The Babble Belt

Fall ya'll.

2011-09-02T11:19:00.000-07:00

If there is anything to Chinese Astrology or Numerology or any of those things that I know nothing about, it is that every year, no matter what the rest of the year has been like, Fall is hands down a time of great clarity, creativity and productivity for me. Everyone has their own time, apparently. Spring and the popularized "spring cleaning" is not my time. It's like that though; I clean, sort, organize, cook and otherwise prepare for my busiest season. Mentally, physically and even spiritually.

It's a pretty significant shift.

It feels like a light switch, it's that drastic; by the end of summer I am usually lazy and fried from all the hot weather. But come the end of August, I am a machine. Ever since I can remember, I could feel/ smell when the change happens (Often starting in mid-late August when the days start to get shorter despite the still warm weather) and once it does, my mind just goes. Thoughts of what to cook, Halloween (HALLOWEEN!!), new coats and socks and spooky movies.

I credit this 2-3 month time with propelling me through the rest of the year and count on it because I know it's fleeting. The rest of the year is basically me muddling through. Sometimes I feel like biologically, I am on a different clock than everyone else; that my New Years comes months earlier. My only explanation is that there is something bigger at work. That this, for reasons I do not comprehend, is my time.

I don't even need coffee.

I drink it anyway.

My theory is that for the many years that we are in school, even through college, there is a definite cycle. There are breaks that designate the seasons and if you grew up in beautiful New England like I did, there are defined seasons. The summer is humid and hot and as soon as you get even a whiff of the fall breeze, you are whisked off to get school clothes and supplies. It was all very exciting for me, like I got to start over...Like New Years...The theory is that now that I am no longer in school, I am still in the cycle.

To tell you the truth, I don't care why it is. It makes me feel closer to nature and and to friends and to myself because I am doing things close to home. My to-do lists become; butternut squash soup, Baby Boom (no comments, please), The Shins and the Fleet Foxes and Simon and Garfunkel and carve pumpkins with friends. Instead of; Oil change, grocery store, post office.

On my list;
-List of things to cook this winter-check.
-Halloween costume idea-check
-School supplies-check
-Enrollment in school...
-Reading The Historian. It's about Dracula.
-New boots-check
-Organize the storage room so that it resembles a second bedroom...
-Switch to warm drinks instead of cold
-Figure out how to stay this productive all year

An Open Letter to Ali Brosh:

2011-04-15T09:46:00.000-07:00

(Ali Brosh= Hyperbole and a Half. I will wait for you to go there and acquaint yourself with her blog, but you have to promise to come back....Stop Lying, LIAR! You don't know what you're dealing with. You won't be back...I'm probably not even coming back.)

Dear Ali,

It's April. It has been almost 2 months.

In all of 2011, you have posted twice. Last year, you posted 61 times by now.

You have a responsibility to your readers. It is sad to say, but some people's happiness (not mine) revolves around your posts (mine actually revolves around my big, whopping, amazing, bad-assed super rad life that is brain meltingly insane okay? Say "okay!"). The fact of the matter is that you are contributing to the Sneaky Hate Spiral of the 208,619 people that "like" you on Facebook.*

So you know how when somebody says they will call and they don't and you assume the worst? I know you do. Because that is the nature of Hyperbole and you are an entire HALF above that.

I have narrowed it down to the only possibilities:

-You switched to a Mac
-You have joined a street gang and are hooked on smack.
-Some batshit crazy fan (NOT me) became jealous of your talent and performed a funny-ectomy on you and has stolen all of your funny for themselves
-You are trapped in Middle Earth (where everybody knows that the WiFi connection is shit) rendering you incapable of pushing the Post button
-You became encased in the Phantom Zone like the bad guys from Superman 2 and have since been orbiting the cosmos
-You are on tour with Charlie Sheen and hooked on smack

I realize that the simplest solution is probably the right answer, but I don't want to imagine you, in Bend, being a productive member of society...with responsibilities. In society...I just...I just can't. It's too depressing.

So let's do the right thing, dearest. Post something. Anything...How about a countdown? An Estimated time of Arrival? A picture of Rick Morranis? How about several?? We can take it. A picture of Steven Segal, Lawman battling the Shark Bear! A picture of Rick Morranis and Steven Segal, Lawman riding Tricera-Topless into battle with the Shark Bear!!

One generous friend even offered you use of her stories if you are struggling with writers block (you should take her for all she's got...She has basically dedicated her life to being a cautionary tale to others).

And? I really think you need to see this thread. You are causing violence to hobos.

I wish I knew how to quit you,
Mary

*Not intended to be a factual statement.

Overheard in the Nordy Rack Dressing Room:

2011-04-08T08:07:00.000-07:00

Attendant 1: I can't tell if this is Cake or Jet. (in my mind: It's Cake! Cake! Caaaaaake! Wait. Whoa...Cake is being confused with Jet...) Cake has trumpets, they're a ska band. (Huh??)

Attendant 2: Ska?

1: Yep, music popular in the 80's and 90's but not anymore and the band has a ton of instruments. Like the trumpet. I used to be obsessed with the trumpet but not so much anymore.

2: Huh?

1: You know that song "Our house. In the middle of our street?" They're a ska band too....Oh!! Hear that? It's trumpet! It's Cake!

2: Have you tried that lip plumping lip gloss?

Lifestyle, yo!

2011-03-29T10:54:00.000-07:00

I love when you find a book that you picked up on a whim that ends up broadening your world view and expanding on something that you have been mulling over. I further love when you come across it unexpectedly on the sale rack at Powell's.

When I turned 30, I took a good look at my life; The past few years seemed to blur together. It was difficult to differentiate events. In that time, I started this cubicle job, using texting more than calling and using social media more and more. And even with these conventions that are supposedly there to make things easier and to theoretically give me more leisure time, I felt more rushed than ever.

Monday through Friday I power through the motions, trying to get as much done as possible. By Friday, I am too exhausted to function, too exhausted to be excited that it's Friday. Saturday I finally decompress a little and Sunday, I gear up for work again.

I had read this article in the New York Times about how technology is affecting kids socially and then a similar article on UCLA Today about how technology is changing the wiring in our brains.

It matched with some of the things I have been experiencing; more scattered (so much so that I thought I might have something medically wrong), sleeplessness and even depression. I attributed it to getting older and even my lack of passion for my job that I theorized had caused me to mentally switch to autopilot.

I began to wonder if it was related to how little time I actually spent with myself so I endeavored to slow things down.

About a year ago, I started to turn off my phone and TV and computer hour before bed because I noticed that I wasn't sleeping well; I felt like my brain was still engaged. I dedicated more time to making my bedroom a serene, calming place and to resting before trying to sleep. It has largely worked. If I get a good workout during the day, it works even better and, as you can imagine, if I eat well, better still.

2 out of 3 is good enough for me. I won't say that I sleep well every single night, but I will say that my ability to concentrate and my memory are improved. It's a work in progress.

Self care is big for me these days; I still don't have cable or the Internet in my new place, which has been a HUGE change (I have been through my entire movie collection several times over), not obligating myself so readily and spending more time being quiet. I read, I cook, I walk my dog and when I spend time with my friends, it's more meaningful.

"Only in the deep repose of a summer's evening, serenely planted in a twilit cottage, savoring rich ideas, could I regain my bearings." Brende says. I doubt I will get this in my neighborhood, but still. Something to aspire to...

I'm trying to focus on the quality of my experience rather than the quantity of experiences...
..Like the Amish!

(Admit it. My segues are GENIUS!)

I picked up this book because it is not a guilt-trimmed tome about Society and it's affect on the environment. He isn't preaching about sustainability. This book is about lifestyle; what you get in happiness when you give it all up and do everything by hand. This is an MIT-educated man, here people. Giving it all up to do manual labor.

He is not Amish, (Minimite, actually) but he does decide to live among them and the results are completely refreshing. Rather than noting every novel difference, Brende seeks to get the most out of his experience and fully embrace the life, if not the religion despite being Catholic. He also does an amazing job explaining the different sects and the thinking behind the beliefs that we outsiders think are so novel.

In doing so, he realizes that yes, this lifestyle requires a lot of hard work but the reward is that "Many hands make for light work" and that the work itself (since everyone is in on it) is more fulfilling and lends to deeper friendships and sense of community. That we are not going through life alone, tackling all the projects that take up our time when we work together and that even the children have the tools to fend for themselves more so than the children brought up with technology. More so he finds, than adults.

Here is an excerpt from Better Off that really resonated with me:

"And this explained not only why time moved more slowly but also why we had more of it, why we were able to relax and read the way we were doing right now: in the absence of fast paced gizmos, ringing phones, alarm clocks, television, radios, and car, we could simply take our time. The event is only in the moment. By speeding through life with technology, you reduce what any given moment can old. By slowing down, you expand it.

Shortcuts lead to emergency mending sessions in order to piece together back in what was cut out, to lengthen what was shortened; Computer users, cramped in a cubicle all day long, jogging around the block. Bureaucrats and financiers, zooming ahead along their career paths, then reversing gears to attend school concerts, ball games, and parent teacher meetings. Captives of the technological environment fleeing for brief weekends to mountains, beaches and rustic cabins."

For Katie: A Happy Birthday Amber Alert

2011-03-19T10:45:00.000-07:00

Name: Katie's Dignity

Hair: Wiley Eyes: Two Fingers: Plenty of them. Arms: She flails. Sex: Eunuch

Last seen: Ehhhhmmm...I thought I saw it once in Scotland, and then the drunk host at the B'n'B grabbed her ass and it disappeared like the fine mist of the Isle. It was also once rumored to inhabit the halls of various colleges before she started to carry her flask defending that "it fits the description of a covered container."

Wearing: Disco ball balls. Hole-y goldfish boxers. A child size winter coat, mittens woth fold over fingers and a string connecting them so they don't get lost. Glasses. She cannot see without them. It is fun to take them and watch her throw a hissy.

Known to Imbibe: Does this look like a face that would drink a~~nything but vodka~~?
Be Suspicious if you Hear: Sappy European Whiney Boy Songs. Must know the lyrics and analyze all the words to their songs, taking any spontaneity out of music.

Is Probably Watching: Jane Austen BBC Movies.

Known Accomplices: Stupid Girl.

Not to be Confused With: Liz Lemon from popular TV show 30 Rock. (She indeed has a cat and is actually a librarian...at TWO libraries!)

Notes: Does not enjoy surprises, being patient or Texas. Cares about my fiber. Has for a while now.

Happy Birthday, Amiga! Ole!

Feel free to do your "alluring belly dance" now.

Not an Amazing Artist?

2011-03-16T08:57:00.000-07:00

But surrounded by talent? Story of my life.

I totally appreciate the creative arts, this is Portland. How could I not? If I throw a rock, I could literally hit Evan B Harris or Sallie Ford or Brin Levinson or Roll Hardy or any of these ladies.

Literally. I could hit them. With a rock.

They're everywhere; flaunting their awesomeness and their non-cubicle jobs, keeping Portland restaurants full of things to look at during awkward silences...

Me? I'm good for like, something eye-catching (also see: "gawdy") with glitter all over it or some sweet, coloring book action but as far as my self expression goes, I think it could be safe to say that my style tends toward the stuff you would see in that Amy Sedaris book, "Crafts for Poor People."

Having this level of self-expressive talent, it might surprise you to know that I consider myself a pretty visual person; it has been said (by my mother) that I have a keen eye. I just do not posess the ability to articulate my ideas into anything other than "crayon stained glass" or "popsicle stick houses" (These are real crafts practiced by real young and budding artists and can be found in the "non-edible" section of your kindergartner's craft book. Neener).

But just because (as an unamused snowboard instructor once told me) "my talents obviously lie elsewhere" doesn't mean I don't have immaculate taste in stuff and things. And, even if you count yourself among those of us who are unable to translate your ideas into actual art like all those other jerks, you still need inspiration, too.

And I find tons on ETSY. com

I realize that this is less than a phenomenon for those of you in the know, but even you should bear with me because I have "curated" my own little collection of sellers that I think are incredible (all pictures are courtesy of the respective seller):

Victorian Dollhouse:
Can you BELIEVE this?! I can't freaking believe how unbelievable this is.

Craftall :
Mind. Blown. Paper. Do you see that this topography is made of PAPER??

Marysgranddaughter:
Felted Diorama. Brilliant. Not your average shoebox.

Matou En Peluche:
Because I am a girl. A girl who loves art deco.

Benagami
A whole ENTIRE bonsai tree scene made out of origami.

Peanut Butter Jelly Time!

2011-03-14T08:47:00.000-07:00

I made these because I have surrendered to my love of peanut butter and when I saw this recipe in Bon Appetit magazine, I couldn't help myself. What's better than a PB&J? A FRIED PB&J. What's better than a fried PB&J? Not much. But these come close.

Fun fact: I once brought only pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a camping trip.

A few years ago, I was visiting my relatives and it was the first time that I had ever had the fresh peanut butter, you know; freshly ground out of the machine. I ate it everyday for breakfast on toast. I ate it with apples for snacks until it was gone.

"I'm sorry, I ate all of your peanut butter." I apologized.

"Of course you did, you're your father's child." My aunt informed me.

You might recall this little number involving peanut butter cupcakes for said father.

So there you have it; it's genetic. I can't help it. It is completely instinctual and it lends to a terrible distrust of those who claim not to like it. Allergies, I understand, though a swollen throat probably wouldn't be enough to stop me from eating it by the spoonful.

Not liking peanut butter is indicative of a much bigger problem. People who don't like peanut butter are most likely sociopaths. Unamerican sociopaths.

I required of myself that I share, so I brought some to work. But the coworkers in my unit had consipred against me to be out so that I had no choice but to eat them all, but I showed them- I put them in the break room to be shared by all. Nothing survives the break room. NOTHING!

I did end up cooking them a bit longer than recommended and I suggest letting them cool for much longer than 30 minutes. Like, overnight if possible. Your great dane will be very interested in the peanut butter aspect as well, so keep them covered and out of reach.

An Ode: To the Martha Stewart Sleep Wise Gusset Foam Pillow Available Only at Macy's

2011-03-11T13:04:00.000-08:00

But first, some background:

This week has been so terrible (I stepped in poo on my work break without realizing it and then, without further realizing it, tracked it into my carpeted cubicle. When I went to the restroom with the changing area to do something about it, I got an eyeful. Because it's a changing area. And that was just Tuesday. Little did I suspect that I would get YET ANOTHER eyeful before the sun would rise on the third day...) that it has brought about the tiniest little existential crisis. As such, I have started to really think about the things that give me the greatest joy in the whole wide world so that when I experience times like these, I will know right where to go for comfort on the "mental health day" that I will inveitably require.

This is one of those things.

And now, onto the Ode, already in progress:

To you, Martha Stewart Sleepwise Gusset Foam Pillow, Available only at Macy's!

From the moment I saw you, I knew that you would be mine.

I pawed at you in front of God and everyone, you played it coy, bouncing back from my squeezes, I knew you were an epic cuddler.

Other pillows stared. The allergy pillows raised their eyebrows.

The sales associate said you would go on sale soon. Cheap? Mais non!

I waited for you. I thought about you.

Then I saw you in that...commercial. Dancing around on the bed with the other pillows like a slut...

Ahem.

