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Leslie Dinaberg’s Articles

Books I Wish I Had Written

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Photo by stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by stockimages, freedigitalphotos.net

I seem to be in a minority, but I’m more amused than annoyed by all of the navel-gazing that happens on Facebook.

One of my favorite features is the “best book lists” that people post on their profiles. Reading them feels like spending an afternoon browsing through a great, used bookstore, or a morning at a bibliophile’s estate sale-and, okay, occasionally like an evening at a very pretentious cocktail party.

You can learn a lot about your friends by eavesdropping on their virtual bookshelves.

Not only have I gotten turned on to excellent but obscure books I never would have picked up-thanks to Heidi for The Giant’s House by Elizabeth McCracken and to Dan for Beginner’s Greek by James Collins—but I’ve been re-reminded of some of my favorite authors who have fallen off my radar screen.

Still, it’s almost impossible for me to create a list of my favorite books. Two of my favorite writers, Jane Austen and Nora Roberts, have written almost 200 books between them! There are way too many to choose from. A favorite book list seems like a daunting task.

Instead I’m going to take a stab at a mere fraction of the “Books I Wish I’d Written.” In no particular order, here are five of the books that I am mesmerized by and in fact worship to the point that they could easily turn me into a ginormous green-eyed monster if I didn’t like their authors so darn much.

The Accidental Tourist by Anne Tyler—Tyler makes it look deceptively easy to portray the complexities of relationships in this book about a guy who recovers from mourning the death of his son with the help of a very quirky dog trainer. Incidentally, he writes travel books for people who don’t like to travel but are forced to, hence the title. I’ve read everything Tyler’s ever written and I am constantly awed by her ability to bring characters and relationships to life with her minimal but letter-perfect prose.

Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott—I doubt there has ever been a more honest, hilarious and brutal depiction of early parenthood than this book, which is a journal of Lamott’s son’s first year of life. Forget the baby booties and the bassinets; Operating Instructions is my favorite baby shower gift for expectant parents.

Are You There, God? It’s Me Margaret by Judy Blume—This book could have been called “Are You There, God? It’s Me Leslie” when I read it in 6th grade, that’s how strongly I related to her treatise on training bras, menstruation, first kisses, zits, and bratty little brothers and sisters. Unlike many classic books that are better to have read than to actually read (the ones you suffer through to pass an English test or to not be ostracized out of future water cooler conversations), this is a REAL classic.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling—Granted, I’ve only read about half the series and have been more than satisfied with watching the movies and updates from my son, but is there anyone in this world who doesn’t wish they had come up with this jackpot of an idea? So what if I’m only marginally interested in fantasy books. Rowling is a real life Cinderella story, complete with a Scottish castle to stash all of her millions. Between that and getting so many kids excited about reading, how could I not want to have written this book and its six successors?

High Fidelity by Nick Hornby-Remember mix tapes? This book-a story about a “bloke” who runs a London record store and his reluctant ascendance to adulthood-is one of those perfect mix tapes combinations I wish I had thought of, a funny, sweet and endlessly interesting argument about growing up, falling in love and arcane pop music. Hornby’s writing is both brilliantly thought provoking and accessible. As a writer, he’s everything I look for as a reader, and everything I want to be when I grow up.

When Leslie’s not reading or writing, she’s usually on a hunt for her next favorite book. Send your recommendations to Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on August 28, 2009.

School needs a longer recess

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Photo by Naypong FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Photo by Naypong FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Why oh why does school have to start in the middle of summer? I’d like to put school in detention for at least another month. Can’t we have a longer recess?

This happens every summer: just as I get used to the lazy morning camp schedule and I master the fine art of carting towels, beach chairs, boogie boards, sunscreen, hats, clothing changes, reading material and snacks from the parking lot to the beach in a single trip, it’s time to start adjusting to a “schedule.”

As far as I can tell, school is the one place in town that actually adheres to real time “schedule,” not Santa Barbara time, which is always about ten minutes late.

What’s up with that? Isn’t Labor Day the official end of summer?

UCSB doesn’t start classes till September 24th. I tell you; those kids are getting smarter every year. September is one of our most beautiful months. Wouldn’t it make a lot more sense to have summer in sunny September and school during June gloom? Who do I call about that? Is it too late to make this one of the key issues in the mayoral campaign?

