Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Monday, May 05, 2008
Winery Tour
Faauu, Christy and I went on a day tour of two wineries and Snoqualamie Falls. First Stop was Silver Lake winery, where the event host was not pleased to see our group of 17 people ("I have a huge group coming but, um, ok, well hold on..."). Ten minute wait followed by a rather rushed tasting of four wines. My favorite was the raspberry wine (ok, I don't have a sophisticated palette. I'm nice to dogs and needy people. Leave me alone). They had many flavors of fruit wines. I say how wonderful.
It was the first warm day of the season, so the Chateau St. Michelle tasting was conducted outside. To be honest, I don't remember the wines that well but the setting was gorgeous. After the tasting, we sat under a tree and just relaxed and talked, which was of course lovely.
I have no idea what Faauu and Christy are doing, but when I saw them like that I told them to hold the pose. Why am I not in any of the photos? Because I'm unhappy with my weight, that's why. I'm contemplating doing posting a photo every week so all of you can watch my amazing weight loss journey (I'm aiming for 35 pounds), but first I want to be sure there will be an amazing weight loss journey.
Snoqualamie Falls was waterfall-y as waterfalls tend to be.It was hard to get the full experience by competing for space against the railing. There is a lodge just above the falls, visible in the photo above. If the falls can be heard with the windows open at night, I'd like to stay there sometime.
It was the first warm day of the season, so the Chateau St. Michelle tasting was conducted outside. To be honest, I don't remember the wines that well but the setting was gorgeous. After the tasting, we sat under a tree and just relaxed and talked, which was of course lovely.
I have no idea what Faauu and Christy are doing, but when I saw them like that I told them to hold the pose. Why am I not in any of the photos? Because I'm unhappy with my weight, that's why. I'm contemplating doing posting a photo every week so all of you can watch my amazing weight loss journey (I'm aiming for 35 pounds), but first I want to be sure there will be an amazing weight loss journey.
Snoqualamie Falls was waterfall-y as waterfalls tend to be.It was hard to get the full experience by competing for space against the railing. There is a lodge just above the falls, visible in the photo above. If the falls can be heard with the windows open at night, I'd like to stay there sometime.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Comfortably Dumb
The Pantages Theatre is three blocks from where I work and seven blocks from where I live (well, ten blocks now that I've moved). When I saw that The Pink Floyd Experience was coming, I knew I had to check it out. So check it out I did.
What I sought was a conditioned response. I listened to Dark Side of the Moon hundreds of times in college dorm rooms, and probably saw the midnight movie of The Wall eight or nine times. Needless to say, few (if any) of those times involved keen mental acuity. Those experiences were soft, mystical and dreamy and I figured the music was so imprinted to that state of consciousness that just hearing it again would reprise it.
Nope.
At one point I was so bored, I entertained myself by coming up with scathing review headlines (Comfortably Dumb being my obvious favorite, with Shine On You Crazy Cubic Zirconia in 2nd place). I worried about things I'd forgotten to do at work that day. I rolled my eyes at the poorly executed "If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding!" Damn. Couldn't they have gotten that right? I love that line. I've been known to walk by someone's desk and say that line just because I feel like it.
One segment, an unexpected one, was brilliant. It was a tribute to Syd Barrett. I didn't recognize the song, but it was gorgeous and the accompanying visual effects were water color-y and sublime. If the whole show had been like that I would have been in heaven. Unfortunately the lighting was garish and overdone, consisting too often of shining woken-from-a-nightmare glaring blue light into the audience, producing a "Stop it, dammit!" reaction (perhaps the less high strung perceived it differently).
Take a second and try to picture the audience. If you are picturing 60 year old men in tie dye t-shirts and long gray ponytails you've pretty much got it right. You can't go back again, but perhaps they never left. I have in no uncertain terms moved on from who I was 30 years ago. I've had to. I hate to say it, but The Pink Floyd Experience underscored for me the fact that I am so centered in the harsh reality of the real world that I can rarely, if ever, relax. I miss the times when I could not only relax but float to the edge of a world so vast, so beautiful, and so mysterious that just a glimpse was an enormous priviledge.
What I sought was a conditioned response. I listened to Dark Side of the Moon hundreds of times in college dorm rooms, and probably saw the midnight movie of The Wall eight or nine times. Needless to say, few (if any) of those times involved keen mental acuity. Those experiences were soft, mystical and dreamy and I figured the music was so imprinted to that state of consciousness that just hearing it again would reprise it.
Nope.
At one point I was so bored, I entertained myself by coming up with scathing review headlines (Comfortably Dumb being my obvious favorite, with Shine On You Crazy Cubic Zirconia in 2nd place). I worried about things I'd forgotten to do at work that day. I rolled my eyes at the poorly executed "If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding!" Damn. Couldn't they have gotten that right? I love that line. I've been known to walk by someone's desk and say that line just because I feel like it.
One segment, an unexpected one, was brilliant. It was a tribute to Syd Barrett. I didn't recognize the song, but it was gorgeous and the accompanying visual effects were water color-y and sublime. If the whole show had been like that I would have been in heaven. Unfortunately the lighting was garish and overdone, consisting too often of shining woken-from-a-nightmare glaring blue light into the audience, producing a "Stop it, dammit!" reaction (perhaps the less high strung perceived it differently).
Take a second and try to picture the audience. If you are picturing 60 year old men in tie dye t-shirts and long gray ponytails you've pretty much got it right. You can't go back again, but perhaps they never left. I have in no uncertain terms moved on from who I was 30 years ago. I've had to. I hate to say it, but The Pink Floyd Experience underscored for me the fact that I am so centered in the harsh reality of the real world that I can rarely, if ever, relax. I miss the times when I could not only relax but float to the edge of a world so vast, so beautiful, and so mysterious that just a glimpse was an enormous priviledge.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Busy
When I have time to catch up, I'll post pictures from the winery / Snoqualamie Falls day trip I took with Christy and Faauu two weeks ago. I'll also post pictures of the new apartment. Maybe I'll even write something.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
New Apartment
I'm moving in April 25th. The building is 4 blocks from my current one. My new building has better views, a dishwasher (a year with no dishwasher was more than enough), and a nicer caliber of residents. I'd taken to calling my current building "Crack Whore Gardens". It was time to move.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Downtown Tacoma Waterscape
This waterscape takes up the majority of the block of the Commerce Street Transit Center. It's water, it flows; needless to say I love it. I'm happy to announce that I am no longer in need of transit centers since I have bought a new car (ok, a new old car). It's a shiny champagne-gold Saturn, very pretty, and in good shape mechanically.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
A Random Day
I'm sick of my job. I'm sad about this. I love the building I work in, love downtown Tacoma, and love my coworkers. Well, almost all of my coworkers. Sadly, I share office space with one of the most diabolically egotistical women on the planet.She's a silly, stringy-haired thing in her mid 20s. It says bad things about me if I let someone like her bother me, so I usually do a fine job of ignoring her. I think you know where this is going.
Saturday morning obnoxious coworker started in on how she's "Leading the pack" and "In line for an amazing raise!" and "The shining star of Tacoma!" I know this doesn't absolve me, but I'd only had a few hours of nightmare-infested sleep. I...wasn't feeling well. My responses to her were something to the effect of "Grrrowl!" "Grrrrrr!" and "Rooarrrrrrrr!" I sounded like something from a horror movie. I may as well have been carrying a chainsaw. She actually flinched at one point, and yes, I liked it. No, I'm lying. I loved it.
I walked out the door at noon as calm and relaxed as a rabid kangaroo on crack. I was walking with Robert to his car when he decided to accompany me on a walk. That was the start to the Random Day.
Here's a list of what happened on the Random Day, which was, by the way, very enjoyable and which possibly stopped me from leaving a Wendy-shaped bas relief in my 14th floor living room window:
1. Sat and talked for an hour and a half in a zen-like hospital lobby
2. Walked through a hail storm to get back to Robert's car at work.
3. Had lunch at Anthony's at Pt. Defiance
4. Drove into Pt. Defiance park. Passed through groves of lime-green phosphorescent
trees. Drove by the logging museum. Wandered into a covered picnic area surrounded
by majestic trees, amazing Puget Sound views and pristine fresh air. I decided
in earnest,that it's where I'd like to get married.