At 60% off, I knew it was an investment in our future together.

Still, it's the most I have ever paid for a pillow.

Or, did the other pillows make me pay?

Too much...

It Is With Deep Regret

2011-03-09T14:12:00.000-08:00

That this blogger must report that Darold Lydy, Owner of Fathead's BBQ in Mollala has passed and that it does not appear that his BBQ will carry on.

My sincerest condolences to his family. It was a pleasure to have met him.

Pandora; A Shout Out

2011-03-04T11:34:00.000-08:00

Remember the days when somebody would say "Hey how do you like Dr. Dre?" And you were all like, "I don't know, I haven't heard it" and your friend was all "I just got it, you can't borrow it yet" and you didn't have a way to hear it without buying it and so you had to wait to go to your friend's house or take your friend on a very long drive to really hear it and even then...

...What did we do in the time before our faces had permanent blue screen light reflected off of them? When you had to wait to get home from school to call your friends on the phone or go to the library if you had a burning question and use the card catalogue?

Enter Pandora. Or maybe a service like Pandora. I really don't know anything about the others, so I can't really compare.

10 tips for mastering it and making it your own;

Ex 1:

It's Friday (woot woot!) and you cannot go one more second doing data entry without hearing Michael Jackson (don't judge, he is fantastic Friday music). You start a Michael Jackson station.

Ex 2:

You get bored after hearing Bad and doing your best gang-affiliated chair dance and think, "you know? I could really go for some MORE 80's crap. You start a George Michael station. Not because you want to hear George Michael per say, but because it won't just play George Michael-it will play a variety of the crap that you are craving.

Ex 3:

If you truly, madly, deeply do need to hear the song Faith, then you can just start a Faith station, you will hear the song and then you can go back to your Violent Femmes station.

I have a billion stations....I have some hard to explain needs musically. This is why it says what it says under "Music" in my User Profile.

Ex 4:

I have a billion stations so that when they tell me that I have skipped too many songs and now I have no choice but to listen to Coldplay, I can just change the channel. Blammo! Problem solved.

Back to my story:

Ex 5:

On your facebook feed, someone posts a hundred thousand music videos and since you do not have the administrative rights necessary to download Flash on your work computer so that you can watch every single one instead of doing data entry and since streaming is frowned upon (thus you forgo sampling the band on Myspace) you create a Lady Gaga station and a Florence and the Machine station.

You delete the Lady Gaga station immediately.

Ex 6:

But say you hear something on your John Prine station that intreagues you. You hear Hank III and you say to yourself "is this the most awesome artist ever? I simply cannot tell with only this song to judge." So you start a Hank III station.

Ex 7:

(Where things take a turn) Do you have Shazaam on your smartphone? You should. It is one of my most used tools next to the Mercury's Happy Hour compass and Icanhascheezburger (which would require an entirely new post to explain). I will set the scene:

You're at your neighboorhood standby pub. You're talking with your friends, really loudly because you're drunk. A song comes on and someone yells "Duuuuuude! this is my cut!" and then everyone shreiks along to the music.

Someone says cockily (I don't even know if that's a word, but isn't it great-sounding?) "I totally dig Otis Redding" and you're all "Uhm...It's Sam Cooke."

Sides are chosen. A fight breaks out. Chairs are thrown. Beer bottles shattered and used as shanks. You use Shazaam to take a sample of the song, send it off to the Magical Music Genius Academy of Music Genuises (or wherever) and then use it's wise powers to drop a knowlege bomb on your idiot friend: "It IS Sam Cooke! It's off of this album, from this year, read the artist bio and oh! Would you care to purchase it?"

You do not. You do, however, choose to start a Sam Cooke station and dedicate it to your friend so that as her wounds heal, you can be the salt.

Ex 8:

You are at a super hip Industiral District, minimalist sort of place (for reasons you can't...or won't explain) or at a rodeo and you hear a song you like. You just hold up your Shazaam and find out who it is and then start a Pandora station dedicated to them.

Ex 9:

You know how you Bookmark or Thumbs Up all those songs? Use those songs to start their own stations to see if there's more stuff like that out there in the world. There is.

Ex 10:

Know what? One of my favorite things to do is to rediscover bands that I didn't pay any attention to back in the day. Recently, I chose Devo. Back when they were in their heyday, I was still listening to...well, nevermind that, but it wasn't Devo. Thus, I do not own any Devo. So I started a Devo station. They're really great. You should try it.

You should avoid Tears for Fears. Elemental was not as good as the song Break it Down Again would have you believe. "Moses on a motorbike," indeed.

You should know that if you like bands that are not really well known outside of your own community, like Sallie Ford and the Sound Outside, or Y La Bamba (whoa! Surprise! they totally ARE on there! Sweeeeet!) Pandora will not have them in their cache. But you will be surprised at what it does offer (like I just was dear reader!)

Even if you are Jack Black from the movie High Fidelity who reportedly knows everything and every band evarrrr, I daresay that using Pandora in this way could even open you up to something new.

*****************************************

Ok, here's my list as of this writing and a shout out to where/who introduced me to them (and some really girly formatting):

-Motorhead Radio-High school hockey boy Sundays!
-Tom Waits Radio-Random cd buy at Music Warehouse so many years ago...thank you thank you...
-Dr. Dre Radio-Fo' shits and giggles and old times sake.
-Grace Potter & the Nocturnals Radio-Kara
-April March Radio-To Quentin Tarantino: Deathproof is the only movie of yours that I like/own.
-Holly Golightly Radio-April March Radio
-The Cramps Radio-Jenn, miss you!
-Sam Cooke Radio-First high school job at the ice cream shop
-Harry Belafonte Radio-Beetlejuice, you are the gift that keeps on giving. You're classic
-John Prine Radio-via Richmond Fontaine Radio
-Richmond Fontaine Radio-WIllamette Week
-Florence & the Machine Radio-Thank you, Alex, who posted a hundred thousand videos online
-Avett Brothers Radio-Thank you, Heidi. You have amazing taste in music.
-George Michael Radio-Thank you, Am/Fm radio in grade school and a wild hair one fine Tuesday. Worth it.
-M. Ward Radio-She & Him Cd
-Roy Orbison Radio-Ice cream shop, baby!
-Red Hot Chili Peppers Radio-Thank you, high school. So many memories, this is one of the ones I'm glad to take with me.
-Fleet Foxes Radio-Lea. You the shizzle!
-Melody Gardot Radio-To CBS Sunday Morning
-Patsy Cline Radio- Mom!
-Metallica Radio-First high school boyfriend
-Seu Jorge Radio-Life Aquatic
-Devo Radio-Thank goodness for curiosity, even if it did kill the cat.
-Cyndi Lauper Radio-To my parents who had the "She's so Unusual" album <3
-Violent Femmes Radio-Teenaged Angst and Jenn! Remember??
-Reverend Horton Heat Radio-I don't even...remember...hmm...
-Sex Pistols Radio-Teenagerhood
-Neko Case Radio-Uncle Gil and your christmas cd's
-Viva Voce Radio-Portland music scene. This one's all you.
-Cat Power Radio-I don't remember how or when or why, but I regret nothing...
-Iron & Wine Radio-Garden State
-Lenka Radio-I saw the "Trouble is a Friend" video. So beautiful.
-The Gentle Waves Radio-Thank you, Cat Power radio
-Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan Radio-Cat Power, again, hearts you
-Y LA Bamba Radio-Again, Portland music scene. Heard them on accident. It's been love ever since.

What's your list look like? Do you need musical valium too?

Happy Surprise: Hello?

2011-03-03T09:19:00.000-08:00

Is it Rob you're looking for?

I don't know who Rob is, but I'm pretending that he's crashed out after dancing All Night Long. On the Ceiling.

I Gotta Doggin!

2011-03-02T13:07:00.000-08:00

His name is Magnus. Isn't he the cutest?!

I Bought a House!

2011-02-28T14:50:00.000-08:00

This is what it looks like in my heart:

And in my head:

Classic case of disconnect.

Wednesday Morning

2010-10-13T09:25:00.000-07:00

I'm tired and don't feel like walking to work. The news tells me that the "Call in Sick" strike that Trimet was planning doesn't look like it's going to happen so I allow myself the luxury of leaving 20 minutes later so that I can take my time and watch the amazing Chilean miner rescue (which was hard enough to pull myself away from) and ride the warm bus instead of walking 3 miles in the cold.

In the back of my mind, I aim for the 6:35 bus, but I'm not going to stress because that's the idea of leaving late and wearing cute shoes. I look defiantly at my sneakers and think of how delightfully light my back pack will be without them in it as I eat my toast and tea.

As I prepare my lunch (you might want to sit down for this, dear reader) I find...a SLUG! on my new head of cabbage! The really gross part is that at first, I think it's rotten veggie gunk on my hand and as I look closer, I realize it's a slug and it's *gag* on my finger...I put it in the compost bin and it *VOM* puts it's antenne out and starts crawling around because *gag* IT'S STILL ALIVE!!

I then catch every single yellow light on the way to my bus stop, trying with all of my might, dear readers, not to think about that *gag* baby slug...on my finger..I touched it...Vile beast...*vom* How did it get there??

As I park, the bus flies by. DAMN! But wait...I wonder if this is the driver that stops at the next stop and waits for five minutes because she's chronically ahead of schedule. I take my patent leather dress shoes off, conversations of the past echoing "If you're going to make for the bus, you have to fully commit and run at full speed." I do. I'm barefoot (don't you judge me), how much more committed can one be at quarter to 7 in the morning when it's 40 degrees out? I make great time and I am convinced that if the driver had waited, I so could have made that.

Out of breath, I sit in the dark on the wet bench with a Willamette Week under me looking eastward for the next bus. The sun rises. I should be watching this from the 6th floor of my building from my desk. The bus is late and I am officially late for work.

I think about a backup plan as my toes begin to freeze; try to catch another bus? What happens if all of the buses are striking? It occurs to me that if my place of work were to strike, that it wouldn't just inconvenience people on their commute, that it could potentially be catastrophic for some of these drivers' families...plan. I need a plan. How much longer will my toes hold out?

I wonder if the Chilean miners are hogging all of the luck today. Everyone else is screwed. I consider calling in sick and going home and going back to bed.

I call the boss lady to tell her that I'm running late (but she is stuck in the elevator?! and doesn't get back to me right away) and a coworker to see if I can catch a ride with her. I could drive to her side of town and car pool. It's been 40 minutes since the first bus went by. Anna doesn't call back. I can't take anymore. The crowd at the bus stop is now swollen to twice as many and people are starting to walk off in search of their plan B's.

I walk back to my car, I don't know where to go or what to do. Parking downtown is the biggest headache ever and will cost too much and these shoes were definitely not made for walking. If I had only packed my sneakers! Cursed sneakers!! I see that another bus line is running. I park. I decide that at this point, I have done all I can do and I hope that I don't end up waiting another 40 minutes. I think about keeping a back up pair of sneakers in my trunk...

Coffee. Priorities. The bus has just gone by and I have, in theory, 15 minutes. The one person in front of me at the counter takes 10 of those 15 minutes and I'm antsy because I don't want to miss the bus. At least I am warm and soon I will have coffee. I just bought the cutest hat ever that I want to show off. I seem to have forgotten that, too...What is up with today??

The bus comes and it's incredibly busy, I find a seat! Sweet serendipity! I ignore the butts in my face, the lady next to me breathing at me and the guy across from me who is creepily staring. I don't care. The bus is warm and I have coffee. There's traffic. I'm an hour late for work. But that's an hour I don't have to be at work and in fact, I realize that I'm sort of enjoying this impromptu adventure.

If I am so frustrated with things...ultimately myself (sneakerssneakerssneakers)...then why am I giggling to myself?

I get off the bus and as I am crossing the street, I see the bus that I waited so long for at the light. I see the people that were waiting at the bus stop with me. But they do not have coffee.

**UPDATE**
It has now come to my attention that "Sneaky Hate Spiral" is what happened to me this morning and this is the official cartoon illustrating my experience!

Notes to Self

2010-08-30T14:54:00.000-07:00

-Wear sensible walking shoes to the Rimsky-Korsakoffee House. The caffeine/ sweet intake there will most definitely inspire a multi-mile walk. You might end up at Slow Bar, you might end up at the Sandy Hut. So you know...either way, those walking shoes will come in handy.

-When your friend compliments your hair "Have you done something different?" and you respond "I washed it." Try not to be surprised when the lady at the nearby table bursts out laughing.

-It's 4:30 on a Friday. You leave your work in your cube. In preparation for the next 72 hours, you may want to ignore IT's requests that you don't write down your work passwords so that at 7 am Monday morning, you can remember them and don't have to stare dumbly at your computer wishing it would just quit being so insistent and remember for you...and get you some damned coffee.

-Attention Portland Bicyclists; let's take the intensity down a notch, shall we? I will pretend to understand that it might be frustrating to maneuver around my coworkers and I when we walk the bridges at our lunch, thus the snide comments as you whiz away not giving us a chance to return fire. But I will not even try to justify calling a 6 year old an "idiot" because getting around his training wheels might have been a slight inconvenience for you. You didn't even have to come to a complete stop. Idiot.

-Like "Frisbee" is a ridiculous last name, "Corn Chip" is not a suitable first name. I wish I could say that these weren't true stories.

-The Secret of Kells was beautifully animated and was well worth the $4 to see it at the Academy Theater. You won't want it to end and will likely sit there, mesmerized and unsatisfied with the abrupt ending for at least a minute or two.

-Always have your flask on hand. It solves way more problems than it creates.

-Drive the North Coast loop more.

-Bingo Monday at the Speakeasy! Because let's face it, Mondays should really be having more fun.

-Challenge somebody to something. For instance; your bff to a Cake-off. Talk smack. A lot of smack.

-I am completely obsessed with the BLT lately and The Goodfoot makes an excellent one with fabulous crisp bacon (it must always be crisp--ALWAYS!!) and garlic aoili. BLTs make great conversation starters since everyone has an opinion; "Add avocado," "add pickles." Nay-sayers ("But then it wouldn't be called a BLT." Thank you, Captain Smartypants) be damned. The answer is Goat cheese, beautiful, beautiful goat cheese. Like the one I invented at the Radio Room. It's the missing link, and I don't know many bars that even give goat cheese as an option for your sammy.

-There really is tourism in Portland. I am not sure why, but I'm seeing tons of cameras and maps...food/carts, maybe? Would someone really come all the way here for Voodoo Doughnuts?? Can anyone clue me in?

I Don't Know...

2010-08-09T19:57:00.000-07:00

...But I like it.

Outside of Kir Wine Bar.

Cheese. Bar.

2010-07-26T06:53:00.000-07:00

Like Shangri-la...only with art by Evan B. Harris and meat from Olympic Provisions.

Sunday Drive: Washington

2010-07-20T21:05:00.000-07:00

At a PGE reservoir up by Cougar, Wash.

Happy Belated, America!

2010-07-11T20:46:00.000-07:00

So I'm late. So what? I was deciding whether or not to share this with you. You think I share everything with you, but you would be shocked, SHOCKED at the things that I filter out. Shocked. To use a phrase that they are lately using tons at my workplace, "I am working on being transparent." So, since you are an exclusive bunch, I will tell you. My secret is Molalla. No really.

