This morning we got it into our minds that we should go to church. So, we made our way to 9:30 Mass at St. Michael's, the only Catholic church here in Oly.
This Church is decidedly post-Vatican II. I never realized how deep-rooted my Catholic upbringing was until we entered the church and I immediately started panicking because I saw neither a tabernacle nor a crucifix on the altar. Should I genuflect or not??? (I didn't.)
The Mass was pretty uneventful, other than lots of singing, with groovy guitar- and tambourine-accompaniment. I didn't recognize any of the songs, except the last one. Actually, I didn't recognize it; the melody just sounded a lot like Dave Brubeck's "Take Five."
There were many participatory activities, too. Like introducing yourself to your neighbors and raising your hands to bless kids, Catholics-in-training, etc. We are generally uncomfortable with that kind of participation. It puts us outside of our comfort zone, which, within the perimeters of Catholic worship, is pretty much limited to the memorized responses and the standard sit-stand-kneel calisthenics. (Did I mention there were no kneelers, either?)
Anyhow, we decided to forego the post-Mass coffee-and-doughnut fellowship and the new-member orientation tour. So, we had exited the church and were returning to our car when this woman walking in front of us just collapses and kind of crumples onto the sidewalk.
It was strange; she was walking with a little girl when she collapsed, but the child just looked at the lady lying on the ground, then disappeared after that. Was it her daughter? I don't know. I never saw her again.
Well, there weren't many other people around, and those that were around just watched with curiosity.
So, I kicked into my newly acquired CPR-training mode: "Are you OK? Are you OK? Somebody call 911!" I thought I yelled it, but SMH told me later, all he heard me say was, "Steve???!" Which, luckily, he read as, "Call 911!"
And, literally, as I was mentally reviewing my First Aid to-do list (Check breathing. Check pulse...), I thought to myself:
This is most certainly my punishment for:
a) Making light of my CPR training a few weeks ago, and
b) Not actively participating in Mass today (or, um, not going to Mass at all since we've been here).
And then I thought, "Please God, don't punish her for my being an a**hole." And immediately after that, I thought, "Also, God, please don't punish her for my use of bad language."
The lady had a pulse and was breathing, but she was not conscious. For a few minutes, I was the only one "helping" her, though a small crowd quickly gathered around us. ("Helping" is a stretch; I just kept talking to her and holding her hand). She eventually regained consciousness and squeezed my hand, but she was unable to speak more than a few words and was really out of it. Oh, and her English was not very good at all, so that kind of put a wrench in our communications.
Luckily, a doctor (St. Mike parishioner) came on the scene, followed by an EMT (another St. Mike parishioner). And shortly after SMH made the call, firefighters and EMT arrived and took over.
The whole thing took probably 10 or 15 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. And it really shook me to the core because it made me think, if I had really had to perform CPR, would I have been able to do it? Would I have been able to keep a clear head? I'm not sure. It is weighing heavily on my a**hole mind.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
Noteworthy events
This week was a particularly uninspiring one for blog activity.
Our house-hunting adventure continues in full-force (now with a new level of stoicism), but I don't want to bore you with the details, nor do I want to jinx what appears to be stroke of good luck.
Instead, I'll just note that yesterday was a very special day back in Cincinnati for two reasons:
1) It was the birthday of good friend Sha. Happy Birthday! Hope this year is filled with many Zingermans surprises!
2) It was the last day of work for Karla, my partner-in-crime at Freaks+Weirdos. This talented designer is taking off for life in the big city! Cincinnati is losing a shining star, and NYC is gaining one. Sigh. Good luck, Karla. We'll always have "Destination Bride."
Our house-hunting adventure continues in full-force (now with a new level of stoicism), but I don't want to bore you with the details, nor do I want to jinx what appears to be stroke of good luck.
Instead, I'll just note that yesterday was a very special day back in Cincinnati for two reasons:
1) It was the birthday of good friend Sha. Happy Birthday! Hope this year is filled with many Zingermans surprises!
2) It was the last day of work for Karla, my partner-in-crime at Freaks+Weirdos. This talented designer is taking off for life in the big city! Cincinnati is losing a shining star, and NYC is gaining one. Sigh. Good luck, Karla. We'll always have "Destination Bride."
Monday, February 20, 2006
Staying positive
Last night we went to a bowl-o-rama going-away party for Barry, one of SMH's coworkers. Barry is leaving the paper and ditching OlyWa, which is a crying shame because he is a very cool guy. It may be presumptuous to say this, because maybe he hated my guts, but had we known each other longer, I think Barry would've been a great friend and an awesome running partner.
The party was fun, but a surreal experience: being surrounded by people (and friendly people, at that), but feeling like the loneliest person in the world. Everybody has experienced that to some degree...right? Um, right?
This weekend was a tough one. We both felt exhausted by Sunday, not having done much of anything. It just seems we're constantly living for what will be instead of what is. Somehow, we are convinced that things will get better when: we move into a "real" home; I secure a "real" full-time job; I make more money; I have a car; we meet more friends; I am able to run regularly injury-free; I can sleep through the night on a regular basis...the list goes on and on.
But in reality,
- the apartment, though nowhere near the 700 sq. ft. they claimed it was, is dirt- cheap and offers a great view of the city.
- I have a job that I enjoy.
- I am not making much money, but we're getting by just fine.
- I don't need a car; I live within walking distance of my job and a grocery store. (And, for crying out loud, I lived the first 28 years of my life without a car!)
- we're still new here, and it takes a while to build a social system from scratch.
- I haven't had a major injury since the fracture of my "alarmingly thin bones."
- Sominex works wonders for getting a good night's sleep.
I think I'm just being overly dramatic about adjusting to life as an OlyWa newbie. It does seem like a roller coaster ride, though.
So, I have to stayed grounded by focusing on the positive things. And, this weekend, that positive thing was receiving a return e-mail from Peter, one of my oldest friends. Pete and I attended grade school together, and then we remained good friends through high school. We kind of lost touch through the later college years, though we would occasionally see each other and chat from time to time.
Isn't it fantastic to hear from somebody who has drifted to the back of your mind, and be reminded of how lucky you have been to have that person in your life? Pete is one of those people. He has an amazing life story, and I'm sure if he wrote it down on paper, it would make it into Oprah's Book Club. (I assure you, it would all be true.)
Pete is full of anecdotes, most of them beyond hilarious. He has the refreshing quality of not taking himself too seriously. And in being able to laugh at himself, he has never failed to crack me up.
One summer—I think it was the summer after our freshman year in college?—Pete interviewed for some amazing job. The rest of us had typical, boring summer jobs, but Pete somehow landed this fabulous interview. Of course, one of the interview questions was, "What is your greatest weakness?".
You know the drill. You ponder this question ahead of time, then carefully craft your answer to reflect a positive quality. And finally, you add a little polish to impress the interviewer, only to have it sound like a rote reply. "I'm a perfectionist..." "I'm a workaholic..."
Pete's answer: "I'm kind of a slacker."
HA!!!!!!
I totally love him for giving that answer. And, apparently the employer did too, because he got the job.
The party was fun, but a surreal experience: being surrounded by people (and friendly people, at that), but feeling like the loneliest person in the world. Everybody has experienced that to some degree...right? Um, right?
