A Wahoo to Wyland

On a recent Sunday morning, I was watching my boyfriend Tim Russert (don’t worry-my husband knows all about us) on Meet the Press and had a journalistic identity crisis. Tim was interviewing Robert Novak, the Chicago Sun Times columnist who broke the Valerie Plame story, about his recent work. Novak defended himself by saying, “I’m a reporting columnist, as opposed to a thumb-sucking columnist.”

As I sipped my Sunday morning café au coffee mate, I thought to myself, “Am I a thumb-sucking columnist?” I write about little people who suck their thumbs and occasionally I want to suck mine, so I guess the answer would be yes. Enough whining about vomit on my toes and the crowds at Disneyland. It’s time for me to be a Journalist (note the capital “J”) and tackle some real issues that we Laguna moms grapple with daily.

At the top of my list I wrote four letters—H-E-A-T. I tried to get Al Gore on the phone to discuss global warming, but realized that could take me all week. The heat does affect the nutrition of my family though, because I refuse to cook. When I turn on the stove, my house shoots from 83 degrees to an even 90. The only alternative is to head down to my second kitchen, Wahoo’s on the PCH. But Hello! They have not been open for over ten months. I gave Wahoo’s headquarters a little journalistic jingle to find out what the heck is going on down there.

I spoke with Ed Lee, one of the partners, who apologized profusely for the delay. “We are six months behind schedule and every day kills me.”

“Ed, do you know what you are doing to those of us who rely on you for dinnertime?”

I’m not sure he understood the seriousness of the matter, but he did give me a good song and dance about a historic building situation and the need to build in sections. “When will you be open?” I interrupted.

“We will be testing the kitchen in September and opening up for business in October,” he replied. And that is a direct quote, dear readers.

After that journalistic triumph, I felt pumped and gave Renata a call. What did she need to know? “When are we going to get the party started?” she sang, trying to sound like Pink, one of her style icons.

I knew immediately she was referring to Music in the Park. After going to my first concert where Renata and I swayed to some reggae at the swing set, I told her, “That’s it. I belong here.” Internet research revealed that, why yes, Music in the Park started last week. I called Annie, my social director, and scolded her for not letting me know.

“I didn’t even bother. It was country music. This week is She Band, a girlie rock group. We’ll be there.” She added, “If you’re going journalistic, I want to know if Wyland will marry me?”

“You’re already married,” I replied. Stalking a world famous environmental artist was not exactly the type of journalistic assignment I had envisioned.

“I know, but you might have readers who aren’t.” I took note of her point and gave Wyland headquarters a call. Before you can say school of dolphins, I was on the phone with the man himself.

“I’m available, but not planning on getting married,” Wyland confessed. “I just haven’t met the right whale yet.” I don’t know any whales, but I couldn’t end my interview there.

“If there was a whale who was interested in meeting you, where would she go?” I tried to sound intelligent, which I can promise you did not happen.

“I like to eat breakfast on the weekends at the White House,” he graciously replied. So for all you whales out there that like men with mustaches and large art collections, you know where to go this Sunday morning.

I, however, will be hanging out with my husband and kids watching Meet the Press. I think I have a few more things to learn about this journalistic state of mind.