OlyGirl

Living in the Crapitol

2009-04-08T21:08:00.000-07:00

Don't know why I suddenly feel compelled to pick up the old blog again, other than the fact I know nobody is reading it. Which somehow liberates me to scream into cyberspace: I hate Olympia!

Not to be a hater, but seriously, Olympia has been utterly craptastic over the past year. And it seems all the more craptastic after spending a week in New Orleans.

What happens...

2008-06-06T22:47:00.000-07:00

...if I don't post on my blog for almost a year?

On the edge of my muggle seat

2007-07-23T12:50:00.000-07:00

Great news: I just received a special delivery at work: My copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." Oh happy day!

Not-so-great news: This morning, before receiving said special delivery, I agreed to accompany the association's executive director to a workshop in Shoreline tonight. That is to say, I just sacrificed my evening, which would otherwise be dedicated to devouring HPatDH. Oh sad day!

The book is sitting on my desk, taunting me. It is everything I can do not to lock my door and start reading right now.

If you, blog readers, are Harry Potter fans, too, I wish you happy reading!

Ten reasons to feel happy

2007-07-17T18:28:00.000-07:00

Today is a good day for the following reasons:

1. It is gray, rainy and cool. Not exactly the ideal summer day, but perfect nonetheless. After a few days of suffering through the arid heat of Phoenix, a measured dose of PNW rain is just I what I need. Sure, I'll be wishing for the sun in a few days, but for now, I'll take the clouds and the raindrops.

2. SMH liked the birthday presents I gave him this year. My husband is thoughtful and romantic and talented at picking out gifts for me. I do not share that talent, and I somehow always fall short of any great ideas. But, finally, I hit on some gifts that resonate with his interests/personality, including a tool belt (a great accessory to match his rapidly developing DIY skills) and Icky Thump (first track: um, hello, prog rock?).

3. My boss is downright wonderful. Not just "I can tolerate my boss because he is not a complete jerk" but "My boss is an outstanding, classy human being who supports his employees, constantly gives positive feedback, brings energy to the job, and has a sense of humor." (He appreciates the humor of -- and therefore can quote -- Best in Show, the SNL cowbell skit and the SNL Star Trek convention skit. Are you kidding me? If I had to choose a boss, I would choose this guy!) I am not saying this to kiss ass because, though he knows I blog, he doesn't know my web site...at least, I don't think he does.

4. Over the past week or so, I have heard from a slew of old friends, who despite my pathetic record of correspondence, still seem to like me. I don't know why they don't write me off. I deserve it. But still, they send me e-mails and call me and make me miss them something awful.

5. I am making new friends here in OlyWa. One of my first nights here, I broke down over a bowl of clam chowder (topped with crab, it's good that way!), confessing my greatest fear: that I'd never form any friendships here. But we're meeting people -- nice, cool people. The kind of people who make me grateful for having the nerve to move across the country.

6. In a matter of weeks, we will have a second-floor bathroom. Our house is currently in a state of utter chaos, with holes in walls, floors torn up, furniture out of place. plastic hanging everywhere. But soon, very soon, we will no longer have to go downstairs for all our bathroom needs. (Note: See me after we get our next bill to check on my mood.)

7. I am baking up a storm. In a feverish baking spree (known as "elf mode") last night, I made brownies, meringues and truffles. And, in my search for Fleur de Sel (which I never did find), I found out which store in OlyWa sells star anise.

8. I had a positive travel adventure last week. While flying to and from Phoenix, I saw the following out my airplane window:
- A very close-up view of Mount Rainier.
- The Grand Canyon
- A forest fire in California (OK, I know that is nothing to celebrate, but how often do you get to see that from above?)
- Mount Shasta
And, as we flew into SeaTac, and I saw the Sound and the mountains and the trees, I thought to myself, I love where I live.

9. I am eating healthier (brownies, meringues and truffles notwithstanding). The unfortunate fact that I am no longer running regularly is balanced by the fact that I seem to be off the evil sugar addiction.

10. This morning, I saw the following quote from Anne Frank: "Isn't it wonderful that no one need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world?" Bittersweet, but it kind of made my day.

Birthday greetings

2007-07-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

A big, ginormous HAPPY BIRTHDAY to SMH.

It is very sad that we are 1,450 miles apart and cannot celebrate together.

But believe me, SMH, the best birthday present is that you don't have to be here in the fires of Phoenix with me.

You are getting to do things like shoot the Tigers/Mariners game, while I am having to do things like spend an evening (outside) at "Rawhide, the 1880's Western town, steakhouse, saloon and shops in the heart of Wild Horse Pass" (description: "Step back in time where the Wild West comes to life with old-time hospitality, delicious chow, old west shootouts, and lots of fun attractions.")

Seriously, who's getting the short end of the stick here?

This is your list of things to do:
- Enjoy the day as a bachelor.
- Forego the endless house projects and do something fun.
- Don't be sad about turning another year older.
- Sing this little ditty to yourself: "The greatest adventure is what lies ahead..."

Heat = whinge

2007-07-13T17:02:00.000-07:00

I am writing from Phoenix, Arizona. In mid-July. Need I say more?

Yes, it is miserable. Intolerable. Unbelievable. Who in their right mind decides to live here?

The temperature today was 108 degrees. "It's a dry heat," some say, to put visitors' minds at ease, I guess. But I assure you, a dry 108 degrees still feels like a fiery inferno.

Whinge, whinge, whinge.

A conference for work brings me to Phoenix. Unlike last year's conference in Chicago, when I thoroughly enjoyed my free time strolling around the wonderful Windy City, this year's conference has one theme: Spend as little time outside as possible. So, I am a slave to my air-conditioned room, to the television, and to the laptop, which my boss has generously lent me.

Whinge, whinge, whinge.

This puts OlyWa's 99-degree day on Wednesday in perspective. Our PNW "heatwave" lasted two days this week. And, my fellow Midwest natives, speaking of whinging, you would not believe the storm of complaints that the heat set into motion. With your constant barrage of "hazy, hot and humid" conditions, you would laugh these PNWers out of town.

...Which leads me to wonder, am I unable to tolerate the Phoenix conditions because I have become a soft PNWer? Am I complete wimp? I suspect I already know the answer.

Steve from Cincinnati

2007-07-09T18:32:00.001-07:00

...Not to be confused with John from Cincinnati, who apparently is also a surfer. SMH got to try his hand (or feet) on the surfboard last weekend, when we went camping with friends at Kalaloch. How did he do? Aside from a cracked rib, I'd say pretty good.

Friend/surfer Dave lent SMH and the other fellas an extra wetsuit and his surfboard. Each took a turn with the board.

Three-year-old Eloise shows up the guys, with the help of her dad!

Eloise wonders, "Dude, what's up with these amateur surfers?"

This little girl:
Cracks. Me. Up.

There were six children on the camping trip -- all funny, all cool. Yay for kids playing on the beach all day.

Loki made a few new friends at Kalaloch, including Eloise and Angus.

Karla's making me laugh

2007-07-02T17:15:00.000-07:00

I owe friend Karla a shout out.

If you didn't know, Karla is one Ballsy designer.

Aside from making me yearn for a weekend, or two, or three, in NYC, Miss Karla made me howl with laughter last week as she reacquainted me with the joys of Gawker Stalker. I had kicked the GS addiction for a while, but am now off the wagon (or would that be back on the wagon?), checking the site obsessively for new additions. The "Trey Macdougal" sighting is making me laugh especially hard today. Karla assures me she will make her own contribution sometime soon (but, Karla, make sure it is not about a Richard Belzer sighting).

My old friend is also lighting up my life these days by sending me references to Freaks and Geeks. The fact that she not only appreciates the minor characters but is able to cite obscure quotes from them puts her a notch above ridiculously cool.

Karla is doing very well for herself on the LES (which is no surprise), and I expect someday soon she will be the subject of a GS entry. Just don't forget the little people, Karla.

Get me out of here

2007-06-29T16:07:00.000-07:00

I have never been so happy to finish a week. Was it me, or did this week last about a year? Ugh...

In the spirit of Waitress, I made three special desserts last night:
Lamenting-My-Lack-Of-Professional-Luster Lemon Bars
Tired-Of-Making-An-Idiot-Of-Myself Pecan Pie Bars
I'd-Rather-Be-Anywhere-Than-My-Office Double Chocolate Chip Cookies

I will soon be enjoying these tasties by a campfire at Kalaloch, where I will be happy to shun all thoughts of computers, telephones and televisions -- in a word, technology.

Forget about the line to buy an iPhone (from Gawker: "So it's shiny. It's new. It turns sideways or something!") , where is the line to get rid of my cell phone, et al?

Big challenge

2007-06-27T18:25:00.000-07:00

I have a new guilty pleasure. Emphasis on the "guilty," given my longstanding hatred of all entertainment which includes the word "reality" as a descriptor.

You guessed it. My new guilty pleasure is a TV show. A TV reality show. Shameful.

Let me begin with the obligatory statement of innocence. I just happened to turn on the TV as I was, um, doing some housecleaning (who me?! I never lay around lazily watching TV), when I got sucked into the first show of Shaq's Big Challenge.

The premise: Shaquille O'Neal helps six overweight kids, ages 11 to 14, lose weight, become active and adopt a healthier lifestyle. (Like most successful show these days it is modeled after Unfit Kids, a British program with Arsenal superstar Ian Wright.

The kids are not just pudgy, they are obese -- some are "morbidly obese." Especially tragic is Walter (age 14, 285 pounds), who just about breaks your heart with his utter nerdiness and quirky (or, as the doctor called it, "infantile") behavior.

My favorite is Kevin, the only kid to manage a few push-ups in the presidential fitness test that Shaq required (all the kids failed -- no surprise). And, as Walter struggled, and I mean struggled, through the mandatory mile-run (read: run/walk) for the fitness test, Kevin ran on to the track to join last-place Walter and encourage him through the last lap. Cue to the empty tissue box currently next to the couch.

OK, the show has its flaws. Shaq does seems like he's acting sometimes (but some of his off-the-cuff comments are hilarious). And his musclehead physician/trainer is hard to watch; his every word and gesture seem contrived. Not to mention the expectation that the kids be self-motivated enough to work out at the gym on their own 5 days a week. (What?! How many adults are that committed?!)

Anyway, I know where I'll be next Tuesday night. Sedentary on my couch, watching a TV show about fitness.

At the old ballgame

2007-06-25T17:06:00.000-07:00

Speaking of Cinti ex-pats...

Saturday night we joined Cincinnati-turned-Seattle friends Dave and Mary T. for the Reds vs. Mariners game. This was the much-heralded series that brought about the return of Ken Griffey, Jr. to Safeco Field.

Mary T. apologized for the seats - in Riverfront Stadium speak, we'd call them "the red seats" -- but they were great! It was warm and sunny, meaning that Safeco's retractable roof was open, and we basked in the Seattle sunshine while admiring a view of the city and the Sound.

