Where I been

Ok, so I am sitting at a gate at O'Hare airport waiting to make the last leg of a trip to the land of my birthing and I'm typing this on my phone so will this be more disjointed than usual? Yes. And you thought it not possible.

I am listening to a young lass on her cell phone having a heated argument including the very astute observation: "DUDE. Spanish people are not Mexican. Spain is in Europe." Her debate sparring partner, judging from the way her statements continue, is not buying what she's saying for one second. Not one iota. She is remaining steadfast though, bless her heart.

Let's see, what do I need to catch you up on? Last week my friend Palindrome and her mister came to visit us in Seattle. Palindrome and I met our freshman year in college, and I have somehow managed to see past the fact that my behavior- actually my very personhood- at that time was probably the most mortifying period of my life. I was just a girl running amok, is all I have to say for myself. Palindrome doesn't spend a lot of time bringing up anecdotes of my mortifying behavior, which is big of her because I can see how that might be entertaining. Instead, we spent a couple of days catching up and you know what? Still love that lady. When it comes to friends, I really know how to pick them, even in the midst of The Mortifying Years. Good job, me.

Aside: the great debate at O'Hare continues. "DUDE. Just because you met a Mexican in Spain is irrelevant."

Back to Palindrome's visit. The downside was that Nordic Boy was under the weather for the entire time. He was trying to rally the whole time but he was dragging pretty hard, which kind of sucked. His not-feeling-wellness did cause him to be even more succinct than usual, which led to hilarity such as the following.

Palindrome: So what is the population of Seattle?
NB: The Puget Sound area is up to around 4 million I think.
Pal: Does that include Tacoma?
NB: The Puget Sound area includes everything...in the Puget Sound area.

I don't know. It was funny.

After their visit, I workity worked worked, and then this past Monday Nordic Boy went to work in Portland and I tagged along and bummed around the city. I had so much time, a list of things I wanted to do, and you know what I did instead? I sat in a bakery and read my book and stared off into space for a few hours. Then I got hungry so I walked to Clyde Common, ate, then read my book for a few hours more with more staring out the window. Then I walked to Tanner Springs Park and read/stared a little there until the sun went down. And then I went to Imelda's and bought two pair of shoes. So, to recap. Read, stare, eat, space out, read, shoes. Basically, an awesome day, no?

Update from five feet away from me: "No, like Spanish people colonized Mexico. That's why they speak the same language!" PERSEVERE, sister!

And now, I'm heading to Michigan to see my beloved mom and pops. I'm looking forward to hot weather, and the fact that humidity makes my hair look fierce. These days my visits can be more than a little melancholy, so sue me if good hair makes me feel a bit better, ok?

More soon, my dears.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

More soon

The bloggy suffereth this week, I know. Fun stuff is happening- more coming soon!

In the meantime, please to enjoy my lunchtime view.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Consumables #48

It's weekend time, SUCKAZZZZZ!


I am super excited for this weekend because (a) it is a weekend and really there needs to be no more reason to be excited about it than that; (b) I am being promised good weather, PROMISED; (c) I am taking at least part of the day off on Monday and hopefully the whole day off so bonus!; (d) most importantly my friend Palindrome is coming to visit me! I actually paused my typing there to do a little chair dance, which PROVES ALL OF IT.

Have you guys seen the tumblr Bill vs. Betty? It is photoshop madness whereby Billy Murray's face is put on Betty White's body and vice versa. It's more entertaining than it sounds. At least to me.

I read Common As Air: Revolution, Art, and Ownership by Lewis Hyde this week, which basically argues the case for defending our cultural/creative commons. Ah yes, my brain does work sometimes, contrary to my many blog postings about The Bachelorette. I have to say that this book was the most readable, interesting, and accessible thing I have read on this topic.

On the other end of the brainy spectrum, I was at home the other night, sitting/lying on my couch in a really impressive way. Like, if there was an America's Next Top Couch Potato competition I would be all over it. I was watching The Daily Show on the DVR, which I do pretty much every evening, but I was so ensconsced in my own Potato-ness that I wasn't even bothering to fast forward through the commercials, which is a rarity indeed. I don't know that I have seen a commercial on tv for the last 5 years, really. But the other night I was watching them, and this one came on.



And it made me laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Like, a big mouth, full belly laugh. Nordic Boy looked over at me from across the room and said "whoa! STITCHES!" and it was true. I was in stitches. Especially when the dude says "Your son Rip is on line toot." OMG. I may just be a 14 year old boy, but DANG that is funny. I really maybe should watch commercials more often?

