A Texan in Winter.

It snowed in Portland today. A lot. I never grew up with snow and neither did anyone in Portland. It's still an event when it snows here. As I type there is probably about 5 inches on the ground and it's not showing any sign of melting for the next few days. This wouldn't be so bad, except this city is not equipped for snow. There is no salt on the roads, so they are just ice and us city-dwellers don't have snow chains so we just slide.

I went for a walk after I woke up this morning and headed up to Stumptown for a cup of coffee. This was, apparently, a common thought among many of my neighbors, as I neared the coffee shop more and more people started coming out of side streets and walking into the shop. It was a happening place.

Not having had snow as a regular occurrence when I grew up this reminded me of the handful of times I have walked in the snow. It was nice to think back on those times, wandering Nuernburg with my dad in the dead of winter, wandering the deserts of New Mexico by moonlight with the snow glowing, wandering the streets of my first Portland neighborhood in a winter snow, the first snow my freshman year of college when everyone emptied from their dorms and played in the snow at night. But this time I wandered alone. But I wasn't really sad about that. And that was nice. It was me and the snow. Fuck the rest of you. No offense.

I continue my geekdom.

Umm....so I really kind of want to buy this shirt.

Am I one of them?

I am not one of those bikers. I'm not one of those people who goes through red lights without so much as a glance to see if someone is coming. I won't go through red lights when I know no one is coming. I come to a complete or almost stop at all stop signs. I check at uncertain intersections and I use my hand signals. I have blinky lights and I always wear a helmet.

But this morning I was one of those bikers. I was so mad at myself. But though it was totally my fault, it wasn't my fault, even though it was.

So, those of you in Portland will know where I am talking about. I was coming up 26th and approaching Clinton St. where I was going to take a left. It's Monday though and that means it's garbage day. So, 26th is a 2-lane street with parking on either side. There was a garbage truck in my lane. Now, I had a choice of either passing the garbage truck in the left side of my lane, or turning left a couple blocks early and just avoiding the truck all together. I decided to just pass since they were still parked. As I moved over to the left of my lane, however, the engine started up and they were about to pull out. Now, if you are in Portland you know this no doubt, but it seems cyclists tend to get killed when they try to compete with garbage trucks. So, I decided against it at the last second and started to turn left. Of course, at that exact same time, a woman who was parked going the opposite direction starts to pull out. And I run into her. Sigh. So disappointed in myself. I didn't even fall over. I just bumped into her. And then I got a lecture on hand signals because I didn't use one as I decided to turn at the last second, and there hadn't been anyone coming in the other lane.

So, am I a moron for not hand signaling (which even if I had I still would have bumped into her) or did I save myself from certain death by being run over by a garbage truck and merely had a bump?

So I went jogging today. I went to Kenilworth Park, which is near my house. Round trip it was a nice 2 miles. But the thing is, at the park I saw the strangest thing. There were groups there. Groups of delinquent hipster teenages. Lots of them. And they were all congregated on one side of the park. But they weren't together. There was one group on the swings. Another group smoking by the half wall. Another walking with a guitar. Another milling about in the grass. It was really strange. I guess you do find strange congregations when it's sunny in Portland, especially in fall or winter. If the sun is out, you have to be too. Even delinquent hipster teenagers.

So it turns out I'm a giant dork.

Greetings all. I am writing today from my couch. I'm home sick with a cold and just ate some wonderful soup from My Sister's Soup. They are a food cart, or rather soup cart, that used to be on the corner of 12th and Hawthorne, but has moved down to Sellwood. I needed some good sick soup and when I showed up the first soup on the menu today was "Cure All Chicken Tarragon and Rice". That worked for me! It was delicious. And it came with homemade soda bread.

So, it turns out I am a giant dork. Evidence #1 is listed above. I drove out of my way to go to a soup cart. And really enjoyed myself.

Evidence #2: While eating said soup I watched some cable access (as it's daytime, and, well, daytime TV is much worse than even regular TV, which isn't so great to begin with). But I found a delightful little show called "The Pleasure of Food". It's hosted by a rather adorable, presumably gay, presumably hipster chef, presumably out of his own kitchen. Today's episode was on cakes and how to make flavored buttercreams and then decorate your cakes. Despite the cable access-y-ness of the show I was enthralled. By the end I was determined to find this guy and make him my friend. It helps that he can make a damn good looking cake. I particularly like that the website gives you a drinking game to play while watching his show and one of the items is, "Whenever you see the crew in the shot, take a drink." And it's true, I did see the crew in the shot. But I didn't drink. Maybe next time.

Evidence #3: My roommate, Joe, and I were sitting in the living room last night and he told me our other roommate, Laura, didn't know where the names of my cats, Bifur and Bombur, had come from. He told her they were from "The Hobbit" and that he suspected I was secretly a giant dork. I think he might be right.

Evidence #4: I got really excited last night when I caught "Jeopardy". Plus it was the Teen Tournament, so I got more answers right than usual.

Evidence #5: After watching "Jeopardy" and a classic Simpsons episode (laughing prematurely at all jokes), and flipping through the channels I declared, "Oh! I love that show!" and made Joe watch "Antiques Roadshow".

Evidence #6: I know what Hoth is. And what an At-At is. Which apparently gives me extra points with the mens. But also makes me a giant dork.

Under a Taurus Moon The Beatles Save the Day.

Today was a little...meh. I wasn't feeling great for a myriad of reasons and for no reason at all. I have too much pent up energy with an overtone of boredom and malaise. I went to the gym after work and ran and lifted weights to try and alleviate this problem. Last night I could hardly sleep because of it. Hopefully tonight will fare better. When I got home I showered and started with beer, OPB and a frozen pizza. Not exactly the night you would conjure to alleviate boredom.

My roommate, Joe, awoke from his (long) nap and I finally had someone else to try and cure my boredom with. The prescription of the evening: HELP! And, boy, did it do the trick. There is nothing like seeing The Beatles singing "The Night Before" in a field full of tanks to turn a frown upside down. And call me a dork, but the editing in that scene made me smile too.

On my way to the gym earlier in the evening a George solo song came on and it made me smile too. I thought at the time how great it was to have hit a Beatle solo on shuffle. And then The Beatles came back to me again later in the evening.

When in doubt, when strained, when unknowing in what way to go next, look to the basics, the classics, The Beatles.

Election Night

Tonight was an historic night. I couldn't help but think that it was one of those moments I would look back on and say, "I was at this place doing this". The actual quote should be, "I was at the Bagdad theater clapping and cheering and drinking beer with the rest of Portland". It was great to experience it with the rest of the city. When I left the theater people were driving down the street honking and cheering. The whole city was excited. There were fireworks - and a burning bush!!