We soaked in the vitamin D...

...and sure, we had to shield our eyes for much of the game, but when you're in the PNW, you never, ever complain about the sun lest it start raining 5 minutes later.

Mariners fans welcomed "The Kid" back with open arms, and the crowd erupted in cheers whenever he came up to bat. (What, no hits that night? What a crock!) A few days back in Seattle, and Griffey's all, "I want to retire there." Junior, Junior, don't get those Seattleites' hopes up. Don't you know, the peoples wants to see you.

Who would have guessed there would be so many Cincinnati fans in Seattle? Perhaps they were just wearing Reds garb in deference to Griffey...but we saw an awful lot of Reds shirts, along with a UC sweatshirt, a Miami U. t-shirt and lots of Buckeye paraphernilia.

Yes, we were very sad that the Reds got pummeled, 9-1.

But hey, we got to see a grand slam, we got to dance everytime a homerun was hit, and we got to eat ice cream out of a miniature baseball helmet (which we dubbed "Delish in a Helmet Dish") -- so how could we possibly complain?

Bliss comes in scrounds

2007-06-25T12:22:00.000-07:00

News today that Graeters has begun selling their ice cream in 56-oz. scrounds, ie, rectangular cartons with rounded corners.

The question on the minds of all Cincinnati ex-pats: Will the scrounds be available for shipping? We hope so, Graeters. Not a week goes by that we don't lament the lack of "real ice cream" out here -- especially during those summer evenings.

Only a few flavors have made the first rounds of scrounds. But, saints be praised, those flavors include the most important: chocolate chip, black raspberry chip, mint chip and double chocolate chip.

Spare us the nausea

2007-06-22T17:51:00.000-07:00

When it comes to picking the next president -- or even just a presidential candidate -- I hope that we as a nation make our choice based on things like experience, intelligence, proposed domestic/foreign policy, depth of character, ability to make sound judgment, etc.

Even still, I can't help but think that Hillary deserves to be voted down based solely on her recent selection (or YouTube voters' selection, so she says) of her official campaign theme song, "You and I," by Celine Dion.

Celine Dion? Really??? Are you sticking with that, Hillary?

Because, truly, if you were looking for a sound that could generate a visceral reaction of regret and revulsion, you have nailed it. Is the theme of your campaign agony and distress? Are you looking to nauseate the entire population? To set our collective teeth a-gnashing and stomachs a-wretching?

Rosa Brooks of the L.A. Times says, "If the SAT's analogies section tested politics and pop culture, even the dimmest teenager would agree that 'Hillary Clinton: Politics = Celine Dion: Music.'"

Right on, Rosa.

This is a question of one's ability to make sound judgment. Hillary, I know you're going strong, but we really have to question your decision-making ability on this one.

Summer is here

2007-06-21T22:04:00.000-07:00

Today, at 11:06 am, we welcomed summer. With the first day of summer came 15 hours, 59 minutes and 31 seconds of glorious daylight.

At this time of year, the sun rises around 5:00 am and sets around 9:00 pm. When you include the morning and evening twilight, that's a lot of light. This is one of my favorite things about PNW summer. (Yes, the converse is true: The short winter days are one my least favorite things, but let's not think about that right now.)

Another thing I relish about PNW summers: Unlike the Midwest, summer here doesn't mean oppressive heat. Locals are keen to tell you that summer doesn't really start here until after the Fourth of July. Case in point: It was a cool, sunny 71 degrees today, and temperatures this weekend are not expected to rise above 70. OK, so there's rain the in the forecast for Saturday and Sunday -- but I'll take it. It reminds me of Ireland and England.

Speaking of summer...We have already taken a mini summer vacation to what has become one of my favorite places in the world: the Oregon Coast. (Pictured above are SMH and Loki enjoying the ocean at low tide.) We spent the first weekend in June in Newport, then followed our noses to a campground about 15 south of Cannon Beach.

The campground -- Oswald West State Park -- turned out to be an amazing discovery. Camping is tent-only, so you have to hike in about .25 mile (the park provides wheelbarrows -- how thoughtful!) to set up. When we finally settled in, we realized we were one of the only campers there without surfboards. Turns out the camp is popular with the local surfers, so we spent some time down at the beach watching and wishing we knew how to hang 10.

We also did some hiking along beautiful cliffs

And we explored some tide pools.

The last picture shows some starfish in the tide pools. I know they look a little squishy and creepy, but they are actually beautiful, decked out in brilliant oranges and purples.

The weekend also involved a tour of the Rogue Brewery, a delish salmon dinner, a run on the beach, and with friend Kevin's help, a whale-spotting in Depoe Bay.

The summer is off to a spectacular start.

Ewww...

2007-06-18T17:56:00.000-07:00

I like to crab to my husband. Crab about how he doesn't do the dishes, how he always loses his keys, how he doesn't keep his car clean. If you were to call this "henpecking," you would not be too far off base. I admit it, and I am not proud of it.

Last week, SMH earned himself a "get-out-of-henpecking-free" card for the next, oh, year or so.

He called me at work with news of the horrible discovery he had just made in our backyard: a bloody decapitated cat, with limbs and entrails astrewn. After he hung up the phone, he proceeded to clean it all up, blood and guts and all. Just hearing about it made me gag. Clean it up? No way I could have done it.

We think the culprit was probably a coyote, or maybe one of Oly's killer raccoons.

This is not the first time SMH has had to deal with Oly wildlife. Last summer, he caught and "relocated" a pair of squirrels who came down our chimney. If the two resident deer return to our backyard this year, I am thinking maybe I should quit my day job and become a zookeeper.

Weekend memories

2007-06-13T21:22:00.000-07:00

Third day after the marathon, and I am breathing a bit easier. I am now officially over the need to walk down the steps backwards as well as the desire to install handicapped- accessible bars on either side of our toilet.

So, here's a bit more about our weekend adventure in Sequim-Port Angeles.

Joined by friends Laurel and Kevin (and dog Loki), SMH and I headed up to P.A. last Friday evening. On Saturday morning, we took the ferry over the Victoria, BC, where we spent the day wandering in the dreary PNW rain, stopping for breakfast, drinks and snacks along the way.

I am sure you would be surprised to find out that I was stressing and obsessing about the marathon all day Saturday. Me, obsess? Yes, it's true, and as I was busy obsessively plotting out charts and maps during the ferry ride, SMH interrupted to show me an article in the Seattle Times about one of the marathon monks of Mt. Hiei. Suddenly, the race the next day lost some of its significance. See, when I run, I carry Gu, which I will use to replenish my energy if I start to bonk. When the monk runs, he carries a rope and a sword, which he will use to kill himself if he is unable to complete his daily journey. Eeek.

After returning to P.A. Saturday evening, we had dinner, followed by a walk along the final stretch of the marathon. Here we are in the chute, with the finish line just behind us...

...And there I am about 50 feet from the finish line of the marathon, from the perspective of SMH and Kevin, who were enjoying a beer from the balcony of our hotel room. (A well-deserved beer, I might add, after rushing around the course all morning.) Funny thing about this photo ... I don't remember smiling and waving to the fellas. In fact, I don't even remember acknowledging them. And I don't remember Laurel peeling off here. I don't recall much of anything except wanting it to be over and wanting to get out of the cold rain.

Can you tell it wasn't a big race? Where are all the crowds at mile 26???

One of the reasons I chose this marathon was because Sequim is reputed to be one of the sunniest places this side of the mountains. But not Sunday. Sunday, it was windy, wet and chilly. Which makes it all the more amazing that Laurel jumped in and carried me through the last third of the race. She is the only thing that kept me going. As nice as the charming bridges were along the course -- as nice as the cows were, serenading us with their moos -- as nice as the trumpet player was at the water stop, playing "Happy Days" as slow as molasses (and apparently "Deck the Halls", too) -- as nice as the last stretch along the water was -- there was nothing, nothing, as good as having Laurel there to push me through. She told good jokes, posed some thought-provoking "would you rather..." scenarios, and kindly encouraged me and other runners with crazy exclamations like "You look great! You look strong! You're awesome!" I knew they weren't true -- I looked like hell -- but I clung to her every last word. Thanks, Laurel! And Kevin, SMH and Loki!

Oh, those 26.2 miles...

2007-06-10T23:05:00.000-07:00

It took me over two years, but finally -- a second marathon is under my belt.

Here is my initial assessment of the North Olympic Discovery Marathon:

Boo to headwinds!!
Boo to cold rain!!
Boo to hills, hills and more hills!!
Boo to atrocious splits!!

But to make up for all those "Boos"...
YAY to friend Laurel for carrying me the last 10.2 miles!!
YAY to supporters SMH, Kevin, Laurel and Loki, who speedily navigated their way through the course and cheered me on at nine(!) different spots!!

3:54:42? Not the time I was shooting for. Certainly not fast enough for a "Sub-Dub" (ie, not fast enough to beat Bush's marathon time). But I'll worry about that tomorrow. Right now, it's off to rest those achin' legs.

I can die a happy woman

2007-05-29T16:32:00.000-07:00

Well, friends, I am happy -- no, ecstatic -- no, euphoric -- to share with you what I did over the holiday weekend.

I saw The Police in concert.

That was the ice cream sundae. This is the cherry on top: It was the first show -- the first show! -- of the Police's first world tour in 23 years.

My friend Rachel and I traveled up to Vancouver to catch the kick-off show, and oh, was it worth the trip. I was nearly weeping like a schoolgirl when they took the stage. Sigh...

Need I say that The Police are still one of the greatest bands in history? And need I say that their music sounds incredible and amazing live? And need I say -- really, need I say? -- that Sting is still capable of setting every girl's heart aflutter? For crying out loud, does the man even age?

I will not bore you by waxing poetic about the show; I will only make these few observations:
1. The trio did not start the show with "Roxanne." Thank you, thank you, thank you for that.
2. Stewart Copeland stole the show in a subtle, understated kind of way. He has not lost his edge in the slightest.
3. I am a complete idiot for following the rules and not bringing my camera to the show. Wah, no pictures for me.

Go here if you want to get a taste of what the show was like.

A running trainwreck

2007-05-22T17:30:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I started something new.

About once or twice a week, I run during my lunch hour. The Chehalis-Western is a great bike trail a half mile or so from work, so I can hop on, get in a few miles, then run back. The trail is home to evergreen trees, ponds, horses, even surprisingly pretty black and green snakes. And occasionally, a young person or two toking it up behind the forsythia. Oh, and sometimes, scary unleashed dogs tearing after me.

Today's was a halcyon run, with the sun shining and the air cool. Birds were singing. Passersby were friendly. It was good.

The only thing -- and this is kind of a disgusting thing -- is that there is no shower at work. So, I have to come back, wash my face, brush my hair, and hope that I don't look like a trainwreck.

