Turns Out My Fairy Godmother Wears a Clean-Suit

Attend San Francisco’s Black and White Ball.

As many of you know, about a year ago I started writing down 100 things I’d like to do before I die — peacefully, in my sleep, of extreme old age. I called it my Mighty Life List, and I wrote it because I wanted to start dreaming bigger.

Taste 1,000 Fruits.

I was embarrassed by the list’s audacity, worried some of you might think I was cheesy, or maybe overreaching if I told you my plans. That’s silly, of course, because I’ve noticed over the years that you guys are nice. You make it lovely to write here every day, and doing that has helped me realize I want to spend more time celebrating, and less time slogging.

Cross the Canadian Border.

I made the list, changed things here and there, gradually started crossing things off, and then my life took a turn for the surreal.

Make 1,000 lovely things.

Intel has decided to sponsor my life list.

I told you your jaw would hit the floor. I’ve known for months, and my brain is still catching up. So! How did this happen? I’ll tell you the full story in a couple of days, but here’s the gyst.

Intel started this Sponsors of Tomorrow campaign, it’s the one you’ve seen on The Tonight Show, and the one with the geek rockstar ads that have been making rounds online. As part of the campaign, they asked me to choose ten things I thought I could accomplish in the next three months, and then told me to go do them — they’d pick up the check.

Cut to me at the Oscar podium dipping Halle Barry and kissing her full on the mouth.

And so, Mighty Girl is about to get more interesting, and slightly more frantic. My designer friend Helen Jane Hearn came out of blog-design retirement to help me with a beloved new look for Mighty Girl, which will launch Wednesday. I will not be sleeping between now and then.

Next week, I leave for Puerto Rico to swim with bioluminescent plankton. In between I’m taking tap lessons with John Kloss, Founder of Stepology and patron saint of patience.

I need a nap, but I couldn’t be happier. I’m the stupid kind of happy, the let-the-toddler-eat-an-entire-bar-of-chocolate kind of happy. And here’s what’s happening in my head:

In my head all of you are with me in some ludicrous warehouse space, screaming, jumping up and down, blowing celebratory horns, and ducking champagne corks. This Very Good Thing that’s happening, it’s happening because of you. So thank you.

Cheers.

Mighty Life List: Watch Hank eat his first ice cream cone.

Lots of parents aren’t particularly concerned about stuff on their kids’ faces. This is because you can wipe a child’s face, leave the room to throw out the tissue, and return to find them covered with snot and dog hair. You’re standing there thinking, “We don’t even own a dog.” Well, that’s beside the point. The point is that keeping your kid’s face clean is like pushing a boulder uphill. Except the boulder has teeth, and can scream.

When I was child free, I’d laugh nervously when people passed me their baby food-covered kids. Then I’d lunge for the nearest napkin before the baby could slime my sweater. I always figured I’d grow out of that when I had my own kids, but instead I just chase Hank around with baby wipes all day. The result is a remarkably fastidious kid who would prefer not to touch anything that might leave a residue. He has a very conflicted relationship with bananas.

For some reason, I didn’t ponder this much when we took him out for his first ice cream cone. It was the first warm day we’ve had since he’s been old enough to hold his own cone, and I could barely wait. I’d somehow failed to remember that the kid who loves to play in mud and sand, and splash in puddles had to be taught that all those things were cool. We weren’t going to rush at him screaming, “Noooooooooo!” and then whisk off all his clothing to go soak it in the bathtub. Mud all over your shirt? Yes. Smoothie and dog hair all over your shirt? No. These are complex distinctions.

So we convinced Hank to hold his cone the way we convince him to do anything scary. Outright bribery. As you may recall, Hank will only be bribed with chocolate. Perhaps you think this is a no-brainer, because ice cream conveniently comes in chocolate form. Perhaps you have forgotten that ice cream remains on one’s face, long after one has requested that it be removed?

And apparently ice cream drips?

And this chocolate is cold? Which is unexpected when we’re talking about chocolate. And why aren’t you holding it, as any idiot can see that your manual dexterity far exceeds that of a toddler?

Why are you making him do this? It is disgusting. Are you not aware that he has teeth and can scream?

Eventually, through our laughter, we convinced him that ice cream on a cone would not grab his ankles when he walked by the bed, or secret away his security blanket while he was distracted by ice tongs. So Hank warmed to the idea of holding it himself.

He took about two bites and then thrust it at me, “You hold it?” Fair enough. He pointed at my napkin and held his hands out questioningly. So I obliged.

Then he ran back and forth on the sidewalk screeching happily while we finished our cones.

It was a good day.

Mighty Life: Taste 1,000 Fruits, Longanberries

I’m reading The Fruit Hunters, which is surprisingly fascinating. I’ve always been interested in fruit, but when this book pointed out that there were tens of thousands of varieties, I decided to add “Taste 1,000 fruits” to my life list. Isn’t that satisfyingly mythological?

A Thousand Nights of Sweetness
The Girl Who Tasted a Thousand Fruits
“Bring me one thousand fruits, and a toe from each of your virgins!”

Having grown up in California and traveled in Asia and Indonesia, I’ve already tasted a few hundred fruits (apple varieties alone will get you halfway there), but now I’m picking up interesting produce wherever I go.

These are Longan Berries, which I got on Clement St. in San Francisco. They’re native to Southern China, and are believed to help with relaxation.

They’re kind of like litchis. They have a thin, dry peel, and the interior has the texture of a peeled grape.

The taste is complex and sweet, a lot like a litchi. My friend gave a spot-on assessment of the lingering flavors when he said it reminded him of fresh paint, though not in an unpleasant way.

They’re called “dragon eyes” because, as you can see, they look like eyeballs.

There’s a lovely, smooth-shelled pit in the middle. According to Wikipedia, you can boil and eat the seeds, though I didn’t try that. I trust Wikipedia, but I’d be pissed if I accidentally poisoned myself on the word of some guy typing from his mom’s basement.