Monday Monday

I procrastinated my homework as usual, which had me awake at 5:30 this morning with all intentions of working on the first draft of my next story for writing class. Instead I spent an hour with a heating pad on my belly, waiting for the drugs to kick in. I seriously considered staying home and skipping every class, which I have not yet done this term.

Jess brought me my laptop in bed and eventually I was able to sit up and spit out some words. I wasn't at all happy with any of it, but I got up and went to class (on time even!) anyway, because 90% of life is showing up. And I really wanted to find out what Joan thought of my last paper.

When I got to class, my classmates were sitting around in the hall outside the door. Joan was there, leaning against the wall and handing back papers. I wondered if she'd forgotten her classroom keys, but it turned out she was sick and was only staying long enough to hand back papers. On the one hand I was glad I came and on the other, I could have safely stayed in bed till at least 10:00, and I was bummed. But the drugs had kicked in after all, and Joan did like my paper and wants me to read it in class on Wednesday.

Since we were there and most of us had drafts that we hated, a few of us headed down to the Underground to do the workshopping that would have happened in class. In our group was Sean the Irish smoker, Emily the non-writer (who had draft twice as long as the longest of the rest of us) and Simon the quiet red-head.

We're writing about place and Sean's piece started in my neighborhood of Kenton. I loved the way he talked about the Paul Bunyan statue, staring across at the Dancin' Bare strip bar as if working up his courage to go in. His view of Portland is kind of a tough love, but the piece should prove educational since he's planning to put a lot of history into it.

Simon gave us a few luscious paragraphs about his love of kitchen's that made me think of mom's kitchen. I managed to read my piece aloud (which I hate doing) and get through both the reading and most of the feedback without crying. The other two talked about the story--but the first thing Simon said was, "I'm SO sorry," and clearly, he was very affected by what I wrote, which then set me off too. I guessed then, that somehow, he is in the club too. Note to self--bring tissues to writing class for the next few weeks...

ETA: As I picked up one of the two copies of my story to begin reading, Sean reached for the other one. "Do you mind?"

"No," I said, thinking he wanted to read along as I read, perhaps make notes. But then he stood up.

"I'm going to read this outside and have a cigarette," he said.

I was too stunned and speechless to react. He was out of the room before I recovered. Probably a good thing. Lots of things came to mind many seconds too late. "By the way, she died from that," is always my go-to phrase. I had the urge to run after him and snatch back the paper, lest he fill them with the stink of his nasty, lethal habit. But I didn't do any of that. He was long gone and it seemed I should explain the long silence and what I'm sure was an interesting look on my face, to my remaining audience.

"She died from that," I said, this time for the benefit of my remaining audience of two. I didn't think they were smokers, but I didn't much care at that point. They smiled resigned smiles of understanding. "It's really hard for me not to lecture," I told them, by way of explaining what I felt had become an awkwardly long silence. I think they got it.

I don't know why I'm still so stunned when irony smacks me on the head like that. I should be expecting the blow by now.

By the time we finished the workshop, I was really glad we'd decided to make our own class session out of the time. I hate my stuff a little less now, and I might have a new riding buddy in new-to-town Simon. It's always thrilling to meet a boy I might like enough to be friends with, even though I don't really need new friends. He asked where I shop because, he said, "I like your outfits." Let's tally: 1) Flattery from a boy. 2) Flattery about my clothes from a boy.

Yup, the apocalypse should be along any day now.

Off to math and then to see if I survive yoga after my snowboarding adventure on Saturday. And stay tuned for snowboarding video, hopefully in the next day or two.

Don't Get Any Ideas!

 

This was J's refrain throughout our viewing of the Banff Film Festival World Tour this evening.  I didn't count how many times she said it, but it was definitely more than twenty.

If I were going to get ideas, there were plenty of excellent suggestions for getting yourself hurt or killed.  Speed Flying (you can actually see the entire film on YouTube) is basically throwing yourself from the top of a mountain with skis and a parasail attached and hoping for the best.  What's funny is how the guys talk about how much easier it is on your body than regular skiing and how they can picture themselves doing it until they're old--as if there were much chance of them actually getting old while participating in such a dangerous sport.  The first item in the credits was a dedication in remembrance of _______.  Wake up and smell the danger, people! 

I guess the film festival is going on ten years now and it must be good every year because you have to buy your tickets not knowing what films they're going to show.  We weren't disappointed. Among my favorites were the one about a woman's search for coastal wolves in western Canada (look for the clip of her laying in the middle of a field while a pack of wolves curiously checks her out).  A film about some unicycle riders who are 'taking it to the next level' (Uni-mountain biking? Why not?)  After that film, the host announced that their unicycles do have special shocks in them and that the audience should NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. 

Did you see the climber who makes a leap from one patch of rock to another, misses and falls?  No, he didn't have a rope.  He's a deep sea climber.  He finds impossible looking overhangs in the water--so you have a nice soft (not) cushion of seawater to 'break' your fall, after which you can get stung by swarms of jelly fish.  Honestly, I don't know what Jess is worried about.  It was seriously impressive though. Some of the holds he was doing would give Spiderman a run for his money.

Other films included footage of high mountain skiers (it's not IF you'll start an avalanche, but when), a climbing photographer and two very well done animations.  The first, Badger, was a humorous meditation on how ground dwelling animals are affected by our mucking about with the planet.  The second, a stunningly animated two-minute piece about the mental challenges of ice climbing.