I rode my bike tonight and felt good when Obama talked about making personal sacrifices to help the greater good in his acceptance speech. Call it socialism if you want, I call it good manners. I felt good not driving my car to my various election night festivities. I have always been a big proponent on living the example and letting others follow suit.

I am excited about what the future brings. It will be a change, I am sure. What that change ends up being, we will all have to wait to find out.

But in the meantime I am very pleased to hear "President Elect Obama". And I hope that the world doesn't beat him down as it seems it may, but rather gives him a chance to make a turn and be the hero we all want him to be.

At least we can all start with ourselves and make the changes in our lives that we know we should make. To be more accepting of ourseleves, or to read more, excersize more, pay attention to our spouses more, whatever it may be. It all starts on a personal level. We are all inevitably responsible for our own lives. No external force. no politician, no signifigant other. In the end it is just us. So that is where the beginning should be as well.

Maybe Baby.

I was playing pool at a bar and feeding money into the jukebox. My song came on, “Maybe Baby” by Buddy Holly. My pool partner commented that it was a good song to pick. And a stranger, an older man, came up to me astounded and asked, “Did you pick this song?” “Do you like this music?” “This is the stuff I’ve been waiting for!” He was really excited. I think I earned my generation a couple extra points in his book. That’s right. We can have good music taste.

On food.

I’m reading a book right now, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, by Barbara Kingsolver about her family’s one-year experiment in eating only local food. It’s really very interesting, and also has recipes and helpful tips and links interspersed throughout. But I just read this passage yesterday about the importance of food in the family life, “When I’m cooking, I find myself inhabiting the emotional companionship of the person who taught me how to make a particular dish, or with whom I used to cook it.”

I’ve been thinking about this…and tonight was presented with an odd realization. Food is in fact a very important part of my life. I take pride in what I eat and what I cook and I strive to make most of my food from scratch and buy as close to local produce and meats as I can. But tonight I was eating Chile con Carne, which I made myself from scratch and thought about it in reference to this quote. It was my ex-boyfriend who taught me how to make it. We must have made it together dozens and dozens of times. It was one of our staples. And indeed, when I make those foods that he taught me to make I do think of him. I thought how strange it was that I was eating his food still; despite being so far removed form his and his family’s life, I am eating his grandmother’s chile. How odd it is to retain that connection to someone.

I thought about it further and realized that I don’t have those memories from my childhood. Food and cooking was never the centerpiece of my family. Until I met my ex I didn’t think I could cook. I thought I was terrible at it. Then I found out I just hadn’t ever learned. The extent of my cooking as a child was to chop the tomatoes to put on the salad, or to slice the pickles for the hamburgers, or dump the cranberry sauce out of the jar. Thanksgivings as a teen I was given the job of making the green bean casserole. But that was really the extent of it. When I started getting into cooking from scratch my mom and my grandmother would always balk at me and say, “You know you can buy that already made. You don’t have to make it from scratch.”

It was my ex who taught me how to cook. He taught me to love doing things the long way, in all aspects of my life. To walk or bike instead of driving, to chop with an axe, to plant things and watch them grow, to tend a garden, to start a fire, to make beer from scratch, he pushed me to learn to bake with my hands. And he is also the person who has hands down hurt me the most in my life. I will still break down and cry if I think about it. And it’s been years. And I have to admit I am very bittersweet about always having to remember him when I make guacamole, enchiladas, chile, fry an egg, make hash browns, or even just sauté garlic and onion.

*This is not chile con carne. I think it is French Lentil Soup. But it's good either way!

Parking.

This guy parked behind me today. I guess if you drive a bug you can get away with sneaking into small spaces.

Marathoning.

It's the Portland Marathon today. It's been raining heavy all day. Poor runners. I had forgotten that it was going today until I came out for a cup of coffee. Turns out the coffee shop I picked is on the route. So, I'm sitting here watching all the marathon walkers go by (the runners passed hours ago, no doubt). Some look like death. Some look pretty spry. I just checked the map, and I am sitting at about Mile 23. Unfortunately I don't have my camera and can't take a picture of all the haggard marathoners. I'll stick to my 5k's, thank you.

bugs.

I saw a ladybug on a peach at the grocery store today. That’s got to be a good sign, right?

I want my two dollars!

So there I was…sitting in the window seat in aisle 27 of a full flight, duration 3 and a half hours. There was a woman in the aisle seat reading a book, but no one had taken the middle seat yet. It was just a matter of time. As the plane starts to fill a man comes lumbering down the aisle and says loudly, “I bet you thought you had it made.” Referencing the empty middle seat. In his hands he carries a personal pizza in a box, a bag of Doritos and a 24 oz soda in a Styrofoam cup. He sits down between us and fumbles until he can get all his food onto his tiny tray. He starts to eat the chips. Crunch…chew...chew, Crunch…chew…chew. And it all smells of nacho cheese. He starts to scarf down his pizza, as the plane is almost full and we are nearing time for push-off. Now, plus the food and the smells his legs are too long so they splay out in a “V” and one knee goes into my space and one knee goes into the girl on the aisle’s space.

Just then a petite, young blonde woman walks down the aisle and looks confusedly at the man in the middle seat. She is supposed to be sitting there. He is supposed to be in the middle seat on the other side of the aisle. But, seeing as how he has an entire dinner spread precariously balanced on the tiny tray she says it doesn’t matter and she will just sit in the middle seat across the aisle that is supposed to belong to him. Curses!!

Then middle seat man makes a call on his phone. He calls none other than his bookie. He places a two-dollar bet. Yes. Two dollars. Then he calls his friend to coordinate bets with him. I think they thought they had a system going. Then he promptly tries to check the scores on his phone as the flight attendant comes down the aisle to ensure everyone has stopped using their phones. She has to tell him to stop….he keeps going…says he’s almost done. Has…to…check…one…more…score!

I spend the next three and a half hours with his knee in my space. It’s highly uncomfortable. When we land in Portland the first thing he does is turn on his phone and check the scores. He shakes his head. I think he lost two dollars. He tries to call a friend, or maybe his bookie, no answer. Then he calls his wife and apologizes that he wasn’t able to call in Houston. He had to run from one gate to the next plane and there just wasn’t time (After he stopped for pizza, chips, placed a bet, called his friend and checked the scores). I fear one day that I will rank in someone’s life below friends, gambling and pizza.

It's all about photons.