This weekend was a tough one. We both felt exhausted by Sunday, not having done much of anything. It just seems we're constantly living for what will be instead of what is. Somehow, we are convinced that things will get better when: we move into a "real" home; I secure a "real" full-time job; I make more money; I have a car; we meet more friends; I am able to run regularly injury-free; I can sleep through the night on a regular basis...the list goes on and on.
But in reality,
- the apartment, though nowhere near the 700 sq. ft. they claimed it was, is dirt- cheap and offers a great view of the city.
- I have a job that I enjoy.
- I am not making much money, but we're getting by just fine.
- I don't need a car; I live within walking distance of my job and a grocery store. (And, for crying out loud, I lived the first 28 years of my life without a car!)
- we're still new here, and it takes a while to build a social system from scratch.
- I haven't had a major injury since the fracture of my "alarmingly thin bones."
- Sominex works wonders for getting a good night's sleep.
I think I'm just being overly dramatic about adjusting to life as an OlyWa newbie. It does seem like a roller coaster ride, though.
So, I have to stayed grounded by focusing on the positive things. And, this weekend, that positive thing was receiving a return e-mail from Peter, one of my oldest friends. Pete and I attended grade school together, and then we remained good friends through high school. We kind of lost touch through the later college years, though we would occasionally see each other and chat from time to time.
Isn't it fantastic to hear from somebody who has drifted to the back of your mind, and be reminded of how lucky you have been to have that person in your life? Pete is one of those people. He has an amazing life story, and I'm sure if he wrote it down on paper, it would make it into Oprah's Book Club. (I assure you, it would all be true.)
Pete is full of anecdotes, most of them beyond hilarious. He has the refreshing quality of not taking himself too seriously. And in being able to laugh at himself, he has never failed to crack me up.
One summer—I think it was the summer after our freshman year in college?—Pete interviewed for some amazing job. The rest of us had typical, boring summer jobs, but Pete somehow landed this fabulous interview. Of course, one of the interview questions was, "What is your greatest weakness?".
You know the drill. You ponder this question ahead of time, then carefully craft your answer to reflect a positive quality. And finally, you add a little polish to impress the interviewer, only to have it sound like a rote reply. "I'm a perfectionist..." "I'm a workaholic..."
Pete's answer: "I'm kind of a slacker."
HA!!!!!!
I totally love him for giving that answer. And, apparently the employer did too, because he got the job.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
The phone rang and...
Nope. They didn't accept our offer, which makes us 0 for 3. Utter frustration has set in, so I'll just cut this short; otherwise a litany of expletives is sure to follow.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Waiting for the phone to ring
It's Saturday night, and we're both at home working. Clearly this move to OlyWa has not done much for our social life.
In fact, we had considered going to a movie tonight, but instead, we are anxiously awaiting a phone call from for our real estate agent, Rich. He is supposed to ring us in about a half-hour to let us know if our offer on yet another house has been accepted.
In the mean time, I'll just fill the time with some idle chatter.
Brrrrrr, it's very chilly here in Oly. I understand it is pretty cold in Cincinnati, too. Last night, the wind kicked up and knocked out our power around 8pm. It was actually a nice excuse to light some candles, open a bottle of wine and chat. Of course, our chat consisted of obsessive, speculative rambling about our chances with this latest house...so, it really wasn't all the calming. But, by 10pm, we had each settled in with a nice book (and camping headlamps), and, 11pm, we were asleep. (Oh, allright, now the obvious state of our social life is just downright embarrassing.) But, with no power, there was no heat; and with no heat, there was no choice except to burrow under as many blankets as possible.
The one great thing about this move has been the opportunity to read to my heart's content (few friends + part-time job + rain = lots of time on my hands). I started our cross-country trip by reading In Cold Blood, which came in handy when I went to see Capote a few months later. After I saw the movie, I read Other Voices, Other Rooms. I sure wish I belonged to a book group so I could discuss the ins and outs of that one.
My favorite has been Under A Cruel Star: A Life in Prague 1941-1968, by Heda Margolius Kovaly, previously published under the title The Victors and the Vanquished. If you haven't read this one, I urge you to do so. It is sobering, but it is one of the best books I have ever read. I don't want to say that it is a testament to the human spirit, because that is far too cliche. Plus, that would be an oversimplification because it is also a testament to the darker side of human nature. SMH's boss gave this book to all the employees, and I have to give her credit for the selection. In many ways, it resonates with what we are seeing and experiencing in our world today.
I am currently reading Mike Lapinski's Death in the Grizzly Maze: The Timothy Treadwell Story. A few weeks ago, we saw the movie Grizzly Man. We were pretty intrigued, so I bought the book as a Valentine's gift for SMH. OK, like the chocolate, I had ulterior motives for buying the book and ended up starting it before he could. It paints a far different portrait of Treadwell than the film does. If you saw the movie, read the book.
If you have any book recommendations, send them my way. I am eager for the next good read.
Rich said he'd call at 8:00, and it is now 8:15. There's nothing left to do but obsess. Come on, phone, ring.
In fact, we had considered going to a movie tonight, but instead, we are anxiously awaiting a phone call from for our real estate agent, Rich. He is supposed to ring us in about a half-hour to let us know if our offer on yet another house has been accepted.
In the mean time, I'll just fill the time with some idle chatter.
Brrrrrr, it's very chilly here in Oly. I understand it is pretty cold in Cincinnati, too. Last night, the wind kicked up and knocked out our power around 8pm. It was actually a nice excuse to light some candles, open a bottle of wine and chat. Of course, our chat consisted of obsessive, speculative rambling about our chances with this latest house...so, it really wasn't all the calming. But, by 10pm, we had each settled in with a nice book (and camping headlamps), and, 11pm, we were asleep. (Oh, allright, now the obvious state of our social life is just downright embarrassing.) But, with no power, there was no heat; and with no heat, there was no choice except to burrow under as many blankets as possible.
The one great thing about this move has been the opportunity to read to my heart's content (few friends + part-time job + rain = lots of time on my hands). I started our cross-country trip by reading In Cold Blood, which came in handy when I went to see Capote a few months later. After I saw the movie, I read Other Voices, Other Rooms. I sure wish I belonged to a book group so I could discuss the ins and outs of that one.
My favorite has been Under A Cruel Star: A Life in Prague 1941-1968, by Heda Margolius Kovaly, previously published under the title The Victors and the Vanquished. If you haven't read this one, I urge you to do so. It is sobering, but it is one of the best books I have ever read. I don't want to say that it is a testament to the human spirit, because that is far too cliche. Plus, that would be an oversimplification because it is also a testament to the darker side of human nature. SMH's boss gave this book to all the employees, and I have to give her credit for the selection. In many ways, it resonates with what we are seeing and experiencing in our world today.
I am currently reading Mike Lapinski's Death in the Grizzly Maze: The Timothy Treadwell Story. A few weeks ago, we saw the movie Grizzly Man. We were pretty intrigued, so I bought the book as a Valentine's gift for SMH. OK, like the chocolate, I had ulterior motives for buying the book and ended up starting it before he could. It paints a far different portrait of Treadwell than the film does. If you saw the movie, read the book.