5. Saw a sign for "Blacksmith demonstration". I fantasized that the
blacksmith was a 6'2, 50 year old dentist who did the blacksmith thing on
weekends to build up his already-impressive biceps. Alas, we were too late
for the demo.
6. Rode the ferry round trip to Vashon Island
7. Made the same wrong turn onto the highway leading to the Tacoma Narrows Bridge
that resulted in a ticket New Year's Eve.
8. Went to the T-Mobile booth at the Tacoma Mall to find out how to load photos from
phone onto my computer.
9. Went to Dairy Queen
10. Passed a "Quick Test" booth on exiting the mall, staffed by one guy with a crew
cut and the other with the kind of gigantic, two-foot high spikes in his hair
that were radical 30 years ago. Both men were behind a full-walled glass enclosure
like a zoo exhibit
11. Exited Tacoma mall trying to figure out what they were testing.
12. Passed a "Learn How to Ride!" sign and saw motorcycle neophites buzzing
in a circle around a parking lot.
I think the highlight of the day was the Vashon Island ferry. We've had bizarre weather this week, with snow of all absurd things. We headed out to Vashon Island around 4:30 pm and got some delicious late afternoon sun on the way over. With my eyes closed and the sun on my face, the horrible morning was far from my mind. Watching the sun sparkle on the water, feeling the wind blow back my hair, and taking in the panoramic views was not only therapeutic but divine. I live only three miles from the ferry dock. I need to get out on the water more often, whether it's part of a random day (which I need more of) or a planned one.
Saturday morning obnoxious coworker started in on how she's "Leading the pack" and "In line for an amazing raise!" and "The shining star of Tacoma!" I know this doesn't absolve me, but I'd only had a few hours of nightmare-infested sleep. I...wasn't feeling well. My responses to her were something to the effect of "Grrrowl!" "Grrrrrr!" and "Rooarrrrrrrr!" I sounded like something from a horror movie. I may as well have been carrying a chainsaw. She actually flinched at one point, and yes, I liked it. No, I'm lying. I loved it.
I walked out the door at noon as calm and relaxed as a rabid kangaroo on crack. I was walking with Robert to his car when he decided to accompany me on a walk. That was the start to the Random Day.
Here's a list of what happened on the Random Day, which was, by the way, very enjoyable and which possibly stopped me from leaving a Wendy-shaped bas relief in my 14th floor living room window:
1. Sat and talked for an hour and a half in a zen-like hospital lobby
2. Walked through a hail storm to get back to Robert's car at work.
3. Had lunch at Anthony's at Pt. Defiance
4. Drove into Pt. Defiance park. Passed through groves of lime-green phosphorescent
trees. Drove by the logging museum. Wandered into a covered picnic area surrounded
by majestic trees, amazing Puget Sound views and pristine fresh air. I decided
in earnest,that it's where I'd like to get married.
5. Saw a sign for "Blacksmith demonstration". I fantasized that the
blacksmith was a 6'2, 50 year old dentist who did the blacksmith thing on
weekends to build up his already-impressive biceps. Alas, we were too late
for the demo.
6. Rode the ferry round trip to Vashon Island
7. Made the same wrong turn onto the highway leading to the Tacoma Narrows Bridge
that resulted in a ticket New Year's Eve.
8. Went to the T-Mobile booth at the Tacoma Mall to find out how to load photos from
phone onto my computer.
9. Went to Dairy Queen
10. Passed a "Quick Test" booth on exiting the mall, staffed by one guy with a crew
cut and the other with the kind of gigantic, two-foot high spikes in his hair
that were radical 30 years ago. Both men were behind a full-walled glass enclosure
like a zoo exhibit
11. Exited Tacoma mall trying to figure out what they were testing.
12. Passed a "Learn How to Ride!" sign and saw motorcycle neophites buzzing
in a circle around a parking lot.
I think the highlight of the day was the Vashon Island ferry. We've had bizarre weather this week, with snow of all absurd things. We headed out to Vashon Island around 4:30 pm and got some delicious late afternoon sun on the way over. With my eyes closed and the sun on my face, the horrible morning was far from my mind. Watching the sun sparkle on the water, feeling the wind blow back my hair, and taking in the panoramic views was not only therapeutic but divine. I live only three miles from the ferry dock. I need to get out on the water more often, whether it's part of a random day (which I need more of) or a planned one.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
More El Paso (Read previous post 1st, if orderly type)
International Bridge. These people are walking from Mexico into the US.
How wonderful is this? I'm a condiment freak, and it doesn't get much better than chopped onions and cilantro, lime wedges, whole roasted chilis, and mole sauce. Hopefully I didn't abuse.
Downtown El Paso
Juarez, Mexico as seen from the highway. Texas on one side of the highway, Mexico on the other. Very cool.
A mile or two from New Mexico. I love this sort of barren landscape.
How wonderful is this? I'm a condiment freak, and it doesn't get much better than chopped onions and cilantro, lime wedges, whole roasted chilis, and mole sauce. Hopefully I didn't abuse.
Downtown El Paso
Juarez, Mexico as seen from the highway. Texas on one side of the highway, Mexico on the other. Very cool.
A mile or two from New Mexico. I love this sort of barren landscape.
El Paso
Sometimes you just have to see what a dot on a map looks like in all its sprawling glory. I have a friend in El Paso, so off I went.
Here is a 4th grade geography lesson: El Paso is on the border of Mexico, and only a few miles from New Mexico. It is over 80% Hispanic.
In ways the city looks like Phoenix- blue skies, palm trees, taupe mountains. I think El Paso is prettier, maybe because it's at a higher elevation.
Since my friend Gil is an El Paso native, I got to go to the type of Mexican restaurant the natives frequent. The food was wonderful, but this Margarita was made with wine and tasted like...watered down wine. I also got to sample Horchato, a sweetened rice drink. It tasted like the milk at the bottom of a bowl of Cinnamon Life cereal.
When the Holiday Inn shuttle driver was driving me from the airport, I asked about Mexico. He pointed and showed me the lights of Juarez. He may as well have pointed out the rings of Saturn. I am fascinated by borders. As border cities go, Juarez is a bit challenged. Over 100 people have been murdered there so far this year due to the drug cartels.
Here is a 4th grade geography lesson: El Paso is on the border of Mexico, and only a few miles from New Mexico. It is over 80% Hispanic.
In ways the city looks like Phoenix- blue skies, palm trees, taupe mountains. I think El Paso is prettier, maybe because it's at a higher elevation.
Since my friend Gil is an El Paso native, I got to go to the type of Mexican restaurant the natives frequent. The food was wonderful, but this Margarita was made with wine and tasted like...watered down wine. I also got to sample Horchato, a sweetened rice drink. It tasted like the milk at the bottom of a bowl of Cinnamon Life cereal.
When the Holiday Inn shuttle driver was driving me from the airport, I asked about Mexico. He pointed and showed me the lights of Juarez. He may as well have pointed out the rings of Saturn. I am fascinated by borders. As border cities go, Juarez is a bit challenged. Over 100 people have been murdered there so far this year due to the drug cartels.
El Paso Zoo
Gil had to work on Saturday, so I went to the zoo. A lot of the exhibits were being renovated, so while talking to Peter in Sweden (I decided I needed some company. and liked the idea of being on the border of Mexico and talking to someone in Sweden) I proclaimed the zoo "The worst zoo in America." After more of a look around, I upgraded it to decent.
When I told Peter I was looking at a donkey, he asked if there was a little Mexican man next to it, taking a nap under his sombrero. Interesting that such a 60s type of iconic sterotype would find it's way to Sweden.
I'm at a loss for how to caption this...
When I told Peter I was looking at a donkey, he asked if there was a little Mexican man next to it, taking a nap under his sombrero. Interesting that such a 60s type of iconic sterotype would find it's way to Sweden.
I'm at a loss for how to caption this...
Monday, March 10, 2008
27 Years Later
Twenty six years and ten months ago (May 10, 1981) I finished my bachelors degree. Now I have my masters.
I finished with a 3.9 GPA. I'm proud of this simply because it took a lot of self discipline to do this while working 40+ hours a week.
Now that I have some free time, I'm contemplating what I am going to do and learn next. I'm going to work as much overtime as I can because the more money I have, the happier I am. I'm planning on taking dance lessons again. I'm probably going to join some kind of writers group. Other than that, I'm not sure. Maybe one night- just one- I'll sit in front of the TV and do nothing but stare at it. Hopefully I can find something worthy of this mission. Are there any channels that show Beavis and Butthead reruns?