This is a community-wide issue, you know. It has almost nothing to do with the fact that my June To Do List still intact. I’m not the only one who’s upset about this-and it’s not just kids and their parents who are affected. The entire town changes when school is back in session. There is more traffic, roaming gangs of parents and babies hit the streets between the hours of 8 a.m. and 3 p.m., and senior citizens take over the counters of yogurt stores, coffee shops and smoothie joints.

Are we really ready for this? I think not. Can we move summer out a month? Yes we can.

It seems ludicrous to be going back to school when the weather will finally be perfect. Can’t we enjoy just a few more weeks of summer? I am so not ready to start worrying about bedtime and balanced meals and homework.

How much homework is there in fifth grade anyway? There can’t possibly be more than there was in fourth grade. I didn’t have as much homework in college as my son did in fourth grade.

Then there’s the PTA. I wish I could say I didn’t hear anything from them all summer, but this year’s president is really organized and quite frankly, it scares me. Just last week I had 247 emails and 33 phone calls. How will I get any actual work done with so much volunteering to do?

The night before the first day of school is always the longest night of my life. I lie awake worrying that my alarm clock no longer works after spending summer in storage, that no one will sit with me at Java Station after drop off, or that I’ll be ostracized for not reusing all the baggies in my son’s lunch.

Then of course there are all the other children at school to worry about. The ones that will remind my son that I am totally unfair about everything, and an incredibly evil embarrassment who is depriving him of a cell phone, and iPod, a Nintendo DX, his own laptop, and just everything else he needs. Come to think of it, this ongoing conspiracy among school children really should also be an issue in the mayoral election.

Can we do it? Yes we can!

Sigh. Pass the margaritas. I’m not ready to worry about all this yet. It is still August, after all. I don’t care what the school calendar says-my summer doesn’t officially end till next month.

When Leslie’s not complaining about school, she can be found soaking up those last rays of summer at the beach, with her trusty laptop in tow. For surf and tide information email Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on August 21, 2009.

I Like to Watch

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9fb5e72e6e4eae69_FoodnetworkchefI have a confession to make.

I like to watch people play with exotic tools like drizzlesticks, poach pods, mincers and mandolins. I find the sight of a grown man rubbing naked chickens down with butter dangerously alluring. In fact, I’d rather have Duff Goldman whisk my eggs and Bobby Flay pinch my salt than watch Skin-a-Max any night of the week.

Whether it’s Nigella Lawson lustfully sucking up oil-soaked spaghetti, Guy Fieri ferociously French-frying a potato, Paula Deen daintily deboning a chicken, or Michael Symon taking mucho macho control of an impossible mission, I love to watch the Food Network.

Food porn is my porn of choice.

“Just like sexual porn, food porn is something that you watch but not necessarily with the view of doing or putting in practice,” said a story in “The Montreal Gazette,” which quoted Valerie Bourdeau, a Concordia University student who did her master’s thesis on the subject. “The watching is the entertainment.”

I couldn’t agree more.

But my predilections aren’t limited to the small screen. “Big Night” is one of my favorite movies, as are “Chocolat,” “Ratatouille” and especially “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

I appreciate print as well. One of my favorite times of the year is chocolate catalog season. Though I’ve never actually ordered anything from Hickory Farms, their catalog has kept me company through many a long winter’s night.

Yes, I’ll admit it. I am addicted to food porn.

And just like some people who like to watch that other kind of porn (or so I’m told), just because I like to watch other people do it, doesn’t mean I want to try that at home.

With all of these joy of cooking shows on TV, “Julie & Julia” lighting up the big screen and everyone from Maureen Dowd to Barbara Kingsolver writing about food, it’s a culinary orgy out there-but I just like to watch.

Watching other people cook is, well, potent. Watch Giada or Ina or Mario for a half hour and then go shopping. You’ll see that even a fairly standard grocery store can feel like a glutton’s paradise, with the smells and the colors and the labels of the food romancing your senses.

But while I lust for all things gastronomic, I have absolutely no desire to bisect a living lobster, truss up a pheasant or go anywhere near a sweetbread, despite it’s deceptively enticing sounding name. Like the best of pornography (or so I’m told), food porn depicts beautiful things arranged in ways you might not have previously thought of, with star chefs doing things onscreen that few amateurs like me would ever try at home.