If you have any book recommendations, send them my way. I am eager for the next good read.
Rich said he'd call at 8:00, and it is now 8:15. There's nothing left to do but obsess. Come on, phone, ring.
Friday, February 17, 2006
A brief tour
Hello friends,
Today I will be your guide as I take you through a very brief tour of OlyWa. A couple weeks ago, while we were out enjoying a rare spell of sunshine, we snapped a few shots to show friends and family our new home.
The Port of Oly
This is the Port of Olympia, a relatively small and quiet port on Budd Inlet, the southernmost point of Puget Sound. On a clear day, you would see the Olympic Mountains where the clouds are.
The Kiss
This is "The Kiss," a landmark sculpture on OlyWa's Percival Landing.
Marathon Park at Capitol Lake
This is the entrance to Marathon Park, so named because OlyWa was the site of the Olympic Trials for the first women's marathon (as an Olympic event) in 1984. The first three finishers made it to the Olympics, and they were: Joan Benoit (who, 17 days before the trials had had knee surgery!), Julie Brown and Julie Isphording (heard of her?). By the entrance to the running path, there is a photo of the pack of runners, which includes a picture of Isphording. So, I feel a funny little local connection everytime I run by it. Benoit went on to win the Olympic Marathon. To celebrate the 20th anniversary of the inaugural OlyWa Trials, Benoit came back to run the Capital City Half Marathon in 2004. Apparently, people were pretty darn excited to have her as a guest of honor.
Capitol Lake
This is Capitol Lake, which sits at the foot of the state capitol building. The lake is actually formed by a dam; at the dam, the Deschutes River (fresh water) empties into Puget Sound's Budd Inlet (salt water). Though in an urban setting, it is a good place to see wildlife, including the occasional heron and otter. In the autumn, during spawning season, salmon make their way upstream and through the lake.
Taking a call on Capitol Lake
This sunny day followed our record-setting spell of rain, during which Capitol Lake had flooded. Here, you can see how the lake had flooded the picnic area. As I took this picture, SMH was on his phone, talking to — who else — our real estate agent about — what else — our next house-hunting expedition.
So, that wraps up your tour around the South Sound area of OlyWa. Percival Landing and Capitol Lake are located downtown, but there's lots more of downtown to show you...including about 5,000 tattoo and piercing parlors. But we'll go down that road another day.
Today I will be your guide as I take you through a very brief tour of OlyWa. A couple weeks ago, while we were out enjoying a rare spell of sunshine, we snapped a few shots to show friends and family our new home.
The Port of Oly
This is the Port of Olympia, a relatively small and quiet port on Budd Inlet, the southernmost point of Puget Sound. On a clear day, you would see the Olympic Mountains where the clouds are.
The Kiss
This is "The Kiss," a landmark sculpture on OlyWa's Percival Landing.
Marathon Park at Capitol Lake
This is the entrance to Marathon Park, so named because OlyWa was the site of the Olympic Trials for the first women's marathon (as an Olympic event) in 1984. The first three finishers made it to the Olympics, and they were: Joan Benoit (who, 17 days before the trials had had knee surgery!), Julie Brown and Julie Isphording (heard of her?). By the entrance to the running path, there is a photo of the pack of runners, which includes a picture of Isphording. So, I feel a funny little local connection everytime I run by it. Benoit went on to win the Olympic Marathon. To celebrate the 20th anniversary of the inaugural OlyWa Trials, Benoit came back to run the Capital City Half Marathon in 2004. Apparently, people were pretty darn excited to have her as a guest of honor.
Capitol Lake
This is Capitol Lake, which sits at the foot of the state capitol building. The lake is actually formed by a dam; at the dam, the Deschutes River (fresh water) empties into Puget Sound's Budd Inlet (salt water). Though in an urban setting, it is a good place to see wildlife, including the occasional heron and otter. In the autumn, during spawning season, salmon make their way upstream and through the lake.
Taking a call on Capitol Lake
This sunny day followed our record-setting spell of rain, during which Capitol Lake had flooded. Here, you can see how the lake had flooded the picnic area. As I took this picture, SMH was on his phone, talking to — who else — our real estate agent about — what else — our next house-hunting expedition.
So, that wraps up your tour around the South Sound area of OlyWa. Percival Landing and Capitol Lake are located downtown, but there's lots more of downtown to show you...including about 5,000 tattoo and piercing parlors. But we'll go down that road another day.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
For those who fall short
Have you been watching the Olympics? Though we're not big winter sports fans (we haven't been skiing or snow-shoeing here yet), we've been keeping tabs on the Games with a relatively high level of interest.
Not to sound pollyanna-ish (losing my cynicism...sounding like a pollyanna...OlyWa must be making me soft), but I think that the athletes that really deserve a medal are those who fall, then pick themselves up and keep going. I just can't get over the speed skaters and ice skaters who continue with their race or program after taking a tumble. How do they do it?
It's one thing to train like hell, then go out and race the best race of your life and win. Or even to race the best race of your life and lose. But to train your entire life for this big moment, then fall painfully short--just because it wasn't your day? Or you caught a cold a few days before the event? Or your skate got caught in another athlete's skate? What a blow. And then to have the camera on you as you finish, when you probably just want to be alone and scream into a pillow? Ugh. Seriously, there should be a medal.
A good friend of mine has a great story about doing her first triathalon. In the final leg of the race, she was literally in last place. But, she continued running, even as the sagwagon followed close behind her, announcing over the bullhorn: "Last runner! Pack it up! Last runner! Last runner!" Despite the constant, grating reminder of her last place status, she kept running (if memory serves, her then-boyfriend had at that point deserted as a spectator to have breakfast at McDonalds) and finished. No "DNF" for her.
Not only did she finish the race, but she tells the story to this day with great humor. I remember liking her even more as a friend when she recounted the experience.
Maybe it is pollyanna-ish. Or, maybe it is just the voice of someone who is always passed in the last .10mi of a race. Maybe it is a desire to be considered a victor even when you come in dead last.
Did you know that the 2010 Winter Olympics are in Vancouver? We are currently assessing the Games to determine which events we're going to try to attend. I say speed-skating, bobsled, luge; SMH says hockey. Interested? 2010 might be a good time for our friends to plan a trip to OlyWa...
Not to sound pollyanna-ish (losing my cynicism...sounding like a pollyanna...OlyWa must be making me soft), but I think that the athletes that really deserve a medal are those who fall, then pick themselves up and keep going. I just can't get over the speed skaters and ice skaters who continue with their race or program after taking a tumble. How do they do it?
It's one thing to train like hell, then go out and race the best race of your life and win. Or even to race the best race of your life and lose. But to train your entire life for this big moment, then fall painfully short--just because it wasn't your day? Or you caught a cold a few days before the event? Or your skate got caught in another athlete's skate? What a blow. And then to have the camera on you as you finish, when you probably just want to be alone and scream into a pillow? Ugh. Seriously, there should be a medal.
A good friend of mine has a great story about doing her first triathalon. In the final leg of the race, she was literally in last place. But, she continued running, even as the sagwagon followed close behind her, announcing over the bullhorn: "Last runner! Pack it up! Last runner! Last runner!" Despite the constant, grating reminder of her last place status, she kept running (if memory serves, her then-boyfriend had at that point deserted as a spectator to have breakfast at McDonalds) and finished. No "DNF" for her.