I finished with a 3.9 GPA. I'm proud of this simply because it took a lot of self discipline to do this while working 40+ hours a week.
Now that I have some free time, I'm contemplating what I am going to do and learn next. I'm going to work as much overtime as I can because the more money I have, the happier I am. I'm planning on taking dance lessons again. I'm probably going to join some kind of writers group. Other than that, I'm not sure. Maybe one night- just one- I'll sit in front of the TV and do nothing but stare at it. Hopefully I can find something worthy of this mission. Are there any channels that show Beavis and Butthead reruns?
Planet *uckin'
An auto salvage yard paid me $150 for my car and towed it away. I was sad to see it go. I'd fantasized that it was the miracle disposable car. One day, I dreamed,it would reach the half a million mile mark. Perhaps I should have fantasized further and given it retractable rotoblades to whirrrr me up out of traffic all together.
I haven't started shopping for a new car yet. My village lifestyle and my capacity to walk fast and far have made securing a new vehicle a less-than-urgent matter. I may even choose to not have a car for a while. What may make me cave is the idiots with whom I must share my occassional public transit foray.
I am becoming convinced that there are an increasing number of Americans whose practicing vocabulary consists of 200 or fewer words. Why, they must rationalize to themselves, bother with tedious adjectives when the word fuckin' can be substituted for just about anything?
At the bus stop I encountered three groups of people. Young man in group #1 " I hate it when people fuckin' text message me cuz I have to pay for that fuckin' shit. They're fuckin' idiots." Woman in group #2 turning to man with her "Hey, what the fuck're you doing? I fuckin told you not to fuckin' do that." The verbiage of group #3 contained roughly the same number of fuckins.
When I lived in Portland, I had next door neighbors I thought of as The Fuckins. They were three construction workers in their 20s who smoked their countless cigarettes on their balcony, thus unwittingly treating me to their witty repartee: "Yeah my fuckin' boss, my fuckin' girlfriend, fuckin', fuckin' fuckin'..."
I told my friend Tracy that the Fuckins would end up setting the building on fire. They did. This was not a psychic prediction, just one based on the fact that they balanced their cigarettes on the ledge of the wooden balcony.
Anyway, America is full of fuckins and I'm having a hard time daaling with it I'm starting to see all these fuckins as being something less than human. Perhaps one day when a toddler answers "moo" and "baa" to the questions what does a cow say and what does a sheep say, he will also proudly answer "fuckin'!!" when asked "What does an uneducated,apathetic, vocabulary-impoverished idiot say?"
I think I better start carrying my Ipod with me when I take the bus.
I haven't started shopping for a new car yet. My village lifestyle and my capacity to walk fast and far have made securing a new vehicle a less-than-urgent matter. I may even choose to not have a car for a while. What may make me cave is the idiots with whom I must share my occassional public transit foray.
I am becoming convinced that there are an increasing number of Americans whose practicing vocabulary consists of 200 or fewer words. Why, they must rationalize to themselves, bother with tedious adjectives when the word fuckin' can be substituted for just about anything?
At the bus stop I encountered three groups of people. Young man in group #1 " I hate it when people fuckin' text message me cuz I have to pay for that fuckin' shit. They're fuckin' idiots." Woman in group #2 turning to man with her "Hey, what the fuck're you doing? I fuckin told you not to fuckin' do that." The verbiage of group #3 contained roughly the same number of fuckins.
When I lived in Portland, I had next door neighbors I thought of as The Fuckins. They were three construction workers in their 20s who smoked their countless cigarettes on their balcony, thus unwittingly treating me to their witty repartee: "Yeah my fuckin' boss, my fuckin' girlfriend, fuckin', fuckin' fuckin'..."
I told my friend Tracy that the Fuckins would end up setting the building on fire. They did. This was not a psychic prediction, just one based on the fact that they balanced their cigarettes on the ledge of the wooden balcony.
Anyway, America is full of fuckins and I'm having a hard time daaling with it I'm starting to see all these fuckins as being something less than human. Perhaps one day when a toddler answers "moo" and "baa" to the questions what does a cow say and what does a sheep say, he will also proudly answer "fuckin'!!" when asked "What does an uneducated,apathetic, vocabulary-impoverished idiot say?"
I think I better start carrying my Ipod with me when I take the bus.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Tacoma It Is
This afternoon I told the regional director that I want to stay in Tacoma. She emailed back something about the Tacoma office continuing to benefit from my performance and leadership. It was nice. I feel very good about my decision. There's something 'just right' about Tacoma for me, and I won't have to give up my village lifestyle. I adore having most everything I need in walking distance. I can't stand a car dependent lifestyle. Especially now that I don't have one. Wha ha.
My coworkers had good ideas as to what to do with my car. I called an auto salvage place and am waiting to hear if the owner is interested in paying me $500 for parts. I'll take whatever the want to give me- they'll tow it away, and I'll start looking for a new car. Fair enough. It's hard for me to get excited about a new car. Cars just don't thrill me. I see them as merely a way to get from point A to point B.
One more week of school. Proud of me? Buy me a Rotato!
Actually I have no desire for a Rotato. A minimalist at heart, I am disdainful of unnecessary gadgetry. I do, however, think Rotato is a fabulous word, and quite possibly the greatest (as in most ridiculous) Ronco product ever. Or is it K-Tel? One of the companies sells horrible 70s album complilations Get up and boooogie and the other sells Rotatos and the like.
Only you know for sure.
My coworkers had good ideas as to what to do with my car. I called an auto salvage place and am waiting to hear if the owner is interested in paying me $500 for parts. I'll take whatever the want to give me- they'll tow it away, and I'll start looking for a new car. Fair enough. It's hard for me to get excited about a new car. Cars just don't thrill me. I see them as merely a way to get from point A to point B.
One more week of school. Proud of me? Buy me a Rotato!
Actually I have no desire for a Rotato. A minimalist at heart, I am disdainful of unnecessary gadgetry. I do, however, think Rotato is a fabulous word, and quite possibly the greatest (as in most ridiculous) Ronco product ever. Or is it K-Tel? One of the companies sells horrible 70s album complilations Get up and boooogie and the other sells Rotatos and the like.
Only you know for sure.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Famous Last Words
"I think my disposable car will last another year!" I raved in a recent post.
Wrong.
It sputtered to a smoke-spewing stop three feet from the Sears Automotive Center at the Tacoma Mall. Never mind the smoke spewing and the sputtering. Did you catch the part about my car dying right in front of the Sears Automotive Center? I really am a ridiculously lucky person. Years ago when I was in photography school in Santa Barbara, I drove up a remote mountain pass somewhere around Ojai. As the sun was starting to set, I packed up the 4 x 5 camera I never made friends with and got ready for the 45 minute drive home. Only my car wouldn't start. And it was starting to get dark- and I was on a pretty remote mountain pass. Keep in mind this was in the days before cell phones. Five minutes into my quandry, a car pulled up. The driver was a mechanic. He fixed my car. Off I went.
The Sears guys first checked the oil. It was full. They sniffed and poked at a few other things (ew, that sounded gross, didn't it?) before deciding it was the transmission. Or as they first put it "This isn't good."
It's not that bad either. As mentioned, it was a disposable car. Eleven months of driving for approximately $1,500 isn't bad.
They pushed my deceased Buick into a parking space and I took a bus home. Now I have to figure out how one disposes of a disposable car. I'm hoping someone will tow it away and pay me a few dollars for parts. I'll have to ask around at work tomorrow to see how this is done. Needless to say, I'll be walking to work. Yet another reason why I love living one mile from my place of employment.
Wrong.
It sputtered to a smoke-spewing stop three feet from the Sears Automotive Center at the Tacoma Mall. Never mind the smoke spewing and the sputtering. Did you catch the part about my car dying right in front of the Sears Automotive Center? I really am a ridiculously lucky person. Years ago when I was in photography school in Santa Barbara, I drove up a remote mountain pass somewhere around Ojai. As the sun was starting to set, I packed up the 4 x 5 camera I never made friends with and got ready for the 45 minute drive home. Only my car wouldn't start. And it was starting to get dark- and I was on a pretty remote mountain pass. Keep in mind this was in the days before cell phones. Five minutes into my quandry, a car pulled up. The driver was a mechanic. He fixed my car. Off I went.