In fact, if my husband told me he wanted to take over ALL of the cooking tomorrow and forevermore, I could quite happily never set foot in my kitchen again.

Sadly, that’s not going to happen.

We both admit to marrying poorly in the kitchen department. While I cook more than I used to out of necessity, my most used recipe card is still the one my sister-in-law gave me, with phone numbers for all the local takeout places that deliver. The only thing I truly “like” to make is reservations. In fact, we once joked about holding a Plastic Chef competition at our house. Hey, if the Chairman lets us hold it in Kitchen Stadium with Alton Brown doing the play by play, then “let the battle begin.”

That’s something I’d really like to watch.

When Leslie’s not perusing the Food Network, she’s online at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on August 14, 2009.

Testosterone Central

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Photo by Ambro freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by Ambro freedigitalphotos.net

How do you raise a boy to be in touch with his sensitive side, but not to be a wimp?

I’ve been thinking about this question a lot recently.

I just returned from a few days at “Testosterone Central,” otherwise known as my friend Andrea’s house. She has three strapping young men between the ages of 9 and 15-in addition to her rather strapping husband and large male dog-so Andrea’s house oozes more testosterone than a bachelor party at a NASCAR race on St. Patrick’s Day.

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s beautifully decorated and there’s always something wonderful cooking on the stove. But from the moment you get out of the car-and trip over the discarded scooters, soccer cleats, gym bags and tennis shoes-you know that this is not a place for wimps.

These boys live in a swirling cauldron of testosterone and they’ve marked their territory everywhere you look.

Of course, my son Koss loves it there. What boy could resist the chin up bars, Lacrosse sticks and Old Spice products hiding in every corner? I can practically hear Koss’s voice deepen and the hair start to grow on his (barely) ten-year-old chest after a few minutes with “Da Boyz.” It doesn’t matter how much time has gone by, it never takes him long to pick up the stride at “Testosterone Central.” The older kids, and the various neighbor boys who hang out all the time, treat Koss just like another little brother—which is both good and bad.

He loves being part of the gang and tagging along for whatever adventures may happen, but as an only child he’s not used to having to keep up with anyone, and even less used to not having anyone coddle him or help him along. In fact, I know he’s getting older because this is the first time he’s left their house without any injuries.

I’m not saying that “Testosterone Central” is dangerous, only that Andrea is on a first name basis with the emergency room nurses in multiple states. Those kids get hurt and she barely blinks an eye. I guess having three sons toughens you up. Come to think of it, when her kids get hurt they barely blink an eye. I guess having brothers toughens you up too.

Koss is not all that tough. He’s never really had to be. I’m sure part of the reason that he still sits on my lap and likes to cuddle is because he doesn’t have any older brothers to tell him not to. I love that sweet, cuddly side of him.

But he also loves to immerse himself in that boy energy at “Testosterone Central.” It’s not exactly animal house, but you can tell that it would easily slip into fraternity style mayhem if mom-and the housekeeper-went away for an extended period of time. No wonder Koss loves it there.

He’s spent a lot of the summer hanging out with his girl cousins, and was completely comfortable being assigned to an all girl group (plus one male counselor) at Nature Camp. I don’t think the boys who live in “Testosterone Central” would be-except maybe the oldest one, who’s got a whole other level of testosterone kicking in.

I asked Koss about whether he felt he behaved differently with all boys or all girls. “When I’m with the boys I definitely feel more aggressive with them,” he said. “I try to be funnier with the girls.”

That’s when I realized that I didn’t have to be too worried about him one way or the other. He already knows exactly how to behave with both boys and with girls. If he can make the girls laugh and then go tackle the boys-and as long as he knows the right ones to cry in front of-he’s going to be just fine.

Share your MOB (mother of boys) tips with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on August 7, 2009.

Yogurt Culture

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Photo by Rakratchada Torsap, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by Rakratchada Torsap, freedigitalphotos.net

I’ve been spending a lot of time in yogurt stores lately. You can’t cross the street without bumping into a new one, so they’re kind of hard to avoid. In fact, the last time I was at Yogurt House in the Yogurt City pavilion, construction workers were putting up the walls for a brand new Yogurt Pantry inside. I tried to go home to avoid it, but they were busy installing a Yogurt Heaven between my kitchen and the living room.