Not only did she finish the race, but she tells the story to this day with great humor. I remember liking her even more as a friend when she recounted the experience.
Maybe it is pollyanna-ish. Or, maybe it is just the voice of someone who is always passed in the last .10mi of a race. Maybe it is a desire to be considered a victor even when you come in dead last.
Did you know that the 2010 Winter Olympics are in Vancouver? We are currently assessing the Games to determine which events we're going to try to attend. I say speed-skating, bobsled, luge; SMH says hockey. Interested? 2010 might be a good time for our friends to plan a trip to OlyWa...
Monday, February 13, 2006
Cupid strikes with chocolate
Today, I decided to partake in the Valentine's festivities.
This is remarkable only because I am a cynic, and nothing makes my cynicism surface faster than Valentine's Day.
But today, well, it's just me and SMH on our own out here, so what can I say...I guess my cynicism lost some of its edge. Yes, I hate to admit it: I was feeling a little sentimental, so I celebrated V Day.
Seeing as how the way to the heart is through the stomach, our Valentine's Day pretty much revolved around food.
First, I got up early and made a special ginger pancake breakfast.
Then, I came home from work and made parmesan chicken, one of SMH's favorites.
But before leaving work, I decided what the piece de resistance would be: an over-the-top chocolate dessert. Knowing that I wouldn't have time to bake anything, I stopped at Wagner's, a wonderful German bakery downtown (think Servatii's, but without the pretzels, unfortunately), where I picked up a mouthwatering medley of chocolate treats. It was indeed over the top, but I thought, what the heck—SMH is a chocolate freak—I'd splurge. (OK, I love chocolate too, so, yes, I had ulterior motives.)
SMH arrived home from work with a special Valentine's gift for me: a mouthwatering medley of chocolate brownies, truffles and covered strawberries.
Wow. Lots of chocolate. I guess we're like two peas in a pod. A chocolate pod.
While the two of us have raging sweet teeth, even we couldn't tackle all the chocolate.
We had been thinking of doing a "Red Wine and Chocolate Extravaganza" weekend in Yakima wine country this weekend...but, well, maybe not.
Going back to my cynicism, I don't know why I'm such a curmudgeon about Valentine's, because I have two very fond memories of this day:
1) Not so long ago...Realizing that I had truly found my mate when, for our first Valentine's Day together, SMH gave me a pair of spankin' new Asolo hiking boots.
2) Pretty long time ago...Going to an Ice-T concert at Bogart's for a Valentine's date (pre SMH). This was Ice's OG days, long before his Law & Order debut. He was touring with Body Count, when "Cop Killer" was getting its most controversial media hype. So, we went to the show, had a great time, then came out to find our car had been broken into and everything inside had been stolen.
A cop came to help us out—a really friendly fella—and he asked us with a big smile, "So, where were you kids tonight? Dancing at Cooter's?" And we replied, "No sir, we were at Bogarts." "Oh really, who was playing? Probably nobody I've ever heard of." "Um, Ice T." The smile quickly faded from his face; yep, as it turns out, he had heard of him. But, then he took it in good humor and ended up being right helpful.
Hope everybody had a very un-cynical Happy Valentine's Day, and hope A.B. had a very Happy Birthday.
This is remarkable only because I am a cynic, and nothing makes my cynicism surface faster than Valentine's Day.
But today, well, it's just me and SMH on our own out here, so what can I say...I guess my cynicism lost some of its edge. Yes, I hate to admit it: I was feeling a little sentimental, so I celebrated V Day.
Seeing as how the way to the heart is through the stomach, our Valentine's Day pretty much revolved around food.
First, I got up early and made a special ginger pancake breakfast.
Then, I came home from work and made parmesan chicken, one of SMH's favorites.
But before leaving work, I decided what the piece de resistance would be: an over-the-top chocolate dessert. Knowing that I wouldn't have time to bake anything, I stopped at Wagner's, a wonderful German bakery downtown (think Servatii's, but without the pretzels, unfortunately), where I picked up a mouthwatering medley of chocolate treats. It was indeed over the top, but I thought, what the heck—SMH is a chocolate freak—I'd splurge. (OK, I love chocolate too, so, yes, I had ulterior motives.)
SMH arrived home from work with a special Valentine's gift for me: a mouthwatering medley of chocolate brownies, truffles and covered strawberries.
Wow. Lots of chocolate. I guess we're like two peas in a pod. A chocolate pod.
While the two of us have raging sweet teeth, even we couldn't tackle all the chocolate.
We had been thinking of doing a "Red Wine and Chocolate Extravaganza" weekend in Yakima wine country this weekend...but, well, maybe not.
Going back to my cynicism, I don't know why I'm such a curmudgeon about Valentine's, because I have two very fond memories of this day:
1) Not so long ago...Realizing that I had truly found my mate when, for our first Valentine's Day together, SMH gave me a pair of spankin' new Asolo hiking boots.
2) Pretty long time ago...Going to an Ice-T concert at Bogart's for a Valentine's date (pre SMH). This was Ice's OG days, long before his Law & Order debut. He was touring with Body Count, when "Cop Killer" was getting its most controversial media hype. So, we went to the show, had a great time, then came out to find our car had been broken into and everything inside had been stolen.
A cop came to help us out—a really friendly fella—and he asked us with a big smile, "So, where were you kids tonight? Dancing at Cooter's?" And we replied, "No sir, we were at Bogarts." "Oh really, who was playing? Probably nobody I've ever heard of." "Um, Ice T." The smile quickly faded from his face; yep, as it turns out, he had heard of him. But, then he took it in good humor and ended up being right helpful.
Hope everybody had a very un-cynical Happy Valentine's Day, and hope A.B. had a very Happy Birthday.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Forever a part of the Greyhound crowd
I have to introduce this entry by telling you a little about our new home, OlyWa. The city has a certain j'ne sais quois. Don't let the fancy French expression fool you. Here, "j'ne sais quois" alludes to the city's grittiness, edginess, rawness. It is hard to describe the place—cool, but a little rough around the edges.
Oly is full of transients. Old, young, men, women, many addicts (and sadly, many young addicts—think Tiny, in Mary Ellen Mark's Streetwise) The best way to describe them is "the Greyhound crowd." And, given my many opportunities to "Go Greyhound" (more times than I can count) and befriend the riders, I regard them as my peeps.
Why are there so many transients here in Oly? I think because 1) though rainy, the weather is quite temperate, rarely dipping below freezing in the winter and 2) there are a lot of social service agencies that cater to the poor and homeless in town.
Though there are pretty many "street people" (for lack of a better word),—it's difficult to navigate through downtown without passing quite a few—they never strike me as particularly annoying or threatening. In fact, when panhandlers ask me for money, and I say, "No, Sorry," it is not uncommon to hear them reply in all sincerity, "OK, thanks anyway! Have a great day!" They always seem surprisingly pleasant given their situation.
Among one of the services in town is a table that gets set up somewhere downtown, usually in an unobstrusive location, in front of a store or in a parking lot. People can go to the table and get food and water. I'm not really sure how it works—I've just noticed a crowd around the table from time to time.