Every year, it's the same; what to do for the 4th? A BBQ? A party? To suit up with OFF and sit for hours waiting for fireworks? We needed to do something totally different. Floating in a friend's pool with an adult beverage, BBQ-ing and starting huge sing-alongs to Sweet Home Alabama in your American flag shirt, shoes and bandanna is totally fun, but unfortunately, her pool shows no signs of being cleaned this summer and frankly, I don't BBQ well. So, three commercials later, we decided on the Buckeroo.

We got there just in time for them to shut the doors for a security sweep in between Rodeo shows. We reserved our seats and decided to venture out for food since it wouldn't reopen for another three hours. Had we been better prepared, we would have brought a picnic but instead, we made a B-line for Fatheads BBQ where we spent 2 happy hours shooting the breeze with the owner (who remembered us from previous visits) and working off the heat buzz from the hottest damned hot sauce (the "set you free" sauce) ever. He thought it was hilarious. It was not hilarious...

We all know that Rodeo goers love America the mostest, but it was still surprising to not feel out of place. To feel like a part of this community, even. Like we had been invited to a stranger's party and given some curly fries and sat between Aunt Betty and Cousin Lucille and to be named honorary family members. The kid next to me wore cowboy boots and hat and was so well behaved, I forgot he was there. Everyone sang the Star Spangled Banner and later, over fireworks, Proud to be an American. And it was awesome. We were so crammed in, I couldn't believe that there wasn't a single drunk jerk or annoying yeller.

Honestly, I have seen more rednecked idiots in Southeast Portland than I saw here. Families, generations worth, beautiful horsies, a rodeo clown and gratuitous Budweiser commercials. But no hicks. All out for a great time and totally welcoming. Plus, I caught a country music radio t-shirt that says "Bull Shirt" on the back AND??

And there was a freaking Funtastic festival! Ok, so the Funtastic festival was a total rip off, but I love the nostalgic look of them. Pretty sure they spent more painting the outside of the Haunted Mansion than on everything inside it.

So worth it trying something new. We came out feeling connected to a new community of people, satisfied that our 4th of July was well spent and that the festivities were tied in with celebrating America at a time when many of us take our freedom for granted. It was way better than smelling like chlorine, slapping mosquitos and eating my terrible BBQ.

Oregon Brewpubs; Why??

2010-06-30T08:41:00.000-07:00

It is a well known and publicized fact that Portland is into beer. That's actually putting it mildly. It is also a well known and publicized fact that Portland has a wealth of amazing food options. After some recent trips to Oregon brewpubs, I feel tasked with the question; Why can't brewpubs have great beer AND great food (and maybe some personality, too?)

A long, lazy weekend drive through the Gorge on a warm Saturday found us sitting at Clock Tower Ales in The Dalles, the remarkable historic building that was once the Wasco County Courthouse, a Masonic Lodge and a Funeral Parlour having peaked curiosities. We were hoping that this would be the piece-de-resistance of the day. Minutes later, having ordered a couple of pints-neither of which were actually brewed there "we actually haven't started brewing here yet"- and *yawn* microwaved soupy spinach and artichoke dip with a pile chips from a bag, the discussion turned to the disappointment that is brewpubs.

As self-respecting Northwesterner, I churned out a list of 15 Oregon brewpubs that I have visited more than once. As it turns out, I have really only been enthusiastic about returning to a handful, the conundrum being this: There is no doubt that the beer is good. But to tell you the truth, to be perfectly honest, I don't go for the beer. Getting a bite is my first interest followed by 2. somewhere comfortable and finally 3. to enjoy a beer with my meal. Somehow though, I manage to find myself at an indoor picnic table looking at a whole lot of space, condiments in a six-pack trying to decide between a hot sandwich or a cold sandwich, chips and salsa or chips and hummus. I am so tired of bad hummus. And sandwiches.

So why do I keep going back? As a self-respecting Northwesterner, it had never occurred to me to ask until that fateful Saturday and has since baffled me.

Part of the answer is that I can't really avoid it. I always end up at one eventually; lunch with co-workers, to support a friend's band or at the insistence of a well-intentioned friend who lives in a part of town with decidedly fewer options, Old Market Pub being convenient (don't even get me started on all of the ways that I don't endorse this establishment. Sorry OMP, but you have earned it.) Like coffee shops, brewpubs are opening up their garage door walls everywhere.

I believe that this seed of thought may have really been planted months ago when I adopted the practice of eating before visiting McMenamins after a particularly disappointing burrito. Now, I LOVE me some McMenamins, my parents adore McMenamins so not going isn't really an option. What can I say?Great beer, kick-ass liquor, RC (RC!!) and bands, so many bands. But seriously, the food. When all I can manage to order is tater tots (regular or cajun-ized), there's a problem.

There are clearly betters and worses; the burger, fries and chicken wings are worlds better at Hopworks than at Fearless and the atmosphere at Bridgeport far surpasses that of Lucky Lab. But what is it about the almost uniform menu? Why the damned picnic tables?

This is Portland, Oregon for chrissakes. Most bars have a respectable beer list these days, in this era where bars are breaking away from standard bar fare, in this city where buying an old building and repurposing it for modern times, spending money on comfortable surroundings to appease modern sensibilities is par for the course, why is it so difficult for brewpubs to separate themselves? Laurelwood is in a Victorian, they still offer burgers and fries, albeit a tasty one, but still, a VICTORIAN! Yeah, yeah, they also have the stereotype on Sandy...Persnickety, aren't you?

At least places like Rogue and Deschutes use their own beer products on the food menu. But crates and forklifts do not ambiance make.

When I walked into the Green Dragon for the first time, I said "we will be lucky if they have french fries, chips will probably be the predetermined side and sandwiches. Hot and cold sandwiches" and was partially right (they offer fries.) Why is it that despite not counting the new Migration Brewing on my list, do I suspect that I will be able to predict the same usual suspects?

Must be the garage doors.

The Pioneer Woman's Grave

2010-06-05T19:55:00.000-07:00

When it's June and the rainy weather is still taunting you, what does that tell you? It tells you that you live in Oregon, baby. Today was the first unabashed sunny weather for weeks (it almost killed me) and, it being JUNE and all, one would assume that most of the roads would be clear up on Mount Hood.

For the most part, they were. There was some snow at the begining of the trail (enough that the Ford F250 we passed couldn't make it, but good old fashioned walking power proved victorious) and about 200 yards in was the Pioneer Woman's Grave. This was something I had been trying to do for some time and had been thwarted many a time by the snow.

Bits of the Oregon Trail and Oregon History are everywhere; The Lewis and Clark byway, the wagon ruts in the hills and this trail is up near the Barlow Road, up on the mountain, the perfect way to spend a sunny day. Here are some things found on this excursion:

30: A Sentimental Journey

2010-05-27T11:55:00.000-07:00

As you may have noticed, dearest readers, I have yet to post anything this month. I will ascribe this to my yearly need to take stock of the things I will be taking with me into my next year (like my hoop earrings and Aqua Net--I'm an East Coast girl at heart, what do you want from me?) Everyone has their way of dealing with birthdays and this is mine. Don't you judge me.*

This year, though. This year is a landmark and I feel like commemorating it with a list of things that are important for me not to forget since they have taken me 29 years to learn. So you see, this is more for me than for you (that's what she said. BOO-ya!) I would like to tell you that what follows is valuable, sage-like advice, but I promise nothing.

With no further adieu and in no particular order of importance:

Item 1: I am a lucky, lucky girl to have such amazing friends and family. They are epic and they are everything I need. You never know who you might grow apart from or closer to.

Item 2: Cake should be ordered for any reason whatsoever; rain, flat tire, Sunday night Masterpiece Theater...make a big deal out of everything. It's better to share your cake with friends instead of having one hot pathetic night alone with it. Not that I will judge you if that's what you choose to do with it. I will just say that everyone is happy to see you when you have cake. Even strangers. You can share with them, too. It's your cake.

Item 3: You work to live. you do NOT live to work. Not until you find your dream job, anyway. And even then...Keep looking for your dream job. Interviews are just as much about you being happy with the job as it is about them filling a position.

Item 4: Making yourself comfortable and happy is #1 (obviously in life and not on this list.) Aim for a ridiculously high quality of life; Euphoric, even. Drama is never a part of euphoria. You are too old for drama. Edit as heavily as necessary-it's not as lonely or difficult as you might think. Time changes things so be open to it. Give yourself time.

Item 5: Acting like a child is WAY more fun and gratifying than being too old and lame or worse...Boring. Hanging out with your friend's kids is a great way to relive your own childhood except with scotch. Do things for no other reason than because they will make you happy. Instant gratification is an excuse (and a good one.) Sit down and draw when crayons are made available to you, take nothing seriously. Nothing. I'm serious.

Item 6: Step out of your comfort zone and approach things like you're a shiny new penny; it can be uncomfortable, but think of the epic tails you'll tell your friends over beers (I have a crowd-pleasing rafting story that involves Katie coming at me from above like a flying squirrel.) Plus, think of what kind of an edge your resume will have when you can put "cans tomatoes/ airline pilot/ goalie/ belly dancer/ fire breather" in the hobbies section. If it goes well, buy some cake. If it you singe your eyebrows off, buy yourself some cake. As Molly Wizenberg says "There is no problem that can't be solved with cake. It's the right answer to everything" (see Item 2.)

Item 7: Random acts; of kindness, of weirdness and of random kind weirdness keep life spicy. And you know what they say about spicy stuff, it keeps you skinny and it fights cancer. But mostly skinny.

Item 8: Forgive only when you are good and damned ready to. Always respect an apology. Apologize when you are wrong. Even if it hurts you physically. It happens, sometimes you're an ass. Never offer up an insincere apology.

Item 9: Did I mention sunscreen? (Sorry, I'm really trying to keep this from going Luhrman all over you.) For real though, a little sunscreen never hurt anyone. Neither did ear plugs at loud shows. This one hurts my heart.

Item 10: Red lipstick and nail polish should be as garish as possible. Costumes should be worn whenever you can get away with it. Put away mini skirts and stop shopping in the juniors section. It's a sad truth. But dress up is always encouraged, it remains one of my favorite past-times to this day. Take pictures.

Item 11: Ask for help if you need it or even if you just want company. Tell the person you need their help with an "adventure." Things are always more fun when they are an adventure. Even doctor's appointments. I swear. Pack them a bag with a coloring book and a snack. In fact:

Item 12: Always pack a snack. Even if the sign tells you "no outside food." Blood sugar levels are very serious. Take nothing seriously except for your blood sugar levels.

Item 13: Pay more for quality: shoes (see Item 4,) booze (you are now too old for crappy booze. Your aging innards will thank me-embrace electrolytes) and tickets. I'm talking as close as you can get. It is so worth it to have Roger Waters sing your favorite high school Pink Floyd song right to your face. Plus, once you have this experience, you can't go back to nosebleed. You just can't. If I could afford first class, I would include plane rides but I'm definitely not old enough to afford that yet, even though my lower back pain says otherwise.

Item 14: Make time for yourself. As much as you need. Don't be afraid to be alone with yourself. It's apart of who we are and we need it. Know who you are and don't feel guilty about asking or doing things for yourself. You may have to turn down friends, family and work to do this. It's worth it and it's not neglectful no matter what they tell you.

Item 15: Listen, observe and be kind to others and yourself. Treat everyone like they are having a hard day. Pay it forward. Hold on to your faith in humanity. It is way too easy to loose. Don't watch the news everyday if you can help it (it's TV after all, and we are trying to cut back.) Go outside or something.

Item 16: Choose your battles. Accept inalienable truths: Avoid the mall at Christmastime, you will get stuck behind the most asinine and slow driver when you are in the worst mood or are in urgent need of a restroom, not everyone has your good sense, it is always cheaper (and more of a hassle) to shop around, if buying something right then for more money will save you $20 in gas, just buy the damned thing. Also, movie theater popcorn is always a disappointment and weather men are liars. Choose the path of least resistance, it's usually prettier and more memorable.

Item 17: Go barefoot at every possible opportunity. I'm not just saying that to sound all whimsical and non-conformist, either. It's just more comfortable. Plain and simple.

Item 18: Disrespect can be handled with the following forms of retaliation:
-No response at all. This works amazingly well. Just don't let them walk all over you.
-Humor/ wit
-Patience, if you have any left
-A smile, niceness (seriously, try it. It will either diffuse the situation or incense the other person beyond all capacity for reason plus, when you have to explain yourself to the police, they almost always tend toward the one who isn't foaming at the mouth.)
-A well placed pie or other clever, sprightly trick
-Violence. Hardly any situations call for this. Trust me, I answer the phone all day. Despite your inclination, the above are almost always more satisfying. But a nice kick in the shins is effective sometimes. The groin is often too effective and we like to aim for the middle ground.

Item 19: Life moves really freaking fast. Slow it down by any means possible. Even if you just sit there using up air.

Item 20 (last one, I swear): Work your ass off on the days that you have the energy so that on the days that you don't have energy, you can just sit there and take up air...and keep your job. We call this "smarter, not harder."

So long, 20's...I drink to your demise.

*Stolen from Amanda. Thanks, love!

Things I Love: Dilapidated Old Buildings

2010-04-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

I guess I just didn't realize the extent of my love until going through some albums of expiditions past...

A Week in Review.

2010-04-16T15:55:00.000-07:00

This week was a harried, awesome and exceedingly bizarre mishmash of life. And I liked it:

-I went from walking 2.5 miles a day to double that this week by walking the Steel bridge-Hawthorne bridge loop during my lunch hour (I have a fabulous dress to fit into this weekend)

-I saw a bald eagle on the west-side esplanade of the downtown waterfront. He was majestic.

-I saw a runner with no pants/underpants at the waterfront. None. Nada. You're welcome.

-My car died this week, forcing me to take a different way to work and not-so-forcefully making me try Oblique Coffee roasters in the old Susie O'Connell's market. They did an amazing job with the rennovation.

-I was up for a promotion and now I'm not and I'm sort of relieved

-I decided that I only like the mini cupcakes at Cupcake Jones and not the jumbo ones with the filling. Why complicate a beautiful thing?

-I witnessed at least three chickens cross the road...and not at the same time or in the same place

-I discovered via the Willamette Week that Portland is the "Center of the Pinball Galaxy." This makes me very happy. My favorite is the Addams Family. Always has been. Always will be.

-John Ritter as a centaur and Betty White riding him, weilding a flaming chainsaw are on the cover of this week's Mercury. It's bitchin. I plan on sending it to unsuspecting friends with no letter or explanation.

-I over ate at Apizza Scholls with Michelle

-I over imbibed at the Bonfire with Lea (and on a week day! Who am I?!)

-I discovered that my barista at Spella Caffe looks remarkably like Jim from The Office and he makes a the best chai I've ever had. It takes 5 minutes just to steep but it's totally worth it and it's Spella's own blend.

-My previously-thought-to-be-dead African Violets are both blooming. Even the one that decided long ago only to sprout new leaves.

My Big Backyard

2010-04-07T08:55:00.000-07:00

I used to LOVE my subscription to Your Big Backyard as a kid (who doesn't love mail?) These pictures from the weekend reminded me of something along those lines (if I do say so myself.)