The Sears guys first checked the oil. It was full. They sniffed and poked at a few other things (ew, that sounded gross, didn't it?) before deciding it was the transmission. Or as they first put it "This isn't good."
It's not that bad either. As mentioned, it was a disposable car. Eleven months of driving for approximately $1,500 isn't bad.
They pushed my deceased Buick into a parking space and I took a bus home. Now I have to figure out how one disposes of a disposable car. I'm hoping someone will tow it away and pay me a few dollars for parts. I'll have to ask around at work tomorrow to see how this is done. Needless to say, I'll be walking to work. Yet another reason why I love living one mile from my place of employment.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Maybe
I might transfer to the Renton/Tukwila campus, 25 miles north of Tacoma, in May.
I'd be closer to Seattle, although I'm not sure that's a big deal to me. Tacoma is more my speed.
I'd be leaving an office where gasping, tear-streaming laughter is a daily occurence. I honestly don't think I have laughed as hard and as often in 20 years as I do in my current work environment. That's hard to leave. Also, I am doing well at my job in Tacoma. But... I might have the opportunity to do even better in Renton.
Unassuming as Tacoma is on the surface, it's full of funky tea shops and views from bridges, and a myriad of other little hidden treasures. I'm not sure I'm ready to leave it.
I'd be closer to Seattle, although I'm not sure that's a big deal to me. Tacoma is more my speed.
I'd be leaving an office where gasping, tear-streaming laughter is a daily occurence. I honestly don't think I have laughed as hard and as often in 20 years as I do in my current work environment. That's hard to leave. Also, I am doing well at my job in Tacoma. But... I might have the opportunity to do even better in Renton.
Unassuming as Tacoma is on the surface, it's full of funky tea shops and views from bridges, and a myriad of other little hidden treasures. I'm not sure I'm ready to leave it.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Sweet
I hardly ever listen to the radio. When would I? I walk to work, I'm not the type who plays a radio while I'm working, and I just don't listen to it at home. In fact, half the time when I'm at home, 14 stories up, I just open the window and listen to the pleasant ambient noise.
The radio in my disposable car no longer works. Have I ever talked here about my disposable car? No? Ok, it's a 1992 Buick Le Sabre with 184,000 miles on it. I bought it last April for $1,100 and just shrugged and said however long it lasts, it lasts. It's lasted almost a year. It drives beautifully, has no body damage, and I have a feeling it will last at least another year or two. The radio is starting to go, but given a choice between that, and driving virtually for free, I can live with that.
A few weeks ago, when the radio still worked, a song came on that I'm pretty sure I hadn't heard in at least 20 years. It was like running into an old friend. You're going to laugh when I tell you the song: "Action" by The Sweet. I've since downloaded "Desolation Boulevard" and listen to at my desk all the time. It makes me unreasonably happy. "Set me Free"? How could I have forgotten that song? It's...beautiful. It is, really, amidst all its hard-driving misogyny.
As mentioned, when "Action" came on the radio it just slayed me. As many people have pointed out to me (in a nice way, thank God), I have a story for everything. And yes I have a story associated with that song. A memory, actually from the archives. My friend Nancy was in the front row of some talk show (Merv Griffin? Someone of that 1976-ish ilk). The featured guest was some big, bloated bodybuilder in a red speedo. His claim to fame was that he could blow up a rubber hot water bottle until it burst. So in the tape Nancy showed me of the show, there was Mr. bodybuilder in all his blonde, blow-dried glory, heaving back and forth to the song - you guessed it- "Action". Yes, the bottle burst before the end of the song. I have no idea what the point of all this was supposed to be. Maybe his next trick was to put out a campfire with a mightily- gushing arc of pee. Who knows. When his performance ended, the camera panned to Nancy applauding. She thought she looked nerdy since she sort of bounced in her seat in a "Gee, that was so fabulous!" sort of manner. When you look like a cross between Cher and a supermodel you can get away with such things.
So that's my "Action" story.
My friend Christy often jokes with me "And you remember this...why?"
Good question. I just do.
In 16 more days I wiil be finished with my masters degree. I can not begin to tell you how happy this makes me.
The radio in my disposable car no longer works. Have I ever talked here about my disposable car? No? Ok, it's a 1992 Buick Le Sabre with 184,000 miles on it. I bought it last April for $1,100 and just shrugged and said however long it lasts, it lasts. It's lasted almost a year. It drives beautifully, has no body damage, and I have a feeling it will last at least another year or two. The radio is starting to go, but given a choice between that, and driving virtually for free, I can live with that.
A few weeks ago, when the radio still worked, a song came on that I'm pretty sure I hadn't heard in at least 20 years. It was like running into an old friend. You're going to laugh when I tell you the song: "Action" by The Sweet. I've since downloaded "Desolation Boulevard" and listen to at my desk all the time. It makes me unreasonably happy. "Set me Free"? How could I have forgotten that song? It's...beautiful. It is, really, amidst all its hard-driving misogyny.
As mentioned, when "Action" came on the radio it just slayed me. As many people have pointed out to me (in a nice way, thank God), I have a story for everything. And yes I have a story associated with that song. A memory, actually from the archives. My friend Nancy was in the front row of some talk show (Merv Griffin? Someone of that 1976-ish ilk). The featured guest was some big, bloated bodybuilder in a red speedo. His claim to fame was that he could blow up a rubber hot water bottle until it burst. So in the tape Nancy showed me of the show, there was Mr. bodybuilder in all his blonde, blow-dried glory, heaving back and forth to the song - you guessed it- "Action". Yes, the bottle burst before the end of the song. I have no idea what the point of all this was supposed to be. Maybe his next trick was to put out a campfire with a mightily- gushing arc of pee. Who knows. When his performance ended, the camera panned to Nancy applauding. She thought she looked nerdy since she sort of bounced in her seat in a "Gee, that was so fabulous!" sort of manner. When you look like a cross between Cher and a supermodel you can get away with such things.
So that's my "Action" story.
My friend Christy often jokes with me "And you remember this...why?"
Good question. I just do.
In 16 more days I wiil be finished with my masters degree. I can not begin to tell you how happy this makes me.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Stadium District
My nephew asked to see more pictures of Tacoma. Here are some 'exactly the way it is' pics from my neighborhood. When I look back (2 months from now- a year from now- who knows with my life) on what it was like to live in Tacoma, I want a window back to exactly what it was like to live in the Stadium District.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
First- And Not Last- American Idol Post
I loved Kyle Ensley. I thought "Love Grows Where my Rosemary Goes" was an amazing song choice, and I don't think the performance was "corny". I am sad that he didn't make the top 24.
My favorite so far is David Archuletta. His voice is classically pure and beautiful and he's adorable. I know this makes me sound old, but I like teenagers who are clean cut and polite. After all of his Thank you, thank yous after he was selected for the top 24, he turned to the judges as he was leaving the room and said "Have a nice day!". He's earnest. I love earnest people.
I also like the Joplin-esque Amanda,Shyesha, and the keyboard player with the long blonde hair.
My favorite so far is David Archuletta. His voice is classically pure and beautiful and he's adorable. I know this makes me sound old, but I like teenagers who are clean cut and polite. After all of his Thank you, thank yous after he was selected for the top 24, he turned to the judges as he was leaving the room and said "Have a nice day!". He's earnest. I love earnest people.
I also like the Joplin-esque Amanda,Shyesha, and the keyboard player with the long blonde hair.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Birthday / Best Italian Restaurant Ever
Saturday night a group of us from work went out to dinner to celebrate Faauu's 41st birthday. We had a great time, and the restaurant- Marzano's- was amazing. Faauu is at the head of the table. Also present are a very large trying-to-hide Wendy Sue, Christy (best next cube neighbor ever. She has a great sense of humor, and actually enjoys it when I sing Eddie Grant's 'Electic Avenue' with my special emphasis on the Rastafarian-accented "Good God!" line), LaTosha, and her husband Fredrick. We all have a great time at work together. Everyone is starting to look for new jobs. I probably won't be far behind, since one of the main things keeping me at this job is how much fun I have at work.
This shot captures the dynamic of Faauu and Latosha's friendship.