I've also noticed a giant tricycle with saddlebags being driven around town. Transients seem to gather around this bike, too, so I've always guessed it was a source of relief, maybe distributing food and water as well.
The other night, SMH and I took Loki for walk downtown. We decided to go into Starbucks and get a treat. I have to describe here my appearance: I didn't know that we'd be stopping anywhere, so I looked pretty shlubby, wearing old jeans, a sweatshirt, a cap and a coat that's just a little too big for me.
So, there we are, sitting just outside Starbuck's eating our treat, enjoying the clear night and mild weather, when the guy on the giant tricycle comes riding across the street. He slows down when he sees us and gives me a sweet, sympathetic, even imploring smile. Thinking he's a friendly local biker, I get a little uncomfortable, but smile back, avoiding eye contact.
Then, he pedals past us and goes to the guy sitting a few tables away. He chats with the gentleman, then pulls something out of the bike saddlebags and gives it to the guy. "Oh," I say to SMH, "that's cool. I bet he collects leftover food from restaurants, then delivers it to the homeless in the evenings."
And then it hits me: He thought we were transients!!! That's why he slowed way the hell down when he saw us and looked at us sympathetically, as if to say, "Will you be needing anything from my cart tonight?"
I guess you can take the girl out of the Greyhound but you can't take the Greyhound out of the girl.
Oly is full of transients. Old, young, men, women, many addicts (and sadly, many young addicts—think Tiny, in Mary Ellen Mark's Streetwise) The best way to describe them is "the Greyhound crowd." And, given my many opportunities to "Go Greyhound" (more times than I can count) and befriend the riders, I regard them as my peeps.
Why are there so many transients here in Oly? I think because 1) though rainy, the weather is quite temperate, rarely dipping below freezing in the winter and 2) there are a lot of social service agencies that cater to the poor and homeless in town.
Though there are pretty many "street people" (for lack of a better word),—it's difficult to navigate through downtown without passing quite a few—they never strike me as particularly annoying or threatening. In fact, when panhandlers ask me for money, and I say, "No, Sorry," it is not uncommon to hear them reply in all sincerity, "OK, thanks anyway! Have a great day!" They always seem surprisingly pleasant given their situation.
Among one of the services in town is a table that gets set up somewhere downtown, usually in an unobstrusive location, in front of a store or in a parking lot. People can go to the table and get food and water. I'm not really sure how it works—I've just noticed a crowd around the table from time to time.
I've also noticed a giant tricycle with saddlebags being driven around town. Transients seem to gather around this bike, too, so I've always guessed it was a source of relief, maybe distributing food and water as well.
The other night, SMH and I took Loki for walk downtown. We decided to go into Starbucks and get a treat. I have to describe here my appearance: I didn't know that we'd be stopping anywhere, so I looked pretty shlubby, wearing old jeans, a sweatshirt, a cap and a coat that's just a little too big for me.
So, there we are, sitting just outside Starbuck's eating our treat, enjoying the clear night and mild weather, when the guy on the giant tricycle comes riding across the street. He slows down when he sees us and gives me a sweet, sympathetic, even imploring smile. Thinking he's a friendly local biker, I get a little uncomfortable, but smile back, avoiding eye contact.
Then, he pedals past us and goes to the guy sitting a few tables away. He chats with the gentleman, then pulls something out of the bike saddlebags and gives it to the guy. "Oh," I say to SMH, "that's cool. I bet he collects leftover food from restaurants, then delivers it to the homeless in the evenings."
And then it hits me: He thought we were transients!!! That's why he slowed way the hell down when he saw us and looked at us sympathetically, as if to say, "Will you be needing anything from my cart tonight?"
I guess you can take the girl out of the Greyhound but you can't take the Greyhound out of the girl.
Another gym story
Just came back from the gym.
Apparently 8-9 am is geriatrics hour at Bally's, with the average age being about 95. You would think that working out at this time would make me feel especially young and strong.
Not so, especially after getting off one of the leg machines. One of the oldest (and scrawniest) fellas in the joint—oh, probably 105 years old or so—got on the machine when I was finished, but before doing so, changed the weight to nearly triple what I had it at.
Sometimes you need to have your ego completely deflated.
Apparently 8-9 am is geriatrics hour at Bally's, with the average age being about 95. You would think that working out at this time would make me feel especially young and strong.
Not so, especially after getting off one of the leg machines. One of the oldest (and scrawniest) fellas in the joint—oh, probably 105 years old or so—got on the machine when I was finished, but before doing so, changed the weight to nearly triple what I had it at.
Sometimes you need to have your ego completely deflated.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Caveat Lector
My thoughts for the day run along a gross-out theme, so let the reader beware. If you're easily grossed out (as I am), you may not want to read this entry.
Today, I had a particularly good morning at work. After some recent career (or, rather, lack-of-career) -related anxiety, I was struck with an unusual feeling of satisfaction. I felt happy to be back in the non-profit sector, doing something for the community. Floating in a bubble of mirth, I made my way down to the Museum's "coffee bar" for a cuppa.
As I was stirring the coffee, I smiled to myself, thinking, "Yes, this is good. I'm lucky to be doing something I enjoy. Who cares that it's not an art museum? A children's museum is great! These little rug-rats are allright in my book."
Then, with no warning whatsoever, the little kid standing next to me pukes. One minute, he's just talking to his mom, hangin' out, and the next minute, he's getting sick on the floor. He's weirdly unaffected by it, too. Before, during and after the incident, he just stands there, staring off into space. In fact, his body doesn't really even move. Kind of like a puking mannequin.
Mirth bubble burst.
Now, as a staff member, I should have run up to the frantic mom and said something calming like, "Don't worry, we'll take care of it." But, instead, I was frozen in disgust. All I could do was just sit in a stupor, with an inner monologue along the lines of: "Holy St. Christopher, that is really awful. Please God, let somebody else deal with this. I am just an office lackey. I have no qualifications for dealing with vomiting children." Luckily, St. Christopher and/or God moved me to some response. I was able to snap myself out of the catatonia and assure the mom not to worry--then I promptly told a few staff members and fled the scene.
This scenario occurred on the heels of another incident that had some gross underpinnings.
Last night, I took a class to become recertified in CPR—something I've been meaning to do since Missy and I saw a guy collapse and "die" as he crossed the finish line of a 10k. (He was revived, thanks to some onlookers who performed CPR, thus my desire to learn it).
Anyway, the class consisted of me, Casey (another Museum employee) and the instructor. The instructor began the class by reviewing the risks and signs of a heart attack. Now, you probably know I am extremely squeamish about needles and blood. What I am discovering about myself, however, is that it's not just the sight of blood and needles that gives me a severe case of the heebie-jeebies—apparently, it's the mere discussion of these matters as well. Even simple words like "hemotology" and "phlebotomist" wig me out.
So, the instructor began telling us about "clogging of the arteries" and "hardening of the arteries" (I thought they were the same thing), and I felt myself getting lightheaded and sweaty. This guy is a firefighter, so he was peppering his presentaton with real-life accounts of what he's seen and done, which just sent me into a higher level of discomfort.