They’re scaring all the cupcake stores away.

I hear they’re even chasing Starbucks out in some towns, though thankfully, not in ours-at least not yet. But it only takes a short stroll down State Street to see froyo fans of all fashions digging their pink and green plastic spoons deep into quadruple latte sized paper cups. Clearly frozen yogurt has regained its cool.

“The Restaurant Guy” John Dickson attributes the yogurt store invasion to the huge success of Pinkberry, a tarter and tangier version of the frozen treat, which first came to California in 2005 and opened in Santa Barbara in January.

There’s no doubt that the popularity of tart, healthier tasting yogurt has spurred some new business, but I have some theories of my own about this new yogurt culture.

Theory 1: People like frozen yogurt because it’s a treat masquerading as health food.

Yogurt stores throw around buzz words like “organic” and “probiotic” and “active cultures,” but let’s face it, the real selling points for most of us are the toppings, which give us the chance to eat Captain Crunch, Heath Bars and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and still feel like we’re being virtuous.

Conclusion: Or maybe that’s just me.

Theory 2: It’s all about self-service.

While not all of these new stores let customers serve themselves, a lot of them do. There’s something decadent about being able to fill your cup to your heart’s content with flavor combinations you would never order over the counter.

Conclusion: Peanut butter, root beer, and cheesecake anyone?

Theory 3: You can tell a lot about someone by watching them fill up a cup of frozen yogurt.

My nine-year-old son likes to add things like gummy worms and Froot Loops to his yogurt; really anything that leaves candy colored streaks in his chocolate flavored yogurt is yummy in his book and disgusting in mine. He also likes to stir it to milkshake consistency, at which point he decides it tastes bad and he wants a new one.

Conclusion: Little boys like to make a mess, and if they can gross their moms out at the same time it’s even better.

Little girls tend to pick their topping and yogurt combinations by color. They like to combine multiple flavors with a variety of toppings, especially sprinkles, M & M’s and jimmies.

Conclusion: Little girls like to accessorize.

I’ve noticed that teenage boys also fail to note the delicate differences between fruity sweets (which are a waste of calories to me) and actual sweets. They like to layer the yogurt and the toppings parfait style, and are not at all concerned with food faux pas like mixing Irish Mint yogurt with Nerds, Cappuccino with Kiwi Lime Sauce or even Cookies and Cream with Ketchup.

Conclusion: Teenage boys will eat anything.

Teenage girls tend to be yogurt purists. They know what they want, since they frequent yogurt stores almost as frequently as they text. In general, they stick with fruity flavors like mango or strawberry topped by actual fruit or granola, or go for the gusto with Cheesecake yogurt and brownie bites or Chocolate Decadence and Carmel sauce.

Conclusion: Teenage girls know everything, so of course they know exactly what they want.

Their moms are the same way. It seems there’s no middle ground when it comes to frozen yogurt, it’s either healthy or diabetic coma inducing.

Conclusion: Moms are good decision makers.

Hmm … should we go to Yogurtland or Yo Yum Yum this afternoon? Clearly this frozen yogurt trend is not going to be melting anytime soon.

Share your favorite yogurt combinations with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on July 17, 2009.

Greeting the Grunion

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I couldn’t help but giggle as I watched the silvery fish wiggle into the sand to lay their eggs. These mesmerizing creatures are only found along the coast of southern California and northern Baja California where they lay their eggs on sandy beaches just a few months out of the year.

Growing up in Santa Barbara, my parents took us “Grunion Hunting” at East Beach. I remember the thrill of being up and out on the sand hours beyond my usual bedtime. My sister and I would catch the Grunion in our hands and then throw them back to sea, not really understanding anything about the fish except that they were our tickets to dance around barefoot in the moonlight.

It had been decades since I’d thought about Grunion-until I wrote a story for Seasons Magazine about Santa Barbara Channel Keeper, a local nonprofit that works to protect and restore the Santa Barbara Channel and watersheds.