Gearing up for a major weight loss effort is not the best time to discover how absolutely delicious an infusion of cream makes a pasta dish.
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This shot captures the dynamic of Faauu and Latosha's friendship.
Gearing up for a major weight loss effort is not the best time to discover how absolutely delicious an infusion of cream makes a pasta dish.
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Thursday, January 31, 2008
You Have Yours
When one's life is full of drudgery, one is entitled to guilty pleasures.
American Idol tops my list. It's even ahead of Junior Mints. Wait...American Idol...Junior Mints. Yeah, American Idol. No doubt about it.
Another guilty pleasure is biographies of rock stars. I adore late 60s / early 70s rock and all the delicious trippiness of that era. And yes, I'll admit it, I feel comparitevly fabulous about myself every time I read about someone who had it all and ended up snorting it up their nose and blithering away in rehab.
In the past week I've read three such biographies. One was "My Life with The Dead" written by the manager of The Grateful Dead. Did I enjoy it? Of course. And I ate Junior Mints while I was reading it. It's a heady life I lead.
While I've never been a Deadhead, I do have a couple of Grateful Dead stories:
1983, Tempe Arizona: A dozen or so Deadhead wanna bes in a college student apartment (belonging to my friend Karen and her roommate Terry), pre-concert. Terrapin Station is playing. I'm thinking back to a Dead concert I had attended two years prior, in Kansas City. I thought it was boring. I'd turned to my friend half way through it and commented that I should have brought a flashlight and a book.
The day of the concert, I'd written on the white board in the dorm hallway "Trip on citric acid with the Grapefruit Dead!" Maybe that's what was missing. Acid.
After the concert, we'd somehow stumbled upon a crowd of ardent fans, waiting for the Dead to enter an awaiting limo. Finally his royal beardedness appears and the crowd asyncronously lauds little variation on two statements "Great show!" and "Hey Jerry, love you man!" This goes on for a while and is punctutated only by the lone and blasphemous cry of a spoiled 21 year old blonde: "Ew! I saw his butt crack!"
Well, I did - when he bent over to enter the limo and his baggy brown cordouroy pants slipped down. As might be imagined, it wasn't pretty.
Two years later, I'm dissing the Dead again. Mid Terrapin Station, I turn to the person next to me and say "You know...I really don't think their music is that great." The room goes silent, people freeze mid bong hit, and twelve pairs of eyes are upon me. I shrug and repeat that I think their music is just ok. I was 23 and that was a big moment for me. I chose integrity over cheaply won acceptance. It felt good.
What's funny is over the years their music has grown on me. But do I wish I had been a Deadhead? No, not at all. I didn't see a lot of joy in the faces of the gauzy dervishes whose dancing seemed almost perfunctory. If I would have followed any band around from city to city, it would have been the Beat Farmers in the early 90s. Whenever they played in Colorado, I was there, from Herman's Hideaway in downtown Denver, to the Buffalo Rose in Golden. I remember one night at the Buffalo Rose where the pre show energy was building like a storm at sea. I was close to a wall of speakers that blasted a song that was popular at the time "You want it allll, but you can't haaaave it...." That song just about killed me. I got a lot that night though. The energy of the crowd gave me no choice, they moved me with them, and I was nothing short of enthralled at finding myself in the front row, mere feet away from Country Dick Montana who, at the time, I thought was the sexiest man on earth.
At a BF concert in a small bar in Breckenridge, CO (Shamus O'Tooles), equipment malfunctions and suddenly the band is right in the middle of the bar, drinking and talking with everyone. Guitarist Jerry Rainey and I talk about his five year old son's obsession with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Joey Harris is smiley, friendly, and adorable. He makes me feel successful in my attempts to impress him with my knowledge of his previous bands. Country Dick is in a sinister mood. He stands alone, drinking beer.
The concert resumes shortly after. Some college guy (nice looking but nerdy), keeps trying to pick me up, and finally I agree to dance with him. Country Dick asks for a volunteer to do a "Sheep Shot" (a small inflatible sheep bedecked in a black garter belt. Liquor of some sort if poured into an opening and....ME. The sheep shot recipient has to be me. Some people need to summit Kilimanjaro. Some need to climb the corporate ladder. I need to be the one to do a sheep shot, and I am, as the crowd watches. A proud moment? Well, er... maybe not, but memorable. Country Dick held the sheep over my mouth,I drank what I think was whiskey out of it, and beamed at him as he said in his fabulous deep voice "There...now doesn't it taste better that way?"
Ninety minutes later the concert is over. Most of the crowd has left. Country Dick is sitting alone on the stage. He doesn't look happy. I go over to him and ask if he is ok. "I will be in a couple of weeks" he growls. God that voice. I'm 30 years old and just beginning to realize that life is short and opportunities often fleeting. I'm suddenly asking the mighty Country Dick Montana if I can have a hug. Amazingly, he smiles and stands up. He puts his long arms around me, I burrow into him, inhaling him, and we rock back and forth on the stage in each other's arms. Is he loving me? Is he about to ask me to come back to his hotel room? No. Actually I think I'm holding him up. He's pretty drunk. A few minutes later I'm telling him he should drink a lot of water, and maybe get a humidifier since we're high in the mountains. He seemed to think that was a good idea. Yep, my life as a groupie, Jewish mother style.
Country Dick died mid-concert a few years later, at a bar in Whistler, BC. Although I rarely listen to the Beat Farmers anymore, I consider them one of the great loves of my life.
I am right on the verge of discovering some new groove. I think it's going to be an artistic medium of some sort. Once it is in place, a mighty torrent is going to flood it.
American Idol tops my list. It's even ahead of Junior Mints. Wait...American Idol...Junior Mints. Yeah, American Idol. No doubt about it.
Another guilty pleasure is biographies of rock stars. I adore late 60s / early 70s rock and all the delicious trippiness of that era. And yes, I'll admit it, I feel comparitevly fabulous about myself every time I read about someone who had it all and ended up snorting it up their nose and blithering away in rehab.
In the past week I've read three such biographies. One was "My Life with The Dead" written by the manager of The Grateful Dead. Did I enjoy it? Of course. And I ate Junior Mints while I was reading it. It's a heady life I lead.
While I've never been a Deadhead, I do have a couple of Grateful Dead stories:
1983, Tempe Arizona: A dozen or so Deadhead wanna bes in a college student apartment (belonging to my friend Karen and her roommate Terry), pre-concert. Terrapin Station is playing. I'm thinking back to a Dead concert I had attended two years prior, in Kansas City. I thought it was boring. I'd turned to my friend half way through it and commented that I should have brought a flashlight and a book.
The day of the concert, I'd written on the white board in the dorm hallway "Trip on citric acid with the Grapefruit Dead!" Maybe that's what was missing. Acid.
After the concert, we'd somehow stumbled upon a crowd of ardent fans, waiting for the Dead to enter an awaiting limo. Finally his royal beardedness appears and the crowd asyncronously lauds little variation on two statements "Great show!" and "Hey Jerry, love you man!" This goes on for a while and is punctutated only by the lone and blasphemous cry of a spoiled 21 year old blonde: "Ew! I saw his butt crack!"
Well, I did - when he bent over to enter the limo and his baggy brown cordouroy pants slipped down. As might be imagined, it wasn't pretty.
Two years later, I'm dissing the Dead again. Mid Terrapin Station, I turn to the person next to me and say "You know...I really don't think their music is that great." The room goes silent, people freeze mid bong hit, and twelve pairs of eyes are upon me. I shrug and repeat that I think their music is just ok. I was 23 and that was a big moment for me. I chose integrity over cheaply won acceptance. It felt good.
What's funny is over the years their music has grown on me. But do I wish I had been a Deadhead? No, not at all. I didn't see a lot of joy in the faces of the gauzy dervishes whose dancing seemed almost perfunctory. If I would have followed any band around from city to city, it would have been the Beat Farmers in the early 90s. Whenever they played in Colorado, I was there, from Herman's Hideaway in downtown Denver, to the Buffalo Rose in Golden. I remember one night at the Buffalo Rose where the pre show energy was building like a storm at sea. I was close to a wall of speakers that blasted a song that was popular at the time "You want it allll, but you can't haaaave it...." That song just about killed me. I got a lot that night though. The energy of the crowd gave me no choice, they moved me with them, and I was nothing short of enthralled at finding myself in the front row, mere feet away from Country Dick Montana who, at the time, I thought was the sexiest man on earth.
