by the American Cancer Society (the official sponsor of birthdays) and Horizon Blue Cross & Blue Shield. My mom who works for ACS got an email from the event coordinator that some media would be present and wanted to interview my dad. The Ewing Observer is a local, monthly paper – the most recent edition came out yesterday, so it’ll be a while before we can read their account of today's happenings.

I said,"They want to interview you! That’s pretty cool, huh Pops?" His response was nonchalant.

“I’ll answer any questions they have," he said, "but I want them to know that every American deserves healthcare.”

Yes. My pop’s initial reaction was to use the publicity as a pulpit for the healthcare crisis. We wore matching red t-shirts that read, The healthcare crisis is a cancer crisis on one side and Make health insurance adequate, affordable, available, administratively simple on the other side.

I’m not entirely sure where Horizon stands on healthcare reform, but the reps there at Solebury Airfield couldn’t have been nicer. We won't see the article for some time to know if dad got his message out, but at a certain moment, it was all about the blimp, baby.

And that moment was right about here:


That's dad in the red.
Captain Terry (seen below) dropped some knowledge on me n moms while they had dad in the air with the reporter from the Ewing Observer.


Fun facts:

• There are 22 airships in the world, 3 are owned by Goodyear

• There is $50,000 worth of helium in that thar blimp

• This blimp has 2 pilots and a crew of 11 (Terry had the morning shift, so his partner or “line pilot” I believe he was called, is at the helm with my pops)

• Blimps don’t do snow or ice. After Sept 13 it’s going to its’ home in North Carolina. At 25 mph it takes about 12 hours to get where they have to go. I wouldn’t mind going for that ride if it was during the day and I had an appropriate amount of beer or scotch.

• On a scale of 1-10, ten being perfect – Terry rated today’s weather of 82-degrees and clear blue skies as an 11.

After a ten-minute ride they circled back to drop off the reporter (Diccon Hyatt is actually the community editor, but I digress) and pick up mom and myself.

I took an embarrassing amount of photos – the whole album will be up on Facebook shortly, but here are some of my favorites:


Pre-flight interview.


Maybe you can tell, maybe you can't - but the level of excitement is off the charts!


Momma & me: excited and nervous.


That's a propeller spinning around. It sounded like a mega-souped-up lawn mower.


The pilot steers the rudders with wheels on each side of his seat which makes him look a little like Joe from Family Guy. He doesn't look like he's going anywhere, but in fact, he is.


Two of my favorites: Round Valley Resevoir and Spruce Run in the distance.


The center gauge on the top row says we're at 1300 feet - the pilot says it's the perfect altitude for sight-seeing.


Airfield wildflowers.


Coming in for a landing!


Terra firma.

The wind was a little disconcerting. You could feel the airship being pushed by strong gusts. I've been parasailing before, but it's an entirely different effect. The feeling of lightly propelled floating at that altitude is unmatched.

Here is the bio of my dad that he and I wrote at ACS’ request:


Frank is 62 and has spent over 40 years working as an IT professional – and is very excited about this blimp ride! He loves the idea of simply being able to float above the Earth and look down. In a hot air balloon, he says, you’re at the mercy of the wind and might not be able to see something you’d like to, but in a blimp you have directionality in where you float. Airplanes move too fast at low levels to see anything and at higher altitudes, you can’t see anything because it’s too far away. He just thinks it would be a really neat thing to experience.

Frank has been fighting stage four metastatic pancreatic cancer since fall of 2007. It has been a tough journey thus far, but with total support from his family and friends, he refuses to give in and is hunkered down for the long haul. He’s also impressed by the spirit of those he has encountered at his various doctor’s offices and even his local pharmacy; finding that healthcare professionals and the people working with them have been extremely caring and loving individuals.

Frank is proud that the American Cancer Society the sponsor of his next birthday, October 8.


Yeah, my pops wasn’t just excited – he was thrilled. It felt so good to see that smile on his face.


That's our shadow, man. Far out.

By popular demand (I've always wanted to say that), you can click here to see the entire photo album.

Things I’m excited about this fall for $400, Alex.