Secret vacations are the best vacations. I just got back from one and I had a great time. I went to a music festival, which frankly isn’t really my scene. I don’t like large crowds, I don’t get off on music when it’s 100 yards away and being projected through giant speakers and giant screens. It just doesn’t do it for me. It also doesn’t help when you are outside in Texas in September. Thankfully it wasn’t the height of summer. It was only about 95 every day instead of 105; but the lack of rain all summer made for a dusty occasion.
I went to the ACL Fest in Austin. I went with a good friend of mine, who lives in LA, so it was a nice little gathering to meet in Austin. Plus, I got to show someone around my hometown who had never been there, which I love to do. And it just gave me excuses to talk about all the random facts I have on that town. And it’s a good thing he came too – we were without a car and those I knew with cars, frankly, weren’t very reliable or helpful about picking us up or taking us anywhere, so I was really glad to have someone to walk across town in sweltering heat with so that I didn’t have to do it alone. Plus we got sno-cones. There were certain points though where the sun and heat were just too much to bear. Day 2:The highlight of the festival for me was Conor Oberst, otherwise known as Bright Eyes. He just put out a solo album. I know what you’re thinking, “But Bright Eyes is just him anyway, how can he put out a solo album?” Frankly, I don’t know. I would say it’s because his musical style is different, which it is from where he started. It’s much more folky, driven at times. But his last Bright Eyes album went into the same arena as well, so I don’t know, maybe it’s for a tax break. He really is a great performer live. I saw him here in Portland last year at the Crystal Ballroom and it was a great show, certainly one of the best I saw last year, and now this is one of the best I have seen this year. Way to go Bright Eyes – I mean Conor.

Other notables were Hot Chip, MGMT and Louis XIV. Apparently Louis XIV is “like so two years ago”. But they’re new to me, and they put on a good show, so whatever.Another highlight was watching people in headbands. I got a nice little spot in the shade at the MGMT show and took the liberty of snapping some shots of the many headbands walking around Zilker Park. I guess it’s all the rage with the kids these days, but I don’t really get it. And as was so astutely pointed out to me, they are all going to have headband tanlines after this weekend. Which I think is hi-larious.

I spent the majority of the festival texting people and trying to meet up with them. This rarely happened. In fact, I only found people twice. It was a madhouse. Seriously. Look at all these freaking people.So, it was a great time. I highly recommend secret vacations. Or really just vacations in general. Next on the list will have to be either San Francisco or Seattle. I’ve been to both for 1 day each, but nothing more. And they are right up and down the coast from me. I don’t have any good reason not to go other than I don’t have anyone to wander around the cities with, and even that probably isn’t reason enough.

I'm leaving LA.

I am coming off a 20 hour work day that started yesterday at 1pm. I managed to catch about 20 minutes of sleep sitting upright in an uncomfortable wooden chair. On top of which I began my day coming off a mild bout of food poisoning. And now I am finally done...and I have to leave for the airport in about an hour. No time for sleep. No time for shower. No time for decompression. I simply can't wait to be back home and out of this city where there is never enough time.

The most wretched hive of scum and villiany. Part 2.

I find myself once again in the City of Angels. I have been here far too much this year if you ask me. My last trip, this place almost redeemed itself. I really had a great time. This trip is not so much. I hate this city and I have no desire to be here, or regret for leaving it so soon.

It is nearly 8pm. I have not eaten anything all day. Still. I am waiting on overpriced room service. I'm watching the second or third Pirates of the Caribbean. I'm not sure which. Maybe it's Part 5. How should I know? I'm sitting 21 floors above downtown LA and I'm annoyed as fuck (that's right, I said it) that everything is turning out exactly like I thought it would, but hoped it wouldn't. When the world reminds you that it actually is like it always has been and nothing has actually changed. Nothing and no one will ever change. And you just aren't cool enough, like you never have been and never will be.

Well, fuck that. I'm doing better than I ever have and I owe it all to leaving this cesspool. I just hope after this weekend I don't have to come back for a long time to come.

Korova Milkbar

I went to a place called the Moloko Plus last night.

It was nothing like this.

Sunday Baking.

I baked today. I enjoy baking and I like getting my hands into dough, but sometimes it’s like pulling teeth to get me to actually do it. It’s such a time commitment and a kitchen clean-up commitment. I’m doing “Almost No-Knead Bread 2.0” recipe from America’s Test Kitchen. I love those guys – and they have a free podcast that is super informative in addition to their magazine (which is wonderful). They both have the same recipes, just in print or video form and there are lots of handy tidbits of cooking knowledge sprinkled throughout. Anyway, I’m trying to double my baking when I bring myself to do it, that way I hopefully will have enough baked goods to last me until the next time I feel like spending an afternoon getting flour out of my tile countertop.

Here’s the bread after rising overnight waiting to go into the oven. I thought I had completely screwed up one of the loaves as I didn’t do a proper yeast starter and just threw my yeast in with the mixture. But so far it seems like they are both progressing well. The properly yeasted loaf was much more pliant when kneading, but as far as rising size they are almost the same.

Here’s loaf #1 out of the oven. This was the correctly yeasted loaf. Recipe calls to let it cool for 2 hours after baking…but I don’t know if I will last that long. It looks and smells really good and I’m awfully hungry.

I almost made it two hours. Check out the inside. And, yes, it is as yummy as it looks.

Crazy Cat Lady.

People call me the crazy cat lady. Yeah, I have three cats. It’s true. But it’s only for adorable moments like this:

Pets reduce stress with their adorableness, you know. That’s why my blood pressure is so low.

Cast in the role of Angry Drunk #2

I went to the Widmer Brothers Oktoberfest celebration last night. I didn’t intend to stay the whole evening. I had wanted to go into town and make a concert or two, but they served really big beers and I soon found myself second guessing my ability, need and want to ride my bike across the river to go watch a concert by myself. It sounded like an awful lot of work. So, I stayed and I drank more really big beers. By the end of the evening I felt cast in the role of Angry Drunk. I was getting snippy and bitchy. I don’t do that very often. I’m one of the most level headed and understanding people you will ever meet….but I was kinda being a bitch and I was surprised with myself. But in my defense, five people, when four start to couple up leaves Liz as the angry drunk bitch wishing she had stuck to her guns, not drank as much and gone to the concert alone cause at least then I would be alone with music.

The stars and driving.

I was told Mars is really close to us right now and it’s screwing everyone up. I think it’s screwing up everyone’s driving. There have been so many people this week who I have seen run red lights, ignore pedestrians and cyclists, almost hit cyclists (and then tell the cyclists that they will hit them in their giant truck that they have to have someone guide them into a parking space like it’s a plane), stopping in the right lane and blocking traffic when there is excessive parking and pull-off area to let someone out of their car and talk to them, people honking when you change lanes after going for a block with your blinker on trying to get them to let you in, and just general bad road manners. I wanted to honk the horn on my bike this week….but I don’t have one. I think I’ll get a bell. Meep. Meep.

I have 10 ringgits and I’m happy.