Deep in the Heart of Oregon

2010-04-02T07:47:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's that I'm downtown all week long, maybe it's that the adventures to be had downtown on weekends are somewhat limited to avoidance: the construction obstacle course (also see: Burnside/Couch couplet,) crowds (anyone know of a breakfast place without a wait? Sorry. That's a secret on par with Nana's Sunday Gravy) expense and pretense or maybe it's because the rest of the state is so vast and amazing and quiet (and blissfully free of people and lines.)

On the weekends, I need space; lots and lots of space and fresh air and not to be anywhere near a cubicle. And naps. But mostly, I need adventure and nothing says adventure like digging in the dirt in a straw kid's sheriff hat and hunting for fossils. Or chatting with an actual sheriff while forgetting that you're still wearing said hat. Which has never happened before; the hat or the fossils or...now that you mention it, the very personable and genuine cop. It was nice. All of it. The 70 degree weather certainly didn't hurt.

A Daredevil's Guide to Lunch.

2010-03-18T19:58:00.000-07:00

As happens several days a week, I cannot pull myself out of bed in time to pull a lunch together before I have to leave for work. I try, I really really try but as of late I have been having the hardest time ever waking up. This from one of those morning people that everybody hates, that only needs a sniff of coffee to chirp like a bird.

In any event, I am very lucky to be within blocks of the city's best lunch offerings. There are (and I'm not exaggerating) no less than five food cart clusters within a ten block radius. Chinatown is next door. Have you heard of Pedal Power? They will DELIVER to me the delicacies that my half hour break does not facilitate. If I could see through buildings like Superman (how awesome would that be? Lets pause for reflection...)I would only have to see through one hotel to view the line for VooDoo doughnuts and its homie Stumptown holding court over there on second ave. Enough. I'm spoiled and I love it.

I should also mention that I had a physical therapy appointment today. Only because it was my first visit and in a clever and cruel lesson in posture, she put tape on my back to show me when I was over extending my back. This means that all day long, I have been sitting and standing like a very old person or like Katie so sensitively put it: "Like Joan Cusack in 16 Candles at the water fountain. Priceless." So rather than my usual free parking and walk, I parked downtown to lessen the hassle. I am mostly bringing this to light not because of it's obvious daredevilness, but so that you can get a full picture of how pathetic I was and how much I deserved lunch.

Today was one of those days. I must have hit snooze seven times. If you do the math, the net result would be that I was late. Thus, lunch was left up to afternoon cravings. A few clicks on Foodcartsportland.com had me decided on Nong's Khao Man Gai on SW 10th and Alder for their Vietnamese chicken and rice specialty (it's their only dish) that I had seen and drooled over when Anthony Bourdain *swoon* visited Singapore.

On my way there, I was already devil-may-car-ing the parking situation. My choice was clear: Get lunch, eat lunch hot, then plug the meter or turn my lazy ass around and plug the meter first. You should know that I am brazen when it comes to paying for parking. In a death-defying act on par only with walking the tightrope over the Willamette river, I might pay for an hour and a half and then not pay for the rest of the day much to the horror of my coworkers. I have been lucky, sometimes exceedingly so. There was no choice. In a slap to the face of destiny, I even got the cold vietnamese coffee and upgraded to a side of fried chicken skin. I LAUGH AT YOU, DANGER (and potential heart problems!) In yo FACE!

I regret nothing. Even now as I sit with a $34 (?!?!?!?!?!!!) fine.

I sat luxuriating in the simple and yet not simple flavor/ texture phenomenon that was my chicken and rice. I mocked the clock, ticking an hour past the metered time. With a side of broth and a potent garlic ginger sauce for my dipping pleasure, wrapped in simple packing paper, it was a gift. A gift I plan on recieving at least twice next week when I "forget" my lunch. I would keep this a secret, but judging by the massive line, the secret's already out and as usual I am a late comer to this trend.

And so, I took my full belly and careful posture out in the beautiful spring weather to settle with the County. Wouldn't you know it? The parking man was walking away from my car as I was walking up and as you may be aware, there is no arguing with them. It's one of life's little kicks in the pants. Like Bill Bryson says "There are things you just can't do in life; You can't beat the phone company, you can't make a waiter see you until he's ready to see you and you can't go home again."

I wondered; since I was already in the hole for $34 (?!?!?!?!) if I could just leave my car and not pay for the rest of the day since that's basically enough to rent that space for a week (bastards!)? I was about to ask when I realized that he was in the process of ticketing a group of surly construction workers parked in a loading zone. I patiently waited my turn to give him my two cents.

After a few minutes, I accepted my fate, paid and moved my car because those construction workers gave him the time from hell. I knew the answer would be an annoyed "no" and the pitiless haranging of 7 constuction workers made me feel like a small amount of justice had been done today.

Lesson learned. I played the game and I paid the price. Super tastiness comes at a (?!?!?!) price. But will I play again? Try to stop me!

Sharing is Caring

2010-03-10T19:47:00.000-08:00

My friend Meredith is hilarious. We met at a deep water aerobics class and if that isn't funny enough, the four of us had coordinated swim caps. We were known as the Purple Caps and we were fierce. We so owned that class...but that's not what this is about. This is about the most perfectest gift in the world.

Meredith works for a hospital. I am squeamish, but some of her funniest stories have to do with work so I listen daringly to her about gross stuff. About degloving and about the patient that had the flesh eating bacteria and how she could see right through him. I gasp, swallowing water, she giggles, I giggle.

You may recall that Meredith was the recipient of the second bestest gift in the whole world, as seen here. But sometimes topping that can be tough. Sometimes it's best not even to look and wait to see if something just pops up...not a bad idea, actually; holding off on Christmas gifts until you find the most fitting gift and THEN giving it to your friend. Making Christmas truly last all year long. Meredith's Christmas lasted until the beginning of March.

We hadn't even agreed upon a gift exchange, but when you're sitting at The Speakeasy and Katie, always full of questions, asks the bartender about the box behind the counter; He doesn't know what it is. He reasons that if someone leaves this at the end of the bar...at the Speakeasy, then they must not want it. He says we can keep it (isn't it cute? That's a fork and a knife, by the way. "Why?" You ask? "why does it have a fork and a knife?" I won't keep you in suspense...)

It's a Flesh Eating Bacteria!! or Necrotizing fasciitis or Necro Fashy if you're Meredith or if you're into giving it a pet name... Isn't it PERFECT?? Needless to say, opening it at happy hour made it even better and many "you might need gloves to handle him" and "now don't go getting him everywhere" jokes followed. I can't help but think about what Meredith's birthday will bring. If anything it might take a few more months of careful thought and observation to find something so mind-meltingly perfect.

Wanderlust

2010-03-07T09:36:00.000-08:00

So, you know how they say that if you can't find the answers then you should get away so that you can look back on them to see them more clearly? Springtime came in February, which means that every single Pacific Northwesterner has found their way outside, forgetting thier sunglasses, blinding white skin exposed. Including me. And after what felt like an opressive rainy season of getting caught in downpours, getting splashed by a passing bus (apparently, this acually happens in real life and not just in the movies) and feeling like the clouds are hovering just over your head, leaving the house to explore my big backyard and finding warmth and fresh air (and maybe even the occasional answer or two) has been ecstacy.

Long Time, No...

2010-02-11T19:57:00.000-08:00

...Nothing and I'm so sorry for neglecting you, dear readers. I have no excuses, I'm just not that kind of girl. I think you know why it's been so long; Life. This has been a heck of a new year so far. Maybe not in the best ways, but like a wise friend told me; "you're probably just getting all of the crap out of the way so that the rest of the year can be amazing." I just love her.

So, here is a mix tape of photos as proof of the battles won and lost since...NOVEMBER?! Ahem...wow. I really owe you one...In any event, here are a few of the things I meant to tell you about:

Oxygen in the Workplace

2009-11-16T10:05:00.000-08:00

Let me introduce you to some very important players in my cubicle: The Plants!

That's a spent Orchid to the left and two temperamental African Violets.

We are cheering the Orchid on, because the supervisor discarded it when it was finished blooming, calling it an "ugly stick" and as someone who has little to no experience keeping indoor plants alive, I'd really like to show her. That's new growth on it's far left side, so I hope she has her fork ready to eat some words...

I think I really have a chance, too because as you will notice, with no effort whatsoever, the bulb in the green pot started growing. In fact, I had taken almost all of the dirt out and was getting it ready to take home...3 months ago when I looked down to notice a bit of green! I started watering it again, because I thought that plants needed water...until it put out a brand new shoot with NOTHING to go on. Farming is so terribly confusing.

And those voilets? Ugh. One of them has stopped blooming all together and only produces new leaves and the other will bloom spectacularly off of one lonely branch, then a week later, it looks like it's dying a horrible plant death and then a month later, it sprouts a few new glamorous pink flowers. It's all so very dramatic.

Look Behind You!

2009-11-11T18:14:00.000-08:00

Usually I am so focused on getting to work in the morning to really take in the view but on Tuesday, some pink brush strokes in the sky caught my eye and when I turned around, I was amazed to see this:

The view from the Burside Bridge never disappoints:

And while you are remembering to turn around once in a while, don't forget to look where you are going so you don't miss the contrasting dark sky and remarkable red of the trees...

Reading is Fundamental

2009-11-09T08:20:00.000-08:00

What is it about this time of year that makes me want to hole away in my bed and read and cook and drink tea and wear warm socks and a tacky winter sweater with skiiers on it? Could a hundred Christmas songs be wrong? Seriously, David Sedaris even has a homge to Christmas; Holidays On Ice. I thought it would be a fitting way to get the season started.

I have this stack of books (next to a stack of magazines) by my bed and depending on my mood, I pick one. Really, the magazines are there for me to thin out. One impulse buy at the register has a tendency to follow me for months until I can convince myself that the article on glitter pumpkins is of no more use to me. This often takes more time than you would think. You can glitter anything, you know. Think of how cute some pink and red glitter pinecones would be for valentines day! Just sayin...

In any case, I had purchased a couple of books that I had been meaning to read, then Katie sent me Eat My Words, which she had read for Grad school and that sounded interesting, and THEN after a particularly lucky day at the library where everything that I had been meaning to check out for the past six months was actually in, my pile became unmanagable. It's a good thing I own World War Z and Fragile Things (my leftover Halloween choices), because I only have three more weeks with the Idiot Girl, Mastering the Art of French Cooking and Where's My Jetpack?...a short, torrid affair to be sure but for someone with the obvious attention issues I do, learning about sauces one night and then the reason that jetpacks are a terrible idea the next (three words: inebreated human torpedo--Isn't that the greatest thing you've ever heard?!) is perfect for me.

P.S. Keep those recommendations coming!

Notes to self:

2009-10-06T13:17:00.000-07:00

-New favorite word: Wordsalad. I heard it from a clinical psychologist to describe the ramblings of his more challenged clients. Pretty sure it's an accurate description of the things I say before coffee, too.

-Dinner at the Savoy with your momma might not solve all of your problems, but it can make things look a whole lot better.

-My first experience with sardines at the Farm Cafe was not scary at all. Unlike their handmade gnocchi which was scary good; What is the secret to gnocchi?!?

-While loosing weight is awesome, midriff exposure is not. Not at the office, not if you loose 30 pounds, not if you look like Tammy Wynette and especially not at age 60, not at any age...Midriff exposure is just not cool. It's a serious problem. Seriously.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson is a writer, damn it! The things one overhears in a Community College locker room can be so disturbing: Pasta feed/ shaving party anyone?

-I finished "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" and it made me realize that with just a little more thought in my grocery shopping and gardening, it could make a big difference. I also learned that Barbara Kingsolver is the 74th most dangerous person to America and that there are things about the sexuality of turkeys that I have no business knowing.

-The sirens in my neighborhood are normal. Less normal is a chorus of sirens at 9 oclock at night, or at any time. Finding out on the morning news that it was the crew of Cops involved in an accident just down the street...Represent Portland, ya'll!

-Cardinal Rule of going by yourself to places (like housewarming parties) where you don't really know anyone: Man the booze. You will not be lonely for long.

-I should go to more rock shows. I have yet to out grow them. As a rule, they should also be held on weekends, what is all of this Monday night business?

-You are proficient in the ways of etiquette and still you manage to offend someone you don't even know by asking "for realsies?" *slaps hand against forehead.* But for realsies. Scotch comes from Scotland. It's not a quantum leap. Otherwise, I like you.

Mount Angel Oktoberfest

2009-09-23T08:09:00.000-07:00

Even before the first day of fall there is another tradition that marks the beginning of my favorite season; Oktoberfest.

Despite the approaching cold weather, Oktoberfest (to be celebrated each year at Mt Angel in September until your dear reporter can afford the real thing) is usually hot. This year however, dark rain clouds threatened to chase people indoors, which was perfect fall weather (unlike that stupid hot sun) and which is not necessarily a bad thing when the whole town is decorated in the Bavarian theme and indoors could be the Biergarten (with an "i") where a stein and traditional German music await (the music is best appreciated over a stein anyway. How we love to celebrate other cultures...)

It stopped raining long enough for us to walk around the craft area, to watch in hypnotic wonder at the Sound of Music techno remix group dance number, get snacks (and the accompanying tummy ache) and to watch the Weiner Dog Races (is that even German?) before the clouds rolled in and dumped on the crowd as they gathered to watch the Glockenshpiel (we just LOVE zee German language!) tell the story of Mt Angel.

So now that it's all over and you must look forward to it all year, here are some things to keep in mind for next year:

-Apparently, they were not selling the robin hood hats that I love so dearly this year. Best to bring your own from last year to be safe.

-If you want the Bavarian Bar (you do,) ask for the Bavarian Bar. Do not ask for "that ice cream thing with the chocolate and stuff," as this means "Ring that bell, young lady! Rodger! Get this young lady the works! Yayyyyy!" in German. You do not want the works. But, as the $5 benefits the firefighters, you just ring that damned bell as hard as you can and go "YYyyaaaay!" And get yourself some Pepto.

-The likelihood that you need a giant button pin of yourself in your beloved robin hood hat smiling like you don't have the tummy ache from hell is minimal. Get one anyway.

Ten pairs of shoes on a wire

2009-09-22T20:25:00.000-07:00

Or is that ten and a half?

Portland Sunrise

2009-09-22T20:23:00.000-07:00

Paid Time Off: Boston/ Maine

2009-09-11T13:21:00.000-07:00

Where are my manners? I didn't even leave an "Out of Office" reply for you...

First there was Boston; confusing directions and even more confusing intersections, beautiful to look at, fan-effing-tastic food---and the people; I love them. They get me and I love them. That, and they are so close to Rhode Island that they even eat the Willow Tree Chicken Salad and drink the Narragansett Beer. Salt of the earth, I tell you!

I spent some quality time with the bestie before leaving her in Simmon's capable hands, caught up with some oldies but goodies and made new friends of cashiers and bartenders alike. It was really very exaughsting...

Then, there was Maine and the Penobscot rafting trip:

7 hours in an old Jeep Wrangler and we only knew the tall german girl on the far right in the stylish helmet, but everyone else made us feel right at home (some of us more than others-winky, winky) but who wouldn't feel right at home with a little sangria, 50 lbs of sausage (not just a dirty joke) and no privacy?