As if we weren't having enough fun, Jess won a really cool raffle prize that looks to be just my size...

If I don't post for a few days, it's just cause I'm out base jumping.

Morning is Not My Time

I hate days like this.  I got up early, thinking I'd come to school early and have breakfast on campus. I was doing well. Made myself a smoothie to use up the banana that was going south in the fruit bowl, gathered up my stuff--remembered my rain pants 'cause the weather has sucked so bad.  Grabbed my wallet from the bookshelf--checked my pocket for my phone--grabbed keys on the way out---

Oops. As I rolled up to the bike rack I reached into my pocket and realized, I had not, in fact, grabbed my keys. This is the problem with having a fancy garage door opener and leaving by bike. There's nothing that forces me to remember my keys.

So there I was with five hours of classes ahead of me and no save place to put my bike.  I was not riding all the way home again, especially not with the amount of headwind I fought on the way to school. There had to be a solution.  Could I take the bike to class? Someone had their bike in math class just the other day, but for writing I would have to leave it in the hall and I definitely couldn't take it into the gym for yoga.  I called campus safety and was told their office was too small to hold a bike.

I was just about to give up when I remembered Daniel.

My math teacher from last year bikes to class every day. I ran into him on my way home just a few weeks ago and I knew he taught a 7:00am class that gets out at 8:40.  I went to his office and he showed up a few minutes later.  I explained my problem and he was totally sympathetic.  He offered a few solutions. I could put it in his office, but he wouldn't be around by the time I got out of classes.  In the end, we walked out to his bike and he let me borrow his lock.  He could keep his bike in his office both here and at his Portland State U office later in the day.  We exchanged phone numbers and I promised to slip key and lock under his office door in an envelope later today.  I put the key in a closed zippered pocket of my pants to prevent further stupidity.

Since I had planned on having breakfast at school, I skipped the first 20 minutes of writing class to have eggs and hashbrowns in the cafeteria and prevent (my own or someone else's) low-blood-sugar related death later in the day.

So much for being an early bird.

Mother of Satan Gives Good Concert

We went down to the Crystal Ballroom to hear Ani Difranco play tonight.  Ani is one of the few people who are actually worth all the crap you have to put up with to try to get close to the stage at an all ages, standing room only show.  Despite arriving only 30 minutes before the doors opened (our friend who was hugging the stage was there at 4:00pm), we got a pretty decent spot only about five feet away from the stage.

Then there were the tall people to deal with, who don't seem to feel any guilt at all about towering in front of everyone when they could see perfectly well over our heads if they stepped to the side a few feet.  I think there should be affirmative action for short people at concerts. (There was one guy who apparently spent the whole show on his knees---chivalry is not dead! Ani was astonished when he finally stood up during the encore and she personally invited him to dance along to the next tune). 

Before the opener, we sat on the floor and Jess and I shared earphones and listened to upbeat Ani favorites on my Ipod.  Just before the show started I went to the bathroom and Jess was hard pressed to 'save my spot' but I wiggled my way back in.  Then she decided to buy a T-shirt.  For all the Ani shows we've both been to over the years, neither one of us owns a single Ani shirt.  She went off through the crowd and I assumed a variation of triangle pose to keep her space open.  Attitude is at least as important as positioning when trying to keep your space in a crowd and I gave off all the no-nonsense 'immovable object' vibes I could muster.

The opening act was a poet named Judy Grann (?) and Animal (formerly of Bitch and Animal).  I have never liked an opener at an Ani show, but they were less bad than others I've seen, and mercifully brief.

As soon as the crew came out to set the stage, the crowd started it's relentless forward press.  I had my little back pack with me and I stuffed my coat, water bottle and everything else I had in it, making a nice little round personal space bubble behind me that was invaluable for the rest of the evening.

Finally Ani came out.  It's the first time in a while that I've seen her with a full band (drums, xylophone, upright base).  She didn't beat around the bush, but got right too it, starting out with an old favorite.  For the next 90 minutes, she played her guts out.  She was in a great mood and she loves Portland. "Portland, you give good day off," she said of hanging out yesterday.  Her energy was electric and by the end, I felt she'd left her blood, bones and muscle in a puddle on the stage.  I could tell she was getting tired, but she never slacked off.

The only low point was during the encore when some woman suddenly appeared in front of us and proceeded to throw herself around as if she were the only person in the room.  She must have known she was wrong because she at least had the grace to scrunch down so as not to block our view.  Eventually I moved to stand next to her with Jess behind me but we continued to have to fight and give her the constant elbow to have any space.  Things came to a head when the POIG* she was with suddenly surged in front of me to get back to her, pushing the woman in front of me pretty hard.  They started posturing and shoving back and forth as if they were actually stupid enough to break out into a fight during 32 Flavors.  I ignored them as much as possible, but it's people like them that make me wish I carried a few poison darts in my bag.

No matter how annoying the crowd though, the show is always worth it--even when I don't end up on stage.

We never did find out what was up with the gorilla.

*Person of Indeterminate Gender

Yes, We Have No Bananas

Drawing class continues to be fun and challenging.  I couldn't finish in class, so I too a bunch of bananas home to finish up, then fed them to an enthusiastic writing class the next morning.  It's great when a plan comes together.

Today we studied creating value with hatching. I don't think I quite have the hang of it yet.