Well this has been an interesting and exciting summer in more than a few ways. A quick round up reminds me of turning 30 with some of my best friends in Baltimore, going camping in the Catskills and visiting some great peeps in Albany, taking control of my life using Livestrong, volunteering for the LS Challenge in Philly, getting a new kick-ass bike and using it to push my limits and explore this area of the Jerz, making some new friends and getting to spend a bunch of time with my dad – helping to take care of him and such.

But the arrival of September, while it signals summer is drawing to a close, does not mean that the fun stops there. Oh no, there is a whole lot going on this autumn and they fall into two general categories:

Gear and Rides:


This is a Camelbak hydration system. It’s a fancy backpack that holds 100 oz of water. It would have been very useful while I was out riding on 95 degree days and stealing water from garden hoses in the mountains. But that’s ok, I have it now, and not only is it way more comfy than the bag I’ve been using, but it’s also in this color called “cheddar” (mmm, cheese)which will help people see me and is perfect for leaf peeping and hunting seasons. No, I don’t hunt, but I don’t want to be mistaken for a large, huntable animal out on the trails either. It could happen.


This is a bar-map. It is basically a piece of plastic that holds maps and route instructions, and velcros to your handlebars. You may be asking, Catherine, don’t you have a GPS? Yes, I do, but I am a cartography nerd and this way I can plan my exact route without “the bitch” (that’s why I call the GPS voice) telling me the fastest route by car, which is not necessarily the best or safest route by bicycle.

I have one more piece of gear that is shipping to me today called a RoadID. It’s an ID tag that fastens onto a bracelet, anklet, shoe lace or you can get it as military-style dog tags. My mom is always very worried about me when I go out for hours on end, which is understandable, and this little item will identify me in an emergency even if my cell phone is busted and my driver’s license is lost or stolen. While the people at Road ID slacked a little on a specific customer service request, they did send me an online coupon for me to provide to my friends, undoubtedly with hopes to boost their sales, but it’s a purchase to consider if you’re the active or outdoorsy-type. Coupon Number: ThanksCatherine534854. This coupon is good for $1 off any Road ID order. It can be used up to 20 times in the next 30 days, so get crackin'.

I can’t wait to get all this stuff together and go for my next long ride (tomorrow, perhaps?) because I’m training for a 50 mile ride (aka half-century) to take place on Oct. 4. It’s called the Pumpkin Patch Pedal and winds through some of the most beautiful farmland in central Jersey. I’m excited. It was a goal I set in the back of my head for July and I’m feeling pretty good about it. Hope the weather and my knees all cooperate.

No, not everything on this post will be about my bike.

Fun times:

In addition to things I love every fall like leaf peeping (which will definitely be enhanced by long descents down winding roads or trails) and pumpkin hunting and carving, I’m also looking forward to camping. I’ll be going with one of my best friends, her husband and two kids – I’m looking for a place that I went to years ago that has a haunted hay ride for the youngins, they should like that.

Last year I enjoyed some mid-October camping in the Catskills for another best friend’s 29th birthday. I think autumn camping is my favorite because of the colors, the ability to comfortably wear hoodies all day long, you don’t wake up sweating in your tent in the morning and the beer stays colder longer while sitting around the fire. It sure does get cold though if you’re tenting alone, that’s why I cuddle with rocks from the outside of the campfire ring. It does the trick, trust me. This year Shan is turning 30 and while I secretly hope she will choose camping again this year, I can’t wait to see whatever hijinx and shenanigans she decides on.

Also, I am ready for some football!! Hell, I’m already enjoying some preseason games, but I cannot wait for Week 1. I’m an Eagles fan, and I’ve got some thoughts on the whole Michael Vick thing – but I’m not getting into it now. Perhaps later this week.

Lastly, and most immediate, is Thursday’s blimp ride. Yeah, you heard me: blimp ride. The American Cancer Society is having a birthday party for cancer survivors this week, and included in the festivities is the option to take a ride on the Horizon blimp. Although my dad is a Libra, he gets to partake in these festivities. And he is soo excited! We’re all really looking forward to it. I’ll write about that and include some pictures at the end of the week also.

So, for the most part, that’s that. Of course I’m looking forward to spending time with the people I care about most as well as getting to know some of the new people I’ve met recently, and now that cooler weather is here, I’m gonna be making more soups and stuff – which reminds me, the stuff on the stove should be ready right about now.