I have a theory that it takes four months. That’s how long it takes to adjust to a new situation. A new city, a new relationship, a new break-up, a new house, a new job, and so on. I haven’t exactly been one to stay in the same place for a long time and I have found myself at these four-month markers over and over again suddenly having a feeling of happiness and satisfaction with where I am. I had this last night. And, indeed, I thought about it and it’s been just over four months since my last new situation transition.

I had that flash last night that if 13 year-old me were to see me she would be really, really excited (I was going to use a crude descriptive there, but opted for the boring “really, really”). It’s the feeling that everything is where it should be right now. And I was really happy with myself right now, and that’s a pretty big thing. Not worrying about the past or the future, but knowing that things are going right, right now. And really that’s the best you can ever strive for. And I thought to myself, you know, I am out by myself, but I’m have 10 ringgits in my pocket and I’m having a damn good time.

I don’t know what you’re going to do with that.

I did my grocery shopping today. Normally I make a point to cook all my food from scratch. I don’t like using boxed or canned foods when I can avoid it. Therefore, I generally do my shopping at New Seasons since their produce and meats are quality, and that’s about all I buy. But I had some other non-food groceries I needed to pick up and I did a Fred Meyer run. I really, really hate going to the Fred Meyer by my house. The parking lot is atrocious and it’s always crowded and full of generally annoying people. There were a group of drunken and very loud middle-aged men going on a beer run walking behind me today. It was pretty awesome.

Point being I got a smattering of things that I don’t buy on my regular grocery runs and the cashier actually pointed this out. When she was bagging my items she said to me, “You sure have a odd assortment of things here today. I don’t know what you’re going to do with them…” I just kinda laughed nervously, as I often do. But then I started thinking about the items in my cart. Were they really that odd? You tell me. Here’s my virtual shopping cart:

-2 frozen DiGiorno pizzas of the Supreme variety
-2 boxes of Kraft Mac n’ Cheese
-Quart size freezer bags
-Parchment paper
-1 loaf size baking pan
-Comet brand granulated bleach
-Twine
-Large metal pins shaped like staples for outdoor use

I mean…..what would I do with all those things? Use the giant staples to kill someone, then dismember them and put them in quart size freezer bags and tie them together with twine, use the bleach to clean up what spilled over the parchment paper I laid down and then bake them into a meatloaf? And the pizza and Mac n’ Cheese are just for cover so I don’t look suspicious. That must be it.

Something I never thought about.

I went to a party tonight not far from my house. It was nice to have a short bike ride. It seems of late I am always coming from downtown or riding home from SE. I parked my bike on the street, in the grass between the sidewalk and the road, locked to a telephone pole. When I left the party all the grass was wet. Sprinklers!! Bah! I never would have thought of that! My seat was wet, my brakes were wet, and my helmet was wet. When I put the helmet on the padding oozed water down my head and over my face. I never thought about the sprinklers. Oh, the obstacles of the urban jungle.

Attack of the 50ft. squirrels.

I am sitting in my kitchen by the window and I caught movement outside out of the corner of my eye. I looked over and there was a squirrel, tail-up, in my planter box! I said, “Hey!” and he turned around with a small lemon cucumber in his mouth, looked at me for a second and ran off. I laughed. And I now understand why my tomato cage is falling over.

Really?

I remember the first time this happened to me: someone apologized to me for not having any children of my own. I remember at the time thinking that I felt especially grown up about it, like the first time someone calls you “ma’am”. My ex and I were looking at houses and the couple who owned this house was there and showing us around. I think she may have been pregnant as well. She was pointing out the many great things about the house for young kids and she asked me if I had any children. I said no, of course. And then she reacted in a way I did not expect. She said, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” And it was very emphatic. Really? Is it such a terrible thing that I don’t have any children that you have to take pity on me? It’s not as if I just told you I have a terminal disease.

This same thing happened to me twice this week, but in the context of significant others. I was at lunch with people from my training class and they were talking about their others. One girl was a newlywed and obviously enjoyed saying “my husband”. Then one of them turns to me and says, “You’re being awfully quiet. Are you married?”

I said, “No. That’s why I’m being quiet”.

The newlywed practically shrieked out, “Oh no! New subject! New subject! I’m so sorry”.

Really? Is it that bad that I’m single? Really? Sure I want to meet someone and be in love and all that, who doesn’t? But it most certainly does not call for pity if I’m not with someone at the moment. My life can be fulfilling without a partner, thank you very much. And for the record, they did not change the subject.

When I got back to Portland I went out for Fuad’s last day and got caught in a conversation with two women who started talking about their significant others and how lucky they are to have found them and how they were so glad to not be on the market anymore. I wasn’t adding much to this conversation and one of them turned to me and said, “I’m sorry. This must be so boring for you.”

Really? Just because I’m not married doesn’t mean I can’t comprehend what it means to have a fulfilling and long-lasting relationship. And, again, I can have a fulfilling life without a partner, thank you very much. Everyone has to be single sometime, people! It’s not the end of the world. Really.

The Walkmen are Assholes or How I Ended Up Working Until Midnight.

Wednesday was the last day at work for a co-worker, Fuad. He invited everyone out to his favorite trendy spot, the Doug Fir. We were all sitting around the fire pit drinking beers/martinis/fancy drinks with strawberries in them when the founder of our company starting talking to these fellows who were there to film the concert that night. They were with some boutique production company out of Austin, which one, I can’t remember. Anyway, the founder ended up selling them on our camera and convinced them to have us film the concert for supplemental material to their footage.

My coworker and friend, Kevin, ended up getting roped into staying for the rest of the night and filming the concert. When he said, “I don’t know how I got roped into staying for the rest of the night and filming this concert” he turned to me and said, “you want to stay and help, right?”

Now, me being the nice person that I am, I said yes. Because really, what the hell? All I was going to do was go home and sit in my apartment alone; I may as well go to a free concert, right?

So, after this I find out the band we are filming is The Walkmen. Coincidentally earlier that day I had my music on shuffle and it kept going to The Walkmen. I haven’t listened to them in a while, but I do like them and I had thought earlier in the afternoon that I really should listen to more of them. And now here I was about to film their concert. Cool, right?

Well, once we eat, have a couple drinks, get everything set up (which by the way, if you just say you are with the crew they will let you backstage no questions asked) we go into the green room to tell the band about the camera on stage, please don’t knock it over, etc. They just stare at us and give us the evil eye. Or rather the “who the hell do you think you are to breathe my air I can’t believe I’m in this shit hole I’m a big rocker man” look. I think they may have grunted to indicate they heard the words coming out of our mouths.