At a BF concert in a small bar in Breckenridge, CO (Shamus O'Tooles), equipment malfunctions and suddenly the band is right in the middle of the bar, drinking and talking with everyone. Guitarist Jerry Rainey and I talk about his five year old son's obsession with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Joey Harris is smiley, friendly, and adorable. He makes me feel successful in my attempts to impress him with my knowledge of his previous bands. Country Dick is in a sinister mood. He stands alone, drinking beer.
The concert resumes shortly after. Some college guy (nice looking but nerdy), keeps trying to pick me up, and finally I agree to dance with him. Country Dick asks for a volunteer to do a "Sheep Shot" (a small inflatible sheep bedecked in a black garter belt. Liquor of some sort if poured into an opening and....ME. The sheep shot recipient has to be me. Some people need to summit Kilimanjaro. Some need to climb the corporate ladder. I need to be the one to do a sheep shot, and I am, as the crowd watches. A proud moment? Well, er... maybe not, but memorable. Country Dick held the sheep over my mouth,I drank what I think was whiskey out of it, and beamed at him as he said in his fabulous deep voice "There...now doesn't it taste better that way?"
Ninety minutes later the concert is over. Most of the crowd has left. Country Dick is sitting alone on the stage. He doesn't look happy. I go over to him and ask if he is ok. "I will be in a couple of weeks" he growls. God that voice. I'm 30 years old and just beginning to realize that life is short and opportunities often fleeting. I'm suddenly asking the mighty Country Dick Montana if I can have a hug. Amazingly, he smiles and stands up. He puts his long arms around me, I burrow into him, inhaling him, and we rock back and forth on the stage in each other's arms. Is he loving me? Is he about to ask me to come back to his hotel room? No. Actually I think I'm holding him up. He's pretty drunk. A few minutes later I'm telling him he should drink a lot of water, and maybe get a humidifier since we're high in the mountains. He seemed to think that was a good idea. Yep, my life as a groupie, Jewish mother style.
Country Dick died mid-concert a few years later, at a bar in Whistler, BC. Although I rarely listen to the Beat Farmers anymore, I consider them one of the great loves of my life.
I am right on the verge of discovering some new groove. I think it's going to be an artistic medium of some sort. Once it is in place, a mighty torrent is going to flood it.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Funniest Word in the World
If you are under ridiculous pressure as a team to 'make your numbers', if you have a tribal elder amidst you who tells decades worth of vivid anecdotes, if said tribal elder has sufficient comedic talent to spin simple menu items into hilarity, then the funniest word on earth is...
Fudgana.
With proper feinged innocence, Fudgana can make bystanders in coffee shop lines snicker, serious coworkers double over in "He he he!" laughter, and young, platinum blonde, tell-it-like-it-is types proclaim "Oh my God...that sounds like vagina."
I didn't make up the word. That honor goes to Howard Johnson's, they of 28 flavors fame. All you can eat fried clams on Wednesday? Orange and turquoise exterior? Yes, that Howard Johnson's.
A Fudgana was a banana split-like concoction, best consumed at 2 am in the late 70s, preferably after a midnight movie like The Song Remains the Same. State of consciousness is probably a given here. I always had my Fudgana with coffee fudge ice cream. Fudganas were huge (cue more paroxyms of laughter from coworkers). I think they contained four scoops of ice cream in addition to bananas, hot fudge, and whipped cream.
I miss those carefree days. Ok, I'm lying. I've never been carefree. I do, however, have happy memories of Howard Johnson's on Miami's Dixie Highway. When I travel back I can see the setting perfectly: the various combinations of friends, the spinning condiment caddy with fluorescent yellow mustard, the paper placemats, the long L-shaped counter visible from my place in the booth. And yes, of course I can not only see the Fudgana, I can actively miss it, causing me to earnestly proclaim that I want one.
I forgive you if that doesn't seem funny.
Fudgana.
With proper feinged innocence, Fudgana can make bystanders in coffee shop lines snicker, serious coworkers double over in "He he he!" laughter, and young, platinum blonde, tell-it-like-it-is types proclaim "Oh my God...that sounds like vagina."
I didn't make up the word. That honor goes to Howard Johnson's, they of 28 flavors fame. All you can eat fried clams on Wednesday? Orange and turquoise exterior? Yes, that Howard Johnson's.
A Fudgana was a banana split-like concoction, best consumed at 2 am in the late 70s, preferably after a midnight movie like The Song Remains the Same. State of consciousness is probably a given here. I always had my Fudgana with coffee fudge ice cream. Fudganas were huge (cue more paroxyms of laughter from coworkers). I think they contained four scoops of ice cream in addition to bananas, hot fudge, and whipped cream.
I miss those carefree days. Ok, I'm lying. I've never been carefree. I do, however, have happy memories of Howard Johnson's on Miami's Dixie Highway. When I travel back I can see the setting perfectly: the various combinations of friends, the spinning condiment caddy with fluorescent yellow mustard, the paper placemats, the long L-shaped counter visible from my place in the booth. And yes, of course I can not only see the Fudgana, I can actively miss it, causing me to earnestly proclaim that I want one.
I forgive you if that doesn't seem funny.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Snippets
Here are a few snippets from conversations with prospective students today. Today was not an atypical day.
Appointment with 23 year old woman:
Her: I was originally going to be a massage therapist
Me: Oh really? What made you decide against that?
Her: (deadpan): I hate feet
Me: Oh, ok. Well, that's good that you realized that.
End of 11 hour day phone conversation with 28 year old man:
Him: Yeah, I've had a lot of legal problems and that's why I want to be a cop.
Me: I see.
Him: Yeah, the sooner I get this degree the sooner I can go to the police academy and then get out there and start killing people
Me: Oh, uh huh, that's great.
I wasn't really listening. I thought he said helping people. I hope he said helping people.
Appointment with 23 year old woman:
Her: I was originally going to be a massage therapist
Me: Oh really? What made you decide against that?
Her: (deadpan): I hate feet
Me: Oh, ok. Well, that's good that you realized that.
End of 11 hour day phone conversation with 28 year old man:
Him: Yeah, I've had a lot of legal problems and that's why I want to be a cop.
Me: I see.
Him: Yeah, the sooner I get this degree the sooner I can go to the police academy and then get out there and start killing people
Me: Oh, uh huh, that's great.
I wasn't really listening. I thought he said helping people. I hope he said helping people.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Elsewhere
When I ask a man where- if he could take a trip anywhere in the world- he would go, and he shrugs and says "I dunno. Somewhere warm." I think he's a moron.
Just thought I'd share that.
But then again if he says he'd choose to spend three weeks in the Amazon, I'd be in over my head. Antarctica wouldn't work for me either. For one thing it's the driest place on earth. It's true, there is virtually no humidity. Also it is not civilized Where does one find a diet coke in Antarctica? If a man's dream vacation was to spend a week fishing at a lake in North Dakota, I suppose I could bring a suitcase full of books, a journal, and my camera...
Actually it doesn't matter if a man wants to go to North Dakota, Italy, or Guam because he'll be going without me. I haven't been dating. I have no idea when I will be up to the arduous task again.
I think I was traumatized by Captain Lameass- the one with the long-nailed baby hands. Come to think of it, I think when I asked him where he would choose to go on vacation...
Just thought I'd share that.
But then again if he says he'd choose to spend three weeks in the Amazon, I'd be in over my head. Antarctica wouldn't work for me either. For one thing it's the driest place on earth. It's true, there is virtually no humidity. Also it is not civilized Where does one find a diet coke in Antarctica? If a man's dream vacation was to spend a week fishing at a lake in North Dakota, I suppose I could bring a suitcase full of books, a journal, and my camera...
Actually it doesn't matter if a man wants to go to North Dakota, Italy, or Guam because he'll be going without me. I haven't been dating. I have no idea when I will be up to the arduous task again.
I think I was traumatized by Captain Lameass- the one with the long-nailed baby hands. Come to think of it, I think when I asked him where he would choose to go on vacation...
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Happy Nu Yaah
I went to a party last night at the home of a preschool teacher. She didn't have enough stick-on letters from her school supplies for 'Happy New Year' so the living room window wished us a 'Happy Nu Yaah'. Works for me.