I was really nervous, too, because I thought, maybe if I show signs of queasiness, they will deny me my certification. Do they deem certain people "unfit to perform CPR," based not on their test but on their reaction to the material? Their inability to cope with hearing the word "blood"? Luckily, Casey suggested we break for water, so I was able to regain my composure, and no one was the wiser about my fragile nature.
Whew. Back to business. We regrouped after the break and picked up the dicussion with "When Not to Perform CPR." Now, maybe some of you know this already. I haven't taken a CPR class since I was in high school, so I haven't gone through the training in quite some time. But I was surprised by this discussion because I really don't remember learning these guidelines, which are:
1) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if he/she is decapitated
2) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if his/her body is decomposing
3) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if his/her heart or brain is outside of the body
I am not kidding.
In the words of my friend, Mary (spoken in a completely different context): "I'm laughing, and yet I'm horrified." More horrified, really. And again, a little queasy.
Luckily, I was able to mask my queasiness by looking at the instructor with a furrowed brow, and shaking my head knowingly. "Ah yes, I'll remember that advice," I tried to communicate with my facial expression.
I was sure something horribly inappropriate was going to fly out of my mouth, which would be pretty much par for the course for me. But fortunately, I managed to get through the session without coming off as a total cretin. And the good news is, my aversion to blood-talk didn't result in the denial of my certification. I am now certified in CPR.
I'm hoping tomorrow will be a little less revolting.
Today, I had a particularly good morning at work. After some recent career (or, rather, lack-of-career) -related anxiety, I was struck with an unusual feeling of satisfaction. I felt happy to be back in the non-profit sector, doing something for the community. Floating in a bubble of mirth, I made my way down to the Museum's "coffee bar" for a cuppa.
As I was stirring the coffee, I smiled to myself, thinking, "Yes, this is good. I'm lucky to be doing something I enjoy. Who cares that it's not an art museum? A children's museum is great! These little rug-rats are allright in my book."
Then, with no warning whatsoever, the little kid standing next to me pukes. One minute, he's just talking to his mom, hangin' out, and the next minute, he's getting sick on the floor. He's weirdly unaffected by it, too. Before, during and after the incident, he just stands there, staring off into space. In fact, his body doesn't really even move. Kind of like a puking mannequin.
Mirth bubble burst.
Now, as a staff member, I should have run up to the frantic mom and said something calming like, "Don't worry, we'll take care of it." But, instead, I was frozen in disgust. All I could do was just sit in a stupor, with an inner monologue along the lines of: "Holy St. Christopher, that is really awful. Please God, let somebody else deal with this. I am just an office lackey. I have no qualifications for dealing with vomiting children." Luckily, St. Christopher and/or God moved me to some response. I was able to snap myself out of the catatonia and assure the mom not to worry--then I promptly told a few staff members and fled the scene.
This scenario occurred on the heels of another incident that had some gross underpinnings.
Last night, I took a class to become recertified in CPR—something I've been meaning to do since Missy and I saw a guy collapse and "die" as he crossed the finish line of a 10k. (He was revived, thanks to some onlookers who performed CPR, thus my desire to learn it).
Anyway, the class consisted of me, Casey (another Museum employee) and the instructor. The instructor began the class by reviewing the risks and signs of a heart attack. Now, you probably know I am extremely squeamish about needles and blood. What I am discovering about myself, however, is that it's not just the sight of blood and needles that gives me a severe case of the heebie-jeebies—apparently, it's the mere discussion of these matters as well. Even simple words like "hemotology" and "phlebotomist" wig me out.
So, the instructor began telling us about "clogging of the arteries" and "hardening of the arteries" (I thought they were the same thing), and I felt myself getting lightheaded and sweaty. This guy is a firefighter, so he was peppering his presentaton with real-life accounts of what he's seen and done, which just sent me into a higher level of discomfort.
I was really nervous, too, because I thought, maybe if I show signs of queasiness, they will deny me my certification. Do they deem certain people "unfit to perform CPR," based not on their test but on their reaction to the material? Their inability to cope with hearing the word "blood"? Luckily, Casey suggested we break for water, so I was able to regain my composure, and no one was the wiser about my fragile nature.
Whew. Back to business. We regrouped after the break and picked up the dicussion with "When Not to Perform CPR." Now, maybe some of you know this already. I haven't taken a CPR class since I was in high school, so I haven't gone through the training in quite some time. But I was surprised by this discussion because I really don't remember learning these guidelines, which are:
1) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if he/she is decapitated
2) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if his/her body is decomposing
3) You shouldn't perform CPR on a person if his/her heart or brain is outside of the body
I am not kidding.
In the words of my friend, Mary (spoken in a completely different context): "I'm laughing, and yet I'm horrified." More horrified, really. And again, a little queasy.
Luckily, I was able to mask my queasiness by looking at the instructor with a furrowed brow, and shaking my head knowingly. "Ah yes, I'll remember that advice," I tried to communicate with my facial expression.
I was sure something horribly inappropriate was going to fly out of my mouth, which would be pretty much par for the course for me. But fortunately, I managed to get through the session without coming off as a total cretin. And the good news is, my aversion to blood-talk didn't result in the denial of my certification. I am now certified in CPR.
I'm hoping tomorrow will be a little less revolting.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
On second thought
Since making that last post a few hours ago, I have been riddled with guilt about my seemingly flippant tone regarding little Franz Gregoire.
I can't help but feeling remorse because:
1) Upon hearing the news of Franz's death, I recalled a true story I once heard about the untimely death of a dog named Chappie. The dog perished while under the care of a dogsitter. It was not the dogsitter's fault—both she and Chappie were victims of unfortunate circumstances. What an unenviable position.
2) After getting her temps, my teenage sister was taking one of her first drives with my dad. A dog ran out in the middle of the street; my sister hit the dog; the dog died. Again, a horrible situation for everybody involved.
3) A few years ago, I lived next to a rather irresponsible family. They let their sweet new puppy roam the streets, and of course, it got hit by a car. In an effort to comfort the puppy, who clearly was in agony, I stupidly tried to pet it. Of course, the pup bit my hand, and of course, it had never had its shots. Bad news for me—I had to go to the ER—but worse news for the dog—he didn't make it. Ugh.
4) SMH keeps talking about "Poor Franz" and lamenting the fact that he was "brethren" of Loki.
So, clearly, I need to make amends if I sounded a bit cheeky. Sorry, Franz. From everything I've heard, you were the best of dogs. And sorry to the dogsitter. And to the driver of the car, too. And I guess to the governor as well.
Just had to set the record straight.
I can't help but feeling remorse because:
1) Upon hearing the news of Franz's death, I recalled a true story I once heard about the untimely death of a dog named Chappie. The dog perished while under the care of a dogsitter. It was not the dogsitter's fault—both she and Chappie were victims of unfortunate circumstances. What an unenviable position.
2) After getting her temps, my teenage sister was taking one of her first drives with my dad. A dog ran out in the middle of the street; my sister hit the dog; the dog died. Again, a horrible situation for everybody involved.