(These are supposed to be paper bags, in case you can't tell...)

River City Ride

Today was the first hot day of spring so I thought it might be a good time to get requainted with my road bike. To keep me honest, I agreed to lead the Saturday ride from River City Bikes. We had a great turn out, no surprise, considering that two weeks ago, hardier rider than I were slogging though snow and hail on their morning ride.

About 14 riders showed up including Chris, Laura, Anne, Ronda, Shari, Connie, Julia, Bree, Shari M, Shari J, two Emily's, two Amy's and a partridge in a pear tree. As someone who doesn't remember names well, I always appreciate it when my odds go up so thanks to all the doubles. :)

We started out on my not-very-original-but-out-of-shape-friendly two mountain loop route heading south on the Eastbank Esplanade. I don't have photos from this section, since it would've been worth my life to try any on-bike photography amid the mass of humanity out enjoying the sun. As it was we watched a clueless, helmet-less (isn't that the same thing?) women on a mountain bike with headphones on almost take out some pedestrians on the trail as we passed her and then, a mile later, after she decided to sprint ahead of us, she came to a dead stop right in front of our group, on a bridge, with no warning. Happy trails to you too.

Thanks to Sage for reminding me about all the construction on the 205 trail right now. We found the detours and they're not too bad. There was a baby hill passing Lents park to get us used to the idea before we got to Rocky Butte. :) Speed varied widely amongst the group but we regrouped fairly often. We took a circuitous route to the butte by way of looping around Prescott, 72nd and Skidmore. We lost Shari M, Connie and Chris to a vicious plastic bag that decided to attack Chris's deraillure but they took a short cut and beat us to the start of the climb anyway.

After a screaming fun descent (41.7mph :), Julia split off with 2/3rds of the group to head up to Marine Drive while I took a small bunch south towards Mt Tabor. We lost a couple more who needed to get back or were passing by their house and the four remaining riders decided one mountain was plenty for the day, so we skirted Tabor and headed down the loveliest bike blvd in the city and through Ladd's Edition back to the shop. As we sat on 7th waiting to turn left, the car in on the opposite side of the street started honking and I heard my name being yelled.

"What is that guy's problem?"

But it wasn't a jerk driver, it was Jon Benenate, giving very enthusiastic greetings. We met up at a red light at Belmont and MLK. "You guys are looking really fast," he complimented. The key word being 'look' at least in my case.

The light turned and we started across the street. A postal worker was crossing the other direction and she too, turned and yelled my name. I turned just in time to see a familiar face, but couldn't place a name or a context. I'm used to that by now and I gave her hasty wave.

"Wow, you're famous," said Laura.

Inside River City, we ran into Sandra and I met Sage in person finally. Sage and are signed up for the Urban Assault Ride next month and it should be a blast.

Now I've had some lunch and ice cream and I'm off to visit my new boyfriend.

Dead Mom Week

Let's not beat around the bush.  It's not my style.  I've been getting crankier and crankier over the past several weeks and it's not hard to figure out why.  If I was too dense to figure it out, then mom is invading my dreams almost nightly just to make sure I get it. 

I get it.  For those you just joining us--Thursday is the day she stopped breathing (and could've gone peacefully in her sleep, but that's another rant).  Friday is the day we unplugged her and the doctor said, "It'll probably only be an hour or two once we turn off the fluids (that were keeping her blood pressure up)."  She didn't know my mom so she can't be blamed for giving us false information.  And today--well, that's when nature won out over sheer stubbornness and she slipped out on us.  But oh boy, not without a fight.

The check in calls and emails are starting to trickle in. Only one was direct.  Most are shy, unobtrusive, hesitant. Should I say something? Should I not say something?  That's up to you. I can tell you that the pain will be there either way and I'm a pretty direct girl.  Can't hurt, might help.  I probably won't answer the phone anyway. I'm just glad I didn't break down in writing class this week, that would be awkward.  It's not like someone wrote a story about their mom either.  It's just dead mom week.  It's supposed to suck.

On the good news front, her house (I continue to think of, and refer to it as 'mom's house' is FINALLY clean.  I got the dressersthatwouldn'tdie_(TM) out of there last weekend and the cleaners came on Tuesday.  They were supposed to come last Tuesday but A) they were 40 minutes late and B) there was no hot water because I forgot we had turned off the tank and in fact, the pilot light had gone out.  So they rescheduled me without a penalty charge (I would've had thrown a fit--how 'bout I charge them $35 for making me late to class?).  And we tried again this week.  This time they showed up at my house as I was leaving to meet them. Luckily they were running a little early this time and I was running a little late.  I had them follow me over and left them to it.  It took six hours, instead of the four they told me and I had to leave drawing class to go pay them, but it was done.  Clean. Smelled like a house someone might want to live in, instead of a sad museum.

I've been feeling better the last couple of days, oddly.  Could be the biking (and getting used to biking again, cause I've been exhausted for the past two weeks).  Could be the yoga, or the sun.  At any rate, there's plenty to keep me busy and I've decided I'm not just going to sit around all weekend thinkingaboutwhatIwasdoingthistimelastyear.  I got a call from an aunt who said she's spending the day celebrating--reading, reading to kids, dancing.  Sounds like the way to go.

If you call today, don't be surprised if I don't answer.  I'll be on my bike.