It’s always bitter-sweet to see summer go, but what are you looking forward to?

Don’t call her a bitch

I’ve said it before – cancer is a bitch - but not only is the disease way worse than that, it actually gives a bad name to all the real bitches out there . I have a lot of strong-headed lady friends, so I know what I’m talking about in this department.

I found Livestrong by accident. I was on a page, trying to measure out how far I went on one of my first rides this summer when there was an ad banner for the Livestrong Challenge in Philly. “Go ahead, pick a fight” it read. Sure, I had heard of Lance Armstrong, his foundation and I had definitely seen those ubiquitous yellow bracelets floating around, but I always thought it was some elitist jock thing – a club to which I would never belong. But something compelled me to click on that link and read more about the LS Challenge, and LAF itself. I joined livestrong.com (different from the .org) and created a profile – using it to help me lose some weight and get into shape.

There were different length rides to choose from, but I was still riding my boys’ size mountain bike at the time and had never ridden with a group before, so I was a little intimidated about signing up to ride – but I did see that they needed volunteers. I saw that as my opportunity to get involved and contribute to something that I so believed in. My pops is fighting cancer, and I was doing it just as much for him as for myself. You see, I am my father’s daughter to a “T” (is that how you write that?) and with the medical history of my family, I have to be very careful.

I signed up for a few shifts on Friday and on Sunday, the day of the ride itself. I showed up on Friday to help assemble the goodie bags that participants would get upon check in with some coupons, trial products and advertisements from big sponsors. The volunteer coordinator, I think her name was Lindsay, was organizing two tables of mostly moms and kids who were working in an assembly line – each one adding a new piece to the stack and passing it down. Since I didn’t bring anyone with me, I volunteered to be the one cleaning up garbage and restocking cards and supplies to each of the two assembly stations as they needed it. It worked out perfectly because I am skilled at opening and breaking down boxes with pocket knives and didn’t have to be sandwiched between two kids who would wonder who the hell this beefy lady was and why she didn’t know anyone.

Also, I got this awesome t-shirt (also pictured above)which had to be washed because it was a million degrees out on Friday and I was running around and sweating my buns off, and I had to wear this shirt on Sunday:

I got to PowerStop #2 on Sunday about a half-hour later than I was supposed to (if you know me, you know that this is par for the course) but lucky for me, the ride actually started later than scheduled and I didn’t miss anything. Of course, being late also meant that I had no idea what I was supposed to do and too embarrassed to ask anyone. Did I mention that I was late because I was partying the night before and was hung over? Way to Livestrong, Cattio, I thought to myself, and desperately wished that I got more coffee.. I was alone again and didn’t know why I was here.
PowerStop #2 was one of eight total stops on the 100 mile ride where riders could come in, stop at a portapotty, grab a bite to eat, drink, (not necessarily in that order) bring their rig over to a mechanic or see someone at the medic tent for a wrap or some Bengay.

The stop I was stationed at (click here for the course map) was located right before the route splits off, and if you’re on your way back, right after it comes back together. It was located on a gradient, which means that on your way into the course, you were going uphill, on your way back from the course, you had to cross traffic on the downhill to get into the stop.

The folks who gathered at this stop cheered like hell when they saw the first chunk of riders to come up the hill. I was clapping, still hung over, not much for yelling or cheering yet. After a small pile up right at the mouth of the stop, one of the volunteers began directing traffic to get riders to go up and park their bikes at the rack instead of just stopping in the travel lane. For more than afew minutes, it was absolute mayhem.

After the knot of riders thinned out, the woman who was directing traffic needed to go do something else, so someone asked me to step in.

“Are you working here?” she asked.

“In theory,” I replied.

She explained what I needed to do and I went out and cured my hangover with heat, sun and soon – screaming. It didn’t take long for me to find a groove here. I realized that this would be the last rest stop for riders on their way down to the finish, and for most of them it was a hilly, ugly course. (For accounts of the ride itself, visit FatCyclist – Elden, aka Fatty, is an amazing writer and I have been following his blog for a few months now.)

The lady who was running the show (I think her name was Maureen) over there was from UPenn, they sponsored the PowerStop. She wondered how I, completely alone, came to volunteer at their stop. I just picked something off the list, I said. She smiled with surprise and said she was happy to have me.