3) A few years ago, I lived next to a rather irresponsible family. They let their sweet new puppy roam the streets, and of course, it got hit by a car. In an effort to comfort the puppy, who clearly was in agony, I stupidly tried to pet it. Of course, the pup bit my hand, and of course, it had never had its shots. Bad news for me—I had to go to the ER—but worse news for the dog—he didn't make it. Ugh.
4) SMH keeps talking about "Poor Franz" and lamenting the fact that he was "brethren" of Loki.
So, clearly, I need to make amends if I sounded a bit cheeky. Sorry, Franz. From everything I've heard, you were the best of dogs. And sorry to the dogsitter. And to the driver of the car, too. And I guess to the governor as well.
Just had to set the record straight.
Franz is dead
This morning I woke up to the news that Franz Gregoire, Washington's First Dog, had passed on. Turns out the governor's dogsitter didn't do such a good job.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Bored at work? Waste time with these links...
No blog posts this past weekend, thanks to some real-estate-induced anxiety. Wow, "reasonably priced" (mandatory quoting gesture here) houses sell really quickly around OlyWa—as in, 15 minutes after the "For Sale" sign goes up. (That's not an exaggeration.) This, in turn, leads to a very high-pressure, under-the-gun feeling whenever we see a house that looks even remotely interesting.
So, our weekend revolved not around the Super Bowl, as it did for most locals, but around house-hunting and decision-making. While others got worked up about the big game, we whipped ourselves into a frenzy with real estate angst. (In the end, no house...which is ok)
After our house hysteria, we really needed to decompress. The key to effective decompression, we discovered back in the fall when we were preparing to move, is an episode or two of Arrested Development. (Thanks, Sha+Ja.) So tonight, we kicked back and indulged in a little Season Two as I finished off our last pint of Graeter's ice cream.*
*Shout out to my cousin, Mary Alice, who sent us SIX PINTS of Graeter's for Christmas! Can you imagine a better and more generous gift?! The ice cream did, however, cause some marital tension. SMH tried to eat my half of the remaining pint while I was sick and tried to fish out all the big chocolate chips. I mean, come on, that's grounds for divorce.
While I'm discussing the subjects of television and decompressing, I'll share with you a few clips that I hold near and dear to my heart. Being confined to a teeny apartment during the rainy winter, television has never seemed so magical. And when I'm feeling down in the dumps, these tv clips (via the Internet) never fail to lift my spirits:
Will Arnett playing the "Law & Order" theme song on air guitar...a seamless union between two of my greatest loves: "Law & Order" and Will Arnett. Plus, in private company, SMH has been known to play the air guitar for the same theme song—so it tickled my funnybone. (He might be mad at me for sharing that, but he has one coming; see * above.) The sound and the film have to be synchronized for the full effect of this clip.
The Chronic of Narnia Rap featuring Parnell & Samberg. Aw yeah, you know this one! Another entertaining combination, this time blending the talents of the nerdishly hee-larious Chris Parnell with the boyishingly hee-larious Andy Samberg , who may just take SNL to its next plateau. Again, the sound and the film should be synchronized!
And, of course, the one that needs no introduction...More Cowbell. It just never gets old, does it?
And finally, a few Chris Farley skits, which I include for a couple reasons. That first skit always comes to mind when SMH and I use our recently purchased Entertainment Book (what are we, 75 years old?). We drive around town checking out the restaurants, as I provide some Chris Farley-like commentary ("Oh, this ones looks interesting. Mouthwatering authentic Ecuadorian cuisine in the heart of downtown Oly! Let's try it, honey.") And the Gap girls skit brings back fond memories of Karla quoting "Lay off me, I'm starving!"
So, I guess this is a glimpse into my life at present. For the moment, I am surviving cabin fever with unusually high doses of tv. Is that pathetic?
Perhaps pathetic, but maybe not for not much longer. Yesterday and today were beautiful, and it looks like tomorrow will be a 60-degree, rain-free day. Daylight is lasting a little longer, too...yippee!
So, our weekend revolved not around the Super Bowl, as it did for most locals, but around house-hunting and decision-making. While others got worked up about the big game, we whipped ourselves into a frenzy with real estate angst. (In the end, no house...which is ok)
After our house hysteria, we really needed to decompress. The key to effective decompression, we discovered back in the fall when we were preparing to move, is an episode or two of Arrested Development. (Thanks, Sha+Ja.) So tonight, we kicked back and indulged in a little Season Two as I finished off our last pint of Graeter's ice cream.*
*Shout out to my cousin, Mary Alice, who sent us SIX PINTS of Graeter's for Christmas! Can you imagine a better and more generous gift?! The ice cream did, however, cause some marital tension. SMH tried to eat my half of the remaining pint while I was sick and tried to fish out all the big chocolate chips. I mean, come on, that's grounds for divorce.
While I'm discussing the subjects of television and decompressing, I'll share with you a few clips that I hold near and dear to my heart. Being confined to a teeny apartment during the rainy winter, television has never seemed so magical. And when I'm feeling down in the dumps, these tv clips (via the Internet) never fail to lift my spirits:
Will Arnett playing the "Law & Order" theme song on air guitar...a seamless union between two of my greatest loves: "Law & Order" and Will Arnett. Plus, in private company, SMH has been known to play the air guitar for the same theme song—so it tickled my funnybone. (He might be mad at me for sharing that, but he has one coming; see * above.) The sound and the film have to be synchronized for the full effect of this clip.
The Chronic of Narnia Rap featuring Parnell & Samberg. Aw yeah, you know this one! Another entertaining combination, this time blending the talents of the nerdishly hee-larious Chris Parnell with the boyishingly hee-larious Andy Samberg , who may just take SNL to its next plateau. Again, the sound and the film should be synchronized!
And, of course, the one that needs no introduction...More Cowbell. It just never gets old, does it?
And finally, a few Chris Farley skits, which I include for a couple reasons. That first skit always comes to mind when SMH and I use our recently purchased Entertainment Book (what are we, 75 years old?). We drive around town checking out the restaurants, as I provide some Chris Farley-like commentary ("Oh, this ones looks interesting. Mouthwatering authentic Ecuadorian cuisine in the heart of downtown Oly! Let's try it, honey.") And the Gap girls skit brings back fond memories of Karla quoting "Lay off me, I'm starving!"
So, I guess this is a glimpse into my life at present. For the moment, I am surviving cabin fever with unusually high doses of tv. Is that pathetic?
Perhaps pathetic, but maybe not for not much longer. Yesterday and today were beautiful, and it looks like tomorrow will be a 60-degree, rain-free day. Daylight is lasting a little longer, too...yippee!
Friday, February 03, 2006
Lessons from a new job
As you may know, I've landed a part-time gig at the Children's Museum in town. It's working out well. The responsibilities are interesting, my coworkers are really nice, and, thus far, it's the least stressful job I've had in years. (Plus, Freaks+Weirdos, get a load of this: There is a full pot of yummy Batdorf and Bronson coffee for the employees at all times--and, because I don't have to make the coffee, I don't have to worry about embarrassing incidents like coffeemakers catching on fire.)
Here's a little something I've learned from my first few weeks there:
Looking for the most effective form of birth control? Work at a children's museum. Specifically, work right next to the staircase that deposits you directly into the fun-filled exhibits. That way, you can't see the little kids being their cute and funny selves--you'll just hear them screaming and whining at the top of their lungs ALL DAY LONG. And any desire to have children will be promptly quelled.