She blogs, So I Don't Have To

Follow the yellow brick update...



Thanks honey!

In which I Admit I Have a Problem

I caved.

The cable guy comes next Thursday, just in time to add Scifi channel so I can get BSG on Friday.

I miss family (or roommate) Buffy/Angel nights, Xena parties, and having someone to watch my favorite sci-fi shows with. (Yeah I ended on a preposition. What are you going to do about it?) 

Jess and I have a freakish amount of things in common, but the sci-fi, it make her run screaming from the room, no matter how many times I tell her it's just a political commentary set in space...  Yeah, I tried telling her about the hot babes too. No joy. 

Guess it'll just be me, Starbuck, Athena and some popcorn.

So say we all.

First week of school

I'm almost through the first week of the term and aside from spring break being way too short, things are good.  I think I'm really going to enjoy my schedule.  On the first day, I walked into the first class room for creative writing and noticed a surprising number of black students (for Portland, even in the hood), and an older black male professor.  I looked at the board and noticed it said, "Black History 334"  It all became clear.  I had to go down to the information booth to get the correct room, which turned out to be right next door.  When I walked in, I saw the usual roomful of mostly white faces and the teacher was a mid to late 50's looking woman named Dr Swinney, but she prefers Joan.

Much more what I was expecting.  Coloring not withstanding, the class seems to be made up of some diverse and interesting characters who's stories I'm going to enjoy hearing for the next couple of months.  It'll be nice to get feedback from people who don't know me and won't automatically shower me with 'ohyouresogoodyoushouldwriteabook.'  Though that's nice, it doesn't do much to make me a better writer.  And it will also be nice to have permission to really focus and write some stories I might not (read: definitely would not) have gotten to otherwise.

At the break, Joan told me that I looked familiar, but none of my old retail haunts rang a bell for her.  I was about to blow it off as another 'lookslikealltheothers' moment, but then she asked me if I'd taken writing classes from Linda Christensen when I was at Jefferson. I still don't know where she would have seen me, unless she was stalking the halls of Jefferson  19 years ago, but perhaps it will be revealed before the term is over.

Wednesday, she had some of her students from last term read their pieces and they were all outstanding.  Two of my classmates are or have done active military duty and Ben's story of his first 24 hours in Iraq was mesmerizing.  Anne Marie's tale of where she's from--which includes a bunch of different places--was a revelation for someone who's lived in 15+ houses in the same neighborhood her whole life.  This is going to be a great class.  Even the book is a joy to pick up, and I'd read it happily on my own, even if not required.

After writing is math and the transition from essays to functions on day one was pretty harsh.  My brain rebelled.  I'm hoping it will cooperate a little better after a couple of weeks.  I did follow the review material, but barely.  I'm glad I still have my two pages of tiny typed notes summarizing my previous math class. 

Sadly, my old teacher had to back out of teaching the class, so I was greeted with a strange face when I walked in the door.  After spending Monday's class pouting about it, I've gotten over myself and admitted that the new guy (Paul) seems pretty good.  Math will be OK.

After scrambling my brain all morning, I get to empty it out with yoga.  We didn't do anything except talk on the first day, so I had my first real session yesterday.  It was hard, but I did better than I expected.  My big goal in yoga is just not to get down on myself and try not to think about everything I can't do.  I like the teacher and the fact that she is easing us into things and she doesn't show off by sticking her foot behind her head or some such move, just because she can.  That, and she's constantly reminding us to 'let go of judgements, either of ourselves or others. 

One thing I didn't expect is that we have to keep yoga journals and write down specific things about each session.  I'm sure that's going to be very helpful to actually see that progress happened when the end of the term comes.  Maybe I'll even be able to touch my toes, whoo hoo!

Tuesdays and Thursdays, I switch to right brain and go to drawing class for three house.  Our teacher Kicki, is Swedish, has a cute accent and a mischievous sense of humor that helps put us at ease.  I was a little nervous about drawing, since it's not one of my natural talents, but after two classes, I'm already enjoying myself.  Kicki made us partner up and draw each other in profile and head and shoulders detail.  Some people walked out at that point.  (What, we actually have to draw? THE HORROR!).  I made my partner--a 20-something woman named Courtney--look like an old man, but since she made me look like a hairless alien, we called it even and agreed to share a locker.

This week I got to go shopping for a bunch of fun art toys and today we spent some time just making random marks with different media, getting used to the differences and learning the proper grip.  We have to do at least three 'free' drawings per week of anything we want.  When I got home, it was still nice out so I sat in the backyard and attempted my first sketch of the raised garden bed I've been building this week.  It's not great, but you can at least tell what it is.  I'm itching to learn some stuff, so I can get better at translating what I see.  I notice that I'm already starting to look at people and things differently.  Whee, being an artist is fun!  Plus, later on in the class, there will be LIVE NUDE GIRLS!

I should've taken this class a long time ago.  Still working on getting Jess to volunteer...

First week of school

I'm almost through the first week of the term and aside from spring break being way too short, things are good.  I think I'm really going to enjoy my schedule.  On the first day, I walked into the first class room for creative writing and noticed a surprising number of black students (for Portland, even in the hood), and an older black male professor.  I looked at the board and noticed it said, "Black History 334"  It all became clear.  I had to go down to the information booth to get the correct room, which turned out to be right next door.  When I walked in, I saw the usual roomful of mostly white faces and the teacher was a mid to late 50's looking woman named Dr Swinney, but she prefers Joan.