That's pretty optimistic, I know, especially because these days I typically look like a trainwreck when I leave the house in the morning.

I'm thinking that the PNW has made me less vain. Either that, or it has made me a total rube.

Wow...

2007-05-21T21:11:00.000-07:00

...That was a long case of writer's block.

Good thing Kevin paid us a visit and threw a bit of his creative force our way. A few good conversations with Kevin, a few visits to his blog, and I suddenly feel inspired to break this six-month hiatus. Thanks, Kevin.

So, bear with me. I'm shaking out the blogger's cobwebs. The good thing, I guess, is that everybody has probably given up on my blog by now, so I am free to write really crappily without being self-conscious.

Why start the blog again? Here's the scene: I've been finding post-it notes I have written to myself all over the place. All over the place. On my dashboard. On my ipod. On my "free gift" Clinique makeup bag.

What is written on the post-its? Some book titles, some grocery lists, some time splits. But mostly, I don't know what's on the post-its. All I know is my thoughts seemed really important at the time (on one of them, I can decipher the words "terribly important"), but now these scribbled thoughts are meaningless, relegated to a corner of my desk at work. I can't read them, either because I can't make out my own handwriting or because the pencil has all but faded. But I can't throw them away (what if what I wrote was my one and only stroke of genius?). The solution: Lose the post-its, go back to the blog.

So, after about an hour and a half of trying to remember my blogspot username and password, it's back to the blog I go.

Merry and bright

2006-12-23T07:18:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas to everyone! (As you can see, we have our power back.)
Hope it's a good one!

No Christmas lights on today

2006-12-16T11:16:00.000-08:00

Brrrrrr... We trying to stay warm after 36 hours of no electricity. At the moment, our house is so cold, you can see your breath. Sleeping under about 25 blankets, we were fine. But having to get up this morning was tortuous!

A giant windstorm blew through the Pacific Northwest Thursday night, downing trees and knocking out power. The upside was, our office was shut down yesterday so I got a day off work. The downside was, I spent all day cleaning a frigid house!

SMH and I are supposed to have a big Christmas party tonight, but we'll probably have to postpone if we don't get power by 3pm. Otherwise, it would be a party in a freezer.

We did, however, go to a neighborhood holiday party last night, hosted by our friends Dave and Joellen. (Joellen is a fellow Ohioan.) Their home was also without power, but the party went on all the same, with the candlelight giving it an especially festive ambience.

Last night, I went out in pursuit of some ice for our fridge contents. No ice to be found, but I did discover some dry ice at the local Safeway. On the way home, I gained some valuable advice from the radio talk show: "Don't bring your Webber grill inside to heat your home, even if it seems like a good idea." Ummmm, does it really seem like a good idea? Situations like this always provide good illustrations of Darwinism at work.

Typical of the PNW, the lines at the Starbucks around town are obscene. People cannot function without their cuppa!

Does your city make the list?

2006-12-07T16:47:00.000-08:00

If you're reading this, you probably reside in one of "the absolutely worst places to live in America."

Indeed, Cincinnati has earned the dubious honor of being named one of the 50 worst cities by author David Gilmartin. In his book "The Absolutely Worst Places to Live in America," Gilmartin also relegates Seattle to the list. So, supposedly I went from one craphole to another. Well, not actually, because I don't live in Seattle. But, close enough.

Other honorees include Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, D.C. , and Detroit. Whaaat?

Reports The Baltimore Sun, "(Gilmartin) said he doesn't have to go to Detroit to know that it stinks. 'I think enough evidence exists," he said in an interview." OK, clearly this guy hasn't been to Detroit. Otherwise, he would know that the new Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit makes the city a *supercool* place to live.

According to the article in The Baltimore Sun, "David Gilmartin" is a "pseudonym being used by a 30-year-old New York advertising copywriter — raised in South Jersey, schooled at a Boston-area (but not Harvard) university — who admits to never setting foot in many of the cities and towns included in the book."

What? An arrogant East Coast whippersnapper who fancies himself a clever satirist? I can't believe it! No, I haven't been infected with a West Coast disdain for East Coasters. (In fact, I even laughed at a few of the book excerpts in spite of myself.) I'm just all bent out of shape about this guy's methodology.

To select the 50 cities, he apparently posted messages on Craigslist and other online public forums, where he threw out the question, “What’s the worst town in your state?” If we are to believe The Sun, Gilmartin took the results, including comments, and used them to craft (at least some of) the book's contents. So, his writings don't even reflect first-hand knowledge of the cities' alleged crappiness. Come on!

That's all you need to do to "write" a book?! Sheesh, sign me up.

Christmas tree hunting, Ingalls-style

2006-11-30T21:37:00.000-08:00

I remember reading "Little House on the Prairie" when I was a kid and being especially enamored with the Ingalls' Christmas -- the simple holiday pleasures of the good old days, when sturdy folks went out and chopped down their own Christmas trees.

I'm not talking U-Cut tree farms, either. I mean, going out into the woods with ax-in-hand like Pa Ingalls, and bringing home a "real" tree for trimming. It seemed almost magical.

What can I say? We were seduced by this notion of "simply holiday pleasures." And so, we left last Sunday morning for the Olympic National Forest, where our $5 permit would allow us to chop down our tree.

It was an exciting adventure. It was a day of thrills. But, let's call the experience what it really was: A comedy of errors.

To begin with, we had had a blast of bad weather the night before. But HA, the ice and snow would not stop us! No, we pressed on through the treacherous roads, ignoring the ominous signs of abandoned SUVs and spun-out four-wheel drive vehicles along the highway.

We ambitiously took on several forest roads, only to drive 2 or 3 miles down each road and then turn around, when we realized our car wasn't up to the task.

Our day went like this:

This is about our fifth attempt to find a "legal" place for tree-cutting. This snow was really, really wet. So, as this picture was being taken, I'm thinking, "Hmmmm, the thermal longjohns are good, but snow pants may have been a better choice than jeans."

Finally! After our many attempts, we were able to drive into the Collins campground by Duckabush. It was beautiful and quiet (the kind of quiet that only happens after a snowfall...with the exception of giant branches snapping off the trees under the weight of the wet snow.)

Any tree-cutting had take place more than 100 feet from the campsites. So, we hiked in a bit.

Hmmmm, good trees are hard to spot when they're snow-covered.

We were all alone. Nobody was around. Except this little snowman, who just stood there in the middle of the road. A little creepy, my coworker Dan observed, in a Stephen King kind of way.

"Hey," yelled SMH. "I've found the perfect tree. Come into this wet snow that's up to me knees and help me chop it down!"

"Please don't make me come in there and help you. Seriously, don't."

Good job, Pa Ingalls! Notice saw in right hand.

Hoisting this tree on top of the car was ridiculous. The tree was heavy, and we were soaking wet. And freezing.

You know how when you buy a Christmas tree (in the more conventional way), they wrap it up nice and tight so you can just pop it on top of your car and drive home?

No such luxury. This is how we drove home (about 65 miles) -- with the tree precariously bungeed to the car, branches hanging over the sides.

Tah-dah! We made it home!

It was a little rough, but we did it! We chopped down our own tree!

Wait a minute...wasn't the tree a lot shorter and a lot skinnier when we spotted it in the forest?

Now I know why the call it "tree trimming." After taking the clippers to several branches, we managed to fit it into the room.

We decorated that night.

Tree in situ. Please disregard the stupid pajama pants.

Taking a turn down Neurotic Lane

2006-11-20T21:59:00.000-08:00

Yeahhhhh, so...wouldn't it figure that immediately following my mini-rant about the isolation that computers will inevitably inflict upon humankind, I receive an e-mail from an old friend trying to reconnect after years of being out of touch.

Not just any "old friend." My first puppy-love boyfriend (that's Marcus, if you are a high school friend). Flashback to 18 years ago! It was actually very sweet to hear from him, but...

From the looks of things, this guy scores way more cool points than me. He has a myspace account, is a dj who does a radiomix show, and still apparently hits the club scene. I like to listen to public radio, bake Christmas cookies, and lay on the couch and read "Harry Potter." Oh good grief, WHEN did I turn into an old lady? (And when did I start using expressions like "good grief"?)

This turn of events is NOT helping my current "I-feel-old" crisis.

I hate birthdays! They make me neurotic!!! I plucked 15 grey hairs while at conference last week. I am getting laugh lines and crow's feet like crazy. And that biological clock is making nothing but cacophony.

I need something else to obsess about.

Let's face it, I'm old

2006-11-19T19:43:00.000-08:00

My lesson from the past week is this: Putting on a four-day conference for 1,000+ people is hard. Really, really hard.

I returned from Spokane last night, and I am completely exhausted. As in, falling-asleep-on-my-feet exhausted. I feel old.

While it required long hours of hard work, I can't exactly say that I descended into "conference hell" (except for one particular night, better left forgotten) because overall, the experience was very interesting. There were several fascinating speakers who gave their perspectives on the same thing -- improving education.

One speaker was Erin Gruwell, a high school educator who inspired her tough, gang-member students, long written off by the education system, to become high-achieving individuals. They called themselves "The Freedom Writers", and their collective work was eventually published as a book. Gruwell's story is going to be told in a movie called "The Freedom Writers," scheduled to open in theaters in January, and she is going to be played by Hilary Swank. Just a warning: If you see the movie, bring tissues. After Gruwell's talk, several members of the audience were spotted casually wiping a, uh, speck of dust of two from their eye.

Another speaker was Ian Jukes, who wigged out just about every person in the audience with his predictions of technological progress. He discussed the impact of "exponential growth," which boils down to the fact that in 15 years, computers will be a kazillion times faster and cost $1.50. (I am only slightly exaggerating.) His question was: How does this affect our approach to education?

My question is: How does this affect our interaction with one another? After hearing Jukes' presentation, I started obsessing on the inevitability of a worldwide human disconnect. It seems counterintuitive, I know -- with all the technology advancements, human beings will be increasingly connected to one another. But, it seems to me, they will become increasingly isolated from one another, too.

Again, I feel old. Is this what people thought when telephones were invented? Radio? TV? Am I just resistant to technology? Am I an old fogey? I hate cell phones, and I don't even know how to text message. I am happy as can be living sans crackberry. The fact that I even know how to blog is a modern-day miracle, as far as I'm concerned. Sheesh, I am old, old, old.

Well, now that the conference is over, I can go back to a normal existence, which means:
1) I go back to working a regular 8-to-5 day.
2) I have time and, more importantly, energy to run.
2) I have time to indulge in a nice, old-fashioned book, with words written on real paper pages, not a computer screen. So, now I am going to bed to curl up and read "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince." ("Harry Potter?," you ask. I know, I know. My love of Harry Potter was completely unexpected.) I already knows who is going to die at the end of the book, thanks to an article in The Olympian, but that's OK.

Have a listen

2006-11-14T09:56:00.000-08:00

Leaving for a conference in Spokane in a few minutes, so I'm a bit frazzled, but wanted to pop into my blog quickly.