One of Channel Keeper’s programs, in coordination with Pepperdine University, is “Grunion Greeters,” where volunteers monitor Grunion behavior on local beaches during spawning season. As soon I heard about this I called my Dad, and we volunteered to be “Citizen Scientists,” the title the program generously bestows upon participants.

After one night’s training at UCSB, I was presented with my “Citizen Scientist” tiara and a spawning schedule in a surprisingly moving ceremony. Okay, maybe I really just got a free bag and a pen, but they called us all “scientists,” which is a crowning achievement I would love to report to my college physics professor, if he were still speaking to me, and if I actually took physics in college.

So science isn’t really my academic forte, but citizen science is fun. Unlike many fish, Grunion spawn completely out of the water, so you can actually watch them lay their eggs in the sand, which looks a little like the “Shake Your Booty” dance my son used to do in preschool.

Koss did a delighted version of the “Funky Chicken” along with some excited yelps the first time he saw the Grunion, and I was right back in my own childhood mode. We were lucky to spot Grunion right away during our scheduled monitoring time, 11:20 p.m. While the Grunion can be spotted shortly after high tide on specific nights, our trainers warned us that we wouldn’t always be able to see them-although sometimes the beaches are covered with thousands of Grunion dancing on the sand. The popularity of Grunion runs in some places means that some nights there are more people lining the beaches than Grunion in the run.

That definitely wasn’t the case at Leadbetter Beach, where we did our monitoring last week. We only ran into a few other people-some more interested in human spawning than animal mating behavior-along with a couple who had happened upon some Grunion the night before and were there for an encore, and some tourists who were enchanted by these strange silvery fish. “Whoa, Dude, that was awesome. What were those things,” they asked.

“Professor” Dad and I explained that they were Grunion there to spawn. Providing human or animal predators didn’t intervene, the eggs would remain buried in the sand for their incubation time of approximately two weeks. Then the larvae would hatch and the eggs would be washed out by high waves during tides before the new and full moons.

“Radical man. And to think we just happened upon them during one of the few nights of the year they’re in Santa Barbara. Totally awesome,” was their response.

It is totally awesome, and totally fun. The last expected Grunion runs of the season are at local beaches next week, on July 8 (Wednesday) at 10:40 p.m. and July 9 (Thursday) at 11:10 p.m. I can’t wait.

=

Some tips for Grunion Greeters:

Nature doesn’t always follow our schedule. The scheduled times are for high tide when the runs may begin, but keep in mind that they typically occur within a two-hour period and plan accordingly.

Bring a flashlight but use it sparingly, as less light means more of a chance that the Grunion will spawn.

It can get cold at night, so wear layers and shoes that can get wet.

If you decide to catch the Grunion (Grunion Greeters discourages this) you may only use your bare hands; no nets, hooks or gear are allowed.

For more information on this program visit www.Grunion.org.

Share your Grunion adventures with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on July 4, 2009.

Giving Back: The Hutton Foundation

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logo_hpOne of the biggest obstacles facing local nonprofits is the high price of real estate in Santa Barbara. Luckily Hutton Foundation is helping to fill that gap.

One of Hutton Foundation’s most significant efforts is its Under One Roof program, through which more than 30 local nonprofit organizations are housed in 12 Hutton Foundation-owned and managed properties. “One of the things local nonprofits struggled with the most was finding high-quality, affordable office space,” explains Pam Hamlin, the foundation’s executive director. Hutton Foundation rents the buildings to nonprofits at far below market rates and signs 10-year leases to help give organizations financial stability.

The organizations sharing space run the gamut, from Community Environmental Council to Santa Barbara International Film Festival, United Girls & Boys Club, Alzheimer’s Association and Camerata Pacifica, to name just a few.

The foundation’s broad areas of interest are a reflection of its president, Tom Parker, a Santa Barbara native who returned to town 12 years ago to start the Hutton Foundation, after serving as president of Hutton Companies-one of Southern California’s leading real estate developers-from 1985 to 1995.

“It’s my fault,” says Parker, with a twinkle in his eye. “What happened to me was I was doing grants and I thought, Here’s the homeless shelter, there’s someone who is hungry that needs help, here is an arts organization that is opening children’s minds to music and art and things that will make their life so much better. Who do I donate to? How do I value the two? I realized I couldn’t.”