Much more what I was expecting.  Coloring not withstanding, the class seems to be made up of some diverse and interesting characters who's stories I'm going to enjoy hearing for the next couple of months.  It'll be nice to get feedback from people who don't know me and won't automatically shower me with 'ohyoursogoodyoushouldwriteabook.'  Though that's nice, it doesn't do much to make me a better writer.  And it will also be nice to have permission to really focus and write some stories I might not (read: definitely would not) have gotten to otherwise.

At the break, Joan told me that I looked familiar, but none of my old retail haunts rang a bell for.  I was about to blow it off as another 'lookslikealltheothers' moment, but then she asked me if I'd taken writing classes from Linda Christensen when I was at Jefferson. I still don't know where she would have seen me, unless she was stalking the halls of Jefferson  19 years ago, but perhaps it will be revealed before the term is over.

Wednesday, she had some of her students from last term read their pieces and they were all outstanding.  Two of my classmates are or have done active military duty and Ben's story of his first 24 hours in Iraq was mesmerizing.  Anne Marie's tale of where she's from--which includes a bunch of different places--was a revelation for someone who's lived in 15+ houses in the same neighborhood her whole life.  This is going to be a great class.  Even the book is a joy to pick up, and I'd read it happily on my own, even if not required.

After writing is math and the transition from essays to functions on day one was pretty harsh.  My brain rebelled a little.  I'm hoping it will cooperate a little better after a couple of weeks.  I did follow the review material, but barely.  Which is why I'm glad I still have my two pages of tiny typed notes summarizing my previous math class. 

Sadly, my old teacher had to back out of teaching the class, so I was greeted with a strange face when I walked in the door.  After spending Monday's class pouting about it, I've gotten over myself and admitted that the new guy seems pretty good.  Math will be OK.

After scrambling my brain all morning, I get to empty it out with Yoga.  We didn't do anything except talk on the first day, so I had my first real session yesterday.  It was hard, but I did better than I expected.  My big goal in yoga is just not to get down on myself and try not to think about everything I can't do.  I like the teacher and the fact that she is easing us into things and she doesn't show off by sticking her foot behind her head or some such move, just because she can.  That, and she's constantly reminding us to 'let go of judgements, either of ourselves or others. 

One thing I didn't expect is that we have to keep yoga journals and write down specific things about each session.  I'm sure that's going to be very helpful to actually see that progress happened when the end of the term comes.  Maybe I'll even be able to touch my toes, whoo hoo!

Tuesdays and Thursdays, I switch to right brain and go to drawing class for three house.  Our teacher Kicki, is Swedish, has a cute accent and a mischievous sense of humor that helps put us at ease.  I was a little nervous about drawing, since it's not one of my natural talents, but after two classes, I'm already enjoying myself.  Kicki made us partner up and draw each other in profile and head and shoulders detail.  Some people walked out at that point.  (What, we actually have to draw? THE HORROR!).  I made Courtney look like an old man, but since she made me look like a hairless alien, we called it even and agreed to share a locker.

This week I got to go shopping for a bunch of fun art toys and today we spent some time just making random marks with different media, getting used to the differences and learning the proper grip.  We have to do at least three 'free' drawings per week of anything we want.  When I got home, it was still nice out so I sat in the backyard and attempted my first sketch of the raised garden bed I've been building this week.  It's not great, but you can at least tell what it is.  I'm itching to learn some stuff, so I can get better at translating what I see.  I notice that I'm already starting to look at people and things differently.  Whee, being an artist is fun!  Plus, later on in the class, there will be LIVE NUDE GIRLS!

I should've taken this class a long time ago.  Still working on getting Jess to volunteer...

What the Frak is Going On?

You know how there's this date that is officially called 'the start of spring' but it may or may not have anything to do with the onset of spring-like weather?

I know the writer's strike 'officially' ended a few weeks ago, but as far as I'm concerned, the real writer's strike ends tomorrow when Battlestar Galactica begins it's fourth and final season.

After a painful period of withdrawal, I managed to forget for a while, that Ron Moore had made me into his puppet, but now, the strings are stretched taught. I managed to hold out for a couple of years, but thanks to the Evil that is Netflix, I dipped my toe into BSG waters and sank in over my head.  If I could have, I'm sure I would have gone through the entire series without sleeping.  As it was, I had responsibilities to tend to, so it took me a few months.

I'm not going to embarrass myself by pretending I can wait for the fourth season to finish and come out on DVD.  I don't have the Scifi channel, but somehow, someway, I'll figure out how to see the episodes every week.  The first one at least, is airing on the scifi web site tomorrow.

One down, twenty-three to go.  This is going to be so good.

Time

It seems as if everyone in my social circle has forgotten all concept of advanced notice this week. In the past few days I have gotten invitations to a music performance by one of my friends, a birthday party, a one year anniversary, a dinner party, a visit from an out of town friend and a Vagina Monologues performance dedicated to my mother.

The time differential separating the invitation from the event has been at best, five days and at worst, 20 minutes. One event I really want to attend and one I really should  attend. Some I might have attended, had I known earlier.

Two plans have been changed and at least one person is getting really annoyed by this new and disturbing trend. If you're reading this and you have a party, event, bar mitzvah whatever that you'd like to me to attend--a couple of weeks notice would be much appreciated.