Last Monday, on Election Eve, Melissa Block of "All Things Considered" did a story on the guys who do voiceovers for negative campaign ads. Did you hear it? If not, click here and have a listen. This is non-partisan fun! Stick with it to the end of the segment -- the "ads" at the end will make you laugh! They had me in stitches.

If I were a serious blogger, I would have written about this a week ago. But ah well...

My new favorite

2006-11-08T23:22:00.000-08:00

Tonight I indulged in one of my new favorite treats: a Starbucks non-fat steamer with a shot of maple. I call this invention a "buttery nutkin."

If you like the taste of butterscotch, I highly recommend the buttery nutkin.

In an ongoing effort to kick caffeine (a losing battle for the most part), I have taken to getting these non-fat steamers (ie, steamed skimmed milk) with a shot or two of flavor, and I tell you, they are delicious.

Why did the salmon cross the road?

2006-11-07T18:45:00.000-08:00

Steven M. Herppich / Copyright The Olympian

Yes, that is a salmon making its way across the road.

And yes, badmonkey, it is wet and dreary out here. Hours of darkness and torrential rainfalls have made for a few miserable days. Time to start the Prozac, the official state pharmaceutical.

I know, it is Seattle (almost), so what can you expect? But still, 3.4 inches of rain in one day is unusual enough (thank God) to be the topic of conversation around the water cooler.

I came home last night to find SMH cleaning up our flooded basement, which incidentally has no drain. Happy Birthday to me!

Now, so much to write about -- the weather, the elections, K-Fed filing for a divorce from Britney, my rapid descent into workplace burn-out -- I just don't have time. I have to go watch Dan Rather's election commentary in hopes of gleaning some inspirational similes, though nothing could really beat his classic, "This race is tight like a too-small bathing suit on a too-long ride home from the beach," could it?

Crabby McCrabberson

2006-11-04T12:50:00.000-08:00

I am insanely crabby today, and I don't have much to write.

So, please, talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic:
Lance Armstrong and the NYC Marathon. How fast will he run?

Care to make a wager?

I scream, you scream...

2006-11-02T20:56:00.000-08:00

Every city and state
Has something so great,
It sets them apart from the rest.

And each one maintains
That it holds the reins
For delivering the world's very best.

Kentucky breeds mares,
Montana has bears,
And our friend Idaho grows potaters.

Georgia's got peaches
The Carolinas have beaches
While Florida lays claim to its 'gators.

Wisconsin has cheeseheads
Alaska's got dogsleds
California boasts surfers and skaters.

In Kansas there's corn crops,
Out here we've got raindrops,
Heck, even the moon has its craters.

But there's nothing on earth
Like the place of my birth,
And I'd gladly send in some invaders

To fetch me the treat
That's got all others beat
And makes us sad to be out-of-staters

For we only can dream
Of a cone with ice cream
From Ohio's own heaven called "Graeter's."

So friends be aware
that an ice cream so rare
is made in your very own state.

And move if you dare
But no cone will compare
To the one that is truly "the Graet"!

Love = Graeter's ice cream

Thanks, Mary Alice!

My faux pas

2006-11-01T21:43:00.000-08:00

Yikes. So it turns out that the person giving away "Charlotte's Web" for a Halloween treat last night (see below) was neither a hippie nor a dentist, as I had originally suspected. No, it was Chris Gregoire, the governor of our fair state.

Sorry, Governor. I meant no offense. It's just that, to me, "Charlotte's Web" is only a childhood treat if you enjoy the feeling of having your young, innocent heart ripped to shreds. Could a child endure a sadder story than that of Charlotte? Oh, how that tragic tale torments me to this day!

But giving away books is a good way to promote literacy...so...um...yay, way to go, Governor!

If I were giving out books, I'd go for Flat Stanley, no doubt about it. I still pull that little gem off my bookshelf for a bedtime read.

If you too are a fan of Flat Stanley (Mary T., I'm talking to you), you must check out this photo essay of FS's trip to the White House. Flat Stanley, you better not mess with Condi!

A quiet Halloween night

2006-10-31T19:27:00.000-08:00

7:30 p.m. and our trick-or-treaters seemed to have called it a night.

When you were a kid, did you race against the clock to get to as many houses as possible within the 6-to-9 timeframe? I remember leaving at 5:55 and not returning until 9:05, unless I was faced with the predicament of having to empty my bag.

In all, we had about 30 t-or-t'ers, all polite as could be, bless 'em. The best costume award goes to a trio of young boys, whose leader explained, "I'm a ninja, he's a ninja zombie, and he's the zombie from Resident Evil 1." (The Resident Evil zombie added, "You know, the one that walks like this," then gave us a demonstration of the foot-dragging, undead gait peculiar to that zombie.)

Sadly, we didn't have any gangstas, which was always the costume of choice on Hollywood Avenue.

One sweet little girl opened her bag, and inside, I spotted an unusual treat: Charlotte's Web. Some health-conscious neighbor (probably a dentist or a hippie or a hippie dentist) was handing out books instead of sugar. Nice thought, but come on -- Charlotte's Web for a treat?!

"Eat that candy, kid," I wanted to tell her, "and get you jollies out now. By the time you get to the end of that book, you'll be curled up in the fetal position, crying your eyes out."

Maybe this will cheer the little lass up if she's feeling down, because let's face it, nothing says "eternal salvation" like a smiling jack o'lantern. (Thanks, Karla.)

Getting ready for Halloween

2006-10-29T12:22:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, SMH and I drove down to Portland for a day of sales-tax-free shopping. We really did our part to improve the economy. Our big purchase was a new digital camera, which will translate (in theory) to more visual blog entries.

Halloween is one of our favorite holidays. So, SMH and I were keen to spend our Saturday night carving pumpkins. I know, I know, we're so wild and crazy.

We decided to document the occasion with the new camera. This morning, SMH retrieved the photos... and edited out all the photos of himself but one, leaving only photos of me. OK, Mr. Photo Editor, time to let me have some say in the editing process.

Yep, that's me, hard at work. Please ignore the cluttered room behind me and through the door. That is our ramshackle laundry room/Loki's lounge -- it will be one the first rooms that we'll redo. In the photos that I took, which have since fallen victim to the editor's cuts, I cleverly cropped out all evidence of clutter. But now you know the truth -- some of our rooms have clutter.

Looking through the eyes of the jack o-lantern.

Feline. Pumpkinhead. I have had both of those nicknames at different times in my life. Seriously.

SMH and demonic dog. We didn't stuff Loki into the pumpkin. It just looks that way.

Even though this new camera is a simple point-and-shoot, SMH felt the need to experiment extensively with the settings. This is about two seconds before I said, "Take the damn picture or else I'm leaving."

This is our front door. Yesterday, we locked ourselves out of the house. About 2 seconds after I shut said door, we realized we didn't have our keys. Fifty bucks later, a locksmith was letting us into the house. Unfortunately, this incident made me extremely crabby. But, if you look on the bright side, we discovered that our house is pretty impenetrable when locked.

Thanks, everybody!

2006-10-27T19:19:00.000-07:00

Wow, I had no idea that people were actually reading this thing!

Thanks, everybody, for your kind thoughts and e-mails following my last entry. Now I feel like I was out campaigning for a sympathy vote! I wasn't, really!

Sigh... it's always nice to get e-mails from friends and family. Especially nice because I am notoriously bad at keeping up on my end of e-mail correspondence. (This is my weekend to catch up on e-mails.)

Yesterday I received a hilarious e-mail from Karla, a friend from Freaks + Weirdos, a friend with a side-splitting sense of humor, a friend who could bring me to tears (of laughter) simply by walking past my cubicle. Karla's e-mail made me realize how much I MISS having friends who make me laugh. It's not that there aren't any funny people in OlyWA -- I just haven't clicked with anybody who can make me belly-laugh the way my Cincinnati friends could.

To get my humor fix, I have been relying heavily on "The Office."

Fortunately, there is somebody in my office who shares my love of this show. His name is Bill, and he is the receptionist. And, he is one of my favorites coworkers.

Let me tell you a few facts that I've learned about Bill: He is 60-something years old, a Vietnam vet, and a Native American. He wears cool turquoise and silver rings. He grew up on a farm, and he can't stomach strawberries because he had to pick so many when he was growing up on the farm. He performed CPR on his wife last year and saved her life. He dotes on his grandkids. He loves to make jokes and tell stories about his life -- and I love to hear them (or eavesdrop on them -- his desk is right outside my office, so I get to hear everything). He would be a perfect candidate for the StoryCorps project... I keep meaning to tell him that. And, he loves "The Office," which puts him on the super-cool list.

So, I am meeting plenty of great people out here in Oly. But, I have to admit, I am looking forward to seeing -- and laughing with -- old friends at Christmas.

Breathing easier these days

2006-10-22T18:04:00.000-07:00

I am writing today in a better state of mind than I have experienced in weeks.

About a week or so after my last entry (yes, I know, a loooonnng time ago), I went to the dermatologist for a check-up. Long story short: They found melanoma in my leg. Melanoma in situ, that is, which as the doctors put it, "If you're going to get melanoma, it's the best kind you can get." I was surprisingly undaunted by the news, mostly because the doctor reassured me it was not anything to worry about. OK, I admit, I was neurotically worried -- not about the cancer, but about the surgery to follow; I had barely made it through the biopsy -- a virtually painless biopsy -- without passing out, so the idea of undergoing a giant incision to have the melanoma removed gave me the serious heebie-jeebies. (Yep, I am a wimp.)

And so, undaunted, I told my boss about the melanoma the next morning. I reassured him it was nothing even though I would be out of the office for numerous appointments, telling him, "It's cancer with a lower case "c," not an upper case "C." (Yep, we are editors. Nerds!) His response: "Yeah, but there's still the "-a-n-c-e-r" that makes it scary." Touché.

Another long story short: In the weeks, that followed, the follow-up X-rays showed a spot on my lung. And, in the same week, my family doctor found a lump on my breast.

No need to worry -- all is well. After many rounds of CT scans, ultrasounds and blood tests (good times!), no sign of cancer. Big sigh of relief.

I had the surgery a couple weeks ago, and they have confirmed that they removed all the melanoma. I had a lovely 4-inch incision, bruised and swollen, with giant Frankenstein-like stitches.

So, in the end, it was nothing to worry about. But what a strange experience. Isn't it bizarre how we respond to serious news? As, in the kind of news that brings us a few steps closer to our mortality?

I am embarrassed to admit, my very first response to the news that cancer was a possibility: "Wait, no, my running is the best it's been in my life. I am on the best streak ever. I can't stop training." Ah, yes, vanity, vanity, all is vanity.

My second response: "Wait, no, I can't stand needles and blood. I can hardly face the prospect of having a tourniquet put on my arm, much less having to be poked and prodded on a regular basis."