Before you judge me too harshly, just know that Anderson Cooper and I find the exact same shit (ha ha, pun!) funny. So there.

As I said, I am being told that the weather this weekend will be great. The past few days have been actual summer around here, which is astonishing. Let's go out with a summery song, shall we? Let's shall.


Craft Spells, After the Moment

Busy Biznazz

It's Thursday? What the WHAT?

Sorry you guys, I have been on a bender lately. And by a bender I mean that I have been on a sort of spree. Not a drunken spree, nor a shopping spree. Those are the only two kinds of benders and sprees people talk about, isn't it? Or a killing spree, which, yikes. Well, there is also the Spree, by which I mean a little scooter dealie that you could buzz around on in the 80s. Wow, you guys, I just looked up Spree scooter on Wikipedia and the picture they have on that page is the EXACT Spree that my friend April had in 8th grade. The black one with the purple writing. We used to squeeze the two of us on that thing and ride around singing Janet Jackson songs. We were positive that we were the bee's knees, the cat's pajamas, and the kitty's titties all in one.

Anyway, the bender/spree I have been on is just a ridiculous chain of small life events of the completely normal variety (yard work! seeing friends! grocery shopping! working!) but somehow all piled up one after the other with no breathing room in the middle of any of it. In fact the other day I was at work and I was going from meeting to meeting, and all of a sudden I found myself running, because I had scheduled myself back to back with no room for even walking from one thing to the next. I was RUNNING, y'all. As I did this, I thought to myself: self? Is something on fire right now? Is anyone dying? I am all for Getting Things Done but really? Running? There needs to be fire, flood, or blood to justify running during my work day.

Thusly I have discovered a boundary I never thought I needed. No running at work. I am not a firefighter for god's sake. Next thing you know I will want to slide down a pole every time I answer a reference question.

Here are some parts of the normal life spree.

Nordic Boy and I have been looking for a chair for our guest room for months and months. Because we are tightwads who also want quality and prettiness (it would be so much easier if we were tightwads who were fine with crap), we tend to look, and look, and look for things for a long time. Need I remind you I am the lady who went for several years without a winter coat because I was looking so hard? So when plunking down good money for a chair, we scoured the city, y'all. I am confident in saying that we have laid eyeballs on every possible chair within a 20 mile radius of us. Big stores, little stores, vintage, thrift. When we do find the thing that we like, we often look for a while longer, just to be sure. Need I also remind you that it took us a few years of the datey/non-datey for us to commit to each other? What? It is too the same thing. How will I know? as Whitney Houston says. In my case I will know when I have kissed other chairs first, that's how. The other side of this coin is that after all the looking, BAM, all of a sudden it seems that there could never be any other chair other than the one that we looked at and fancied a month or so ago. You wake up, and suddenly... you're in love, as Billy Ocean says. That day happened to both of us on Friday. That means that we walked into the furniture store after work, acting like a couple of high rollers who were buying a chair on a whim. We walked in and were all "we'll take that chair. No, we don't need to look. We don't have any questions. And throw in the ottoman while you're at it too. Ring it up." How baller is that? Ok, so maybe ballers don't spend their dolla bills on chairs from Crate and Barrel, but if they did.

We went to a cocktail party where I continued my quest to find my favorite drink. I have never had a favorite drink, or even one that I really like a super lot, and I sort of want one, for some reason. I made a valiant effort (oh! the sacrifice!) but I still haven't found what I'm looking for, as the non-Sonny Bono said. On the upside, my friends and I decided that hotdogs were entirely too phallic and that we needed a meat product that celebrated ladyparts. We came up with a hotdog in the shape of a doughnut. One could put tasty morsels in the hole of it (grilled peppers? herbed potatoes?). Sounds delicious right? We called it a meat-ring. Ok, so the name maybe leaves something to be desired, but the cocktails were flowing at this point. I assure you we were very proud of ourselves. It is only now as I write this that I truly see how misguided our invention was.

I also should mention that Nordic Boy spent the whole day on Saturday carrying bricks that he had busted out of our laundry room out to the front yard (yes! more yard debris! we continue to be great neighbors), which was pounds and pounds of heavy bricks, and so by the time we went to the party, he was BEAT. He promptly got to the party, had a drink or two, butt-planted on a couch and took a nice snooze right in front of everyone. I used to wake his ass up when he pulls shit like this, but I have stopped doing that. He works so effing hard, all the time. It's your party and he'll snooze if he needs to.

So now, just in case you are keeping score, there was ripped out ductwork, ripped out brick, and also some remnants from tree pruning on our deck all weekend. So beautiful. Landscraping!