Here's what New Year's Eve was like:
3:00 pm: Faauu overhears my lack of enthusiasm for the party I'm going to that evening and invites me to join her and so other coworkers at a local casino. As much as I enjoy their company, loud, crowded, and smoky doesn't sound so great.
5:00 pm: Do students really want me to call them on what is almost New Year's Eve? I wisely decide that no, they do not. A better use of my time would be to unfurl long streamers of red velvet ribbon festively over the wall of Robert's cube. For best effect this must be performed 5 or 6 times, while he is entrenched in a phone conversation. Short bursts of maniacal giggling are required for the task. I dutifully set about my work.
6:00 pm: Robert and I are the only ones left at work. Outside the window we hear the sounds of downtown Tacoma's "First Night" New Year's Eve celebration beginning. Somewhat new in town, 24 year Robert is oontemplating the limited choices for his evening's celebration. He is either going to "Go to downtown Seattle to see the fireworks and just celebrate with whoever is next to me" or join aforemention coworkers at the casino. We look out the window and wonder if First Night might be worth attending.
6:30 pm: "I know. We could go to Zoo Lights at the Pt. Defiance zoo" Robert likes the idea. Instead of going home and getting ready for the party as I'd planned, we are lost, on the beautiful Tacoma Narrows bridge crossing onto the peninsula. Oops. We make it to the zoo shortly thereafter.
7:30. How awesome is 'Zoo Lights'? Let me show you the ways:
10:15 pm: Although I forewarn Robert that even I am too young for the party we are about to attend, he insists he doesn't mind going. Our plan is to stay for about an hour, then go to the casino to wish our coworkers a Happy New Year. Shortly into the party I gently try to explain that we may be leaving early. A bitter, older man demands to know if we are going to take the rest of them with us. Sadly, he's not kidding. I don't remember what I stammered in response.
11:20 pm: The party has been pleasant. Mostly nice people, enjoyable visit with the adorable labradors in the backyard. Socially adept Robert is managing to have a decent time despite being the youngest in the room by 24 years and having to fend the aforementioned bitter old man's barbed inquiry of "What country are you from?" Sheesh. I ask when we are going to leave. Robert thinks the right thing to do is to stay at the party until after midnight. Everyone has an animal that represents them. I'm a koala bear. Robert is a dolphin. His decision is not based on his needs, but the groups' needs. He is evolved.
12:00 am: Yep, we made it. Hats, noise makers, champagne, Dick Clark, the whole thing. We go outside on the front porch a few minutes later for a glimpse of fireworks. At about 12:20 we leave.
And that was my New Year's Eve.
How was yours?
Here's what New Year's Eve was like:
3:00 pm: Faauu overhears my lack of enthusiasm for the party I'm going to that evening and invites me to join her and so other coworkers at a local casino. As much as I enjoy their company, loud, crowded, and smoky doesn't sound so great.
5:00 pm: Do students really want me to call them on what is almost New Year's Eve? I wisely decide that no, they do not. A better use of my time would be to unfurl long streamers of red velvet ribbon festively over the wall of Robert's cube. For best effect this must be performed 5 or 6 times, while he is entrenched in a phone conversation. Short bursts of maniacal giggling are required for the task. I dutifully set about my work.
6:00 pm: Robert and I are the only ones left at work. Outside the window we hear the sounds of downtown Tacoma's "First Night" New Year's Eve celebration beginning. Somewhat new in town, 24 year Robert is oontemplating the limited choices for his evening's celebration. He is either going to "Go to downtown Seattle to see the fireworks and just celebrate with whoever is next to me" or join aforemention coworkers at the casino. We look out the window and wonder if First Night might be worth attending.
6:30 pm: "I know. We could go to Zoo Lights at the Pt. Defiance zoo" Robert likes the idea. Instead of going home and getting ready for the party as I'd planned, we are lost, on the beautiful Tacoma Narrows bridge crossing onto the peninsula. Oops. We make it to the zoo shortly thereafter.
7:30. How awesome is 'Zoo Lights'? Let me show you the ways:
10:15 pm: Although I forewarn Robert that even I am too young for the party we are about to attend, he insists he doesn't mind going. Our plan is to stay for about an hour, then go to the casino to wish our coworkers a Happy New Year. Shortly into the party I gently try to explain that we may be leaving early. A bitter, older man demands to know if we are going to take the rest of them with us. Sadly, he's not kidding. I don't remember what I stammered in response.
11:20 pm: The party has been pleasant. Mostly nice people, enjoyable visit with the adorable labradors in the backyard. Socially adept Robert is managing to have a decent time despite being the youngest in the room by 24 years and having to fend the aforementioned bitter old man's barbed inquiry of "What country are you from?" Sheesh. I ask when we are going to leave. Robert thinks the right thing to do is to stay at the party until after midnight. Everyone has an animal that represents them. I'm a koala bear. Robert is a dolphin. His decision is not based on his needs, but the groups' needs. He is evolved.
12:00 am: Yep, we made it. Hats, noise makers, champagne, Dick Clark, the whole thing. We go outside on the front porch a few minutes later for a glimpse of fireworks. At about 12:20 we leave.
And that was my New Year's Eve.
How was yours?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Getting Better
Remember the Beatles' song 'Getting Better' from Sgt. Pepper?
After McCartney's bouncy "It's getting better all the time!" an acerbic Lennon intones "Can't get no worse..." I've always thought that one snippet of song sums up the Lennon-McCartney duality perfectly.
It also sums up my optimism vs. the harsh reality of trying to find the right partner. My Saturday night date and I were about as compatible as peas and Hershey's syrup.
While we did manage two hours or so of reasonably interesting conversation he had no sense of humor whatsoever. Not only was he incapable of producing humor, he was incapable of understanding it.
Follow me, if you will: The setting is a downtown Seattle Indian restaurant (which I had to select because Captain Lameass couldn't generate a single idea). The characters: An earnest, witty, reasonably cute middle-aged blonde woman and a dull, graying, retired journalist. Make that a dull, graying, retired journalist with long-nailed, tiny baby hands (yes,I'm shuddering too). The dialogue:
Me: I went to an Indian restaurant once and my friend asked the waitress why there were no beef dishes on the menu. The waitress said "Holy cow!"
Ok, you get that right? Of course you do. Cows are sacred in India...
Him: Moronic blank stare.
Me: (glancing at watch) "Ok! Ha ha..."
I asked him if he'd like to try my entree. He ate half of it, and didn't ask me if I'd like to try his (I don't eat lamb but that's not the point...). Then when the check came I politely offered to pay half. Most men act mildly insulted when I offer. He said "I would LOVE that."
Ugh.
I had taken the bus from Tacoma, and told C.L. (Captain Lameass, lest you've forgotten) that I needed to find Cherry St. to catch the bus home. To his credit he drove me the three blocks to the bus stop. As we approached Cherry Street he said he wasn't in a hurry... just then a bus approached the stop. I flung open the car door. "OHLOOKTHERESMYBUSTHANKSBYE". I ran across the street like a 19 year old Olympic athlete. Had I been required to jump hurdles I could and would have.
It can only get better. It can't get much worse.
After McCartney's bouncy "It's getting better all the time!" an acerbic Lennon intones "Can't get no worse..." I've always thought that one snippet of song sums up the Lennon-McCartney duality perfectly.
It also sums up my optimism vs. the harsh reality of trying to find the right partner. My Saturday night date and I were about as compatible as peas and Hershey's syrup.
While we did manage two hours or so of reasonably interesting conversation he had no sense of humor whatsoever. Not only was he incapable of producing humor, he was incapable of understanding it.
Follow me, if you will: The setting is a downtown Seattle Indian restaurant (which I had to select because Captain Lameass couldn't generate a single idea). The characters: An earnest, witty, reasonably cute middle-aged blonde woman and a dull, graying, retired journalist. Make that a dull, graying, retired journalist with long-nailed, tiny baby hands (yes,I'm shuddering too). The dialogue:
Me: I went to an Indian restaurant once and my friend asked the waitress why there were no beef dishes on the menu. The waitress said "Holy cow!"
Ok, you get that right? Of course you do. Cows are sacred in India...
Him: Moronic blank stare.
Me: (glancing at watch) "Ok! Ha ha..."