My third (and more nagging) response: "What if I leave this earth never having contributed anything to the world? Why me?" -- But why not me? Why shouldn't it be me? Doesn't it seem more fair that I get cancer rather than somebody who has a family, or somebody who is a Nobel Peace Prize winner, or somebody who is feeding starving children in Africa? -- "What would I be remembered for? And why is it even important that I be remembered?" These are the kinds of things that kept me awake at night, as my thoughts dipped into issues a little more existential than running PRs.

In any case, I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders -- which makes me feel more than a little guilty when I consider all the hundreds of thousands of people who have to face the true reality of cancer, and who have to go through round upon round of treatment.

Today I ran for the first time in about 1 1/2 months. The doctor told me I should take a little more time off if I wanted to prevent scarring from the incision. (Screw the scar, I'm crabby as hell when I don't run.)

It was an ugly, awkward, clumsy run. I looked like a fool, I know. I tried to spit off to the side in the grass and ended up spitting on myself. Nice. But it was sunny and beautiful, and Mt. Rainier looked gorgeous, and I felt great, despite feeling alarmingly out of shape. Who would've known how wonderful such an ugly run could be?

Brad Pitt, hero to men everywhere

2006-09-11T17:47:00.000-07:00

I don't usually comment on celebrity news, but this one is so good.

Brad recently announced that he wouldn't marry Angelina "until everyone else in the country who wants to be married is legally able."

"What a coup for commitment-phobic males across the nation!," says our friend, Rachel. "A way to escape commitment AND project a hip image of social consciousness? A stroke of genius."

Oh Brad, you are so crafty.

Big purchases

2006-09-10T10:24:00.000-07:00

This picture shows two of our two biggest purchases in the past six months. One of them is the biggest purchase in our life. Can you guess which?

At right is our "new/old" house. New, as in we bought it six months ago. Old, as in it was built in 1884. Our fate was sealed as soon as we crossed the threshold -- we loved it as soon as we stepped inside.

At left is our new car, a very practical station wagon.

A third purchase of note is the Thule Atlantis roof box (mounted on top of the car), which we bought last week, about one hour before we left for the Oregon coast with Laurel and Kevin.

I think each purchase says something about us.

The Thule box says, "We are now official residents of the Pacific Northwest. We are ready to camp at a moment's notice." I realized that my metamorphosis into a Pacific Northwesterner was progressing nicely when I bought my first pair of Teva sandals. You see, I have never owned Tevas or Birkenstocks, and I have never had any desire to do so. But suddenly, I am shamelessly galavanting around town in outfits accessorized by Tevas and wool socks.

The Focus station wagon says: "We are nerds. Pragmatic nerds. Nerds who have have cast aside any illusions of coolness for excellent gas mileage and ample space." It also says, "We are not truly Pacific Northwesterners because we couldn't afford the Subaru Outback."

The house says, "We are in debt. But we have finally found our home."

A weekend with Laurel and Kevin

2006-09-05T19:50:00.000-07:00

Not to bore you with details, but please oh please allow me to wax poetic about the most wonderful weekend ever, which we spent with friends Laurel and Kevin (formerly of Cincinnati, OH, now of Eugene, OR).

SMH and I took our brand new station wagon (yes, we are nerds) on its first road trip, arriving in Eugene late Friday night.

Saturday began with the Bohemia Half Marathon, which included a beautiful course around a Cottage Grove Lake. I've never enjoyed 13.1 miles so much, thanks to Laurel's company and impeccable pace. Observation: Oregon runners are very, very friendly -- about 2000% friendlier than OlyWa runners. Or, maybe it's just that Laurel is about the kindest, friendliest and coolest person you'd ever hope to meet.

After the race, the four of us -- uh, five of us, including Loki -- packed up and drove over to the Oregon Dunes, where we camped Saturday and Sunday nights. On Sunday, after a 3-mile hike to the shore, we relaxed on the beach, with nary a soul in sight. Said relaxation included downing cheese and crackers and two bags of potato chips (overindulgence justified by the race the day before), flying Kevin's kite and -- my favorite -- watching a grey whale or two in the distance. (I should mention here that I have developed something of an obsession with whales.)

Then, we drove along the Oregon coast, which is breathtakingly beautiful. I won't even try to describe it. During the drive, we passed Heceta Head Lighthouse, stopped to see several stellar sea lions in their rookeries, then made our way to Cape Perpetua, where we spotted three more grey whales. (Have I mentioned my obsession with whales?)

The weekend was filled with lots of laughs and good eats, including a dinner of halibut and veggies (and s'mores, of course) cooked over the campfire. And breakfasts of blueberry pancakes, during which Laurel proved herself a champion pancake flipper.

The trip ended with a visit to REI, which yielded lots of on-sale goodies, all sales-tax-free.

Not sure what the best part of the weekend was. One minute was better than the next.

Summer drawing to an end

2006-08-29T22:33:00.000-07:00

What could inspire a blog posting more than the arrival of Pumpkin Spice Lattes at Starbuck's? Oh yes. I love you, tasty little PSL. Thank you, Howard Schultz.

It seems strange that PSLs are here already because, to me, they have always been a harbinger of autumn. Is it autumn already? It does feel like autumn here. Though this past weekend was hot -- it probably seemed hotter because I was baking in the sun all weekend at Sand in the City -- it is quickly turning cooler. Think end-of-September weather in Cincinnati. Jeans-and-sweater weather. Long-sleeve-shirt-when-you're-running weather.

The autumn always makes me nostalgic. It is my favorite season, and it has always been the source of my best and most vivid memories: Red River Gorge, Graeter's pumpkin ice cream, Sacred Heart ravioli dinner, Detroit Half-Marathon, Columbus Marathon, Lake Walloon, etc, etc. Strange -- I will sorely miss the Midwest in the autumn. "Fall" here means the beginning of rainy season (though we are currently in the middle of a drought), and "fall colors" here means three different shades of evergreen.

Love of the season notwithstanding, autumn always brings on a sense of panic, too. I think this is rooted in the anxiety I felt as a kid when I realized that summer was ending and school (ie, nine months of self-inflicted stress and torment) was about to begin. I always wondered where the days had gone, and by age 10, I had started worrying about time passing too quickly. (Sometimes I gave myself stomachaches on Friday nights because I was afraid that the weekend was going to be over before I had the chance to enjoy it. Ah, neurotic by age 10. Is it any wonder I have about 15,000 phobias and a rapidly increasing number of grey hairs?)

So, now I ask the same question I asked twenty years ago: How can summer almost be over already? I feel like I am still waiting for summer. It just didn't seem like summer without the oppressive heat and humidity that causes people to flee from their air-conditioned offices to their air-conditioned homes.

It reached the 90's for about five consecutive days last month, and the local population was practically melting into the sidewalks. Seriously, it was like people were incapable of functioning. My boss, who came to OlyWa from Virginia, assures me that my definition of heat will gradually change, and someday soon I too will consider sunny, low 80's and 5% humidity a heatwave.

Meanwhile, the season's change is happily manifesting itself in our yard. Apples from two of our trees have come and gone (only 1 hippie showed up to pick the fruit this year). A third tree is filling up with a different kind of apples, and we are keeping our eye on the pear tree to see if its fruit is edible. We have blackberries galore in the backyard, which we are picking -- and eating -- by the bowlful.

Good grief, are we turning into hippies? No, I don't think so -- I don't think hippies support the evil Starbuck's empire by indulging in PSL bliss.

One monkey off our back

2006-08-02T19:57:00.000-07:00

Today is the day we have been waiting for. We are no longer homeowners in Cincinnati! That is to say, we have officially sold our house! That is to say, we are no longer paying two mortgages! Saints be praised!

At first, I thought, "Oh (sniff sniff), won't it be sad to leave our home in Clifton?" But after days, weeks and finally months of cautious optimism, just waiting for the deal to go through, I've traded in the weepy sentimentalism for a healthy dose of pragmatism.

Now I must give propers to:
- My Uncle Mike, who handled the testy buyers with his typical aplomb. Does anything ever rattle this guy?
- Our tenants, Lauren & Jody and Dyani & Jeremy, who win the prize for "World's Best Tenants." In fact, I'm pretty sure that our former living space looked about 200% better after we moved out and J&L moved in. Oh, and props to their little dog Sedgewick just for being so cute.
- Our "property managers," S+J, who resigned from their position a while ago but still deserve recognition for being good friends.

It is good to have the house monkey off our backs.

Steady as she goes

2006-07-29T15:24:00.000-07:00

Nothing like a good show to inspire me to return to the blog. And not just a good show. A mind-blowing, can't-stop-thinking-about-it-the-next-day show. As in, call your husband at work the next day to discuss the details and recount the best moments.

SMH and I drove up to Seattle the other night for the Raconteurs show at the Moore Theater. It was phenomenal. For my money, the Greenhornes were the stars of the show. OK, OK, we're a little biased. It is difficult for anybody to upstage Jack White, who dominated the show with his huge stage-presence. But we have to cast our vote with P.K. and J.L. as the superstars.

So, after the show, we think, "Oh, we'll just grab a beer and come back to see if we can say hi to Patrick and Jack." Um, riiiiiiiight, great idea...if this was the Comet! What were we thinking?! They are total rock stars, which means they had an entourage of groupies waiting for them by the tour bus. Which also means that WE looked like groupies. Decidedly old, decidedly unhip groupies. So we left.

Anyway, they played a cover of "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)," which is still giving me goosebumps.

I cannot overemphasize how fantastic these fellows are. So, if you are in Cincinnati, make the trip to Cleveland for the show. Or better yet, to Ann Arbor, where you can stop by Zingerman's for a snack.

What's news?

2006-06-28T12:31:00.000-07:00

It's funny to live in a city where the newspaper's lead story on the front page is "Sleater Kinney calling it quits."

I love summer

2006-06-27T20:28:00.000-07:00

Some things I love about summer in OlyWa:

1) Local fruit: You have not tasted berries until you've eaten Spooner's strawberries. If I ever make it to heaven, St. Peter will welcome me with a giant bowl of Spooner's. And when we can't make it to the market, we have raspberry bushes in our back yard, which SMH seems to be picking and eating while I'm not around.

2) The mountain: On a summer day, Mt. Rainier is in her splendor. She is always amazing.

3) The weather: Sunny and dry, with highs in the upper 70's and low 80's. I can run whenever I want -- noon, 3 pm, 5 pm -- and not suffer heat exhaustion. The days are long -- it starts getting light around 4:45 am and stays light until almost 10pm. And the fun is just beginning. As somebody told me yesterday, "Summer doesn't start here until the Fourth of July."

4) The nights: No need for air conditioning. Just open the window.

4) Good moods: After a rain-filled winter, people are chuffed to soak in the sun. Everybody, including my boss (especially my boss), has a suggestion for their favorite place to run, bike, camp or kayak.