Nordic Boy and I had the funniest argument this week. It went just like this.

(Driving by a donut shop).
Me: I've always wanted to try a donut from there.
Him: You have. We went there years ago.
Me: No, you must have gone without me.
Him: Nope, we both went.
Me: No we didn't.
Him: Yes we did.
Me: No we didn't.
Him: Yes we did.
Me: I'm SICKA YOU making up stuff like this!
Him: I'm SICKA YOU not remembering your own life!

This made us laugh until we about died. I don't know why it was so funny. Ever since, we have proclaimed all sorts of things, just so that we could recreate the awesomeness of the words "SICKA YOU." I highly recommend it. Try it. It's funny.

Later gators.

Consumables #47

My week has gone by so fast with not much to show for it. It was a work-eat-sleep sort of time. The mix of Consumables is small and weird.


Incredible Mr. Limpet
Ok, I admit it, I am a Don Knotts fan. What? I think he's funny. This isn't his best work ever, but still, this campy early 60s stuff is so soothing to me. I can't defend it, I just like it. Deal with it.



Craig Ferguson
I loved every episode he did from Paris this week. I think, based on this alone, he just might have to go on my celebrities-who-should-be-friends-with-me list.



The XX, Islands

I love this song.


That's it! For the whole week! Can you believe that shit? GOD.

Whidbey, Take Me Away

Hey! I totally forgot to tell you about my weekend last week. Nordic Boy was super excited because he has been dreaming about taking out a non-functioning duct all summer long. Dreaming about it, I tell you. And ripping that thing out was going to cause us to rip a hole in the space-time continuum. Not really. It's actually going to rip a hole in the fabric of space. Ok, LG, stop it! It will rip a hole in our roof, which would then need repairing, but when I type the words "cause us to rip a hole in..." I just physically can not help but finish that sentence without referencing sci-fi space-time ripping. It's a typing compulsion that I cannot fight.


ENNYHOO. So this weekend, when the sun looked like it was going to grace us with its presence, Nordic Boy got his ass up on the roof, tore a huge hole out of it, ripped out the duct, and then fixed the roof. This is pretty much a perfect day to that dude of mine.

I, on the other hand, have other ideas about what constitutes a perfect day. Just because we are sweet on each other doesn't mean we have to agree on perfect-dayness all the time. The world don't move to the beat of just one drum, as the wise Mr. Seaver once wrote. The day I had in mind was to head to the Isle of Whidbey with my pal Biogirl. No ductwork was harmed in the making of our perfect day.

We took the ferry there, and I swear to you the ferry worker who helped us park the car was none other than Derek Jacobi himself! I am positive it was really him and not just some ferry worker who looked like him. It was HIM, dudes. Researching a role undercover, I just know it. We then made our way to Langley, where we walked around and had lunch at the Braeburn cafe. We made our way to Greenbank Farm, where I expanded my pie repertoire by sampling their famous Loganberry pie. Do you know that I am woefully undereducated on pies? I have only had four kinds in my whole life. Apple, peach, rhubarb, and chocolate cream. And now Loganberry. That is terrible pie representation for a lifetime of eating, people! I feel shame about this.

We also walked through some farmland that was opened up for hikers, and sort of got lost. Leave it to me to get lost in an open farm field. God.

We drove up to a local lavender farm to frolic in the purpleness. Prince would have totally loved it there, for reals.

Last stop before heading home was Deception Pass. Pretty pretty pretty.

Oh summer. You totally get me.

Avant Yarde

Last week was Seattle Night Out, a night where one is supposed to host a block party or a barbecue or some other such outdoorsy something in order to get to know your neighbors. I have always had grand dreams that when I owned a house I would be the sort of lady that would host such an event because it just seems all out of proportion saintly-like, does it not? The sort of saintly whereby you aren't really doing anything that big, but yet not very many people like to do it, and so you can do something pretty meager (hummus dip and a boom box playing 90s hits by Lisa Stansfield or something) but yet be really contributing something to building community.


As I am typing I realize two things. I have now revealed to you that: (a) I probably don't have a very good grasp of what the word "saint" means; and (b) in the deep recesses of my mind I think that party music = Lisa Stansfield. So there's that.

I love to have people over, or, as Martha Stewart wants us to keep calling it: to entertain. And the best entertaining happens on a sunny summer day in one's yard, right? However, I do it a whole hell of a lot less than I used to in the glory days of my youth because ever since we got our house, it is usually a construction zone much of the time in our yard. We are redoing one thing after another at the homestead from the day we moved in to right this very second and most likely on into unknown future years (omg it will never be over I swear to Charo), and we have decided that we are not going to do our yard and deck yet because we are still in a stage where we are tearing the shit out of the inside, and often we drag our house's poor discarded innards through the yard to make unsightly piles (you're welcome, neighbors!) and so we aren't putting in fancy landscaping yet because it's just going to get tromped on. Our motto: wait to do the landscaping until we're done with the landscraping.