So when we go to put the camera on stage before they go on I head out on stage to tape the wires down and one of the band members looks at me and says in a very stern “who the hell do you think you are get off my stage you nobody girlie” voice, “This is not a good place to be!”

Kevin and I ended up putting the camera in a shitty position, but only because we were certain if we put it anywhere else they would kick it over out of spite.

So, conclusion to the story: I stayed there sitting backstage on a cinder block until midnight when I fell asleep on said cinder block. Kevin stayed another hour after that. And I don’t like The Walkmen anymore because they were mean to me. One less fan buddy – way to go. Keep up your asshole ways and you won’t have any left!

Like a kid on Christmas morning.

This has been a pretty eventful week, but hands down, no questions asked, the most exciting thing that happened to me this week was the harvest of my first vegetable. Those of you who know me well and know the details of the sordid affairs of the last week of my life may ask, “But Liz! Even more exciting than (fill in the blank)?”

Yes.

More exciting.

Not because anything wasn’t exciting, but because I am a giant dork and this is the first thing I have ever grown all on my own and then eaten. I MADE FOOD! Not just cooked food or prepared food – I MADE IT! I gave birth to a lemon cucumber! Just look at it. A mother can’t help but be proud. It’s perfectly shaped, all the skin is there, and it even tastes like a cucumber. And the tomatoes are almost ripe…with more cucumbers on the way…

The Unexpected Evening.

The following things I learned in the last day of my visit to LA.

-60 years can do wonders for a joke, ie German Nazi joke=funny, Mideast terrorist joke=too soon.
-99% of the penguins in Happy Feet are in reality really funny.
-Mr. T knows his way around LA better than you do and he won't take no jibba-jabba.
-If you don't know how to properly use a mouse, you should not be in a $900 After Effects training class.
-If you set your mind to it, you can accomplish your childhood goals.
-If you go out with Alex "Danger" Tarrand, you will end up doing something unexpected...

After driving without the assistance of Mr. T and taking an hour to get from LAX to Santa Monica we had a nice Indian meal, complete with "Nagano 1998 Olympics" drinking glasses. We continued on with the British Empire to the King's Head across the street. It was not only filled with lots of Brits, but also several comedians of varying ability and lots and lots of drunk people who would nudge themselves in front of you as if they were trying to pass, but then just stop and stand there, leaving you with no room and being forced to move.

The post-England hotel room party included a candy hamburger. It was made of "mallow", and bounced back when you poked it. We both took a bite. This is me post-bite. I thought it would be like a Circus Peanut. It was much spongier. We did not eat any more of it.



I also lived out one of my childhood fantasies: eating an entire roll of Bubble Tape at once. Well, to be fair, it was about 4 feet at once. But, damn, people, that's pretty awesome. Alex didn't think I could do it. I say it just shows what determination will get you.

So, conclusion: this trip to LA=100% better than the last. And it's kind of a ridiculous city, meant for ridiculous behaviors....like bubble tape and mallow burgers.

A brief life in Los Angeles.

I'm in Los Angeles. This is my third trip to this fair city this year, with one more on the books in about a month. My last trip here was not the best, to say the least. If you refer back to my blog entry on March 14, "The most wretched hive of scum and villainy...", and the following March 17, "The End of the Vacation", you will find a chronicle of that trip. Which, in the end, was decided it really was a good trip, it was just "challenging". But, now looking back, that trip really marked the end of the end of my last relationship too. So, now looking back on looking back...maybe it really was a bad trip.

So far this trip I have:
-Flown after a couple beers.
-Been on a flight that got in early.
-Picked up by an old friend and subsequently driven all over creation by him.
-In the driving all over creation there were several loops through Koreatown including trying to go to one Mexican restaurant that was closed, then another Mexican restaurant that was closed, then a dungeon bar that was closed and finally ending up in some swanky ass place in Silverlake that I really didn't belong.
-Crackheads at the am-pm.
-Some much needed and overdue closeness.
-Waking up not yet hungover.
-Walks down Century Blvd.
-Sitting next to a guy in an After Effects training class who can't figure out how to use the mouse.
-Almost dying several times as a passenger in crazy LA people's cars.

And I've still got one more night to go. Alex "Danger" Tarrand will be picking me up shortly and who knows what kind of wacky hijinks he has in store.

On topicality...

I sat down to write a blog and wanted to write about something topical, something on the pulse of the world that might spur discussion or thought. And then I realized, I don’t know what’s going on in the world. I don’t have TV, and I don’t have Internet at home. People keep asking me questions like, “Are you watching the Olympics?”. Well, no, I don’t have TV or Internet. I see headlines about people being sick of hearing about Michael Phelps. Phelps? I think I remember him from the last Olympics…presidential race? I don’t click on those links anymore. It just makes me mad and frustrated.

I’ve made a nice bubble for myself. Don’t get me wrong, I still follow the headlines, I surf the web and read mostly news stories in my spare time at work. But I’m not inundated with it. When I go home, I go away from all of it. From the repetition and bias and propaganda of the news, commercials, sit-coms and hour-long dramas with string sections. I’m not conditioned to it anymore, so that when I do see a new show (on Hulu, for example) the pander-down effect of most studio productions is glaringly obvious. Or the best is at the gym watching reality TV with no sound. I had no idea they actually made shows like that. I thought those were all just spoofs.

I like not having a clue. I’m happy that I didn’t know what “TTYN” meant (apparently it’s “talk to you never”, a Paris Hilton-ism). I’m glad that when I get home and I find myself with nothing to do I can’t turn on the TV and watch a rerun of “Everybody Loves Raymond”; I have to sit down and read a book instead. This lifestyle doesn’t necessarily make me feel any smarter for not watching TV and not having current cultural literacy, but it does make me feel more independent.

Updates.

I haven’t written a blog in a while. I think because nothing has really been happening. Life has been in, I don’t want to say a rut, but it has been pretty predictable. Go to work, ride my bike, go to yoga, get a day of running, go out for drinks, ride home, get sweaty, shower, repeat. But in the next couple months I have lots of travel planned, which is exciting. Despite the fact that travel is becoming increasingly more burdensome and laden with delays and crowded flights, I do like to travel. I like the excitement of it and the intrigue of looking out your window at something different for a few days.

I have two trips planned for work, and I will have to work while I’m there, but I will also be afforded the opportunity to see some friends that I have not seen in a long, long, long time and I am very happy for that. My one pleasure trip is also planned with a long lost friend. I think it should be a hoot, as he is way more adventurous than me and I’m looking forward to going along for the ride and having a great time. It’s my impulse vacation. I’ve needed one of those for quite a while now.