Consequently, last year Hutton Foundation gave away $4.4 million in grants, donations and assistance to more than 100 local nonprofit organizations.

“We want to be in this community to help the process, to help nonprofits be more effective no matter what their mission-so long as it’s a mission that makes sense,” Parker says.

One thing that made sense, not just to Hutton Foundation but also to the Orfalea and Bower Foundations, was grouping services together to help children arrive in kindergarten better prepared to learn. The three groups are collaborating on an early childhood education and family resource center in Carpinteria. Opening in January at the former site of Main Elementary School, with a Community Action Commission/Head Start preschool at its core, this project represents the next evolution of Hutton Foundation. The foundation also recently made a deal to purchase the former Washington Mutual Bank building in downtown Santa Barbara, and is now evaluating which type of collaborative center will best serve the community.

Parker expected he would be semi-retired when he started Hutton Foundation, but he admits that when a great opportunity comes along he just can’t help himself. “The nonprofit sector intrigues me because there’s so much to be done,” he says. “You can really make a difference in this community.”

Originally published in Santa Barbara Magazine

Lousy with Lice

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Photo by Marin, FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Photo by Marin, FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Eww! That’s all I’ve been saying all month. Eww! Until a month ago I had no idea that a tiny little bug could cause so much pain and suffering. Then I got that horrible phone call from school. My head starts to itch just thinking about this.

My son—he has less than three inches of hair; hadn’t had a sleepover in ages; barely brushes his own hair, let alone shares a hairbrush; does swim team three times a week; and takes such long showers that he may single-handedly be responsible for the drought in California-had somehow contracted lice.

I got the message while I was sitting in a drive-through car wash, picking up the voicemail that his school health clerk had left almost five hours earlier. I knew my husband hadn’t picked up Koss from school because he was on his way out of town for his infamous annual “caveman weekend.”

My mother-in-law was scheduled to pick up Koss from school about two hours earlier, but I hadn’t heard anything from her. I frantically dialed her number as-I kid you not-I watched two gigantic circular brushes come to a screeching halt on my windshield. I rolled down my window and a foamy pink ashy substance started coming inside my car. It smelled like a sweaty blend of smoke, strawberries and stress. Eww!

“It’s a power outage,” yelled a guy from one of the 13 cars in line behind me. Who knew that I’d be in the middle of a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode when I got the lice call? The realization that I was stuck in the car wash hit me just as I got my mother-in-law on the phone.

“We’re fine. Koss had been waiting in the office for a few hours when I got to school. They said that he has lice,” she said in her always-cheery voice. This nice reassurance from a woman who didn’t tell any of her adult children she was even in the hospital until a few days after she had hip replacement surgery was, frankly, not all that reassuring.

Neither was waiting for all of the cars behind me to back up before I could do a less-than-graceful 67-point turn to get my now golden-pinkish boat of a Mercury Marquis out of the car wash.

A quick stop at the drug store to pick up lice shampoo made my head hurt even more. Product names like Pronto, RID, LiceMD and Nix shouted at me from the shelves. They all looked like they should have a skull and crossbones warning label on them. I grabbed a few bottles and headed for home.

Grandma seemed calm enough when I get there, but she bolted as quickly as possible. Koss also seemed un-phased as he told me he read a whole book while waiting for someone to pick him up in the office.

I barely let him finish dinner before I doused his head with the inaugural lice treatment and then began what would be the first of 351 loads of laundry. After the 200th load I began to think that top sheets are overrated, as are hand towels, and really, wouldn’t it be easier to pull up the carpet than to vacuum it for the 32nd time? I was exhausted and I’d only been home for an hour.

I sprayed all of the surfaces that couldn’t be vacuumed or laundered with a toxic spray that smelled so bad it must have been killing something besides the nerve endings in my nose. Then I carefully examined every single strand of hair on my son’s head. I didn’t see a single louse, but there were lots of nits, which I painstakingly picked out with my fingers. Eww! I’m a monkey! This took an entire season of Eureka on the DVR.

I was certain his head was pristine when we checked in at the office the next day. Unfortunately the florescent lighting revealed a few more nits and the school secretary explained that they have a no nits policy. Oh joy! Off we went for a delightful day of nitpicking. Armed with wooden barbecue skewers, a fine-toothed metal comb, magnifying glass and disinfectant wipes, I examined every strand of my son’s head again and again until I started to name the individual hairs. “Hey, Curly. What’s up?” I wonder what they put in those shampoos?