I thought everyone could use a cheerleader at this point. I clapped so much, so hard that the next day the knuckles on the palm of my left hand were swollen and painful to the touch. I yelled so much, things like, “good job, rider! keep it going, rider! come on in, rider!” anything to keep these guys and gals encouraged.. I recognized some people coming down who I saw going up, someone wearing an Eagles jersey who was really a Giants fan (poor guy, I asked him if he lost a bet, oddly he said no). I saw a bike messenger sporting a full beard, sporting his Chrome messenger bag – looking fully out of place amidst a sea of bright colored spandex and lycra.. When I saw him coming back down I pointed and yelled, “yeah! there’s my messenger!” and the biggest smile unfurled across his face.

I also pissed off some locals. See, coming back down was really dangerous for these guys because they had to cross traffic on a hill, so I got out in the middle of the road with my hand up to oncoming traffic until a line of riders passed or ducked into the PowerStop. One lady who was trying to get in to see her son as he passed almost ran over myself and a guy named Dan who was helping me – her Volvo barreled right over the orange cones we had set out on the grates at the mouth of the entrance, a cone got wedged up under her bumper and it took a few minutes for a volunteer to dislodge the thing. She crushed the cup of water I had sitting there on the asphalt. I was happy it wasn’t myself, Dan or a rider she decided to run over. By the way, her son didn’t show up at the stop for another 40 minutes or so, so she stood there, eyeing up the road – I hope she was embarrassed – she could’ve killed someone.

The whole time leading up to the Livestrong Challenge I was thinking, I’ll volunteer this year and ride next year. I thought that I would love to be able to pick a fight with cancer by rocking the century. Except something changed my mind: riders were saying thank you. A lot of them. “Thank you for being here,” they would say. “Thank you for volunteering.” and I said, “you’re doing all the heavy lifting, thank you for riding.” I think I might continue to volunteer next year – do the exact same thing I did this year because by the end of the day, not only was I pretty damn good at it, but I realized it was one of the most rewarding things I’ve done in a long time.

Kennedy Healthcare and Americans with Disabilities

Dear readers, I promised a column about Livestrong, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. Instead, I am pleased to present the first guest blog to the digital ink projekt, penned by Cliff Perez, a social worker and care advocate for the disabled in New York's Capital region:



Although the debate of health care and health insurance reform has been pondered for many years, the one voice not being heard is that of our brothers & sisters with disabilities. However, the one exception to this silence – who himself is silent now – is the most honorable Senator Teddy Kennedy, who legislatively spoke for and on behalf of, Americans with disabilities.

Recently, we have been inundated with news about angry citizens who have been speaking forcefully as to how they dislike much of what is being proposed to reform health care. This is why it is imperative that the voice of Americans with disabilities be heard and more so now that we have lost our great champion in Senator Kennedy.

What is the one thing that Senator Kennedy wanted while going through his own ordeal with his disability – cancer? He wanted to have the “choice” to go back to his community, his home and be surrounded by his loving family. It is this “choice” that Americans with disabilities also want, we want to be able to have the ability to “choose” where to receive our care and we want to receive those services at home, in our own community. These were the ideals that Senator Kennedy voiced on behalf of our citizens with disabilities, by introducing and supporting legislation to reform our health care system that is structured to favor institutional health care rather than providing such care within their own community.

Paramount legislation toward achieving this goal has been cosponsored by Senator Kennedy, known as the Community Choice Act (HR 1670 / S 683) which would eliminate the current institutional bias that forces people into expensive facilities, rather than providing services at home.

Nursing facilities and other institutional settings are an expensive and outmoded means of providing needed assistance to seniors and people with disabilities. Not only do incredibly few people actually want to live in nursing facilities, but there has also been much research clearly demonstrating the cost benefits between providing long term services in an institution or providing such services within the community. Regardless of any other arguments about access to health care or cost containment, it is apparent that ending the institutional bias, which overwhelmingly and disproportionately impacts Americans with disabilities, will contribute toward cost containment within our health care system.