In other news it’s been really freaking hot in Portland these last few days. The last three or four days it has topped 100 degrees. Something that I am used to from my former residences, but I’m also used to central AC. It has been a little rough to say the least. Lots of cold showers, sitting in front of the fan and sleeping on top of the sheets. My poor cats who are stuck with fur coats weren’t enjoying it much either and found the best spots in the house were upside down in front of the fan, or in the tub.

My garden continues to grow. I have lots of tiny, green tomatoes and my first lemon cucumber coming in. It’s been a month since I last photographed. Look how far it’s come! Some alley cat found my catnip plant and desecrated it; but it’s hanging in there. I’m hoping someday soon the tomatoes will start to turn red. Still no strawberries though. I think there’s none for me this year.

The Worst Day of My Life...

Turned out not to be the worst day of my life. I went into Saturday with this mindset as I had signed up to do a marathon relay with three friends. That meant 6 miles total for me. The most I have ever run is about 3 in one day (and I walked a good chunk of it). As if this weren’t enough I checked the route of the course on Friday and realized that half of it was up one of the biggest hills in Portland. I was not happy.

Saturday came, and I turned off my brain, got dressed and headed down to the race. I was just going to do it and it would be over and I was fully prepared to be miserable all day long.

It came time for my first lap and I was doing pretty well. I started off downhill and was running for a good distance. I stopped and walked for a little but, but started up running again. I was happy with myself so far. Then the course turned off the main street and onto the hill. And what a hill it was! I was hardly walking up the thing. Forget the running before and after the hill, this thing on it’s own would have tired me out just walking. So I walked it. Slowly but steadily and made it to the top where the 1 mile sign was. Ugh…one more mile in the lap. But from that point it was a subtle downhill the rest of the way through the trees and I flew (for me). I only stopped to walk one other time and it wasn’t for very long.

The second lap was even better; I ran more and was more prepared for the hill and distance. I was feeling great after 4 miles and couldn’t believe it. Then my teammate’s wife called and she was having contractions (and she is due this week), so he left. We had the moral dilemma now of whether to just complete our laps, or to take on his last lap and finish the total miles. We decided to suck it up and take on his last lap too. I was all ready to do it and run four miles straight (which judging by the way I feel today, would not have been a good idea). But my awesome teammate, Laura, (who has a marathon under her belt) lost (or won) at Rock Paper Scissors and she took on the extra lap.

We finished in about 4 hours 33 minutes. And I feel pretty good that I collectively ran a marathon. I don’t think I’ll be doing it on my own any time soon. But I might be crazy enough to do another run sometime.

I'm the Master of the Universe.

I went running along the waterfront today. It was warm, but a little cloudy. I actually enjoyed running for a few fleeting moments. There were Canada Gooses in the water. There was a raging beer fest on the opposite shore. I was criss-crossing through people walking and passing them. I ran over the Willamette and felt energized. It was a great few minutes. I wish I had the stamina to maintain it and could have kept running for hours without tiring. But, alas, I tired. I walked past most of the beer fest. Drunken happy couples, circles of friends eating in the grass, the dull roar of thousands of people standing in line. I ran again to get away from it and back on a bridge where I was once again a Master of the Universe.

On Friday.

I was in NW on Friday night and went to park my bike on a side street when I passed a bike with notes taped to it. So, being the nosy person that I am, I stopped to read them. I enjoyed them so much that I took a photo. Enjoy.


Then a fight almost broke out at Matador at 7 o’clock. A little early for a barfight if you ask me. But if it’s going to come to blows in a bar, that’s a good place to do it. Smoke, dark, PBR, tater tots. Hells yeah.

Speak to us of Pain.

Sometimes when I’m feeling a little lost or out of sorts I will flip open “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran to a random page and wait for the wisdom to direct me. Sometimes it’s eerily apt, other times not so much. But today was good, as I was feeling sad and couldn’t quite pinpoint the cause.

“And a woman spoke saying, Tell us of Pain,
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your field.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility.”

It was apt. Especially after a very long psychoanalytical conversation with a friend that happened later in the day. Thank the Unseen for great writers and good friends.

My butt is always either warmed by my car seat or covered by my sweater. I have to keep it at optimum temperature or I could die from mild discomfort.

I grew up in Texas. Everyone had air conditioning. It was a given. I remember hearing about “optional AC” on cars and being completely confused. How could you have a car without air conditioning? You would die. It was absurd.

Summers growing up were about 104 from the end of May through the end of September and at least in the 90’s from the end of March through the end of October. 75 on Christmas was not out of the question. I grew up with central air inside and a pool outside. If we were to go out it was from the air-conditioned house, to the air-conditioned car (albeit it took a while to cool off) to an air-conditioned store or restaurant. The only place to really feel the heat was walking through a parking lot.

Now, being an adult and on my own, I haven’t had the luxury of air conditioning in my home in several years. Not since I lived in Arizona (again, or I would die) and before that not since Texas. It’s a strange thing to grow accustomed to, living with the windows open. I can’t close the shades or I’ll lose my cross breeze. I do have a thermostat in my apartment now, so I can monitor just how warm it’s getting inside my apartment. The last week has been pretty warm here in Oregon (80s and 90s) and I have managed to keep it under 82. I haven’t broken that number yet, and I think that’s pretty good. But, I must admit that sleeping with the fan on, the windows open and on top of the sheets under a light blanket is not adding up to a good night’s sleep and sometimes I long for the comforts of childhood and the AC vent blowing on my bed at night.

3 Chicks and a Fat Married Guy

On a whim, without really thinking it through, I sent a link to the “Rock n’ Relay” to two of my friends and asked if they would want to do it. It is a marathon relay, with each team member running about 6 miles total. That’s three laps of two miles each.

On first glance this sounded like oodles of fun. A running team! Only 2 miles (I obviously didn’t do the math in my head right away)! Music and food in the park while you wait! But about an hour after I sent this out and both of my friends agreed to do it, I began to regret my decision.

I am a novice runner to say the least. I do not like running. I hate it. I like how it makes me feel when I’m done, I enjoy the sense of accomplishment, but generally speaking when I am running I want to kill anything in my periphery and I swear like a sailor. I ran my first race this year for Cinco de Mayo. It was a 5k. I didn’t even run the whole thing. I ran a lot of it, a lot more of it than I thought I would. But that was only 3 miles.

So, the race is at the beginning of August, and I have a team, which consists of 3 chicks and a fat married guy. And we are going to lose, but hopefully finish. Today is my first day of “training” and running with a teammate. Two miles is on the agenda. I’m a little terrified. Plus it’s super hot today, which never helps. There is a reason running didn’t stick when I lived in Texas, or Tuscon. Heat + Excessive physical strain = Evil.

Bakey Goodness.

