I photo-bombed a Supreme Court Justice – and not just any member of the black-robed superstars of jurisprudence: The very first woman to hold the position of Supreme Court Justice of the United States – the Honorable Sandra Day O’Connor.

StoryCorps, the national initiative that invites people from all walks of life to interview one another and share the stories of their lives, has parked its humble Airstream in Phoenix this spring. The NPR member-station I represent, KJZZ 91.5 FM is hosting the visit. We invited Justice O’Connor to record an interview for the kick-off celebration and media day.

Now, if I were a ring announcer at a boxing match, I would have run out of superlatives to cast like rose petals at her feet long before this Icon of American Awesomeness ascended those three steps into the Airstream: The First Woman on the Supreme Court (FWOTSC), 2002 Inductee into the National Cowgirl Hall of Fame, the woman who managed to work all those years with Clarence Thomas and not punch him in the face, 2009 winner of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, living proof that Arizona exports more than gun-touting, grammar-challenged racists, decider, explorer, author, web developer, peacemaker, small in stature – huge in impact, giant among women and men, Retired Badass from the Court of Last Resort…

And I stood there looking like a dork in the background of an official station photo opportunity. See for yourself.

She arrived in a dusty Dodge Ram pickup truck. Her son Scott drove her. They arrived promptly at 1:30. He called her Mom.

He called her Mom! Not your Honor. Not your Majesty. Not your Supremacy. Just Mom. “Well, Mom and I…” and  “Mom does this ~” and “Mom does that ~” and “Mom blah-blah-blah ~”

Not like me who stood there slack-jawed and didn’t even managed to introduce myself, or throw myself at her feet, or offer up the grateful thanks of a nation for her service and fortitude. No, I pretty much committed the cardinal sin of radio: Dead air. Starstruck silence. Frozen awkwardness. Duuuuuhhhhhh.

Granted, I think my employers probably appreciated my lack of genuflection… until they posted the photos online and realized their salesperson was photo-bombing a Supreme Court Justice.

And now I have a large, black, antenna-festooned SUV parked indiscreetly on my cul de sac… and I may not have a job anymore.

Instead, I just have a painful photographic reminder of yet another brush with greatness.

Sometime during Hour 4 of our epic 7-hour, 32-minute, 15-second Soma Half-Ironman on Sunday, my Mom asked me: “What’s the hardest of the three events in this race?”

From the shady confines of the Team Athena Riding Clydesdales Party Pavilion™, I took a long draw on my cold beer and gazed out upon the shimmering brown waters of Tempe Town Lake. I pondered my sweet husband Patrick, aka Clydesdale #1, riding his bicycle over 56 wind-whipped miles. I considered the coming suffering of Clydesdale #2, Jason Robert, running his 13.1-mile half-marathon under a blazing noonday sun. I breathed a sweet sigh of relief.

“Not the swim. Definitely not the swim. I mean, maybe if I was in the Arctic Ocean, during a tsunami, with sharks to the left of me and sea lions to the right, only then could the swim possibly be the hardest event – but on a day like today?” I clicked to the tracking app on the iPad to follow Pat’s progress – the breeze that cooled us in the Party Pavilion simultaneously punished him on Rio Salado Parkway. “On a day like today, I’m glad to be the swimmer.”

Continue reading One-Sixth Ironman, Part Deux →

Having cast aside the comfort and relative anonymity of triathlon relays months ago, I set my sights on my first real solo multi-sport adventure: Nathan’s Tempe Triathlon on Septmeber 23 at TempE.coli Town Lake. Yes, I’d competed in the Anthem Sprint Triathlon weeks before – earning a silver medal as the second-fastest of the fattest – but I didn’t feel right counting that event since I could have waded through the swim.

My taste of the silver medal, however tainted, had inspired new dedication to training – after all, I was mere seconds away from being the fastest of the fattest – how well could I do if I actually stuck to my training plan and larded my training table with something more than burritos and beer. Ergo, I redoubled my commitment to good nutrition. I was going to hydrate the shit out of myself… Or should I say piss?

Continue reading Urine Luck →

IIIIIIII AM THE FASTEST, MY FRIENDS!!!!

‘CAUSE I KEPT ON TRYING… TILL THE END!

I AM THE FASTEST! I AM THE FASTEST!

NO TIME FOR LOSERS ‘CAUSE I AM THE FASTEST…

… of the fattest!

Actually, not quite the fastest (and definitely not THE fattest) – I was only the silver medalist in the Athena Division for the Anthem Sprint Triathlon today, finishing the 5-kilometer run, 20-kilometer bike and 400-meter swim in 1 hour, 41 minutes, 25 seconds.

I was just 50 seconds off the gold medal, but given that this is the first medal I have ever won when other people (15 of them, actually) finished (or did not finish) behind me, I value this silver medal as much as I would a gold medal. Suffice it to say, on any other day, I’m proud to make the Top 10… because I usually finish 10th of 10.

Continue reading Fatter, Higher, Stronger →

The circus has left town.

The leaf blowers have swept the confetti detritus from the stage.

The amplifiers, the washing machine, the tapestries for the dressing room. The tackle boxes of guitar picks. The lava lamps. The pop-up tents for the T-shirt vendors. The color-coded stickies. The Post-It notes from the bathroom door. The Party Shark. The exhausted helium tank. The racks of cabbage cases with their precious cargo. It has all been packed away – the army of 18-wheelers repurposed for another life.

I am the aunt-by-marriage of a rock star. Patrick’s nephew is Wolfgang Van Halen, who is the full-time bass player for the eponymous super-group. I will not debate the merits of my nephew over their previous bass player as I AM OVERWHELMINGLY BIASED, and this has been discussed ad nauseum in other venues. The band just wrapped up the first leg of their North American tour in support of their new album, A Different Kind of Truth. Late summer and fall dates have been postponed – and no, it’s not because they’re fighting with the lead singer (the original lead singer, David Lee Roth).

With the exception of my 21-year-old nephew, they’re all pushing 60. They’d been touring since February, practicing since long before that, and in the studio for God-kn0ws-how-long before then. I’m sure they’re tired – I know I am, and I only went to four shows.

But wow – those four shows… where to begin?

With an exclusive, unauthorized BEHIND-THE-SCENES LOOK AT THE VAN HALEN TOUR!!!! (ALL-CAPS, natch!) Including ALL-ACCESS reportage from the OFFICIAL tour bus! Secrets revealed! True Hollywood Stories™ told! Behind The Music heard! It’s all here:

Continue reading Backstage at the Circus →