Notes to self

2009-08-20T09:46:00.000-07:00

-There is nothing right about having to work in a cubicle. This is exacerbated by hours upon hours of your coworker's radio (think "I was told I could listen to my radio at a reasonable volume.") Tuned to the light rock station, no less.

-There is further nothing right about radio stations playing hours upon hours of crap. I hate Rod Stewart.

-Ignoring Tuesdays one Pandora song at a time is preferred in these circumstances.

-I fear spiders more than they fear me. I sprained my arm defending myself to prove it.

-Contrary to popular belief, awnings do NOT break the fall of those who jump from the 8th floor of a building, nor do they bounce them hilariously onto their feet so that they can continue on their way.

-The beeping sound that trucks make when they back up will be the sound my head makes before it explodes. How do construction workers concentrate?!

-Ex-boyfriends are like whack-a-mole; they pop up unexpectedly making you want to whack them on the head with a mallet so they'll disappear.

-Sayler's Old Country Kitchen is an acceptible, albeit bizarre place to forget these mini-traumas over a glass of Cabernet and a giant frigging steak. Dig the mural.

-Being around a 9-year-old has made me realize that I act a lot younger than I give myself credit for.

- Have you been to Pok Pok? My brother and I have started meeting once a month to knock off the restaurants on our hit list. It was delicious. Get there early (they start dinner at 5 and the happy hour menu is limited,) enjoy a beer and order a bunch of different stuff to share (I know, it's not in sibling nature to share but we managed.) We had the Kuung Op Wun Sen and loved the caramelized texture of the noodles and the prawns were plump and perfect, the Yam Muu Krob with the crispy pork belly and cucumber while tasty, was a bit too salty. We would probably try something different next time. And of course, the fish sauce wings. We went with spicy and they were spectacular. Still salty, but we would definitely get these again. Definitely.

-Guess who's taken up jewelery making? So far, I'd say I kick ass. But that's just two classes speaking...

Blog-a-versary!

2009-08-12T20:50:00.000-07:00

So after a year of developing ground breaking, world stopping, face shredding blog posts (it really is a miracle we all survived,) what's a girl to do to top herself? How about a nod to my seventh blog post ever (technically the anniversary was last month. Worry not though, beloved readers; this post is chock FULL of action, adventure and sexy awesomeness to make up for the delay. By delay, I mean I forgot.)

Not that I needed a reason to escape to Coos Bay and to Kelly, mind you. An open invitation is reason enough for me. But she went several steps further by securing...are you ready? Beautiful weather for the full three days and...are you sitting down? WHALES! My first ever sightings off of the Pacific coast!

See the smudge in the middle? See it? It's spout mist. I know, right?!

Oh! Oh! And see the blurry white thing in the middle? See? Right there? That my friends, is hot fin action.

That's right, folks. The seaside was like a circus that day and my camera was just barely keeping up. Trust me though, on the big screen, you can see the barnacles on those babies. You can also hear the barking of about fifteen thousand seals off to the North which may better explain the whale presence...I kid. They were grey whales. As if you couldn't tell by my pictures.

If it was possible, it got better. Kelly is recently engaged. She is planning her own wedding and exasperatingly calm. I was able to offer almost no help, I wasn't even able to convince her to let me take her dress shopping. Not even for one widdle-bitty hour. Something about best friend/ mother obligations. Yawn. I did however, take the opportunity to look through all of her bridal magazines and offer my (unsolicited) oppinion and very helpfully (I feel) narrow down her choices.

She took me by the beautiful venue; Shore Acres Garden (you may have been there at Christmas time for the lights.) We took it upon ourselves to make a visual for her fiancee Shane (who really didn't need it, but he was away all weekend fighting fires or some such nonsense, so we felt we should document our whereabouts and activities in case alibis were required of us down the road.) That, and there's just something about a gnome and his white rabbit on holiday, don't you agree?

It was quiet, and we spent long, lazy hours drinking Del's or wine, deciding what to eat or where to walk to next. We giggled at her cat. We talked about our Rhode Island friends and Rhode Island ways (you wouldn't understand.) We watched movies and decorated pottery. She made a kitty food bowl and inspired by the above little fellow, I made the happy couple an engagement gnome. I know, I know. You all want me for your parties, but I'm a busy girl. And engagement gnomes are very personal.

So thank you most beloved readers, for a years worth of hanging on my every word (even the prepositions. Don't lie.) I have truly enjoyed thinking of things to say while on long car rides and finding divine inspiration while sitting next to stinky people on the bus...or while harvesting tomatos. It's been great fun.

And thank you Kelly for your company and the use extra bedroom and the new decorations therein for me to snoop in. You know me too well.

There you have it. Go forth and live your life. But come back soon, k?

Harvest Time

2009-08-06T11:09:00.000-07:00

It's August. To you, this might mean one more month of summer for the kids or that the heat will probably start winding down. But to me, it means an abundance of tomatos. An over abundance, even. My cup and several bowls, even a shoebox runneth over.

Luckily, I am prepared. I would rather have WAY too many of them than none of them or worse, pay a bazillion dollars for them. Needless to say, this week has been...inspirational; Monday, there was Gazpacho.

I have never made it before, but I re-learned a valuable lesson; some things are better the next day. This was truly the case. Garnished with some sauteed shrimp and black pepper biscuits, I was very pleased with myself indeed *insert pat on the back.*

On Tuesday, I decided to try a tomato/zucchini (we had some monsters in the garden)/goat cheese tart. Sadly, this did not go as well; instead of puff pastry, next time, I will try a pie crust, or better yet, a cornmeal crust as I neglected to bake the pastry for long enough and the middle was soggy. Sad...onward and upward.

Wednesday was a fantastic success. Wednesday saw inspiration from a friend who is also in the midst of tomato/ zucchini bliss. Ready? Tomato/ Zucchini/ goat cheese lasgana. I know, right? Mixed with onions and red peppers and topped with green onions from the garden-excuse me, I need a moment-it was good. It was. So. Very. Good. I made two; one with sausage and one veggie in return for a favor (and a pair of kick-ass old school converse in the American flag print!!)

In any event, I am tired and on cooking strike for the rest of the week; Tonight, my favorite Lea ever is having an art opening and tomorrow, the cutest 6-year-old I know is having a birthday (think cocktails and cake and treat bags!)

A Day at the Seaside

2009-07-19T20:02:00.000-07:00

After living a quarter mile from the beach for ten years, living an hour and a half from it took some getting used to. Slowly, I forgot about why that meant anything to me and became conditioned to occasional weekend trips to the beach.

We recently drove the North Coast loop from Seaside to Tillamook. A day trip. But the rejuvenating effects were undeniable. It had been years since I had been through that area where I spent so much time and had originally fallen in love with Oregon's huge, rugged coast. It's nothing like the Atlantic, it's not even like the southern coast of Oregon. It's like something out of another time; breathtaking heights and picturesque bays...it's beautiful and so unbelievably relaxing. This needs to happen more often.

BUNK Sandwiches: A tale of ships passing in the night.

2009-06-22T10:01:00.000-07:00

I first noticed the wee little store front on my way to work, before they were even open in the mornings. I figured I would never make it there since it's open 8-3, right smack dab during my cubicle time at work. Score: one for work, none for me...

Then things changed and now I take a different way to work, but I always kept them in the back of my mind, thinking longingly about the possible sandwich combinations, being the sandwich lover that I am.

Recently, work has required that I travel over near the Bunk shop to take some trainings that I put off when I first started a year ago, like the new employee training... Ahem, work 2, Mary 0.

So a couple of weeks ago, I sat confused in my harassment training; "why do they keep saying 'supervisor'?" I kept wondering. Because it was the supervisor harrassment training, that's why. Work 3, Mary 0.

I huffed down Grand Ave on my way back to work, thinking that I would soothe my pain with a Bunk sandwich. I would finally get to try one after all of my anticipation. I approached Morrison, I looked but could not see it in all of my frustration. It had been so long since I had seen it, I had forgotten that it was down a block. The indignities of that day were many indeed.

A week later, like a jab to the ribs, I saw the write up in the Oregonian's Food and Drink section...

Which brings us to today; as I worked furiously on my Monday duties in my cubicle, an outlook reminder popped up to let me know that my next training was in 15 minutes. On Hawthorne, a 25 minute walk at least. I had forgotten all about it.

On the bus, I vowed to change my Outlook settings to ensure ample warning in the case that this happens again. The way things are going, a girl can't be too sure.

I rushed into the buillding, looked quickly at the training announcement sign, but didn't see mine listed, "screw it, I'm 15 minutes late as it is, just get there," my mind snapped at me. I get there. There's nothing. I double check at reception, nothing. NOTHING! There is no training.

Now, completely exasperated and questioning my fragile Monday sanity, I found myself walking down Grand one more time. I figure it must have been serendipity, because I did not give up this time and found my way to Bunk sandiwches.

I walked in to the sound of trumpets playing in my mind, the guy from the picture in the Oregonian tured to face me, there was no line. I stared in awe at the fantastic looking chalkboard menu. Then, a little disappointed, I realized it was morning; my choices were an egg sandwich, or an egg sandwich with meat. I chose ham and not to question serendipity.

In five minutes, I was back on my way, in 10 I was back at the office and a half hour later, I was unwrapping the foil on my sandwich.

I didn't even recognize it. I wondered momentarily if I had gotten the wrong order. A breakfast sandwich on a poppyseed roll? The hell you say.

The yolk had broken in transit and I sat admiring the ham, sliced thin, a little crispy and generously stacked on. It is messy. It is fantastic. Here I sit, four bites in, telling you to dust it off and file it in the front of your mind. Make it a priority. Their lunch will be my priority for my next training. Barring there IS a training this time...even if there's not;

Work 27, Mary 1.

UPDATE:

After today's "Leveraging Diversity" training, a co worker and I went back (with extreme prejudice) for lunch and split:

-Roast beef with caramelized onions and some kind of sharp cheese and horseraddish sauce(followed by gutteral groans)
-Pulled pork with apple-something slaw (followed by "Oh my GAWD" 's )
-and a chocolate cupcake with peanut butter frosting that we are still talking about.

We timed it just right and scored a table, it was actually so crowded that it was difficult to leave. As if it wasn't hard enough...sigh.

I don't even care that I still smell like bacon.

Y La Bamba

2009-06-15T07:54:00.000-07:00

I'm loving them lately. Perhaps too much. The sound is nostalgic, almost like it's coming from a victrola and medatative.

UPDATE:
Playing wednesdays in July 2010 at the Laurelthirst (which is a perfect small, intimate venue for these guys) and if you can't make it, they have an album set to be released September 28th. Now with an accordian player! which gives them more of a Parisian street vibe. As if they could get any better...

Evan B Harris

2009-04-29T08:38:00.000-07:00

Is stuck in my head.
His amazing work turned up in my schrimshaw research.
Here's his website...sigh.

Having lived in Rhode Island, I love the sea/ mythical/ folk -ness, and living in Portland now, it's an amazing coincedence that I find that he ties the two together for me (he lives here, too.)

I could spend all day here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/evanbharris/

Notes to self:

2009-04-23T07:54:00.000-07:00

-When a gold-toothed construction worker asks you if you want to go to Hawaii, he's probably not talking about the state. If he is, and you've already told him that you're saving yourself for marriage, this tour of the "Aloha State" will probably end up with one or both of you getting a ride to jail from Dog the Bounty Hunter.

-The next time someone at the bus stop ignores your book and/or Ipod and asks you "what are you addicted to?" the answer is "God" and not "privacy," which for some reason only exacerbates things.

-When you are at yoga, and a very tall man in very short shorts decides to put his mat next to yours, prepare to avert your eyes.

-$25 in Ice cream gift certificates is a LOT of ice cream and makes for one delicious dinner.

-Also, Bakery Bar's cheddar scallion scones are fantastic.

Cha Cha Cha Chia's

2009-04-22T15:28:00.000-07:00

Are super hard to find. Personally, I have never recieved one or given one as a gift or saw any value in them (other than the super fantastic commercials, that is.)

But after 28 years, I finally have need for one. This one:

This is the PERFECT gift for my friend's birthday. Now, if you have ever paid any attention to the commercial, you would know that they are available at all manner of retail outlets. Or so they say.

Gifter be warned; after waltzing into several of those fine establishments and several of their counterparts (it got personal) and asking where we might find the Chia Pet section, we learned that Chia pets are a "seasonal" item. I know! You think to yourself "but it's spring. What other season is there for growing things?"

You would be as surprised as we were when the cashier at Rite Aid informs you that "they are really popular christmas gifts" and is seconded by the customer at the check stand in a tone that insinuates that we must not know anything at all.

What?! Since when? I have never recieved a Chia Pet. Not one. Not ever. How could I not know this? How do I always end up staring at them questioningly when I least want one (always) and not now? How am I so out of the loop?

In any event, when the Chia Pet finally finds a place in your life (even if it does take 28 years,) know that you may have to order it online and track it patiently from Nevada.

April Fool

2009-04-02T14:25:00.000-07:00

I was once told that I had an old soul by a very young blonde hippy chick I knew that claimed she could read palms. As it turns out though, most of my old friends' palms said they also had old souls.

She may have been onto something because to know me is to know that it's only a matter of time before another old dude hits on me. In fact it's been 7 hours, I'm due.

I am so serious.

For example; I met a friend at Poor Richards for happy hour last night and I hadn't even walked through the door yet when an old, drunk dude looked at me through his old dude glasses and said "You're so pretty," shook his head and walked off. As I waited for her for the next half hour, patiently sipping my double scotch and soda, I was leered at shamelessly by the regulars. Apparently Poor Richards Lounge is where my fan club meets, who knew?

A couple of weeks before, we met at a place in SE Portland. I walked up to the bar and the old coot next to me paid for my beer and told me I was a "looker." When Heidi walked in, unsurprised at this attention, she asked me why I didn't get her a free beer.

I have a long history of old fart enchantment and I will spare the sordid details, but I will tell you that "friends," in their charming amusement, throw me under the bus by encouraging these suitors by saying highly entertaining things like"Watch out for her, she digs older men," "Oh, Mary LOVES cardigans" and "Oh my gosh, did you play this song? She (meaning me) LOVES Grand Funk Railroad." And then giggle to each other as I use my patented friendly/stern technique to make them go away.

I do not love Grand Funk Railroad.

I'm not sure what about me repels people my own age, not that it matters because I'm in a relationship (he's only 4 years older,) and makes me irresistible to guys my father's age. I have recieved countless free drinks, invitations to join them in an "innocent" glass of wine and offers to pay for the entire table's dinner.

This mysterious magnetism of mine does not limit itself by my company; my boyfriend, my friends or my parents (my PARENTS people!) and does not appear to get weaker as I age. In fact, it is one of the little indignities of my day to day functioning that no one (my parents aside) is really all that surprised about anymore. Most embrace this as an opportunity to get one up on 'ol Mary and maybe even get a free drink.

We are all so very amused.

Over the years, I have garnered an uncanny talent for shutting them down. I have learned that there is no such thing as an "innocent" glass of wine, that if the word "innocent" is used, nothing innocent is intended. Nothing at all. I have also learned many, many dirty jokes.

I have not yet learned how to bottle this to sell to the grandmothers and cougars of the world, however. But you can bet that it is very much apart of my plan for world domination. Keep that in mind the next time you send a geezer my way with a snicker and a wink.

I hate you.

Thru Who?