Finally, someone turned me on to the “magic lice shampoo” from Caldwell’s Pharmacy that is nontoxic, can be used every day, and smells like peppermint, rather than motor oil. It costs a small fortune and we went through three bottles, but it was worth every penny.

We watched an entire season of Chuck and several Food Network Challenges as I picked through Koss’s freshly shorn head for what remained of these stubborn creatures. Finally, we were done!-until I checked my own hair. Eww! A welcome home present for my husband, who finally returned from his “stunted boy weekend.” Surprise. Lice to see you, honey. I’ll be the one with her head in the vat of lye.

Good times. My head itches just thinking about them.

Four weeks later, and I finally stopped checking for nits every time I looked in the mirror. Then we got a call from a friend who we were supposed to have dinner with, and he said his kid had lice. Did we still want to go out with them? I laughed until I cried, and then I sobbed a little more. Eww!

Share your lousy adventures with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on June 26, 2009.

Citizen Scientists: Santa Barbara Channelkeeper

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Left–right: A diver maps eelgrass habitat as part of Channelkeeper’s Marine Monitoring and Restoration Program. Watershed program director Ben Pitterle collects data on water pollution levels. Photos courtesy Santa Barbara Channelkeeper, originally published in Santa Barbara Seasons, Summer 2009.

Left–right: A diver maps eelgrass habitat as part of Channelkeeper’s Marine Monitoring and Restoration Program. Watershed program director Ben Pitterle collects data on water pollution levels. Photos courtesy Santa Barbara Channelkeeper, originally published in Santa Barbara Seasons, Summer 2009.

PEOPLE SAY WE’RE ONE OF THE best-kept secrets in town,” says Kira Redmond, executive director of Santa Barbara Channelkeeper. She may be right—but not for long.

Started as an Environmental Defense Center program in 1999, Channelkeeper is now an independent nonprofit, as well as part of one of the fastest growing grassroots environmental movements in the world: International Waterkeeper Alliance.

With just six and a half staff members, buttressed by an army of citizen scientist
volunteers, Channelkeeper works to protect and restore the Santa Barbara Channel and watersheds in a variety of ways, including water quality monitoring, education and community outreach, political advocacy and marine habitat restoration. Perhaps what is most unique about Channelkeeper is that its volunteers work out in the field.

“The field work is kind of what sets us apart,” says Redmond. “We work closely with groups like Environmental Defense Center, Surfrider and Heal the Ocean, but they are advocacy and public education focused. We work with them on a lot of issues, but as far as being out in the field and identifying pollution problems in the creeks or doing habitat monitoring in the channel, there really aren’t other environmental nonprofits that do that.”

Grassroots programs such as “Grunion Greeters” (where volunteers monitor grunion behavior on local beaches during spawning season) and “Stream Teams” (a volunteer-based water quality-monitoring program at the Goleta Slough watershed and the Ventura River) fall under the leadership of Ben Pitterle, watershed programs director.

The grunion program, which is part of a larger study being conducted at Pepperdine University, “is one of the best family-oriented volunteer opportunities I think we have,” says Pitterle. “I did Carpinteria State Beach last summer, and it’s really cool because of the campers. There are just all kinds of kids out playing. It’s fun, a family fun event. I think this is going to be our fifth or sixth year coordinating for this region . . .We get a lot of people who don’t otherwise participate in some of our water quality volunteer opportunities, so
it’s a good way to reach out to a broader group of people—especially kids.”

The “Stream Team,” operating since 2001, has a core group of volunteers. “We go out once a month to collect water samples,” Pitterle explains. “We do that with a few different purposes. One is to collect a baseline of water data to monitor over time to see if things are getting better or worse. Another reason is it’s a great way to reach out to the public, educate and to reach out to the public, educate and train them about watersheds, and help them to become environmental stewards themselves. The third is that looking at
the data helps us identify actual problems, and then we can relay that information to
different public agencies who are responsible for regulating water problems to try to get them fixed.”