Take "ability to multi-task" off my resume

2006-06-27T19:43:00.000-07:00

I used to think I was very good at multi-tasking. In fact, I once prided myself on my M-T ability. The past month, however, has proven that I am not nearly as capable as I thought I was.

In the past month, I went home to Cincinnati for a week, came back for a few days, hosted SMH's parents for a week and a half, then went to Spokane for a conference. And during all this, I haven't found time to blog once. Shame on me.

I should probably kick off this round of blog entries with a description of our visit to Cincinnati, and move chronologically from there. But I won't — I'll begin with more recent activity.

On Sunday, I went to Spokane, where the temperature was in the high 90's. Spokane is only about 30 miles away from Coeur d'Alene, so temperatures were pretty much the same there. I mention this because Sunday was the Ironman in Coeur D'Alene. So, athletes swam 2.4 miles, biked 112 and ran 26.2. In 90+ degree weather. Yikes.

One of the reasons that we were attracted to the Pacific Northwest was the weather. Apparently, this year's weather is a big, funny joke on us because there's all kinds of records being broken. In the winter, there was the record rainfall. And, now there are record high temperatures. Somewhere in the mid 90's, I think. But, I'm not complaining. Well, actually I am, but not that much. It's hot, but without the oppressive humidity a la Cincinnati, it's altogether tolerable. And, highs are supposed to get back to normal — upper 70's / low 80's — by tomorrow.

I'll sign off with a little insight into WA phonetics. The letter "a" is pronounced strangely here. Pronounce these places: Spokane, Gonzaga and Yakima. How did you do? See below:
* Spoke-ann, not Spo-kane
* Gon-zag-ah (like "zig-zag"), not Gon-zah-gah
* Yeah-kih-mah, not Yaw-kih-mah

Oh, and nobody pronounces it "Warshington" here. It's okay, Patsy — you're still welcome here :)

Back on track

2006-05-23T07:39:00.000-07:00

Good to be back on the old blog.

I have been in hibernation the past few weeks as I have been making a "career transition" (read: new job). I am thrilled (read: euphoric).

I am now officially "Assistant Director of Communications" for a state agency. It's a far stretch from where I thought an MA in Art History would get me, but I am not complaining. On the contrary, I am giddy with excitement. Of course, I am also convinced that I am going to fail miserably and make a complete jackass of myself, but that's nothing new.

Today was my first day at the office. And oh, what a lovely, lovely office. I used to think that I could never endure a desk job, and that I would hate working with the suits and the skirts. Wrong. I love my little office, which has a door (that closes) and a window (that opens). Perhaps this is no big deal to you, dear readers. but this is a mind-blowing step up from where my professional life had been. You mean there is life beyond cubicles?!

My first day on the job was actually last Thursday, when I attended a conference at a resort on warm, sunny Lake Chelan. (Yes, I love this job.) SMH came along, and in addition to enjoying the outdoorsy stuff while I was attending sessions, he got his TV fix at the hotel. (We don't have cable right now, therefore we don't have TV. Quite a contrast to our apartment situation.)

The conference ended Friday, after which SMH and I spent a night camping on Lake Wenatchee. Our camping adventure was cut short by Loki, who was horribly sick all Friday night and woke us up every hour to let her out of the tent. Still, we got to roast s'mores over the campfire, and really, what more can you ask for?

Because our trip was cut short, we were around to watch Olympia's marathon yesterday. It's no big production like the Flying Pig, but we decided to walk up a few blocks to be one of the few spectators cheering on the runners. I tried to find inspiration in the marathoners, but I just felt happy to be on the curb in comfy jeans and a sweatshirt. I might be hitting new strides professionally, but I am woefully lacking in the running department.

Procession of the Species

2006-04-30T22:01:00.000-07:00

Photo by Steven M. Herppich, copyright The Olympian

I love this place.

I especially loved it yesterday, when I watched my first Procession of the Species.

The Procession of the Species is held in OlyWa every April, typically (though not this year) on Earth Day. In a nutshell: It is a parade to celebrate the natural world. Sound a little hippie-ish? Well, it is (this is OlyWa, after all) -- and it isn't.

All of OlyWa is invited to participate in the Procession, and to my surprise, the entire community comes out for this event -- not just the local hippies. Everybody, young and old, takes part. Under the theme of "the natural word," people dress up as floral and fauna (or something representative of floral and fauna). Their costumes, most of which are handmade, are amazingly beautiful and clever. There were lions, wolves, fish, turtles, spiders, butterflies, trees, cacti, flowers, flamingos -- the list goes on and on.

The participants march in one of four groups: Earth, Air, Fire and Water. At the head of each group is a corp of drummers and other musicians, along with standard-bearers carrying giant batiked windsocks and banners.

There were hundreds of people in the parade, and hundreds of people lining the streets to watch the parade. No politicians handing out stickers, no firetrucks, no Shriners in tiny cars, no floats, even. Just people in costumes or hand-built contraptions, dancing, playing instruments and having a dandy time.

It was like one giant, unprententious piece of performance art. People work on their costumes and batik banner for weeks -- sometimes months -- in a public studio right down the street from our house. They take it seriously. Last weekend, we drove past a group of people "practicing" for the parade in the street. They were drumming and dancing, getting their routine down pat.

SMH shot the Procession, and I accompanied him as the "lens assistant." I almost backed out because it was cold, grey and rainy. But, I braved the elements and by the time we got to the staging area, the sky was clearing and the sun was beginning to shine. And by the time the parade started, the sun was bursting through blue skies, making the colors glow.

Photo by Steven M. Herppich, copyright The Olympian

There was really something magical about this event. The adults seemed to love it as much as the kids (maybe more), and everybody was in the best of spirits.

Check out The Olympian for more pics.

Cartoon coworkers

2006-04-26T21:19:00.000-07:00

This is my last week at the Visitor and Convention Bureau. Sniff, sniff. It has been a great job. I love my boss, and I wish I could fold her up, stick her in my pocket and take her with me to my future jobs. (She is so tiny, I could almost do that. Slender-tiny, not midget-tiny.)

I am going to miss a lot about this job. But you know what I'll miss most? Two coworkers who have unknowingly entertained me on a daily basis. Until a few weeks ago, their identities were a mystery to me. They were nothing but disembodied voices.

These voices belong to two ladies who work on the other side of my cubicle. Together they run the operation of a big summer festival in town.

My "relationship" with the women began one morning, when I was the first person to arrive in the office -- or so I thought, until I flipped on the lightswitch. In doing so, I accidentally hit the wrong switch and turned off one row of lights. From the other side of the office, a gravelly voice erupted: "HEY WAIT A MINUTE! TURN THAT ON!"

Not only was I startled and embarrassed by this outburst (being a new employee), I was extremely alarmed by the voice, which sounded like it was the product of several thousand cartons of cigarettes. I continued to hear this voice everyday, engaged in abrasive phone conversations, office banter, etc. I grew to fear that gravelly, disembodied voice.

A few weeks after the lightswitch incident, a new voice came on the scene. This one was even more gravelly, with mannerisms just as abrasive. But my fear turned to a peculiar fondness as I came to look forward to daily conversations like this (for the full effect, must be spoken outloud, in a deep, hoarse voice):

"Hey Jan, you know what time it is?"
"No, what time?"
"PUFF TIME!"
"Let's go!"

Seems I had been working next to Marge Simpson's twin sisters for well over a month. I became convinced that if I peeked over the cubicle wall, I'd see two cartoon characters, Patty and Selma Bouvier, smoking, side by side.

It's only been in the past few weeks that I've actually seen the bodies that match the voices. They are not cartoon characters at all. But one of them does bear a striking resemblance to a certain boss I once had at the CAM, who was a little cartoonish herself. (Incidentally, she was not small enough to fit in my pocket.)

Easter in the Pacific NW

2006-04-20T18:03:00.000-07:00

SMH spent last Saturday shooting some Easter goings-on in the area. From his photos, I learned two things:

In OlyWa, the Easter Bunny is much more frightening, and he arrives by parachute. (Did this rabbit step out of my nightmares? If I were a kid, I'd be heading for the hills.)

Most kids collect eggs. In OlyWa, children fill their Easter baskets with tiny little babies holding bottles.

We spent Easter in beautiful, beautiful (and sunny, sunny) Port Townsend. After spending a ridiculous amount of time looking for a restaurant, we settled on the The Landfall. Mmm-mmm, right choice! SMH has a keen sense - he always spots the good places. My baked blueberry French toast was superb (though it was no J+P brunch item, I'm afraid).

Port Townsend is filled with lovely Victorian homes. One particularly remarkable B+B was for sale for $1.7 million. I would really, really like to own this B+B. I am going to have to get the money job. Oh, that's right, I work in non-profit. I am going to have to win the lottery.

Port Townsend, we decided, is a flawless combination of Traverse City and Mackinac Island (because, in the end, it all comes back to the Midwest, doesn't it?). Wonderful old architecture, quaint shops, vibrant main street, and right on the water. It was a great place to spend our Easter afternoon.

Easter memories, good and bad

2006-04-16T08:33:00.000-07:00

For the past week, I have been on a mission: To find the best Easter Brunch in OlyWa. After the first couple days on the case, I revised the mission a bit: To find an Easter Brunch in OlyWa.

Actually, they do exist here. I've gotten a couple leads, one of which we'll choose today. The problem, you see, stems from my aunt and uncle, who every year create an Easter Brunch that is simply unbeatable. They have made it impossible to find a passable brunch by setting the bar much too high.

So, this year, we'll be missing their annual culinary masterpiece: honey-glazed ham (for years, this was the only day I ate ham), cheesy potatoes, asparagus, spinach-and-feta quiche, raspberry(?)-and-cream-cheese jello mold, deviled eggs, rolls and pineapple muffins. Then, to finish the meal: Graeter's ice cream and Bonbonerie cookies. Then, after pure, shameless gluttony, everyone retires to the beautiful parlor (for conversation about 700WLW, the Archdiocese of Cincinnati and the latest funerals). Every year, my aunt offers me leftovers, and every year, I greedily accept. Not this year. I weep for our epicurean loss.

Easter evokes a string of childhood memories, the strongest of which are tied to my grandmother (my dad's mother). Why? First, my grandma died eleven years ago in April, right before Easter; this was the only time I have ever witnessed a person literally take their last breath, so it made an impact. Second, when we were kids, my grandparents always hosted an Easter Egg Hunt for all the grandchildren in their backyard. The coveted grand prize, hidden in a gold L'eggs egg, was a 50-cent piece. That amount of money blew our little minds. And third, my grandma always celebrated Easter by making an elaborate lamb cake.

This lamb cake was her magnum opus. It was a three-dimensional, lamb in-the-round, complete with white coconut for its white fleece. I can imagine the cake perfectly, sitting on my grandparents' buffet, right below the huge, creepy painting of the Last Supper (which was there for my careful study year-round, not just for the Easter season).