2009-03-18T14:23:00.000-07:00

I am amazed at this, taking all these You Tube videos and mushing them together feeds right into my Found Magazine (check it out on my blog roll,) "different, random peices taken out of context, hit one harmonious, human note...of awesomeness." You can find more of this Here:
http://thru-you.com/

The Sweet Life

2009-02-04T17:31:00.000-08:00

Was it just me, or was January the craziest month ever? Baby birthdays, dad birthdays, lost the sweet precious man dog, got cable...I for one am welcoming February with open arms. And these Peanut Butter cupcakes a la Martha Stewart (Dad is a peanut butter kinda guy, so for his birthday:)

So, as you can probably tell, this is quickly turning into a food blog. Those of you who know me well (all of you at this point) will not be surprised. I like food. I like occasions and well, the more I cook, the more I realize that just going to the store and picking something up is just not good enough anymore. Don't get me wrong, I still crave the bad (Smartfood) and the ugly (Nacho Cheesy Doritos) but when the good is sooo very good, there's really no substitute for making it yourself. Except for maybe the macaroons that were the maiden voyage of my brand-spanking new KitchenAid mixer:

Tasty? Yes. Fluffy? Notsomuch. They were only remotely maccaroonish and paled in comparison to the Caramel/ Fleur De Sel macaroon I had only days later at Pix: http://www.pixpatisserie.com/ . Which is fine, I do enjoy a challenge.

Miss you, Sweet Man Dog.

2009-01-09T09:10:00.000-08:00

alias: Simmy Bean, Simmy Tomato, Von Stinken-shtien, Pooper, Doggin, Shnitzel, Pooperdogginshnitzel, Simmy Simmy Cocoa bean, pie, Lovey Man, Booger, Handsome Faced-Man Dog, Snoot, Simmy da Man, Sassafrass, Snugglepants, Best Man friend.

Day 4 (Christmas Eve:) In Which Our Heroine Finally Cracks

2008-12-22T20:04:00.000-08:00

Great. Now I've been reduced to puns.

Now that I've been snowed in for the fourth day in a row, I realize that more hours in the day to do the things that I don't normally get a chance to is really very nice, but that I should be careful what I wish for:

In the beginning, I was productive, happy to have the time. I was more than productive; I put an end to my chronically flat cookies. I was a cooking machine:

(Naner bread, fluffy, delicious Snickerdoodles and sweet and spicy chicken wings)

There was macaroni and cheese and stuffed pork chops and strusel muffins. Now there are leftovers. I'm out of ideas and we don't have chains on the car. Which reminds me; back on day 2, the Ladies next door got cabin fever and decided to dig their way out and make a break for it. We helped to dig them out and thought that that was the end of it. We went back in to warm up. A few minutes later, the garage door opens again and her little car comes shooting out backwards through the snow bank at the end of the driveway. It was really spectacular to watch as the snowbank practically exploded. We-and a couple passersby-spent the next half hour digging and pushing her back into the garage. It was a noble attempt at freedom.

So yes, productive. I have walked an average of two miles a day (the last four were on account of my work cancelling late...wholly unamusing, by the way.) In the beginning, this was fun and novel.

I have made emergency trip after emergency trip to the store. Several stores. We tried everywhere in the hopes of finding a snow shovel (the above dig-out was done with nothing but a short handled garden shovel.) I have watched every movie in the cabinet and done my sewing. I finished the third Twilight book. I have cleaned and been driven to madness in between movies with the "Arctic Blast" coverage. I'm out of dry shoes and firewood.

They say that there's an end to the snow, that one day soon, I'll be able to drive again and see new things. Friends, family, my doggies and the man cat. I'm not so sure.

Snow Days for Some, Cubicles for Others.

2008-12-19T08:48:00.000-08:00

Despite the cold temperatures, snow, slush and cancellation of practically every school in the region almost everyday this week, you would have thought that the 'ol employer would have some mercy. Not so much. As a result, I have been enviously watching it snow from the sixth floor for days on end; a freak occurance for Portland, Oregon.

Katie and I braved the cold on Sunday with the promise of fabulous door prizes at Crafty Wonderland and ended up walking most of the way there and home; Trimet is so unpredictable in this weather. We never imagined we'd have to work the next day, this is Portland!

With the two hour delay on Monday, I fared the walk and was pleased to find a relatively nice (albeit very cold) morning. It took an hour for my legs to come back to life once I finally got to work (the legwarmers did not extend above the knee...hot stuff I know, but we don't need no stinking long johns, this is Portland!)

It has snowed every day, melted, froze and then snowed again-and still no closures here at work. I have done two storm-related shopping trips and we're told to expect another wild weekend. So I guess I'm left to ask myself how much faith I have left in the weatherman. By the look of the empty cases at the grocery, it's seeming more and more like the bread and milk companies are in on this, too.

My Walks

2008-12-16T10:29:00.000-08:00

Back in the oppressive heat of August when my ride left me stranded at work, I was prepared; wearing appropriate shoes and packing adequate water so I decided to walk the 3 miles home. I quickly discovered exactly how far that is (especially in the oppressive heat of August.)

With only a couple of sabbaticals, I have been walking home three days a week. Now, I could start spouting off the health benefits, how I no longer huff and puff, how it used to take me two hours and how it takes me an hour and change now, but I won't. I want to talk about all the stuff I see:

The wierd (That's somebody's discarded halloween costume. Having trouble reading the gage? It reads Love-------Kill. It's set to kill:)

The Random:

and the Beautiful:

I have seen the city in all different lights and weather. I'm really enjoying the time to myself. Sometimes it's the only time I get to myself all day long. Sometimes I'm thinking about what I'm going to make for dinner, sometimes I compete with my best time getting home, sometimes I listen to music and sometimes I don't. Mostly though, I get some of my best thinking done in those 3 miles. With a city like Portland, it's no mystery why.

A lesson in the art of FAIL.

2008-12-06T21:32:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you fling open the fundraising door, head high, good intentions, Christmas cheer shirt on and all. So excited by the prospect of raising awareness and community involvement in your most favoritest charity (and ten of your most favoritest, handsomest man horses) that you are having heart palpatations (or is it the caffiene?)

Sometimes, you spend your free time (sick time, too) convincing potential donors that you are a.) a good cause b.) not a fraud and c.) worth the donation even though it's the very last possible minute. Despite your hacking cough, you hound them.

You hound and plan and solicit and finally, the day of the Christmas party comes. You are responsible for things they are depending on you for.

You hang out in bed because it is Saturday, after all and you eat your delicious everything bagel in bed, making lists and planning still. You decide you will venture downtown for some shopping even with everything going on down there: Ale Fest, the Farmers Market, Saturday Market and the reason for your own adventure ScanFest (what can I say? The pickled herring eating contest was an alluring possibility.)

It's a blast. You recognize the straw art and gnomes and swedish meatballs and understand your mom a little better. The Shriner Motorcycle run goes by...for like an hour. You watch a guy with a mouth full of pickled herring turn green and successfully complete your Christmas shopping. Pat yourself on the back. Thousands of bikes thunder down Broadway. You have earned Dim Sum (you might be Norwegian, but you're cultured.)

Sometimes you run a little late-about a half hour by your estimation, but you've done your homework and you only have a couple of stops to make and prizes to finish up and you're two hours early. You are so money.

Sometimes you get there, four bags, two sizable boxes, several prizes (the embodiment of all your hard work) and missing one crucial piece of information; the start time.

You see, you think the party starts at 6 when it actually started at 2:30. It dawns on you that you suck and that the party is minutes away from over. It's not a good feeling.

This is something you are really good at, parties that is. After last night's failure at conjuring any amount of Christmas spirit (and in all reality, probably scaring it away until next year) you are kinda counting on this.

You fail.

You decide to work very quickly to at least get the prizes out, then focus on the pictures you are going to take for the donors you worked so very hard to procure. The batteries in your camera die. Not to worry; you bought more at the dollar store, there is the most beautiful sunset and if you are lucky, you'll just get the pink sun reflecting off of Mt. Hood. You replace the batteries, your camera flickers to life long enough for the lens to stick out and then die. It is now stuck this way. None of your brand new, dollar store batteries work. Now you are really, very angry at yourself.

You leave, muttering to yourself the whole (hour-long) ride home.

Sometimes, all the friggin "Mele Kalikimaka" in the world is no help.

Leftovers

2008-12-03T11:22:00.000-08:00

And so, I'm still full from Thanksgiving (even though by some cruel fate, I was sick and couldn't taste my T-day dinner.) The leftovers are gone, having lived on to serve as a turkey shepards pie, a risotto and another of my own invention; the Thanksgiving sandwich. Use your imagination to picture artesian bread smeared with garlic-y, sour creamy mashed potatos and layered with stuffing, Turkey and cranberry sauce. It's wrong, it's right, just like Thanksgiving.

The risotto-my personal favorite, was the result of leftover butternut squash soup combined with the stick-to-your-ribs-ness of everyone's favorite comfort pasta, risotto. I love making risotto, it's layers require attentive stirring (which is good for the OCD part of me) and it's so very versitile.

I sauteed some onions and garlic in a mixture of butter and olive oil until they became translucent (the butternut squash soup had carmelized onions in it already.) Once they were ready, I poured in the rice and toasted it briefly before tossing in a little white wine and then some chicken stock. Slowly. Keep stirring.

When the rice absorbed the stock, I started layering by then adding some soup a little at a time and then chicken stock. And then parmesan cheese. A little cream, more soup, some black pepper, more chicken stock. For an hour I stirred, the rice getting creamier and more fragrant. Finally, when the rice became aldente, I tossed in some peas and a little siracha before serving it up and garnishing it with some spectacular Tillamook Vintage white cheddar and green onions. We even had a choice of leftover roast or ham to have on the side.

The next day at lunchtime, while I was devouring the leftovers (made even better-if it was possible- by sitting over night) my coworker asked me what that glorious smell was. Then another coworker came by, following her nose. It was so, so good. Tasting it made it taste even better.

It is my experience that just about anything can be made better the next day. You've had time to think about what would make it even better. Like that roast with vegetables. After thinking on it the next morning, we picked up some crusty bread, toasted it and served the roast with some romaine and deliciously stinky roqeufort et voila! I love revising.

In other news, I am LOVING online shopping. I'm almost done, in fact and I didn't even have to brave the Black Friday crowds to get a bargain. Who says you can't be productive while nursing a hacking cough and watching the daytime TV you miss so much at work? I might never go to the mall again. In fact, I might make it my New Years resolution. Wrap your mind around that, huh? New Years. Three Weeks. New Presdient. New New New. I am so good in fact, that I have been commissioned by my Aunt in Virginia to do her holiday shopping for our Portland relatives. You can now contract me for your holiday shopping. I also enjoy wrapping...

And...and?! I am anxiously awaiting the 3rd Twilight book. Vanessa? Kelly? You two have fostered an addiction- I hope you are happy. If you aren't familiar, they are the equivalent of 12-year-old-girl-fantasy, like Tiger Beat. And? I am addicted. My name is Mary and I am addicted to 12-yr-old-girl porn. Vampire vs. Warewolf, true love at age 16, in High School: And I can't get enough. The ladies at work can't get enough and perhaps the most bestest of all; skeptic and cynic Katie has fallen for them a mere five chapters into the first novel.

How the mighty have fallen.

Mis En Scene

2008-09-05T09:24:00.000-07:00

People either love Portland or they hate it. If they love it, they get the glint in their eyes that indicates a forthcoming relocation. A couple days ago, in a conversation with one of these newbies, he said that he could get all of his ammunition for his stand-up act from the Max. This reminded me that I hadn't posted for you, dear readers, in some time. Please do enjoy:

Its standing room only on the MAX this fall afternoon, and I make room for myself under the bike rack. I am holding on for dear life as the driver makes liberal use of the brakes. A gentleman with a bike gets on at the next stop and I am forced into the aisle, trying to keep my umbrella from flopping open and poking someone.

Like me, the woman standing to my right is facing forward. She talks on her cell phone as she peers through the plastic panel in front of her. The people on the other side of the panel have their backs to her and are eating their lunch, MacDonald’s.

The woman with shopping bags at her feet, is telling the person on the cell phone that she had her eye on this coat and had to have it. Now, she is heading to work. She has black curly hair and is wearing tight clothes and clunky shoes, which make her seem tall.

“I hate the MAX,” she says into the phone. “I need to get off of this mother f—ing train. Did she—yeah? Is it infected?” I start to regret eavesdropping especially since my only allowable view is of cheeseburgers being devoured. “It is? Do they have to open up her leg?”

I am relieved to be distracted by a man in a dirty blue sweatshirt, massaging eucalyptus oil into his hands. He takes it upon himself to give the two women sitting across from him- who are both tourists and who are doing their best to ignore him- the tour:

“This is the stop where Saturday Market is. I remember when all of the hippies hung out over there and everyone else was over on that side and now lots of tourists come here.” Though polite, the women are not interested and their obvious discomfort draws smiles from some of the bystanders, thankful I'm sure that the attention wasn't on them. The potent scent of eucalyptus begins to overwhelm the space and the woman next to me who is still on her cell phone, begins to get agitated and loud.

“What the f—k is that smell? I can not stand the f—ing MAX; I’m never taking it again. What the hell is that smell?”

By the time we get over the bridge to the Rose Quarter, the smells have taken a turn for the worse; the eucalyptus dissipates and the smell of the couple’s quarter pounder lunch takes over. The man has a large side of mayonnaise and he generously dips each bite of his burger. The girl on her cell phone, disgusted, relays the scene to the person on the other end.

The man takes out yet another hamburger, following the same protocol. By this time, any onlookers are watching in horror. When he gets to the last bite, he smears on the rest of the mayo and gobbles it up.

“Oh. My. God.” The woman makes gagging noises, “What the f—k! That is so foul. I need to get off this Mother F—ing train, do you understand me?” She is shouting desperately into her phone.
We both get off at Lloyd center, not a moment too soon, either. She still on the phone and me having lost my appetite.

You don't say...

2008-08-23T20:03:00.000-07:00

Having so many different friends naturally lends to a lot of variety: Jam making or Rollerderby with Katie, Monster Trucks with Heidi, Art shows with Lea and maybe even a New Kids show with Vanessa (this last one is VERY tentative-more on that in a minute.) As you can see, I'm very well rounded.

I decided not too long ago that when someone recommends a movie or book or new band or restaurant or something of the sort, that I should try it. Many people listen politely, but I've found that not many actually seek out their friend's suggestion. I outlined this idea in my "Sabotage Cafe" posting on July 27th. I'll pause while you refresh your memory...

Good. Now, I know that this seems like the most obvious of ideas, letting someone else recommend a new book or movie. How many times has your friend said "Dude, I'm so into this band right now" and you might have said to yourself "that's nice," and forgotten it a minute later? Following up gives you a ton of insight into your friend and who knows, you might even like it.

You might think to yourself, "my GAWD Katie has wretched taste in music, why should I trust her?" I"ll tell you why; because you're friends. You don't have everything in common and that's what makes things so interesting. I went to see Snow Patrol with her and you know what? I didn't even care that they were sappy because I was doing something fun with my friend (drinking in public.) To this day though, Snow Patrol is banned from my Ipod for fear that it's sappiness might seep into other songs. Overboard? Maybe. Better to be safe. She has MUCH better taste in books.