To insure access to quality medical services in the community, Senator Kennedy introduced, Promoting Wellness for People with Disabilities Act. This legislation mandates the U.S. Access Board to establish minimum accessibility standards for diagnostic equipment in medical and dental clinics. It also calls for disability cultural competency training for healthcare and dental professionals. This bill speaks to his continued commitment to meaningful health care reform on behalf of people with disabilities. Ending the institutional bias in our health care system is essential if our senior citizens and citizens with disabilities are to have a “choice” to live in their community. However, in order to thrive in such a community, people with disabilities must also have access to proper and quality medical service while living at home.

So, I call upon our Congressional leaders; let us not walk away from this opportunity to honor the ideals and beliefs of one of the greatest legislators of our times. Let us not – because of his absence – allow all that Senator Kennedy struggled for within health care, to also die! As Civil Rights became a testament for his brother and our President, John F. Kennedy, ending the institutional bias within our health care system should be Senator Teddy Kennedy’s testament to his passion and commitment toward ensuring that the voice of Americans with Disabilities is heard!


Clifton Perez, M.S.W. Systems Advocate

Independent Living Center of the Hudson Valley Inc. (ILCHV)

Website: www.ilchv.org Email: cperez@ilchv.org Tel: (518) 274-0701

...just like riding a bike.

At the urging of a book I wanted to get for a friend, but instead borrowed for myself from the library, The Lost Art of Walking, I dabbled in pedestrianism. The first walk was a long one, three or four miles. It felt good to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. It was almost the end of June, the weather was picture perfect on the days it wasn’t pouring, and I had been on the couch too long.

I went for a few long walks like that, exploring the surrounding neighborhood and nearby college on foot and quickly decided I wanted to go faster. I pulled my bike out of the shed. Dexter, I called it: a 24” boy’s mountain bike. Fire engine red. Red Cross red. Candied apple red. And though it was undersized and heavy as hell, it’s the bike I bought last summer in an effort to not deal with the parking annoyances of Albany when gas was $4.50 a gallon and I was sufficiently chubby to supply pedal power. I immediately loved it, and had worked my way to taking it up to school at SUNY twice. Last September not only was it starting to get too cold to ride (I didn’t know about gloves or arm warmers yet), but I was riding stupidly and took a spill. Thankfully nothing was broken, but in addition to road rash, I bashed my left knee into concrete – and in such a way that made it hurt and click just as badly as my right knee had been for years, after so much reckless kicking as a field hockey goalie in high school. That was pretty much it for my riding last season.

I don’t know how to explain it but something about riding that bike around in Ewing, the town I lived in from birth to the summer before third grade – and now again at *cough* thirty, that sparked something in me. Maybe it was all the sunshine, maybe it was the awesome loop around TCNJ (I still call ‘er Trenton State in conversation) but I think I fell in love. Soon I was plotting courses in Pennington and had designs on pedaling my ass to Washington’s Crossing State Park. I usually wouldn’t go out for a ride until my mom was on her way home from work so that my dad wouldn’t be alone for too long.

My dad has cancer. Stage four metastatic pancreatic cancer. He was diagnosed on Oct. 31, 2007 and he’s still fighting today. Most of the time, I’m home with him, helping out when he needs me (he doesn’t get around too well, long story), running to the store or taking him to doctor’s appointments. I’m not working right now, so that’s sort of my job – and while I’m happy for it, getting out on the bike is a perfect way to channel my stress into something good and healthy.

It also didn’t hurt that the beginning of July saw the start of the Tour de France, and that amazing dude I had heard so much about, someone whose name rhymes with Vance Barnstrong, was coming out of retirement at 37 to ride it. Finally! Watching those guys glide over the Alps was pretty awesome, and learning about stage races, strategy, etc gave me something to focus on – something that felt like freedom instead of claustrophobia. So I’ve been out riding and riding. Finding roads I’ve never been on, state parks I had never heard of and just pedaling my butt off as a form of exercise, stress relief and adventure.



After much studying, and hemming and hawing over my personal finances, last weekend I bought a new bike. I decided on a hybrid-style bike from Specialized. I really like the stability of thicker tires, but wanted them to roll fast on the road. So awesome – right out of the gate it cut three minutes off my lap time around the college. I named it Dingo, cause it doesn’t looks gender neutral and I want it to eat mah bay-bay (haha.. chubby girl’s weightloss joke).