One might think that the memories of this lamb cake would be charming - the stuff of warm holiday sentiment. Unfortunately, the lamb-cake memories are a bit tainted.

I always felt a certain revulsion about my grandparents' food. I am not being mean-spirited when I say this. Aside from the fact that the snacks they fished out of the pantry were always stale, there are two experiences that spawned this revulsion:

1) One time, when I was about five years old, I witnessed my grandmother stuff a turkey. It was the most vile thing I had ever seen, and I remember self-consciously suppressing a gag. I couldn't believe she was sticking her hand in the turkey. And, worse, I couldn't believe the horrible, wet, squishing that sound this act seemed to generate. Today, I'll try almost anything in the kitchen, but you will never catch me stuffing a bird.

2) Another time, my sister and I snuck into a bag of chocolate at my grandma's house. All the adults were in the living room, probably watching Lawrence Welk, giving us the perfect opportunity to snoop around the office. We hit the jackpot: A brown paper bag filled with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Rolos. No sooner had we made the discovery than we began quietly tearing into the wrappers and biting into the chocolate. The moment that followed is seared into my memory forever. Before biting down, I was stopped short by the sight of little white worms poking through the chocolate. My sister was not so lucky. She had already bit into -- and ingested -- the worm-riddled Rolos. I can't even bring myself to write anymore about it.

Now, back to the lamb cake. I have a clear memory of eating the cake and thinking it tasted alarmingly like soap. I even thought to myself, Does Grandma scrape little bits of soap off the bar and think it will pass for coconut? (She was senile for most of the years I remember her.) But to this day, I am not sure if this is an actual memory or one that I conjured up in response to my previous experiences. If that's the case, that poor lamb cake has gotten a bad rap.

On this note, I'll turn my thoughts back to more pleasant Easter memories: Brunch at J+P's, jellybeans, Papas eggs and chocolate bunnies. Just no worms with my chocolate, thanks.

The faith of a child

2006-04-15T21:37:00.000-07:00

Perhaps our distance from home has made me a little sentimental. Or maybe it's the Easter holiday -- holidays always rattle my cage of memories. Whatever the reason, I've been experiencing an overload of childhood flashbacks lately.

I was thinking about Good Friday yesterday, and remembered this incident:

When I was a fourth-grader at St. Clare School, the students were given a special task. Each grade had to select one student to accompany the parish priest as he made the Stations of the Cross. (I associate this incident with Good Friday, but come to think of it, we were usually off school on Good Friday -- so this must have been just a general Lenten activity.)

I was selected to be my class's representative, having been voted by the students as "The Most Holy." I swear to God, it's true. Of course, in fourth grade, I wouldn't have sworn to God, on account of my holiness. My classmates' decision was not unwarranted; I collected holy cards, I knew all the decades of the rosary, I made the St. Anthony Novena with my parents every year, and I seriously considered "nun" as a career option. My faith was strong.

But the vote put me in awkward position. Because I was terribly shy, I was nervous about having to stand before the entire school. Also, I came to discover that "Most Holy" was a dubious honor, as it became grounds for merciless teasing at the hands of one Matthew Reynolds. (Matthew, who made my life miserable in grade school, died when we were 18. At his funeral, our friend Pete revealed a truth that every young tormented girl should know: He only teases you because he likes you.)

To make matters worse, the teachers had warned us countless times about the priest, who was serving as a temporary fill-in until they could secure the "real" parish priest. "Father is stern and strict. He does not fool around. One time at an all-school Mass, he made a little joke during the homily, and one of the students laughed too long -- and he YELLED at the student in FRONT OF THE WHOLE SCHOOL. So mind yourself around him." This sent me spiraling into unbridled anxiety, and forced me to seriously consider my behaviour. How was I to act? Surely, Father wouldn't make any jokes during the stations, so I wouldn't have to worry about laughing...right?, I thought. Was I to act ultra-serious? Ultra-pious? How would I act appropriately, and yet not bring teasing upon myself?

By the time the day of the Stations rolled around, I was a nervous wreck.

I don't remember much except having a severe stomachache from nerves. And standing at each Station, getting increasingly tired, and shifting my weight from one leg to the other. And staring only at the priest, so as to avoid eye contact with anybody else.

I thought I got through the ordeal sucessfully. But that night, my sister laid into me: "I can't believe you. You were up there, with your hand on your hip and then your arms crossed, acting like you were too cool for the Stations of the Cross. It was like you didn't even care. You didn't deserve to be chosen."

I was horrified. I had not intended to act like that, but maybe I had put off an air of disaffection. It's funny now to think about how much weight I gave my sister's opinion. She was in fifth grade at the time, which means that she was well into the nascence of her hellion stage (which would last until about age 20). After reprimanding me, she probably went off for a smoke with her friends.

I'm sure I prayed especially hard for forgiveness as I made my way up the steps of Immaculata that year.

A few years later, I lost my "Most Holy" status when I developed new interests: teenage angst and Camel cigarettes. At that point, Matthew Reynolds wasn't teasing me as much. He too had developed other interests, like stealing cars. And Camels, too.

Today, I heard a story on the radio that included the comment: "It would be wonderful to go back and have the faith you had as a child." Clearly, this person didn't suffer from faith-inflicted stomachaches when he was growing up.

House hiatus over

2006-04-09T19:47:00.000-07:00

After a couple weeks without a computer, we are finally back online. I feel like a junkie getting her long-awaited fix.

Time has flown--it's hard to believe that it's been two weeks since we moved. We are slowly getting settled in. The house is still littered with boxes yet to be unpacked, but we are making progress. The two most important rooms--the kitchen and the bathroom--are in good shape, having been scrubbed from top to bottom.

The biggest drama of our move has been the "oil tank episode." Luckily, it's not nearly as dramatic as it could've been--I should say, not nearly as dramatic as our recent luck with moving would indicate--but dramatic enough. A huge, old oil tank, which was buried deep in our side yard, was removed as we were completing the move. Removal required all kinds of heavy machinery, like diggers and backhoes, which completely destroyed our front lawn (and our neighbor's side lawn) as well as our front walkway. But the walkway was replaced Friday, and the lawn will be reseeded this week...so, aside from the very muddy lawn, we should be in good shape.

Yesterday, our next-door neighbor came over to introduce herself, bearing a bottle of wine. This gesture was incredibly kind, considering the havoc we have wreaked upon her yard. And last week, we met some other neighbors--hippies who live behind us. Now, when you live in OlyWa, the fact that your neighbors are hippies is not even worth observing. Saying that you live next to a hippie here is like saying that you live next to a Catholic in Vatican City. They're a dime a dozen.

What caught our attention about these hippie neighbors is the fact that there seems to be some kind of hippie commune behind us. No, no, not like a Jonestown compound. It's just a little house where a bunch of earth mamas and papas live. In fact, we never would have even noticed, had we not met several of them in one day.

A few days after we moved in, another one of the hippie fellas introduced himself to SMH and told him that Rose, the previous owner of the house, had let them come and harvest the fruit trees in the yard and he hoped we would do the same. Ummmm, hmmmm, wellll...

Yes, we do have quite a few fruit trees in the backyard, and hey, I'm not selfish. I'm willing to share the fruit...but do I really want people "harvesting" our fruit? Not sure. On top of that, the house has a hot tub built into the deck, and I can't help it but have nightmarish visions of the hippies treating themselves to a nice hot "bath" after a day of harvesting under the sun. Eeek.

The neighbors on either side told us that they have seen coyotes in our yard. (Yes, we live in a relatively urban area, despite the images that "fruit trees" and "coyotes" may conjure up.) Oh, and deer, too, who apparently like to take their own share of the harvest from our trees. So, between the coyotes, the deer and the hippies, I think there are some wild times ahead in our backyard.

Lots more to tell, but so many e-mails to get through...two weeks without Internet is a long time!

Oh my aching muscles

2006-03-27T20:58:00.000-08:00

One time, I ran a marathon. And the day after, I was probably the most sore I had ever been in my life.

Today, I would give anything to be only as sore as that.

SMH and I just moved ourselves to *a new house*. Yep, just me, him and a moving van. And a hell of a lot of stuff. I really don't recommend this. (Of course, I also don't recommend hiring Ma and Pa Kettle, er, I mean Berger/Allied movers, to help transport your stuff—which is what we did for our move out West.)

Oh, sweet Jesus, it is really difficult to move without the help of friends and family. And even though Ma and Pa Kettle sent us spiraling into insanity last October, I would have gladly accepted their help today.

I guess I haven't really said anything about the new house, have I? We are wildly excited to have found a sweet new home, but at the moment, I can't write anymore. Every single fiber of me hurts...even my fingertips...and I am obscenely tired.

So, I'll fill you in later.

Alumni updates

2006-03-16T21:52:00.000-08:00

Oh, alumni magazines. Do you love them as much as I do?

I cut out of work early today (one luxury of a PT job) to catch the XU-Gonzaga game, and low and behold, waiting in my mailbox was the spring issue of the Xavier Alumni Magazine.

This publication is always a source of angst for me. In the back section of the magazine, there is a listing of alumni, ordered by year of graduation, and their accomplishments. Even though I know I shouldn't, the first thing I do is flip to the back and see how I compare to my classmates. It's always grim.

The little blurbs herald great news about the alums.

They start off something like:
"After traveling to Central America and building a village hospital, feeding starving children, going on a hunger strike for workers' rights, emancipating young women from a sex trade operation, and closing down sweat shops, Cindy McGillycuddy has returned to the United States, where she has developed her own line of organic food, the proceeds of which go directly to charity."

And then they begin to read:
"Daniel Doolittle recently became a super-duper, high-profile, highly sought-after economic expert. He doesn't mean to brag, but he has just been been recognized as the world's smartest man."

And then you read between the lines:
"Two months after graduating, Jane Jones received her M.R.S. degree, summa cum laude, when she married Dr. Charles Phillip Arthur George. She loves being a stay-at-home mom to her adorable children--Sloan, Brayden, Tanner, Xander, Mikayla, Madison and Bailey--for those two hours each night after Lupe, the nanny, goes home. Jane is now pregnant with her eighth child, but don't worry--Dr. Z has worked wonders on her, and she still has the dynamite body of a 16-year-old."

And then you see a name that rings a bell, and you really read between the lines, this time with a sense of triumph:
"Remember Joe Smith? The smart, geeky kid in your freshman statistics class, whom the muscle-headed guy sitting behind you made fun of relentlessly and called "faggot" every single day?* Yeah, that kid is living in California, working in computers, and making more money than God. Joe is wondering what that muscle-head is doing these days."
*Note: That really happened, and the obnoxious, name-calling guy, who seriously addressed the smart kid as "faggot" and much worse, was the son of my high school principal.