Did I care that the kids next to us kids stared in stunned silence while Heidi swore up a storm at the Monster Truck rally? Maybe a little, but a few beers took care of that. Did I care that for a friend's bachelorette party I had to dress up like a harlet from Moulin Rouge and go from club to club telling people "I know it's not halloween, I wish it was halloween?"

That one still hurts.

My point is that we are always doing zany stuff for our friends. They do stuff for us, too. Stepping out of your comfort zone for them brings you closer. A book is a very small sacrifice compared to fishnets and a tophat, yes?

In any event, for better or worse, here are some of the suggestions that I've taken recently:

-Listen to the new New Kids on the Block album (Courtesy of Vanessa): Not so good, actually.
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=393044957

-Watch the "Ginger Kids" episode of South Park (Katie's friend Chris): HeeeeLarious. http://www.southparkzone.com/episode.php?vid=911

-See Iron Man (Mom, Dad, Brother, Kaleb, and most people who I asked): Worth the entire $3 http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0371746/

-Read the Stephanie Meyer's Vampire books (Kelly, Vanessa): Working on it. Apparently, they are very popular and unavailable through the library just yet. Can I borrow yours? http://www.stepheniemeyer.com/twilightseries.html

-Listen to Sawyer Brown's "The Dirt Road" (Jeff): working on it.
http://www.cmt.com/artists/az/sawyer_brown/artist.jhtml

-Watch full episodes of Doogie Howser, M.D. and Family Ties on the internet (myself): Kick ass. http://www.tv.com/doogie-howser-m.d./show/171/videos.html?category=full_episode&tag=subtabs;full_ep

http://www.cbs.com/classics/family_ties/

-Give Howard Stern another chance (Vanessa): Fine. But free Howard Stern apparently doesn't exsist on the internet, and so...no. http://www.howardstern.com/

-Listen to more Malvina Reynolds (Michele): I'm really into folk lately, this is perfect.
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=142824729

-Try North bar on SE 52nd (Heidi): Meh. Only one waitress for happy hour? She served as bartender and cook making it nearly impossible to get a drink. http://maps.google.com/maps?rls=com.microsoft:*:IE-SearchBox&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&sourceid=ie7&rlz=1I7DKUS&um=1&q=north+bar+portland+oregon&fb=1&view=text&latlng=8289833670949237815

-Listen to more Skinny Puppy (Chrissy, Rendall and Mark): one very good idea out of several questionable ones. http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=33377356

-Read "I Was Told There'd Be Cake" (Alicia): Even with the title that she obviously stole from my memoir, it was only so so. http://www.amazon.com/Was-Told-Thered-Be-Cake/dp/159448306X

You will note, not all suggestions work out, but for the most part, it's easy enough to rent or borrow these things from people AND I now have something else to talk to my friends about. Or alternatively, something else to make fun of them about, either way though, this process has made me better informed and I have come away with some new favorites:

-Gogol Bordello (Heidi): http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=8377874

-Read David Sedaris (Katie and Adam):
http://books.google.com/books?as_auth=David+Sedaris

-Read Niel Gaiman (Lea and Katie):
http://books.google.com/books?as_auth=Neil+Gaiman

Now I'll let you know what I'm into so hopefully you can find a new favorite:

-Eat at Powell Seafood, it will spoil you for the other crap:
http://portland.citysearch.com/profile/8461980/portland_or/powell_s_seafood_restaurant.html
-Listen to OPB's In House program. Then if you hear something you like, go to their website, find their program list and then listen to more of the band's stuff on Myspace Music.
http://opbmusic.org/blog/?cat=2

-Read more Steinbeck. Read more classics, most of them are classics for a reason.
http://books.google.com/books?as_auth=John+Steinbeck

Fatheads

2008-08-19T08:59:00.001-07:00

If you live anywhere near Molalla, i.e. in Oregon/ Southern Washington and consider yourself to be a carnivore of any bearing, get yourself to Fathead's BBQ.

I wouldn't normally advertise a place that I consider to be sacred for fear of crowds, but lets face it; there aren't many of you to begin with (yet) and several of you are vegetarians. I'm definitely not giving you all of the secrets (like directions: should you make it to Molalla, you will find that the main part of Main Steet is not very long) because that's part of what I will call the "discovery process,"Here's the deal, though:

Darold was a truck driver for 29 years, going back and forth through the south, the long hours in his cab took their toll on his waistline. It's true what they say about truckers knowing where to eat, he developed a passion for barbecue and a 44 inch waist.

He found that babysitting a fire for hours on end with a cooler of beer by his side was a fun way to spend his time off and that when you sit in the smoke delicately encouraging hunks of meat to supreme smokiness, you aren't so hungry.

The short end of the story is that after retiring as a truck driver and settling on a nice chunk of property in Molalla, he opened Fatheads with no food service experience and without any idea what one serving portion was; all he knew was that he was 250 pounds and one serving was what he could eat. He's happy and fit (now at 179 pounds) with a comfortable stand kept open by a tight knit group of friends and hungry townspeople who will probably hunt me down after I publish their secret for all to see.

I have been there several times over the years after discovering his Little stand on Main Street on a Sunday drive. I've had...nay, devored shredded pork, half a chicken, brisket, most of the sides and tons of samples (he might insist on giving you a tour--take the tour) and nothing has ever been even a little dry or not up to my liking. There's always enough for me to have for lunch the next day.

I'm only partially writing this about the food, because only so much of eating out is about the food. The overall experience, how it leaves you feeling when you leave is what it's about. Eating shouldn't be done alone at your desk (like I am doing now,) it should be done in the company of friends and when we go to Fatheads, we have instant friends: One time, they forgot to give us cornbread and a month later when we came back, they said "aren't you the kids who forgot your cornbread?" And they gave us some...Yeah.

The other night, we got there just before closing and we were welcome to sit around well after while he kicked up his feet, sipped a cold one, supervised a 20-pound london broil and shot the shit with us.

Hungry readers, take my word; don't settle for any old eatery with average food and disinterested, expectant staff. THEY are supposed to be making YOU comfortable and happy, remember? Remember when waiting was an art and owners opened restaurants because they loved it?

In Portland, it can sometimes feel like those days are only a memory with trendy new spots cashing in on the Chef-as-a-celebrity movement and giant new chains moving in and crushing mom and pops. But they are out there. Oh yes dear reader, keep the faith and ye shall be rewarded in the kingdom of divine, pit smoked meats.

End of Summer Road Trip

2008-08-17T20:29:00.000-07:00

The situation, dire. The forecast, severe: 100+ degrees in the city. The a/c, non-existent. The answer? A Road Trip to the majestic Oregon Coast and a good, healthy visit with an old friend.

At 4 hours away, Coos Bay is one gorgeous drive. Lucky for me Kelly, an old friend from Rhode Island, has moved there for work and I was offered her guest room for the weekend where it would be a MUCH more manageable 30 degrees cooler than my apartment.

After dropping the boy off at work Friday morning, I was off for my first road trip in ages. The time alone always does me so much good, it's unfortunate that I don't take them more often but Kelly has been living here for a whole year and I have yet to visit her apartment. Since I wanted to make the most of my long weekend, I was excited to get an early start. I didn't hit any traffic at all on my way down I-5, but the temperature was rising steadily. I drove fast. I didn't realize that Eugene was so damned far south. Passed the Enchanted Forrest, Salem and several Harley Davidson outlets. Once I hit the coast range, it became cool. Just the way I like it.

I had my Ipod on random and was really enjoying the scenery. Beautiful State Route 38 leads through farmland, small, period americana-type towns, dilapidated old farm houses (which I love) and follows the Umpqua river to the mouth of the Pacific Ocean at Reedsport. I made only one stop in Elkton for delicious cinnamon twists at Tomaselli's Pastry Mill and Cafe.

http://www.tomasellispastrymill.com/

There was a cloud of mist over the mountains.

Down 101 to Coos Bay, I was struck by the Art Deco architecture. Many buildings of the period had been abandoned, lending to an eerie spooky movie feel (which I also LOVE.) Other buildings from the town's heyday were still in business and fighting off the end of days with community effort while still others are enjoying renewed attention, like the huge old hotel in North Bend being reconstructed into a homeless shelter.

I was relieved to finally make it to Kelly's place. Being so far away from her family, I am so excited for her to have made friends and a cute little nest for herself in her new home with a new boy, both of which she is obviously in love with.

We picked up right where we left off--we walked to the liqour store for some blueberry vodka and so I could get some photos of the buildings I had passed on my way into town. This was not just so we could get our afternoon buzz, it served a most pointed and nostalgic purpose; we are Rhode Island girls, after all. Kelly had, on her recent trip, purchased Del's mix. For those of you not in the know, Del's is frozen lemonade served from carts and small store fronts all over Rhode Island. In Narragansett, where the two of us are from, there is a cart at the beach so this love potion brings us right back to humid summers at the sea wall. When mixed with blueberry vodka, we come full circle. It's like we're 12 and 21 at the very same time. It's the most perfect concoction I could have ever dreamed of. The perfect mixer. http://www.dels.com/

She put me to work right away, hanging shelves and making sense of the wires behind her TV console. We really needed drinks after that.

After falling down the vicious stairs in the apartment and getting rug burn on my ass and a sprained toe, we spent Saturday seeking out views of the Bay and for lunch, we travelled down to Bandon. The tasty, tasty Thai food kept us full all night and made me so tired I took a nap so that I could be fully rested for the 7 oclock showing of Grease at the vintage Egyptian Theater. They play different old movies there each week. Next week, I'll be disappointed to miss Beetlejuice (an all time favorite) but not the sitting on a sore bum.

Inside, the egyptian theme is everywhere; two pharohs guard the stairs to the restrooms and the unused balcony. In the theater, the walls are decorated and the doorways are made to look like the entrance to a pyramid. Neither of us had seen Grease on the big screen and in this relaxed environment, everyone danced and sang along and cat called John Travolta. Even the popcorn was good. http://www.egyptian-theater.com/

On the walk home, a thunderstorm passed over.

I woke up first on Sunday and spent a couple hours pouring over the high school year books "Maritimes," that Kelly had in her spare room. It made me nostalgic and really appreciative of my time with her. We went to such a small school in such a small town that class reunions are a bit unnecessary because they happen everytime you go out for coffee or to pick up dinner. It seems that those old relationships still mean the world to me and after moving around so much (I was a Navy brat,) settling in Narragansett has rooted me for life.

In true Gansett syle, we did breakfast. The Pancake Mill (http://www.pancakemill.com/) would have been right at home back East, and we had good conversation. Afterward, it started to storm again and when we got back to her place (and after I had jump started my car) I packed up and hit the road. Leaving, driving through the foggy hills made me sentimental as leaving always does and I was glad to have some thinking time.

Fittingly, perspective is easiest for me to attain when I'm physically far away, something I suspect I picked up as a kid. The bottom line though, is that I missed out on the heat and had myself a summer road trip. All that was missing was the slurpie.

Blue Heaven

2008-08-10T19:15:00.000-07:00

When things get crazy (and things are always crazy) I need a way to reset. There are certain things that need to be there for me, that will always be the same no matter what my own circumstances are; Smartfood, cake, my doggies, gin and Blue Heaven.

I started volunteering there a year or so ago when I was working at a tax office during tax season (fyi, bad idea.) I needed to get out of the office, from the clients that didn't get that they had given their taxes to us so they could stop worrying about them but called everyday to act like a backseat driver. I needed something physical and thats when I thought about learning to ride horses.

I soon realized that I could not afford my 1040-induced pipe dream, so I began considering my options. I had volunteered in the past but usually I just sat behind a desk and I was far too tired of sitting behind desks now to do it on the weekends. So, as I was browsing the non-credit college catalogue for possibie escape routes, it was there; Blue Heaven Therapeudic Horseback Riding Academy.

It should be known that while I am a crazed, fanatical animal lover, I am not good with kids (no matter how closely they resemble animals.) Oddly, I find that other people's kids are fine, in fact, I'm pretty sure that I have always been meant to be "Auntie M" for short durations, to teach them questionable language while sipping my gin and to watch in amusement as they pick up another improper way to avoid eating vegetables before it's time to send them back to mumsy and daddykins. All this said, I had absolutely no experience with disabled kids. At all. I was in it for the horses. I would finally have the ponies I had always dreamed of, even if they weren't unicorns.

A little over a year later, I'm still there. Twice a month, I get up early and take a lengthy, albeit gorgeous drive to the country. I groom horses, ruin shoes and hold disabled kids on their horses when they try to launch themselves off. It's my reset. It's always the same, it's never about me and, AND? I get to learn to ride for free. Shazam.

This weekend when I was there, I noticed a new horse in the stall at the end, which is reserved for newcomers. We've gone through a few recently as it takes a certain kind of horse-not skiddish or easily spooked by the kids' wiley antics-to be able to be used as a therapy horse.

We only use three or four of the 10 horses, so part of my job is putting the rest of them out to pasture for the day. When I asked Tim (the Director's husband) which pasture I should put the new girl in, he told me this sweet little story about her;

Heaven, the new guy, is actually registered as "Bodazar's Heaven." He looks at me as though I should get it, but I dont;"You know, as in 'Blue Heaven?'" I had never really thought about where Blue Heaven (the place, not the horse) had gotten it's name and it surprised me to learn that it was after the horse in the last stall considering I had just met her.

I'm told that she was the first horse that Tim bought for Carrie (the director) after her life-changing stroke at age 27 (her recovery would later be the catalyst for opening Blue Heaven, the place) and that because she was so skiddish and because they knew so little about how to train a therapy horse, they had to sell Heaven. They sold her to a woman under the agreement that should she need to get rid of her for any reason, they would get first dibs.

This did not happen. Without their knowing, she sold Heaven to a disabled man who, it can be concluded, was a practiced horse trainer because he was able to use her for endurance racing. "She was recovering so quickly that even after a 45 minute break, she still came in 3rd."

A week ago, Tim and Carrie had gone trail riding and had somehow gotten on the topic. They'd lost track of her and Carrie was feeling nostalgic; "I would love to have Heaven back. If I had only known how to train back then, we wouldn't have had to loose her in the first place."

"The very next day" Tim tells me, "we're in the office and I answer the phone. The lady asks for Carrie, and the first things she tells her is 'I think I've got your horse.'"

In the horse world, this is what is known as "amazing." Sometimes you are at a show and you come across a horse that you have traded or that you recognize as one that your neighbor boarded, but to come across a horse that you let go 7 years earlier, lost track of and then have someone call you with an offer to buy it the very next day is somewhat miraculous no matter how you look at it. The only problem was that Carrie wasn't in the market and couldn't afford another horse.

The woman offered her Heaven outright "just come and get her." And they did.

There are many amazing things about Blue Heaven, at least for me. It's about therapy, whether you are disabled or not and it certainly has been that. I have learned that horses are not so different than people; if they are acting funny, there is probably something wrong, all they can think about is snacking and if the saddle is uncomfortable, they'll bite you. I can't say that I'm totally sold on the whole kid part, but you can't deny that it feels good when a kid that couldn't even sit on the horse a year ago can not only balance now, but can even hold the reigns.