Forget about the rhythm method. This one is 100% effective.
Here's a little something I've learned from my first few weeks there:
Looking for the most effective form of birth control? Work at a children's museum. Specifically, work right next to the staircase that deposits you directly into the fun-filled exhibits. That way, you can't see the little kids being their cute and funny selves--you'll just hear them screaming and whining at the top of their lungs ALL DAY LONG. And any desire to have children will be promptly quelled.
Forget about the rhythm method. This one is 100% effective.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Burrito-less in Oly
At the risk of sounding like a complete philistine, I have to admit that I really, really, really miss Chipotle.
I don't want to miss it as much as I do. I'd rather reject that corporate beast and happily throw my support behind the little, family-owned taquerias around town. But damn it, that rice delicately flavored with lime and cilantro, those black beans laced with cumin, that devilishly delicious guacamole...I get teary-eyed just thinking of it. Can I get a witness?
The closest Chipotle is in Federal Way--39.1 miles from our place, door to door.
One night, after waxing poetic about Chipotle, we got it in our mind to go see a movie...in Tacoma...which, coincidentally, is only 13 miles from Federal Way. So, we couldn't go ALL THE WAY to Tacoma and NOT stop for a burrito. And while we were there, well, we might as well get two burritos.
Which is what we did—we ordered two burritos each--one for dinner that night, and one for dinner the next night (though SMH couldn't wait, and ate his for lunch).
As that great hair-band Cinderella once wisely observed, "Don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." Quoting Cinderella...who says I'm philistine?!
I don't want to miss it as much as I do. I'd rather reject that corporate beast and happily throw my support behind the little, family-owned taquerias around town. But damn it, that rice delicately flavored with lime and cilantro, those black beans laced with cumin, that devilishly delicious guacamole...I get teary-eyed just thinking of it. Can I get a witness?
The closest Chipotle is in Federal Way--39.1 miles from our place, door to door.
One night, after waxing poetic about Chipotle, we got it in our mind to go see a movie...in Tacoma...which, coincidentally, is only 13 miles from Federal Way. So, we couldn't go ALL THE WAY to Tacoma and NOT stop for a burrito. And while we were there, well, we might as well get two burritos.
Which is what we did—we ordered two burritos each--one for dinner that night, and one for dinner the next night (though SMH couldn't wait, and ate his for lunch).
As that great hair-band Cinderella once wisely observed, "Don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." Quoting Cinderella...who says I'm philistine?!
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Never a dull moment
Tonight SMH and I are going to the gym. This is a big deal because:
a) Despite the fact that Oly is the capital city of WA, there is not a lot going on in town, so a night at the gym qualifies as “a night out”; and
b) Having been sick for the past 2 weeks, I have had no physical activity beyond walking the dog, so I really need to do something other than lay on the couch.
All the cool kids in town go to the chic local gym, Valley. We are not in the “cool kid” group, so we go to Bally’s (When people ask me where we work out, if I mumble when I answer, it kind of sounds like I’m saying “Valley”…so, sometimes I can fool people into thinking I’m a cool kid.) Bally’s is a desperate place altogether. I’d like to be one of those people that just can’t survive if they skip a day at the gym, but let’s be honest, it’s always a struggle. It is a particular struggle here because the treadmills—a necessary evil given the rain situation—are lined up in a row, all situated some 12 inches from the wall. So, as you run, you stare at nothing but the wall (unless you’ve scored the one treadmill in front of the tv). Which is why I love SMH for getting me an iPod Shuffle for Christmas.
So, this was the scene the last time I went to the gym: I was relishing my iPod shuffle experience, really kicking ass as Sir Mix-A-Lot sang the praises of having a big butt. And then, I started laughing to myself, because after Mix A Lot came LL Cool J, followed by Ice T, followed by…Neil Diamond. So, I’m thinking, HaHa, isn’t it funny that I’m rocking out to “Cracklin’ Rose”?
But no, what’s funny is the guy who has gotten on the treadmill next to me: A teva-sandal-wearing guy who does this nutty thing where he runs for 5 seconds, then kicks his legs up and lands them on the treadmill monitor in front of him. Then, as he suspends himself by the handlebars, he swings his legs side to side. He rests his feet for a second, then sways and shimmies his body to the right and to the left. So, now I’m listening to “Sweet Caroline,” and I’m watching this weirdo who is acting like a monkey in a zoo...all the while, pretending that I’m not the least bit interested in him, just looking straight ahead and studying the cracks on the wall 12 inches in front of me. And then he turns around and starts running backwards on the treadmill. As he turns around to face forward again, he loses his balance and almost falls—and I kind of lunge towards him in an attempt to catch him lest he fly off the treadmill. But, he catches himself and thereby averts a catastrophe for both of us.
Anyway, the point of the story is: Good to know that I haven’t lost my touch in attracting the freaks.
a) Despite the fact that Oly is the capital city of WA, there is not a lot going on in town, so a night at the gym qualifies as “a night out”; and
b) Having been sick for the past 2 weeks, I have had no physical activity beyond walking the dog, so I really need to do something other than lay on the couch.
All the cool kids in town go to the chic local gym, Valley. We are not in the “cool kid” group, so we go to Bally’s (When people ask me where we work out, if I mumble when I answer, it kind of sounds like I’m saying “Valley”…so, sometimes I can fool people into thinking I’m a cool kid.) Bally’s is a desperate place altogether. I’d like to be one of those people that just can’t survive if they skip a day at the gym, but let’s be honest, it’s always a struggle. It is a particular struggle here because the treadmills—a necessary evil given the rain situation—are lined up in a row, all situated some 12 inches from the wall. So, as you run, you stare at nothing but the wall (unless you’ve scored the one treadmill in front of the tv). Which is why I love SMH for getting me an iPod Shuffle for Christmas.
So, this was the scene the last time I went to the gym: I was relishing my iPod shuffle experience, really kicking ass as Sir Mix-A-Lot sang the praises of having a big butt. And then, I started laughing to myself, because after Mix A Lot came LL Cool J, followed by Ice T, followed by…Neil Diamond. So, I’m thinking, HaHa, isn’t it funny that I’m rocking out to “Cracklin’ Rose”?
But no, what’s funny is the guy who has gotten on the treadmill next to me: A teva-sandal-wearing guy who does this nutty thing where he runs for 5 seconds, then kicks his legs up and lands them on the treadmill monitor in front of him. Then, as he suspends himself by the handlebars, he swings his legs side to side. He rests his feet for a second, then sways and shimmies his body to the right and to the left. So, now I’m listening to “Sweet Caroline,” and I’m watching this weirdo who is acting like a monkey in a zoo...all the while, pretending that I’m not the least bit interested in him, just looking straight ahead and studying the cracks on the wall 12 inches in front of me. And then he turns around and starts running backwards on the treadmill. As he turns around to face forward again, he loses his balance and almost falls—and I kind of lunge towards him in an attempt to catch him lest he fly off the treadmill. But, he catches himself and thereby averts a catastrophe for both of us.
Anyway, the point of the story is: Good to know that I haven’t lost my touch in attracting the freaks.
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