Working with public agencies is a big part of what Channelkeeper does. When
budget cuts forced the county to stop its marine monitoring program this past fall,
Channelkeeper rallied its supporters and pitched in thousands of dollars to continue
this important warning service system for surfers, swimmers and beachgoers at 12 county beaches. Santa Barbara city officials also helped pick up the slack by testing at four additional locations.

In addition to partnering with county and city officials, Channelkeeper works closely with researchers at UCSB and Channel Islands Marine Sanctuary, and is collaborating with the state to implement a Marine Life Protection Act that will create a network of marine protected areas or underwater parks along the entire California coast.

“In the work that we do in the field, we work with agencies that don’t have the resources to be everywhere themselves,” says Redmond. “For instance, the city of Santa Barbara has two code enforcement staff. So they’re out there like we are, looking at businesses that might have a high potential to pollute and checking up on them. But they can’t
be everywhere at once, so with budget cuts our role is becoming increasingly important. We have really good relationships with people at these agencies, Basically, they’re grateful to us for helping them do their jobs.”

For more information about Santa Barbara Channelkeeper, call 805/563-3377 or visit www.sbck.org.
n Santa Barbara Seasons Summer 2009.

Originally published in Santa Barbara Seasons Summer 2009. Click below to read the story as it appeared in print.

SB Seasons Summer 2009

My fling with Fling

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flingMy son started giggling when he saw the pink candy bar in the checkout line at Vons. “Mom, that looks like something you would like,” he chuckled, as he pointed to the new “Fling” chocolate bar, a hot pink-drenched confection that looks so girly it could have stepped right off the shelf of Barbie’s Dream House.

When I told him we needed to try it, he giggled even harder, and turned a little red in the face. This candy bar screams “girl cooties” even louder than the tampons my husband thinks he deserves a medal for buying.

I don’t know when Mars began using five-year-old girls as graphic designers-I’m surprised its shiny pink and silver packaging isn’t wrapped with a feather boa. And I don’t know when Mars started using frat boys in its marketing department- they must have been working round the clock to come up with the tag line “Naughty, but not that naughty” as the motto for this 85-calorie trifle. It’s positioned as a simple pleasure you can guiltlessly enjoy in the middle of a workday, with ads that winkingly allude to a different kind of simple pleasure you can guiltlessly enjoy in the middle of the workday.

The television commercials seem to depict strangers having sex in a dressing room (they’re actually in adjacent dressing rooms and the woman is only eating chocolate), while the print ads urge you to “Pleasure yourself” with “Fling’s slender fingers.”

So much for slyly winking innuendo-they want you to pleasure yourself with slender chocolate fingers! You don’t have to have a dirty mind to go THERE with that one.

Other “Fling” ads urge you to: “Have a ‘Fling’ in private, or wave it all around town; in the office, the bedroom, or the great outdoors.” Nothing ambiguous there.

Seriously, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. Sexual euphemisms are now available at the grocery store-at least in California where the product is being test marketed-in convenient chocolate form.

Not only is this candy sexy, it shimmers. According to the website (www.flingchocolate.com, not www.fling.com, which is a risque dating site which I accidentally went to in the course of writing this column, and which forced me to figure out how to erase my browser history so my son and husband wouldn’t freak out when they next went on-line): “You are not seeing things. The Milk Chocolate flavor has a pink shimmer, the Dark Chocolate has a gold shimmer, and the Hazelnut has an orange shimmer. We like variety.”

Clearly this candy bar from Mars is aiming for women from Venus. What I don’t really understand is why. Maybe the fact that “Fling” is the first new chocolate bar Mars has introduced in 20 years is the real explanation for the stereotypical “Marketing to Women 101” campaign. They’ve covered all of the cliched bases: skinny, sparkly, naughty but nice and most of all, pink.

Surely M & M’s and Snickers’ new little sister is looking for trouble with her flirty little wrapper, not-so-subtle wordplay, and marketing of herself to just half of the population. I personally shoulder (or should I say “thigh”) more than my fair share of the chocolate bar economy. As such, I’ve always thought the woman in the Dove commercial who’s satisfied with just one piece of chocolate was faking it. But even I can’t eat enough “Flings” to keep this new product on the shelves.

When she’s not nibbling on chocolate, Leslie can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.  Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on May 29, 2009.