I made English Muffins! I did not spend $2.50 on a package of 6 fluffy, crispy, doughy, buttery breakfast muffins, but I made them. It took me a couple hours, but in the end I have a heaping plate of 18 muffins for a total cost of about…..$2.00-$2.50. Not too shabby. And they really weren’t as hard as I though they would be. Plus I got to use my rolling pin, which I don’t get to whip out very often.

I know I have touched on this subject before, but it always surprises me when I start to kneed bread how natural it is. It’s instinctual. It’s something that people do, humans do, and thousands upon thousands of years of women have done before me. And that makes me very happy.

And while we are on the subject of doing things myself to cost less money, I am going to try and start chronicling the things I do that might take a little longer, but save on the cents, as those are becoming increasingly rare to have lying around these days. This weekend I baked muffins and bread instead of buying them for a savings of about $5.00 on the muffins and $2.00 on the bread. I went to a friend’s house last night and instead of driving or taking the Max I rode my bike both ways saving $3.50 (for the round trip Max ticket) or $3.50 (est. Gas), plus I got a good workout. I also bought fertilizer for my container garden in bulk instead of buying a huge box that I won’t ever use, saving me about $5.00. Total savings this weekend: $15.50!! Can I get that in cash??

Oh, plus, here’s my garden today:And as a reminder here it is about a month ago.They grow up so fast!! I have my first flowers on the tomato plant and I am anxiously awaiting its fruits. Price of tomato plant: $1.99, and I’m sure I’ll get more than my money’s worth in tomatoes very soon.

Life on Mars.

I am watching the American version of Life on Mars right now, originally an excellent BBC Drama about a cop who fell into a coma and “woke up” in 1972. Whether he traveled through time or was dreaming the whole thing was the premise of the show. It was at its core a police procedural drama and a thought provoking sci-fi and a cultural commentary. I loved the BBC series up until the last scene, when it took what I would consider a decidedly “Hollywood” ending.

So, needless to say, I am very wary of the actual Hollywood version. So, far it’s following plot points, names, and even lifted dialogue (I am pretty sure). Only difference so far is Manchester = LA, It all seems exactly the same. Shot for shot, color palette, sound effects, costumes, set pieces. Oh, he drives a different car in the past. Otherwise the same show with American actors. But, I do favor the BBC version. The original is almost always better.

On bike riding.

So, I bought a bike just before I moved into my new place. Her name is June, and she is an old, yellow, Schwinn. She squeaks, and doesn’t go too fast, but she’s been getting me around town and I have been getting better at riding. The first time I rode to work (about 5 miles) I was exhausted, out of breath and didn’t recover for at least an hour. Today, I rode to work and wasn’t even that sweaty. I recovered in about 10 minutes.

My goal is to drive only when necessary. Only when it takes me out of riding range, or I have to haul something that I can’t carry on my back. My other goal is to ride to work at least two days a week. There have only been a couple times that I have broken these rules so far and I felt really guilty about it the whole time.

I could go into my reasons for getting a bike: gas prices, blah, health, blah, traffic, blah. You’ve heard them all before. And while they are all great reasons, another reason I have discovered is solitude. When you ride you get to be alone. Although that’s a half-truth in Portland because there are other bikers everywhere. It gives you time with yourself, time to think, to ponder, to extrapolate. The rhythm of you legs pumping is almost a mantra. It’s peaceful. And there can never be too much peace in one person’s life.

And the cat came back.

Have you ever had one of those days? Or one of those weeks? I just did. But I think it’s over now. When it’s one thing after another of rejection, abandonment, worry, and then the final kick when you’re down to finish the job. Things were not turning around and just when I thought, surely, this has to be the last car on the train, another would come barreling at me. But last night, the first good thing happened. My lost cat returned. He ran off on Wednesday night and didn’t return after a sudden thunderstorm. I was devastated. And to all of you out there who say it was just a cat, I say to you – screw you and go to hell. Bur he’s back now and I am back in my role of crazy cat lady, and the world seems in order.

Today was quite good as well. I got up early, made some eggs and potatoes (which were amazing – thank you Farmer’s Market!) and then went to my first ever Spinning class. It was awesome. It wasn’t nearly as intimidating as I thought it would be and I was able to push myself just hard enough that I didn’t feel like I was going to puke (but that line was in sight). Then I cleaned my entire apartment, top to bottom, which has fallen into disarray this last week, as my mind has been in disarray. It looks awesome now. Then I went to Mt. Tabor and hiked around. It was my first time out there and despite Ht. Hood being obscured by the clouds, it was still an awesome view and I had a great time outdoors. I’m also actually cooking again tonight, which seemed to have fallen by the wayside last week. Baked Rosemary Chicken, Herbed Potatoes with Onions and Garlic Spears. Oh yeah. You can’t go wrong with meat and potatoes.

It seems that things are back in order and back on track and well on their way to getting me out of this funk. Onward, upward and further.

On repeated blog entries in one day.

As you may know, I don’t have any Internet connection at home. So, when prompted, I have continued to write my blogs, but I have no way to actually post them until I also feel prompted to make my way to Albina Press to use the Internet. This usually happens on Saturday mornings (check your watches, people!), but sometimes during the week. Albina Press is just a few blocks from my house and claims some of the best coffee and best baristas in town. I, personally, don’t really like their coffee much, and I don’t like their baristas much (they seem even more judgmental and hipster than most places), but being it is so conveniently located and I have started going on a regular basis it’s growing on me. The coffee isn’t so velvety-sweet anymore and the baristas aren’t so stuck up anymore. And they are always listening to good music. Which reminds me, have you heard Fleet Foxes? I’m just getting into them now, and they are making me happy.

On not caring.

Homer Simpson said it best when he said, “Kids, you tried your best and failed miserably. The lesson is never try.” That’s right. I’m beginning not to try. Or at least not to care. Because what good comes from caring anyway? A whole lot of nothing. Just worry, anxiety and fear. I go through phases of caring. Sometimes I will care so much it will overwhelm my life. And sometimes I care so little that I actually do what is right for me, and not what anyone else thinks is right and I actually end up doing the real right thing. A co-worker from LA (who was highly ensconced in the “I care what people think LA culture) was taken aback one day and declared, “Wow, Liz, you just really don’t care what other people think, do you?” I don’t remember what made him say this, but I probably said something bad about some Hollywood deity or something. Point being, at that point I really didn’t care, and things were working out for me pretty damned well. So, in addition to taking the path of least resistance, I’m not going to care about it. Hooray for apathy! Or hooray for zen! Depending on how you look at it.

Ode to my new office chair.

My old job was obsessed with ergonomics. On my first day I was forced to watch a training video (circa 1985) to explain proper ergonomic working environments. There was an ergonomic committee. They would meet repeatedly to design workspaces to fit the body in the most comfortable position. I had a great office chair and a nice little desk.