Recently, I find myself trying to find reasons to not go. Volunteering is like that for me, I get what I need out of it, they get some help out of me and then I move on to another organization. I'm not quite ready to give up the horses and I have been helping them (and myself) with grant writing. I have never regretted going, even on a day that I tried to talk myself out of it, and I don't think I ever will. Until it no longer functions as my reset, I'll continue to love the hell out of it.

http://www.blueheavenacademy.org/index.html

You shouldn't have! (but I really like that you did)

2008-08-05T18:23:00.000-07:00

Everybody needs gifts. I don't know why everyone gets so touchy about gift-giving because when I find the gift of gifts for you-and I will find it- you will so have to open it early.

There's always the other end, too. When someone really thinks about the homemade beer bong (strictly an art piece) or the Simpsons alarm clock (which, after four years of waking up to a whining Homer, met an untimely-pun intended-demise) or pumpkin loaf, it feels nice. Real nice.

I am currently enjoying a hiadus from the dizzying rush of birthdays and circus that is fall. During the summer, it's not so much the birthdays as the weddings and the bachelorette parties, babies and the baby showers. Whoever said that life should be a celebration obviously wasn't attending these functions.

Let's start with Parent's anniversary:

Aren't they sooooo cute? Well. Just Look at what Lea of http://leakarts.com/ did with them:

Needless to say, they LOVED it. She actually finished it early and I had it for two weeks before I could give it to them. It took everything I had to not bring it over, which would have left me with only hugs on the actual day, which everyone knows is lame. When my brother asked me for advice on what to get them because he was having trouble, cruel sister that I am, I told him "I don't know, a card? I got them a custom portrait." He was furious. The glow of victory has still not worn off. You can go visit her this First Thursday August 7 th at the Everett Street lofts between 6 and 930 pm.

Next up is the baby shower. Now, I'm pretty damned crafty, but I could very easily be featured on Martha for this one; Before I ran into Jen Nowak-Miller of Pearly Grey (http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=106439) I had toyed with the of a Halloween baby gift. She's not due till September but, every time I go home to Rhode Island in the fall, Alicia helps me with my decorations; I always end up having to ship things home. It's my thing, she knows it's my thing, and it's my thinking is that there will be so damned much ruffle and pink at her shower, that when she gets to my gift, she'll just know.

So, here's what I did; I had a paint can from the home supply store and I made a label. I used purple and orange ribbon and I stuffed the can with the amazing retro baby stuff in Pearly Grey's Hospital to go box (there were so many prints, I can't wait until I have the need for a gnome birp rag:)

I needed it in a pinch (of course) and after seeing it at the Etsy market last month in the PSU Park Blocks, it was the only gift that would do (of course) and Jen made it happen.

It came with a onesie, birp rag, itty bitty hat and a bib all with a retro halloween print of a very cute witch. It's so perfect, I can barely breathe waiting for the "I couldn't wait to open it" text. Alicia shares my enthusiasm for the perfect gift.

And now that you know what lengths I go to for you, here's what I've got my eye on (eventhough the look on your face is thanks enough for me):

Michele and I had French class together but I had no idea until today that she was even an artist, or that she had moved. Having said this, it was this picture, called Little Boxes that caught my eye on the front page of Etsy (quite an honor.) She has done very well for herself, even giving up jobs all together to work as an artist full time. Michele had several images of familiar Portland water towers and it was only through detective work that I found it to be the same Michele, quelle coincidence!
http://www.michelemaule.com/

I'm not saying that you have to be one of those grandmothers that buys christmas presents in July (ahem! not that there's anything wrong with that,) but for me, just the act of seeking out buying something uniquely personal for somebody else helps to combat my shopping demons. It's the anticipation that gets me...Now to combat the cake demon.

Slices of life

2008-07-31T20:44:00.000-07:00

Other people's lives fascinate me, especially the weird ones. They are the ones that make people watching worthwhile after all. You wonder about who they are really, when really, you don't want to know. Sometimes they remind you of yourself and sometimes they remind you of people that you know. Like this character:
Everyday, he has a different flag in his window. This behavior reminds me of my father, an avid flag collector. But what does he get out of displaying his collection? Is it educational? Is this his way of making the world a better place? In my father's case, he flys flags in honor of Canada day, Norway day, Oregon day...if there's a day for it, he's got a flag for it.

The idea that you can learn something about a complete stranger in passing, often something that their family might not even know is nowhere more evident to me than on public transportation. For some reason, the anonymity makes inhibitions disappear.

While Portland is famous for it's fabulous transportation system, it might be equally as famous for the scenes played out on it's cars, moving forever forward. It's nearly impossible in Portland to take the bus or the Max and not see something thought provoking. Sometimes even remarkable. It's such a tiny example of humanity; homeless and executive, bible-bangers and drug addicts, tourists and locals all meet in this cramped space.

It's in this vein that during my college years, when my commute consisted of bus, train and Chevro-legs that I wrote a small collection of narratives outlining these experiences. This is one of them:

It is a perfect spring day and I am returning via the MAX from a three hour workshop at the Independent Printing Resource Center. As the train heads to the east side toward my car, cleverly parked at Lloyd Center so as to skip out on fare, I look around the busy train to get my barrings (often, the lure of an open seat comes first and the reason that particular seat is open is revealed upon claiming it.) The coast is clear, I make room for a woman about my age to sit. She carries with her a large Nordstrom bag and I suppose that she is probably heading to the mall stop as well.

A boy and girl have gotten on, sitting across the aisle from us. It registers that the boy, who looks to be in high school, has been doing most of the talking but I had toned him out out of habit. When I tune back in, he is saying “I’ve never met anyone from India before, are there white people over there? I mean, had you seen a white person before you got here?”

My seat mate and I exchange a bewildered look. He’s telling her all about himself, so cocksure that even we are taken aback. Surely, he is not serious.

Out of curiosity, I lean forward to see what they look like. The girl, sitting by the window, looks to be East Indian, wearing jeans and a light pink pea coat and carrying a shopping bag. She has maneuvered her body into its smallest possible position against the window so that no part of her is touching him and the look on her face is polite, but obviously not interested.

The woman next to me looks directly at me, both of us wide eyed and grinning at Luke’s horrifying attempt at being social “stupid son of a bitch” she says through clenched teeth. As though they are thinking the same thing that we are, the other people standing around them, probably ten or so people, look confused and baffled by his demeanor.

He's wearing a white-button down shirt and khaki pants. His hair is on the long side, straight, with wisps catching on his nose as the train moves. He might almost be cute if he wasn't so obnoxious.

“I’m just on break, it’s too bad that you are busy, I have a great view from my office. It’s on the 12th floor; you can see all of downtown from there. I’m Luke, what was your name again?” Her answer is inaudible, “And you’re sure that you won’t give me your number, I could show you around. I haven’t had a drink in years, but I know where to have a good time. I was at this party and this guy gave me a whole bottle of tequila and I don’t even drink. I gave it to my boys...” His story begins to trail off.

Out of nowhere, he announces “Someone is wearing cheap cologne, a lot of it. I hate cheap cologne, it stinks.” The girl now looks uncomfortable, but is visibly relieved--his stop has approached.

“You sure you don’t want to come up?” she shakes her head resolutely, “well, if you ever want to visit, I’m in the second building on the 12th floor—just ask for Luke.” He says as he points to a building on the other side of the block, we all follow his finger in disbelief.

He gets off the train and starts toward the building, buttoning his shirt, a collective sigh of relief fell over the car and just like that, Luke was gone.

Could it really be fall?

2008-07-29T17:35:00.000-07:00

Sadly, the answer is no. It's only July after all. But as I write this, gazing out the window watching the clouds roll by, it's a chilly 70 degrees and windy. The spice rub I prepared for the now baking chicken was almost lost to the breeze. It's been a long day and as I'm sure you can imagine, that bird smells amazing. I'm sipping some 2 buck chuck and it's downright cozy. Fall is my favorite time of year in case you hadn't realized yet. The cool weather makes me want to cook and while sitting and dying a slow death in my cubicle today, I came across the perfect recipe on Smitten Kitchen's (you can find the link to the right under "Inspiration") beautiful blog; Blueberry crumb bars:

Perhaps the most bestest part of my discovery is that since it's July, blueberries are at the top of their form and I just so happened to pick some last weekend in Eagle Creek. It's cold, I feel like cooking, it's July blueberries are in season. Today is the day for delicious eats, people.

Work was actually very productive today; you should know that I have an entry level admin position where I sit behind a desk all day. The bright side is that I can get two jobs worth of stuff done; like I said in my last posting, I have a running list of stuff that my friends have referred to me and of movies I missed in the theater and of bands and authors I heard on NPR.

Armed with this, I can keep myself occupied for hours. For starters, Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog (as seen on Hulu): http://www.hulu.com/watch/28343/dr-horribles-sing-along-blog

is hilarious. I love that Neil Patrick Harris took this on, comebacks are one of my favorite parts of tv (Think Adam West in Family Guy and William Shatner... always.) Aspiring to join the Evil League of Evil, Dr. Horrible and his antics are actually more likable than those of the good guy, Captain Hammer who proclaims "this is nice I'm going to sleep with the same girl twice, they say that's when you get to do the wierd stuff." There is singing, but considering that it's about dominating the world, the bad guy "Bad Horse, the thouroughbred of sin" and getting the girl of his dreams back from his nemesis, it's worth it. Dr. Horrible pouts, is awkward in approaching Penny (said dream girl,) has a friend whose super power is making things soggy and answers emails for his blog audience (some of which challenge him to fights) in much the annoyed way an unpopular 12-year-old would. It was a most entertaining way to spend 45 minutes (way better than sending releases, anyway.)

Due to the fact the coworker on the other side of my cubicle wall is on a Whitney Houston kick, I have taken to using my ear buds to shut out as much of her vocal styling as possible. So, I broke out the names taken while listening to OPB radio's In House program on Saturday night. We had gone on a drive in the country and looking toward the big, pink light of Portland, the music made everything seem somewhat ethereal. I took the opportunity (while I was supposed to be returning phone calls) to check out more of Calexico's stuff on Myspace music: www.myspace.com/casadecalexico per the boy's favorite of the show, they played "Two Silver Trees" while I was excited to see that Laura Gibson (whose "Shake Sugaree" they played) is from Portland and that the few songs posted on Myspace were equally as good. http://www.myspace.com/lauragibson

It's refreshing to find so much great stuff out there and for there to be a rainy break during the summer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe my chicken with 40 cloves of garlic is just about done. 40 cloves!

The Sabotage Cafe

2008-07-27T09:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure how things worked out this way, but I have been reading like crazy the past few weeks. My attention span is such that I'm usually reading a few at a time and I think that designating The Grapes of Wrath my "bedtime book," The Sabotage Cafe my "work book" and the A Short History of Nearly Everything my "everything else" book has helped me not only get more reading done, but to change gears.

You'll notice that with few exceptions I don't go for the latest and greatest media. I'm really pretty random and I enjoy seeing what comes across my attention and when. There's a kind of momentum knowing that I can never guess what I'll be into next. I'm open to anything (as noted above by weird choice in books) and love to discover something old that is still relevant-Ahem! Grapes of Wrath? Or something totally new that I fall in love with, like this blog.

One of my favorite ways to keep things new is to write down when someone recommends a book, movie or band, go home and go directly to the online library catalogue and place a hold. As it turns out, I usually finish a book as another comes in and this way, I get a crazy diverse cross section of media.

So with all that said, here's what I thought of Joseph Furst's Sabotage Cafe:

I did not expect to get much out of this quick read, recommended to me by Heidi, whose tastes to be honest, are hit or miss with me (which I didn’t figure out until I was the one out of two of us not laughing hysterically at Freddy Got Fingered.) She told me about the unique point of view, the punk rock scene, the crazy mom. I was open for anything, so I took her word for it and rented it.

Maybe it’s because I work so closely to people with mental disabilities that I actually agreed with her—at least about the point of view--told entirely by the mom, Julia. Because it is revealed early on that she has what appears to be symptoms of schizophrenia, it makes the entire rest of the story questionable.

It’s so easy to believe that the story goes the way that she tells it; that Cheryl, her daughter becomes an anarchist, completely trapped in those egotistic, fearful, obsessive teen years that we all thankfully grow out of. Except for that she runs away, this is the last really truly known event in the book.

I spent the rest of the book questioning everything: Cheryl runs away, this we know. But mom, afraid of the possibility of her interference being the cause of her daughter staying away forever, doesn't go after her or call the police. She keeps track of Cheryl the only way she knows how: by remote psychic contact.

Because you’re told right up front that you can’t trust the narrator, what do you do? Do you buy into her story and believe that this unstable woman who is notably off of her meds also has the incredible ability to channel her daughter? Or do you keep reminding yourself that the details; Cheryl's thoughts and feelings and even her whereabouts might just be figments of mom's imagination? Do you regard Roger (Dad,) with disgust for not pressing mom for details about Cheryl's whereabouts? Or do you see a man at a loss of how to deal with his disabled wife and runaway daughter? And if Julia knows where to find her, why does she allow her fear to designate her actions or rather, lack of action?

Cheryl sporadically calls, in one instance just to say “mommy” before her cell phone fails. Is it like mom says? That she misses home and is attempting to connect with her mother? Or, is it something else? A call for help? An apology? Because we could choose to believe mom's intricate story or we could see that we don't actually know anything except for that mom REALLY needs to get back on her meds.

Midway through all of my questions and the novel, it started to hit me: If she feels her daughter to be in danger and she feels she knows where she is, why isn’t she going after her? Even if she feels that showing up will cause Cheryl to further rebel, there is no doubt that mom genuinely believes that she knows-to a tea- what Cheryl is going through, but do you? She could be dead. “Mommy” could have been her last word.

It’s fast, it’s easy…it’s probably best not to read it over a meal, which I learned the hard way, but it’s subtle and fast moving and it really makes you think and if there's anything that I like in a book, it's when you close it and then you can't get your mind to put it down.

Ohai

2008-07-25T21:26:00.000-07:00

It has been far too long for me; the repetitiveness and florescent lights of daily life have drained all of my creative juices. Until now.

I'm building myself back up you see, and I need an outlet. Like I said, it's been ages since I've written anything, which is counter intuitive to me because well, I fancied myself a writer once. I'm working on things you see-projects, a book. But that's what you tell people when you're too embarrassed to tell people that you haven't actually put anything on paper except for at work and even then, it's only a "copy" stamp...I really am working on a book, though.

It's not like I'm short on content, I just haven't done anything with it. Sure I've been out living life-which is mostly where I get my ideas, but it was my dear friend Lea (who is newly self employed AND enjoying it-generous round of applause) who listened to me complain about work and who I have to thank for inspiring me to let you dear readers, share in my "awesomeness" as she so modestly put it over a very long coffee date last week.

Writing is a tough and competitive industry and while I was finishing college, I had all the work I could handle. Soon after though, it dried up and so did my motivation. When I began working for the county, having something to do other than sit for 8 hours in a grey cubicle (why are they ALWAYS grey?) was reason enough for me to explore a side project.

I have been hesitant about the blog in the past, believing it to be an oversaturated, selfish way to express yourself. But I am learning to embrace it with my new, shiny green laptop and it's wonderful silvery buttons to sweeten the deal and the support of friends who haven't told me that perhaps I should try something else. I'm just going to ignore the selfish part.