Unfortunately, there was only room for one bike on the back porch (that’s what she said!) so after stripping Dexter of a few items which were transferred to the new bike, he had to be put out in the shed. It was then that I understood why a cyclist has feelings of guilt when he brings home a new rig – like he’s cheating on his old bike with this newer, different model. I think after a while I’ll donate him to the Trenton Bike Exchange or World Bicycle Relief. They’re both worthy organizations that do things I believe in.. I think I’d like to help locally – and Trenton needs all the help it can get. I think I might volunteer over there first and check it out. They need someone with a truck to transport bikes from Point A to Point B.

I have a truck, I can transport.

Which dovetails nicely into something I've been thinking a lot about. I believe that bicycling has helped to make me a better person, although I'm not certain just how.. Now, this is not to say I look down on other people - no, never.. it's not anything like that. It's just made me realize that life is about the journey just as much as it is about the destination.

If you actually took the time to read this, I thank you. I don't know what this blog is going to be about, a little bit of everything, I'm hoping.. Tomorrow I'm going to write about my experience volunteering for the Livestrong Challenge in Philly this past weekend.

On Skaters and Haters

My story for PW this week was about the increasingly harsh tactics of some members of the Philadelphia Police Department against skateboarders in Center City - and so far, it seems to have caused a little bit of a stir judging by the comments that were posted on the story, roughly 160 unique comments in 48 hours.

What I've noticed about both those comments and my observations while reporting this story, is that skaters are greatly misunderstood. While watching some normal skate action at LOVE, I was amazed by the way these kids seemed to all work together, work out 50 of them all vying to roll urathayne wheels on the same slabs of granite - and some how it just worked. There was this natural ebb and flow to it. And when pedestrians would walk by, sure they eyed skaters with suspicion, but it was just in a watch-out-for-my-ankles kinda way. I remember an older couple - white, upper-crusty, probably in their mid-to-late 60's and they were just watching these kids as they walked through. They didn't change their pace or hurry, but they just watched these little urbanites do their thing. Frankly, skating takes balls. Balls I have never had, but have always admired.

It's easy to hate on skaters, they're usually young, mouthy and not afraid of falling - but what's not easy to do is treat them with a little bit of respect, when all they are are human beings trying to find their way. I watched this little guy, the board more than half his size, trying forever to land a trick. Nothing crazy, looked like something that's kind of simple for the older guys.. but this kid tried and tried and tried.. and finally he got it. And when he did, he didn't need people clapping or cheering (although that does happen there) no, the corners of his mouth turned up a little and he smiled to himself and he charged right back to do it again. It was actually kind of beautiful to witness.

When I hear these stories of how kids are chased by cops, it makes me think, here is this generation of kids that's growing up who is learning that the right way to respond to cops is to run from them, and to be afraid. It just seems to bode bad things for any sort of respect for authority.

I understand, skating is illegal. Skating does damage to public property. But, can't Philly see what it does to alienate youth? Especially this particular subculture of creative and fearless beings? Make no mistake about it, some of them are little shits. But as one of my sources pointed out to me, little shits exist in every form of sport and subset. Little shits play soccer, baseball, basketball.. everything. You know why? because they're kids. And I'm sorry if this activity - which is pretty freakin awesome to watch - is deemed illegal by the city.. but you cannot beat these kids up for doing it. Take their bolts off their wheels and give them a ticket. Fine. Charge them with Tasers? Not fine. Chase them into traffic? Not fine.

You can't teach a kid to have any respect for anything by authority beating them into submission. It's just wrong.

Another thing that I think is wrong, is the generalization that skaters are all jobless losers. Man. That's messed up. Every one that I talked to in sourcing the story - except for the 14 year old kid - has a job. In Philly no less, meaning that not only do they pay taxes, but they pay the dreaded wage tax that Republicans and conservatives blame for flight from the city. Here they are, living, working, paying, breathing, shopping.. and all they wanna do is ride LOVE.

Now, I have little interest in getting involved in the legalization matter - but I will say that I enjoyed watching people skate in preparation for this story. No one gave me a hard time or tried to make me feel uncomfortable - and I'm a chubby, almost-30, white girl. So, I wouldn't mind watching more of it. Also, I wouldn't mind if this city that I love were to embrace this younger generation. Show them that their method of expression is valid. Also, I wouldn't mind if this city would embrace the money of this younger generation. Teenagers who skate all day get thirsty and hungry and they spend money. The X-games and the professionals who headline them bring in spectators, revenue and book hotel rooms.