So! I cannot be the patron Saint of Neighborliness and Perpetual Barbecues right now. However, that's ok because there are others in my neighborhood who will make the effort, namely our neighbors Sherry and Donna and their cutey son Elliot who live down the street from us. I had never met these folks before, at least in a for-realsies way that goes beyond smiling when we pass on the street, so I whipped up something for the potluck (well I bought a pan of brownies from Whole Foods) and my favorite neighbor (aka Biogirl) and I went. Nordic Boy was, as usual, out of town on biznazz. We met a lot of nice people and I put a lot of faces to names and I walked away with probably about 50% of the crowd thinking that Biogirl and I were a couple so that's batting about average for us.

Here is my fear about my neighbors, ready? Let's just get right into it. I fear that the neighbors are judging our yard. Because of the outflux of debris. And the landscraping. And the lack of landscaping.

This is the downside of moving into a cute neighborhood. You have to keep up with the cuteness! And we are not doing that, at least in the out-of-doors department. I am already mortified by our yard every time I approach it, and being in a party surrounded by every last one of my neighbors? Even though they are very nice people? I wanted to keep apologizing for my yard to every person I met.

"Hi I'm PCL, I think I have seen you in the bookstore a bunch of times and I've always meant to say hello. Great to meet you. Sorry about my whole yard thing. Really. Just, sorry."

Part of the reason I feel like this is because when we first moved in, our house was a serious wreck. It was unkempt, unloved, and needed a new...everything. We like to say that we are not remodeling our house, nor are we renovating it, but rather, we are rehabbing it. It was Keith Richards when we bought it and we are Benjamin Buttoning that shit as hard as we can. Hopefully we can get it to a place where it will age a la Dick Clark, is the goal. Anyway, so when we first moved in the main thing we had to do was just clean a bunch of stuff out to make it livable. When we did this? The neighbors fell deeply in love with us. The eyesore house on our street was being cared for! Looky looky! People came over to us as we left or arrived each day and congratulated us. You are doing such a great job! We are so happy someone is here to save this house!

That lasted for the first year. And yes, the house looks a jillion times better than it did. But we are not done yet, not by a long shot, and the neighbors...I don't know...I feel like I can hear their whispers through the trees, so soft, so ghostly...and they say...WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?

I don't know. Maybe they are still on our side, and all of this agida is just because of my own stuff. But there is agida. And so neighbors who were at the party last night, I promise you: when we are done with these shenanigans, we will have you all over for a barbecue of our own. And I promise you pleasant surroundings, and good food, and Lisa Stansfield.

But for now, there is a pile of old ducts in our front yard, to be taken to the home recycle place this weekend. Sorry. Please accept these Whole Foods brownies as a peace offering.

Love ABC Style

Hold onto yourself: I am about to talk about the Bachelorette again. I would promise you I'll stop after this, but you all know that my words on quitting are now meaningless so I shall not insult you.


I heard these two ladies talking about the Bachelorette on the bus the other day, and immediately leaned in to listen because no one in my life will talk with me about the Bachelorette because I only hang out with non-ridiculous people, unlike myself. So I am starved for someone who will agree with me that Constantine and Ben, when standing alone or with others, look normalish but when standing next to each other make me think of nothing but a giant Merry and Pippin from Hobbiton. Anyone? Anyone care? No one?

Hence, my new best friends on the bus.

The armchair quarterbacks on the bus (armchair quarterback? is that a thing? I always think I am making things up when I try to throw around sports lingo) were talking about how if the average lady or dude were set up to go on the Bachelorette, it would be really hard to NOT think that you were falling in love (or, in the parlance of the show "falling for someone" because the L word cannot be spoken before the overnight dates because that would be so trashy, OBVS) when put in the midst of such EXTREME LOVE GESTURES.

Let's just take a moment to take in the awesomeness of them coining the phrase "extreme love gestures," for Pete's sake.

They went on to talk about what an extreme love gesture is (and despite the term it is not dirty), and it made me realize that this concept alone is a big reason why I watch the show. Because I don't understand the concept of extreme love gestures, and I am endlessly fascinated with it.