I started my new job in January and was quite dismayed not to find the same attention put toward my personal body comfort at this office. Indeed, I am still stationed at the same “temporary” faux-wood folding table as I was on day one. And my office chair was atrocious. Within working there for less than a week I had shooting pains in my back and neck, made an emergency masseuse appointment (which did not help) and started going to yoga twice a week. I also bought a contour pillow to try and counteract the effects of my terrible chair.

I thought I was being overly dramatic and that it was just a chair is a chair is a chair until last Friday. I traded chairs with a co-worker who has inherited an Aeron chair like I had at my old job. She said it was too big for her anyway and I jumped at the chance for a nicer chair. Then she sat in my chair, and everyone else gave it a shot and told me how terrible it was. How uncomfortable and un-cusiony it was. At least it wasn’t all in my head. But, I still have the new comfy chair now. And I am happy about that.

Your mesh seat conforms to me,
My curved spine curves with your back,
And I glide so easy on your wheelies,
No longer am I on the easy track,
To being a humpback.

Reflectionisms.

The path of least resistance is always the best way to go. It’s the way water goes, and we all know that water knows what it’s doing. I do not feel like I have been doing this of late. This has been my philosophy, and indeed following the least resistant path is what sent me to LA and back to Portland again, and sort of what got me out to Portland in the first place.

When someone has their mind set on something the general rule that we are taught is to fight on, not to give in no matter how many times you fail. If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. Although good advice on the outset, after repeated failed attempts sometimes the best thing is to get a clue and move on to the next effort. When several home buying attempts in the Austin area were thwarted for all together ridiculous and unrelated things the thought arose, maybe Austin isn’t where we should be. Within a couple months, the truck was packed and off to Oregon I went. When I found myself in a failing company with nothing tying me down and a new group of friends forming long-distance down south, I packed my bags and headed to LA. When I found myself cash-strapped, apartment-seeking, job-seeking, and generally bitchy I packed my bags and moved back to Portland. In each of these instances the big, cross-country move was the path of least resistance for me.

I now find myself trying to apply this theory to the smaller things in life. Not the life changing decisions, but the smaller steps along the way. I have found that in the last couple months I have not been following the least resistant path. With many things I feel like water trying to push itself uphill. And I just need to take a step back and see where the stream is headed and redirect myself to follow the current. Right now I am stuck in an eddy on the side of the river and I need to get back in the flow. Following the river path has not led me astray yet. And as a wise friend always used to tell me, “It will all work out. It has to. There’s no other way it could happen.”

And as a side note, the glass art gallery just outside my kitchen window is having some sort of shin-dig today. I have been listening to their music all afternoon (not all my style, in fact mostly not), but they have a live band now. And I’m getting it for free while I cook my dinner. Hooray, Portland!

On Urban Country.

I have long held a dream of living in the country/mountains/forest/not suburbia where I am as off the grid as possible. Growing my own food, baking my own bread, fixing my own home. I am at this point in my life, however, almost as far from this dream as I could be. The view from my kitchen window that should be over a sloping field leading to the edge of trees and the sound of a creek in the distance, is in actuality a view of dirty siding from the shopping center that my apartment complex butts up to. There is, however, a fountain in the courtyard that kind of sounds like a babbling brook (if you close your eyes and use your imagination).

Over the last few years as this dream has drifted further and further from reality, where my homes have been in the center of Hollywood, in the center of Portland, or other various apartments with views of commerce and no yard, I have been learning to find small ways to incorporate this dream into my everyday life. The main premise behind wanting such a self-sustaining life is because it’s simple, because it’s human. Not until the last 100 years or so have the mass of humanity (in the Western World anyway) been inundated by modern conveniences and lost the skills of the history of humanity. Although this sounds very anti-feminist of me, it pains me that women of my generation and even my mother’s generation don’t know how to sew, bake, cook, or hem a dress. These are things that hundreds of years of our mothers have done and that knowledge is stopping with so many families in this generation (Now, for the record, I cannot sew (not even a slight clue) and I cannot hem a dress, but I can cook and I can bake).

When I bake a loaf of bread and start kneading it I feel a connection, however obscure or imagined, to the history of humans behind me. My great-great-great-great grandmother and beyond did this very same thing in her kitchen to sustain her family and move time on so that it arrived at today. And it makes me happy and makes me feel human to do something so simple. And there is nothing like a fresh loaf of bread.

If you look back a few blog entries you will see that I was excited to be starting a garden. And I profiled my past failed garden attempts because break-ups or moves had interrupted them. I believe I lamented that I was cursed to never have a garden, and I was excited that I had the opportunity to start another. Well, it appears I am cursed, as a break-up/move has interrupted my gardening attempt. I am again in an apartment with no yard. But, there is some outdoor space for containers! So, I am going to make the most of it and find joy in my unhappiness. Now, outside my kitchen window, in front of the wall with dirty siding I have a little container garden. And it’s the simple things like getting dirt on my hands (even if it’s dirt in a pot) that makes me feel happy and human.

Gaden Girls.

I had a visitor this weekend. I feel, now that the visit is over, that it was pretty darned successful. I only had essentially 48 hours to show someone Portland and we got a lot done!
Columbia Gorge and Multnomah Falls, Stumptown Coffee, Belmont and Hawthorne, Jake's for happy hour, a brief visit to the Portland City Grill, impromptu concert going at the Crystal Ballroom, Deschutes Brewery, Lucky Lab, New Old Lompoc, NW wandering, the Waffle Window, got to see a couple Rose Parade floats while stuck in traffic, and of course breaking in the new apartment with two bottles of wine and some giggling. Hardcore giggling.

It was a successful weekend all around. And of course, now that my visitor has gone, it's beautiful outside. But at least I can enjoy the afternoon in the sun.....before the rain comes back tomorrow....

Happy June.

I really have nothing of note to blog about today. But, I have been told I haven't updated this in a while. So, here is my grand thought of today. It's cloudy. It's June. I'm pissed. What can I say?

My cousin is coming up to Portland today to stay for the weekend. As far as I am concerned I am going to try my darndest to convince her to move up here. But, this blasted weather is not helping my case.

Obama is the nominee. Hooray! Let the games begin. I can only hope that this election will be in a slightly different light than past campaigns. Could it be a change is really coming? History does repeat itself. So, perhaps a difference, but nothing new.

I have ridden my bike to work twice this week. I am proud of myself. Most proud of myself for yesterday, when after work I went out and biked it the whole night. Hooray! It was really very exciting, despite the fact that I can't ride up a hill to save my life and didn't read traffic right and almost got myself hit.

And, I don't have a picture to represent any of these random thoughts. So, here's a picture of a kitty!! :)