Buzzed

Last Friday we went to Jimmy Mak's to hear Stephanie play.  She's recording a new album with Keith Shriner of Dahlia and they're working on a whole new sound. 

We got a great parking spot for downtown on a Friday night and as we approached the bar, I saw a guy wandering down the block with an open Mac, searching for wifi, which I thought only happened on TV commercials.  As we got closer, I said, "Tony!? What are you doing?"  Tony is Steph's bf and a fabulous musician.  Turned out he was trying to book a nice hotel for a stop on his next tour--but he gave up and followed us in.

Steph and Keith played together the first set, with him doing electronica beats and prerecorded backup vocals over Steph's solo playing.  It doesn't sound very exciting in print, but it was amazing.  And Keith was so cute, sitting here in front of his Mac, a skinny white guy with a little gangster knit cap with a brim, rocking back and forth, pushing buttons and adjusting levers.  I suspected, and later confirmed, that the vocals were being mixed in on the spot, which upped the cool factor by about fifty.

Steph kinda ruined their cool rock star image though when she shared the details of their recording environment. They record in the basement of Keith's house, which is pretty standard, but above them is a house full of children, wards of the daycare run by Keith's wife. So after laying down some really sexy track, they go upstairs and wait in a line of three year olds for the bathroom.  Ah the life of an artist.

It seems like it's getting to be tradition for me to get a little drunk when I go to JM's to hear Steph.  It's always preceded by a full day of working on my dead mom's house, which seems like as good an excuse to drink as any. 

The first time was six months ago, and I'd been working on sorting out the many boxes of stuff in the basement.  Jess, who drinks occasionally, ordered a margarita and when I started taking sips, suggested I get my own.  I was pretty cranky at that point, so I did, figuring it would mellow me out.

We had a large group and the waitresses had been rude to us from the moment we walked in, which didn't help my mood.  It took thirty minutes just to get my drink.  When it finally came, all eyes were on me while I sipped it slowly.  "Areyoubuzzedyet, Areyoubuzzedyet, Areyoubuzzedyet?" 

"No, I don't feel anything." I said.

But about halfway into my glass, my brain got fuzzy and my mood got much better.  Everything was suddenly hysterical for some reason.  I proceeded to become a textbook first time drunk, talking loudly, laughing hysterically, and announcing my condition to anyone who would listen. 

I immediately understood two things: A) Why I hadn't done this before and B) how people get very hooked on chasing the buzz.  It was a nice reprieve from my mood, but as a coping mechanism, I thought my usual brownies and ice cream was probably a more economical choice--and certainly kinder to my liver.

Though we'd ridden our bikes to the show, Jess threatened to make me ride home in the car with my sister.  I suggested we kill some time by walking (unsteadily) over to Cacao for drinking chocolate, which we did.  By the time we came back to our steeds, I had sobered up enough to ride and still beat Jess up the Interstate Hill.

So here we were back at the Mak after a day of contractor estimates and looking at carpet samples to replace the smoke stained mess in mom's bedroom.  Our friend John made a reservation and invited us to join his table, and J's friend T as well so we had a great table facing the stage just a few rows back.  We're pretty sure that John is a lesbian trapped in a man's body, cause he loves hanging out with us.  He's pretty fun to be around and it's always nice to meet cool guys that don't creep us out.

I decided twice a year was probably an OK drinking schedule so J and I ordered something called JB's Live which involved raspberry vodka.  It was sweet, which I like in a drink and we split it about 60/40.  Since Jess was driving I felt I should take one for the team and consume the majority of the alcohol.

My goal this time was to play cool once my buzz hit and I succeeded pretty well.  I did give a big "WHOO HOO!" when Steph forshadowed the first few chords of "Guilty" but was quick to assure everyone at the table that I would have done the same thing sober.

Everything was on the D.L. until about halfway through the second set. Stephanie was getting ready to play "Salty Blues" but she was sick of telling the story.

"I've told this story way too many times," she said.  "I'm sure there's someone here who can tell this story."

And before you could say 'impaired judgement,' my hand went up and I found myself volunteering. "I can tell it!" I announced boldly.

Steph was thrilled. "Kronda! Great, I trust you. Tell the story."

I stood up, thinking to myself, you are so drunk. This is a really bad idea.  But it was too late.  I tried to pull my thoughts into some sort of coherence.  Keep it simple.

"Well, Stephanie had this boyfriend, and they broke up," I started.

Steph laughed.  "That seems to be the beginning of every story," she deadpanned.

I went on. "And then she got a pocket phone call from the the guy, does everyone know what that is? It's when your phone dials accidentally 'cause it's in your pocket and it's really tight..." I saw heads nodding in recognition so I went on.  "So she listened in--but not that long--maybe 5-10 minutes tops, right Steph?"

The whole audience burst out laughing.  Oh yeah, I forgot that part was funny---

"And he was on a date!  And he was being really charming and saying all this stuff he never said to Steph." OK, wrap it up before things get out of hand...  "And the moral of the story is, don't piss off a song writer.  Hit it Steph."

I sat down.  The whole thing had probably taken just over a minute. I was quite pleased with myself for not having rambled and felt like I'd gotten away with smoking a cigarette* without my parents finding out, but I shouldn't push my luck.  People were applauding and Steph said I was hired to come to all her shows and set up songs.  And that she'd buy me a drink later, which I was sure I didn't need, as we had finished the first one and moved on to a margarita when I started to lose my buzz.