It just seems like the skateboard ban is doing more harm than good. There has got to be a way to find some common ground here.

Mob-rule vigilante-ism is a crisis of conscience for Phila authorities

Stu Bykosky wrote a tasty little piece for the his Daily News column today where he compared the vigilante justice of beating a rape suspect to picking a scab on your knee as a child. While I understand the icky metaphor he paints, some kind of a slippery slope of opportunity for infection - there is something more icky going on here that I want to comment on:

The city will not be charging any of the people who apprehended and beat the suspect with any crime.

News flash: Assault is assault, and someone who wields a 2x4, striking someone else on the street, should be arrested. Bottom line, because it's assault and that's the law.

Now, I realize I'm skipping some background here. This rape was a truly heinous attack on a little girl, only 11, who was grabbed on her way to school, held and brutalized repeatedly to such an extent that she had to undergo surgery. Very few people will ever understand what that baby had to endure and what she will go through for the rest of her life. Surgical wounds heal, and even if she can have children when she gets older, the emotional scars she will have to live with can never be understated.

I watched the father of that little girl on local television news Tuesday evening when he said that he wanted to be the first one to find Carrasquillo, telling the reporter that if he did, "God knows best" what he would have done. And I instantly shared the same sentiment. If that were my baby, held captive and brutalized on her way to school, I'm not sure what I would do should I be encountered with that attacker alone.

But that said, I would expect to stand for what I had done. If I took the life from that rapist, like he took the innocence from my baby girl, I wouldn't expect the justice system to turn a blind eye to what I had done. And neither should the troupe in Kensington.

While I am happy that the suspect was apprehended, while I am happy that the neighborhood came together to do something for the safety of their streets, and while I don't feel sorry for him at all for the beating that he took, the people who assaulted this man should be charged with assault. Period. Because that's what they did. If restraint should be shown to those citizens who stepped up, then it should be done by a judge. I'm no lawyer or professor. I'm not the mayor or the chief of police, but it's government 101. The police enforce the law while the judiciary interprets the law and evaluates the circumstances surrounding incidents to assess guilt, culpability, whatever you want to call it. I'm not saying anyone should go to jail, but at minimum each person should have to stand before a judge for the role that they played in this attack. That's how that one goes. That's how it's supposed to go anyway.

If the city does nothing here by electing not to charge a single person for the crime that was committed, recorded on video, bragged and accoladed over, then they set a dangerous precedent in a city already plagued by violent crime and disrepect for the rule of law.

You reap what you sow.

ahh.. where to begin?

This is my first post. Be gentle.

This has been a crazy week. For me, most of it centered around Tuesday's primary. I was out, running around, covering any thing I could find on the election itself. But I was disappointed. No one was out voting. I mean, yes, we all know this is a low-turnout year in the cycle.. it's not big crowd draw like the a presidential or mayoral election - but arguably more important. Ray at Young Philly Politics wrote about how voting reform might help the problem.

This Tuesday was my depressing introduction to voting in this city. Depressing because only six months earlier people were LINED up.. waiting super-long to cast a ballot for the first black president. But here in this city, where crime and cronyism are cited as top concerns, no one seemed to care about an election for district attorney or controller. Sorry if that seems boring to you. It just seems sad to me.

I've never really cared for the primary process (hell, I never really cared for two-party system of politics), but that was always in the context of the presidential nod. I mean, I understand it, I just don't like it. An election before the election is confusing to the average Joe.

I talked to a man in Grays Ferry last month who told me that the base problem was education - in Philly, there is something of an education crisis - only half of public school students graduate, only 40% or so of the student body is proficient in math and/or reading - so effective education about government and politics, local politics at that, is pretty damn ugly.

Young people know who the president and the mayor are, but not the district attorney. And it's pretty hard to get fired up about the controllers race. What does he do again? Add to it a crowded field for the most visible race (five guys running for the DA nod that the general public is unfamiliar with) and the long tenure of outgoing DA Lynne Abraham (she held the spot of top prosecutor for 18 years, you can grow a whole registered voter in that time) and there's a recipe for nothin'..

I knew it was coming, but ya let me down Philly.