Perhaps I do not understand it because I have never been under its influence. No one has ever picked me up for a date in a helicopter, flown me over the Grand Canyon, and landed me on a pedestal in the middle of the Bellagio fountain in Vegas. But apparently, if they did? I would HAVE TO fall in love with them. It would render me powerless! According to the ladies on the bus.

Extreme Love Gestures, Bachelorette style
aka How You Know You Are Feeling Love: a list

Riding an elephant or camel, maybe even a horse
Snorkeling
Repelling off a building or mountain
Bungee jumping
Tightrope walking
Having dinner at a table in the middle of a pond, fountain, or lake
Watching fireworks
Riding in a seaplane or helicopter or hot air balloon
Going on a sleigh ride, hay ride, or other horse-drawn situation
Getting invited on stage during a Broadway play, magic act, or Cirque du Soleil type show

If you have done any of these with someone, dude, you should totally be married to them by now, according to the Laws of the Bachelorette. You should also cry a lot. And also "put yourself out there." And also announce at various times that you know that your future husband/wife is "in the room right now, I just know it." And also, hot tubs are required. Lots and lots of hot tubs.

Lastly, whatever you do: DON'T MAKE FRIENDS. This is not just for romance. It's a rule for career, relationships, whatever. Friends are for suckers.

Consumables #46

Books!


Stolen, by Vivian Vande Velde
A girl finds herself running through the forest with no memory of who she is or how she came to be there. She is found by two families, one who claims to be hers and begin to call her Isabelle. They tell her that she has been missing for a long time, ever since she was snatched by a witch who lived in the woods where she was found. The witch has since disappeared, along with another baby. As Isabelle tries to piece together the story of her identity, we have to figure out what is going on as well. An interesting mix of fairy tale and mystery.

Run Far, Run Fast, by Timothy Decker
A simply told graphic novel about a young girl in Middle Ages in Europe whose village is struck by a plague. Her mother tells the girl to run away, which she does. I found the layout of the illustration panels to be a bit confusing and was distracted by this, but perhaps the young whippersnappers can read the comics better than I can.

TV!
Bachelorette
The season finale wrapped up in the motherland of Fiji, which just made it like, destiny, that I was watching it. Getting through all those hours of idiocy just to see that was worth it. Well, ok, maybe not.

Movies!
Harry Potter 7.2
We totally went to see this again because we are the biggest nerds on planet earth.

Men Who Swim
A surprisingly touching documentary about a group of men in Sweden who decide to form a synchronized swimming team. As each team member approaches middle age, the friendship they find in the team is really poignant.

Music
I'm totally feeling this song right now.


Gravity, Sara Bareilles

Ready, Set, Forget

Remember how I said that I left my phone in the coffee shop, only it wasn't in the coffee shop, but back at work where I left it? This was only one of many phone-leaving incidents of late, as well as some forgetting-of-lunch at home, as well as some forgetting to communicate with people who are emailing me, which especially galls me since that is a pet peeve of mine. Really, when did it become ok for someone to email another someone with a direct question (want to hang out this week? want these baseball tickets? could they have designed a movie poster that would make me want to see a movie less than this one?) and for that second someone to just ignore that email for weeks? It seems like that that is just commonplace these days. Acting in such a manner? Humph, I say. Except for when I do it like, um, lately. Just ignore that part though, I am way too busy being judgy to take note of my own shortcomings.


This morning all of this came to a head when Nordic Boy dropped me off at work and I hopped out of the car, leaving my wallet on the seat. "Hey! Forgetty With Meatballs! You forgot your wallet!" he said after me.

Forgetty With Meatballs! Like, my new nickname. I sort of love it.

This week has gone by in a flash. Time goes by faster when you just run around forgetting stuff. I have tested this all week and it has proved true, because that's just good science. Last weekend summer started up in Seattle for real (I know most of you have been roasting since May but we have barely seen the sun in all of 2011) so Nordic Boy and I celebrated by repainting our guest room. Because that's what summer is all about, Charlie Brown. That and ripping out old ducts. I know, it's like you can just hear The Sundays singing "Summertime" in the background, right?

We also went over to The Soggy Librarian's house for barbecue funness, and Nordic Boy was completely hypnotized by the awesomeness that is cornhole. I, on the other hand, was completely hypnotized by the sight of my other friend arguing so vehemently over the facts of Leona Helmsley's life (as you do) that her lawn chair seat broke and her butt fell through as she made her final points. There is nothing more emphatic that you can do to make a point than to fall through the bottom of your chair at the same time. I think lawyers should start incorporating this into their closing statements.

I have been having lunch outside pretty much every day this week, you guys. And it has not rained on me once! It's enough to make one do something like this.