The song was lovely as usual, one of my favorites.  I sat quietly for the next few songs, keeping a low profile.  And then, in the silence between songs, Steph suddenly called me..

"Kronda!"

"What?" don'tpanic don'tpanic don'tpanic...

"I'm gonna go set up for the next song.  Tell the story."

Oh crap.  It wasn't so much that I was scraping the bottom of my margarita by this time as that I couldn't really remember the story that well.  She was headed for the piano, which I knew meant "Professor Sunshine" was next.  But my mind was a fuzzy drunken blank.  "Uh..I don't really remember..."

"You can do it, I'll help you," she said as she walked back and started adjusting a mic.

Clearly I couldn't let her down so I stood up. "Um...it's Amelia right?" I started.

"Yup."

"Uh...so there's this dancer named Amelia--except that's not her real name, Steph made it up.  And she disappeared." I knew I was missing something important.  "And um...this professor, he came to see her all the time but one night she didnt show up and never came back.  And this is Steph's version of events."

I sat down, feeling unsatisfied with my rendition, but everyone applauded even more than the last time.   Steph added what I'd forgotten--that the club was a 'gentleman's club' and the dancer nicknamed the guy "Sunshine," so everyone called him Professor Sunshine. It's not known if he was actually a professor or not.

"I'll do better when I'm sober!" I said, feeling bad.

"You did great," she assured me and started the song.

I wasn't called on again, much to my relief and my buzz was wearing off by the time the show ended, although I still felt pretty wobbly.  I had a ton of fun though and I can't wait for the new record to come out.

My designated driver got us safely home and I woke up the next morning, none the worse for wear.

Reward

LiveJournal Tags: 2008,play

When I was in elementary school and my sister and I got good grades, my parents would sometimes take us to Benihana for dinner as a reward.  And later, we'd go for birthdays and other special occasions.  Their fried rice is my favorite in the city--probably more to do with nostalgia than objectivity.  And how can you not love food that has been cooked in front of you while your chef throws shrimp tails into his hat and makes volcanoes out of onion rings? 

I've been thinking about Benihana a lot for the past month or two and since my grades were all A's, I decided to treat myself to a totally indulgent dinner out.  I went alone.  Jess doesn't generally like Chinese (or in this case Japanese) food, and they only have one vegetarian option anyway.  I lucked out and got a table with a family of five who didn't feel the need to talk to me. I read contentedly during most of the cooking.

Usually, I get the Benihana Delight with chicken and shrimp, but I really wanted scallops and life is short so I went for the seafood combo and didn't regret it.  Except when it was over and I wished I could come back again the next night.

When I was little the chef hats were color coded so you could tell who was still in training.  Green hats were OK chefs, but red hats were the best.  Now it seems everyone has red hats, so I'm not sure if the system is still in place.  Our chef had horrible aim and seemed to just toss the shrimp tails at people randomly.  But he did make a good volcano and more importantly, the food was scrumptious.  I always ask for a side of the ginger salad dressing as an extra dip.  It's also a good way to end up with extra you can take home, without paying $4.00 for a side.  I figured I was giving them enough money anyway. 

I probably should've stopped eating a lot sooner than I did, but it was so good, I just decided to see how much my belly could stretch.  I did manage to take home a little bit of leftover shrimp and veggies which were excellent the next day.

I expect I'll work very hard when school starts again on Monday.

Why We Don't Shop at Fred Meyer

I don't think I'm going to learn this in yoga

I've been deeply pained that I couldn't afford to see the latest Cirque du Soliel show in Portland this past month. So I decided to sublimate my pain with Cirque videos from Netflix. So far, it's working pretty well. And in moments like the one pictured here, it's really nice to be able to rewind and freeze frame so I can tilt my head to the side and go "How?????"  What I love about Cirque is how they think up really hard things and then say, "Now what would be impossible?  And then do that.  Enjoy the moving version of this balancing act below.

Hair

My sister posted this on Facebook and yes, that is all my real hair. What she didn't say is that it was Halloween and I was dressed as Diana Ross, which I think mitigates the 80's-ness of it all. I normally didn't let it run around off-leash like this. I had too many monkey bars to climb.

And of course, make up is out of the question.

We're Aunties!

Late Monday night J and I went to the airport to welcome home our friends Lisa and Spike and their newly adopted bundle of joy (or poop, depending on the moment :), Essex.  He is even cuter than pictures can accurately display, and from all reports, a pretty mellow baby.

It was good we brought both cars, because they were loaded with four suitcases, carry-ons, stroller and car seat, plus two very tired new parents.  Then it was off to their friend's house to pick up the car and their very large dog, Otis.  The friends have two dogs of their own, and everyone on two legs or four was very excited with all the activity.  Jess and I were the only night people in the group, so we were the only ones not up past our bedtime.

After introductions and cooing, we loaded everyone back up and dropped them off home, where they could get some much needed rest.

As we drove home on the nearly empty roads, we pulled up to a red light a few blocks from home.  I gave Jess the universal 'roll down your window sign.'  She did.

"Pardon me, would you happen to have any Grey Poupon?" I said. She laughed, and the light turned green.  I love doing that.  Once when I was twelve or so, I did it to a guy sitting next to us in a truck while my mom was driving.  She was horrified, to say the least, which only made it funnier to me.