And then there's always:
"Jody Joseph, class of '96, got married to Larry Miller. Jody really has no identity other than being married to this guy, so we'll just tell you about him, even though he's never stepped foot on XU's campus. He graduated with honors from Harvard and is currently Chief Resident at Cedars Sinai Hospital. His goal is to provide medical care to the underpriveleged children in the inner city. But frankly, Jody is a little nervous about that, because you know how those people can be."

Oh, but wait, let's not forget mine:
"JGF lives in Oly, WA, where she currently holds 15 part-time jobs, none of which are remotely related to her degree. But then again, just how far did she think she would get on a Fine Arts degree? With JGF's remarkable ability to remain a "jack of all trades, master of none," she is a shining example of mediocrity. Or would that be a mediocre example of mediocrity?"

Well, we all can't have exciting lives.

After reading the magazine, SMH and I went to a bar (same bar as Saturday) to watch the game. My fellow game-watchers at the bar were very nice to me, and seemed genuinely interested in the fact that I was a Xavier alum. So, maybe this could make it into the next issue:

"JGF lives in Oly, WA, where she has made several friends at the neighborhood bar. In serving as a representative of the university, she has educated the local population on the correct pronunciation of the name (Zay-vier, not Eggs-zay-vier) and the correct geographical location (Cincinnati, not Philadelphia) of the school."

Wrapping up an eventful week

2006-03-11T20:50:00.000-08:00

What a week. It has been so hectic, and I feel like I'm falling behind in everything in my life.

Happily, our house-hunting situation may be drawing to a close—but I have vowed not to write anything about that subject, lest I jinx us. We'll see what happens...

My job situation has taken an interesting turn, as I've picked up a few hours at the Visitor & Convention Bureau. This is more or less the scenario: People call and request a visitor's guide, then I send it out to them. Sometimes, they'll ask me something like, "I'm getting married there. Can you suggest a good venue?" or "I'm looking for a good place to eat. Any suggestions?" or "When is the best time to visit?" And then, because I've only lived here a short time and I really don't know the area, I have to reply, "Oh, um, I'm going to have to get back to you on that one." Luckily, many of the requests come via e-mail, so I don't have to stumble over words and flaunt my idiocy, which, incidentally, I am very, very good at.

So, this week has been a transitional one for me. But, this week was also a remarkable one because it featured *two* social events! On Tuesday, we had drinks with a coworker and her beau (or ex-beau? I'm not 100% sure), both of whom elicited quite a few belly-laughs. What a good feeling. Then, last night, I attended a baby shower and was treated to all kinds of crazy childbirth stories, with "The Most Horrifying" prize going to Julianna, who went natural for the birth of her 11.5-pound baby boy. Yikes.

Today, Steve and I went to a bar in neighboring Lacey to watch the XU-St. Joe's game. We stuck out as the odd couple rooting for a team nobody was particularly interested in. But the bartender indulged us and asked us a few questions about XU, including "Did you go there for the law school?" Apparently, he associates XU with law school. When I gently broke it to him that XU doesn't have a law school, he asked me what XU is known for. I didn't know how to answer. Is XU known for anything in particular?

Anyhow, yes, if you don't know, I am a big basketball nerd and I love the sport. I was, however, nearly sick at the end of the game. I don't have the stomach for down-to-the-wire games like that. But hurrah! They won! Then, I came home and logged on to the "Musketeer Madness" chatroom, and I discovered that I am not nearly as big a nerd as I thought I was. That's because those chatroom folks are BIG nerds. I know, I know, who am I to judge?...but seriously, these folks are total weirdos. I'm sorry, but they are.

Late night musings

2006-03-04T02:12:00.000-08:00

It is 2:15 in the morning, and I cannot sleep. So, I've spent the last hour or so catching up on online gossip. Thank you, Gawker.com. I'm thoroughly sated.

Here are two tidbits I just discovered during the last hour:

1. Drew Lachey hails from College Hill. I have to admit I didn't even know who Drew Lachey was until last week, when my mom told me excitedly that he was doing well in the "Superstar Dance Off," or whatever it's called (I'm too lazy to Google it right now). Who knew, aside from a few St. Clare alumni, that College Hill was such the cradle of civilization?

2. Funnyman Dave Chappelle was in his hometown for the Block Party premiere. I'm so jealous! You couldn't beg, borrow or steal a ticket to his show in Seattle, where he kicked off his mini-tour. Wish I could've gone, but it's okay; all you have to do is say the words "Dave Chappelle," and I'm in hysterics.

Here is something else I realized during my online quest for news:

I was looking forward to watching the Oscars on Sunday, but instead of being in front of my TV, I will be at a skating party. I am not kidding. We are going to a museum staff skating party. Being a new employee, I didn't want to send a negative, non-cooperative message, so I agreed to join in. But, because I am still thinking in terms of Eastern Standard Time, I didn't realize that the Oscars start at 5pm out here, which is just about the time SMH and I will be starting our first pass around the roller rink. There's nothing like roller-skating for the first time in 20 years to make you look like a jackass in front of your coworkers.

Dust in the wind

2006-03-01T08:59:00.000-08:00

Speaking of Mass, today is Ash Wednesday. This day always makes me think of one thing: McAuley High School.

Every year on Ash Wednesday, the student body went to Mass. And every year, during the Communion Meditation, they played "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas. If you don't know what the Communion Meditation is, well, it's supposed to be a really serious time when you contemplate the meaning of the Mass. But to hear "Dust in the Wind" always made me crack up, which pretty much undermined the profundity of the moment.

In and of itself, the song "Dust in the Wind" was fine. But in the context of Mass, it sent me into a fit of giggles (the kind that only happen at the most inappropriate times) because this song was the school's way of saying, "Hey, we're hip, we're cool. See, we incorporate your crazy rock-n-roll music into the Mass. That's so you can relate to it." But Kansas, 1978? Come on!

Then again, going to McAuley was like living in a time warp. They did always play "Come Sail Away" and "You Shook Me All Night Long" at the student dances, like they were the hottest hits of the day. (They would've been had we been attending high school ten years prior to that.)

Anyway, I suppose "Dust in the Wind" has that existential quality that appeals to angst-ridden teenagers. And, it does offer a connection to the "ash" in Ash Wednesday.

But, what should have been a reflective moment was always a silly one, and that has stuck with me long after that joyous day that I left the halls of MCA.

This is what happens when you don't attend Mass regularly

2006-02-26T11:53:00.000-08:00

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.

Noteworthy events

2006-02-24T14:52:00.000-08:00

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."

Staying positive

2006-02-20T10:48:00.000-08:00

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 phone rang and...

2006-02-19T23:33:00.000-08:00

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.

Waiting for the phone to ring

2006-02-18T19:35:00.000-08:00

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.

A brief tour

2006-02-17T14:25:00.000-08:00

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.

For those who fall short

2006-02-15T21:55:00.000-08:00

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...

Cupid strikes with chocolate

2006-02-13T18:06:00.000-08:00

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.

Forever a part of the Greyhound crowd

2006-02-12T11:57:00.000-08:00

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.

Another gym story

2006-02-12T11:28:00.000-08:00

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.

Caveat Lector

2006-02-09T17:32:00.000-08:00

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.

On second thought

2006-02-07T21:23:00.000-08:00

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.

Franz is dead

2006-02-07T15:03:00.000-08:00

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.

Bored at work? Waste time with these links...

2006-02-06T23:29:00.000-08:00

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!

Lessons from a new job

2006-02-03T12:45:00.000-08:00

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.

Burrito-less in Oly

2006-02-02T22:46:00.000-08:00

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?!

Never a dull moment

2006-02-01T12:04:00.000-08:00

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.

Feeling a little weathered

2006-01-31T00:19:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you a little bit about my new home, OlyWa. I will describe it in terms of the weather, which is really all you need to know: It rains. A lot. Every day. Every hour.

I go to bed to the sound of rain against the window, and wake up to the same sound. The rain brushes the city with a broad stroke, making everything — buildings, streets, trees, water, people — a dull, flat, dingy gray. It's not a romantic "soft rain" that makes everything look lush and verdant, like you might experience in Ireland. No, no, these are downpours that are best characterized by the way they fall: heavy, heavier, deluge.

When we first moved here, everybody warned us about the weather. Our first day in town, we went to the Farmer's Market. A friendly farmer who was selling berries told us to go ahead and stock up on Vitamin D and Prozac. I laughed. Oh, you silly man, I thought, I've weathered far worse than the gray days of a Pacific Northwest winter. I was wrong. I've never had to weather this weather.

I take comfort in the fact that this seems to be one of the rainiest winters on record. Yes, it seems that I have arrived just in time for one of the area's nastiest rainy streaks.

And it relieves me to read one Northwester's comment in today's Olympian: “I’ve been living in Washington and Oregon for 35 years, and this is the wettest I’ve ever seen." And another: “This is the worst. I haven’t really changed any routines, but it certainly has a psychological effect on almost everyone. It’s depressing. Every day, you just open the door and it’s the same: The rain is coming down, and it’s gray.”

Depressing? Yes. Bearable? Yes, and I'll tell you why. Every once in a while, the Oly sky clears and turns to blue, and the sun shines on the city. On these days, the city comes alive. Gray washes away, and every other color sparkles. Buildings that I never noticed before suddenly become charming; people seem more animated, buzzing in the streets; the Sound is turquoise and gorgeous, framed by the snow-capped Olympic Mountains; and Rainier is at her most majestic. On a clear day at dusk, the setting sun throws a pinkish cast on Rainier, and she is breathtaking — something that the natives take for granted. At these moments, I believe that this place may be one of the most beautiful on earth.

So really, how I experience the city depends on the weather. On those gloomy days, I am homesick as ever. I miss everything: runs with friends through the Gaslight; coffee talk with my Freaks+Weirdos coworkers (coffee, coffee everywhere, but nary a Tim or Karla in sight); the ever-entertaining company of Sha+Ja; the excess of Indian cuisine on Ludlow; the magic of witnessing a little genius(!) nephew grow up; the list goes on and on. But on those rare sunny occasions, I feel pretty confident that this adventure is going to be pretty spectacular.

There's lots more to tell about this place and our experience thus far, but I'll leave it at that for now. It's time to brave the wind and rain and take Loki for a walk.

I said I would...

2006-01-30T18:10:00.000-08:00

Yes, yes, I’ve finally made good on my threat and started a blog. But before I start writing, I feel that I must begin with a disclaimer:

Blogs are self-indulgent and self-centered. They operate on the premise that other people care about what you think, feel and write—even though, in reality, most people do not care what you think, feel or write. I recognize this fact, and I enter the blog-o-sphere with full knowledge of the insignificance of my musings. So be it.

That being said, I can't wait to get started! I’ve decided to start blogging for a few reasons, the most important being the documentation of my newest adventure to Oly, WA. So, friends and family near and far (mostly far), check it out when you’re interested and abandon it when you’re not. I promise nothing except a regular dose of spouting-off.