Today Jess went over at 3:00 to help organize all the baby stuff.  I became extra motivated and finished my homework and last final in time to pedal over and join them for an hour.  Essex was a bit fussy after eating--he loves the eating and doesn't so much like the stopping of the eating.  Lisa cuddled and bounced and cooed, but to no avail.  The only thing that would calm him down was a baby Vangogh video that his former caretakers let him watch all the time.  It was chilling the way he instantly calmed down the moment bright shiny objects appeared on screen.

Six months is just a little too young to be hooked on TV already!  I have no doubts that a healthy direction towards self amusement is already underway. 

Once, when I was in highschool, I figured out that I watched, on average, seven hours of TV PER DAY.  And yet, I also got good grades, read everything I could get my hands on and rode my bike all over town from the time I was twelve.  I only wish I had that much time on my hands now.

After some play time, more fussing started, so we took a walk around the block.  Essex loves anything that involves movement, so the stroller is one of his favorite things.  Lisa promised to get a Burley trailer so we can come by and pull him around the neighborhood and I can't wait.  If he thinks the stroller is good, he's going to love the trailer.

We had only reached the corner, when we encountered several neighbors and their kids out in front of their house.  Only a few seconds went by before the woman, who turned out to be Desiree, said, "Oh I see you guys all the time at work."

I was thinking, what do you mean, I don't even have a job, when she revealed that she works at REI.  Busted again.  I got used to a certain amount of retail fame from years of working in customer service, but getting recognized for being a patron of a large chain is a first.

After our short walk, we left L & E to entertain the next person in what's sure to be a stream of visitors this week.

I'm looking forward to getting to know little Essex better.

I rode home, though I could have copped out and put my bike in the car. Instead I raced Jess up Williams and held my own until Killingsworth, where we both ended up at a red light.  Her window rolled down.

"Got any Grey Poupon?" she asked.

The light turned and so did she. I raced home, but didn't beat her or the rain which started pelting me just after we parted ways.  My legs got pretty soaked, but hey, that's what wool is for.

It was nice to get some baby time and have a somewhat relaxing evening.  Tomorrow I start on my last project, which is really a make up of an incomplete.  If not for that, I'd be on spring break right now, but I'm working hard to forget that fact, and focus on this last bit. 

Friday, I'll celebrate with a Stephanie Schneiderman show at Jimmy Maks.

Best Church Ever or How to Have Fun Without a Keg

We hosted the last Church of Waffles of the season this morning and it just so happened that we saved the best for last. All credit goes to our fabulous friends who are so much fun to be around that all we have to do is put them in a room together and keep the carbs flowing and the fun blossoms like spring flowers.

We love to see fresh faces at COW, and today we were happy to welcome three new friend/girlfriends of friends, Kim, B and Alicia. Ankesh is one of my Live Journal buddies and he showed up (on his birthday, no less) to hang with us. We met at an LJ meet-up years ago and have been reading each other ever since. He seemed to have fun despite initial worries about being the only boy (there was one more to keep him company, but I'm not sure they ever even talked).

We met John last fall at the Voices For Silent Disasters concerts and we've been exchanging lots of email lately. I love hanging out with him because we like a lot of the same things, mainly, bikes, lesbians and movies, not necessarily in that order. He's one of those guys who can say things that would get other guys in trouble, but with him, I just laugh. I'm pretty sure John is probably a lesbian trapped in a man's body, like that guy from first season L-Word. (How else can you explain a guy coming to a party full of lesbians and leaving with a phone number?) John, you can come back to our house anytime. Uh, anytime we're having a party that is.

Jess's friend T won the award for 'over-achieving potluck guest' with her homemade scones that she brought over ready to be baked on a Pampered Chef baking sheet. She's also been known to bring us homemade chocolate chip cookies which Jess says she likes better than mine. Fortunately my love of a fresh scone trumps baking insecurity every time.

I was thrilled that my friend Lauren showed up, since I hadn't seen her in almost a year. And there's always one or two couples that have to be dragged out of bed via text message threats and cajoling, but then become the life of the party when they finally show up. Names are withheld to protect the sexy.

Sprinkle in a dash of Rodrigo y Gabriela for background music and you have yourself a pretty fine morning.

I was a bit more of a control freak about waffle iron access this morning so we didn't have any major disasters like last time. Despite the added workload, I was pretty relaxed and enjoyed myself immensely, watching my friends meet each other, share hugs and stories and laughter. What can I say, I love bringing the people together, especially when the people are so darn cool.

There was only a brief period when the noise level went to bar levels and I could see Jess wincing--but it quieted back down to tolerable levels. I'm definitely the extrovert of the family, and I'm lucky I have a sweetie who's willing to indulge my fondness for entertaining.

The whole shindig lasted a little over three hours. John was one of the last to leave and noted to Jess, "Wow, your house is about to go from completely full to totally quiet."

"That's totally fine with her," I told him, and we all laughed.

The nice thing about church is the easy clean up, especially since some nice house elves had come through and put everything away and loaded the dish washer! Within 30 minutes, the house was cleaner than before we started and all furniture was returned to it's proper place, leaving us most of the day to chill out and enjoy the silence, with the memories of laughter echoing in the halls.

You can enjoy the slide show of waffle-based fun below, but I highly recommend you check them out on my Flickr page (with captions & notes).


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.