I asked him if he'd like to try my entree. He ate half of it, and didn't ask me if I'd like to try his (I don't eat lamb but that's not the point...). Then when the check came I politely offered to pay half. Most men act mildly insulted when I offer. He said "I would LOVE that."
Ugh.
I had taken the bus from Tacoma, and told C.L. (Captain Lameass, lest you've forgotten) that I needed to find Cherry St. to catch the bus home. To his credit he drove me the three blocks to the bus stop. As we approached Cherry Street he said he wasn't in a hurry... just then a bus approached the stop. I flung open the car door. "OHLOOKTHERESMYBUSTHANKSBYE". I ran across the street like a 19 year old Olympic athlete. Had I been required to jump hurdles I could and would have.
It can only get better. It can't get much worse.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Semiahmoo
The body of water in the foreground is Boundary Bay. In the middle is the spit that leads to The Inn at Semiahmoo. To the left is Puget Sound and White Rock, British Columbia.
If you look carefully you can see an extremely adorable beagle in the foreground who just so happens to be Ms. Brandy Joy Gilson.
One of the reasons I adore the Northwest.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
The Pyramids, Man Walking on the Moon...
My going two entire days without a diet coke...
I realized I was seriously addicted. To what you ask, fizz? Caffeine? Well, maybe. But I think the real answer is aspartame. I'm hoping that giving it up will help reduce my sugar cravings.
Losing weight is very important to me right now. Some men still think I am attractive or even beautiful at this weight, but the date I had on Sunday looked at me otherwise. I liked him, so it hurt. He seemed to enjoy talking with me enough to linger two and a half hours over lunch, but at the end of the date he gave me a quick hug and said "Well, that was a nice way to spend an afternoon."
Indeed.
I went home and screamed and threw things. Actually I just sat in front of my computer and finished a school project, because what else can one do?
The fact that I thought my hair looked too gold and so had it dyed a color I can only describe as taupe probably didn't help. I have another hair appointment tomorrow.
Yes, I know. He wasn't right for me, it's not meant to be, blah, blah. I wasn't looking to marry him. I just would like the chance to get to know him better. Maybe in a month, after I've lost ten pounds and no longer have taupe hair I'll call him.
And yes, of course, I will continue to get out and meet others.
I realized I was seriously addicted. To what you ask, fizz? Caffeine? Well, maybe. But I think the real answer is aspartame. I'm hoping that giving it up will help reduce my sugar cravings.
Losing weight is very important to me right now. Some men still think I am attractive or even beautiful at this weight, but the date I had on Sunday looked at me otherwise. I liked him, so it hurt. He seemed to enjoy talking with me enough to linger two and a half hours over lunch, but at the end of the date he gave me a quick hug and said "Well, that was a nice way to spend an afternoon."
Indeed.
I went home and screamed and threw things. Actually I just sat in front of my computer and finished a school project, because what else can one do?
The fact that I thought my hair looked too gold and so had it dyed a color I can only describe as taupe probably didn't help. I have another hair appointment tomorrow.
Yes, I know. He wasn't right for me, it's not meant to be, blah, blah. I wasn't looking to marry him. I just would like the chance to get to know him better. Maybe in a month, after I've lost ten pounds and no longer have taupe hair I'll call him.
And yes, of course, I will continue to get out and meet others.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Tromso, Norway
I had my review at work today. My very, very performance-based review. I'm happy to announce that I can officially perform.
Although my raise hardly catapults me into Lexus or first class territory, it is substantial enough for me to consider a well-planned, budget-conscious indulgence.
I want to go to Tromso, Norway. No, let's make that Tromsø. I love Scandinavian letters with dots over them or lines through them.
Although my time in Sweden was in ways far from idyllic, Scandinavian seeped into my soul like it had been waiting for me all my life. I'm not finished with it.
Tromso, Norway is the world's northern-most college town. There's lots of culture, friendly taverns, an intellectual atmosphere, extreme climate, northen lights, 6'5 blonde Norweigan men and maybe even the occassional polar bear. What's not to like? In my fantasy I travel there alone and encounter all of the aforementioned (except maybe the polar bear). If I could experience the northern lights in the arms of a rugged, intellectual viking (hey, it's my fantasy...)I would feel more alive in five minutes than I have in the past decade. I might even settle for a repressive Swede who sends me home before New Year's...nah. Let's start over.
After my viking and I experience the spirtual magic of the other-worldly chromatic wonder, we trudge through the snow in 10 degree weather (Tuscany's all yours), the gale-force winds blowing back our hair. What I see next is a contemporary yet elemental Scandinavian dwelling, featuring a roaring fireplace and nothing else I am going to share with you.
Chances of any of this happening? 5% at best. But it's nice to know that at least the funding for far-fetched fantasies is somewhat within my reach.
http://home.online.no/~bennett/Tromsoe.htm
Although my raise hardly catapults me into Lexus or first class territory, it is substantial enough for me to consider a well-planned, budget-conscious indulgence.
I want to go to Tromso, Norway. No, let's make that Tromsø. I love Scandinavian letters with dots over them or lines through them.
Although my time in Sweden was in ways far from idyllic, Scandinavian seeped into my soul like it had been waiting for me all my life. I'm not finished with it.
Tromso, Norway is the world's northern-most college town. There's lots of culture, friendly taverns, an intellectual atmosphere, extreme climate, northen lights, 6'5 blonde Norweigan men and maybe even the occassional polar bear. What's not to like? In my fantasy I travel there alone and encounter all of the aforementioned (except maybe the polar bear). If I could experience the northern lights in the arms of a rugged, intellectual viking (hey, it's my fantasy...)I would feel more alive in five minutes than I have in the past decade. I might even settle for a repressive Swede who sends me home before New Year's...nah. Let's start over.
After my viking and I experience the spirtual magic of the other-worldly chromatic wonder, we trudge through the snow in 10 degree weather (Tuscany's all yours), the gale-force winds blowing back our hair. What I see next is a contemporary yet elemental Scandinavian dwelling, featuring a roaring fireplace and nothing else I am going to share with you.
Chances of any of this happening? 5% at best. But it's nice to know that at least the funding for far-fetched fantasies is somewhat within my reach.
http://home.online.no/~bennett/Tromsoe.htm
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Only you know for sure
I can't decide if this is charming or disgusting. Click on all the destinations for the full effect:
http://downloads.raileurope.com/holidayCard/06_christmas_card.html
http://downloads.raileurope.com/holidayCard/06_christmas_card.html
Weather Report
I got to work about half an hour ago. It was cold and bit cloudy. Now it's snowing. I am, as always, thankful that I live only a mile from work. Walking home uphill in the snow will be kind of fun.
Friday, November 30, 2007
48
It's been a decent birthday. A group of friends from work took me to the Old Spaghetti Factory for lunch on Thursday. Gooey birthday dessert with a candle, singing waitstaff performing a blissfully short and cheerfully moronic 'Happy Birthday' song, etc. We had fun. I take birthday wishes seriously and was happy to have a candle to blow out.
I had another chance for wishmaking today when, on our company party Argosy cruise, I was called to the stage for 60 or so people to sing happy birthday to me. The regional director's ( a woman for whom we have, shall we say, mixed feelings) birthday is this Sunday. While everyone was singing Happy Birthday to me, I wished her a happy birthday as well. She must be serious about wishmaking too, because she blew out the candle on my cake. I walked back to my table with the slice of cake and announced what had happened and everyone thought it was a hoot. Tina summed it up well "That is so typical of her! It's like she was saying 'We're done with your birthday thing- Whuff!- go back to your table" Christy pulled a lighter from her purse, rekindled my birthday candle, and I got to make my wish. Thank you.
From this picture, you might imagine that my birthday wish was to lose weight:
That's not a wish, it's a plan. I simply have to face the fact that sugar is to me what vodka is to an alcoholic. Hi Wendy, welcome.
Here are some other pictures from the cruise, which was wonderful. It was a clear but cold and windy day. I was the only person on the boat to (briefly) venture onto the deck. It was blustery indeed. It was far more pleasant to enjoy the tour of Elliott Bay from inside the cabin.
I had another chance for wishmaking today when, on our company party Argosy cruise, I was called to the stage for 60 or so people to sing happy birthday to me. The regional director's ( a woman for whom we have, shall we say, mixed feelings) birthday is this Sunday. While everyone was singing Happy Birthday to me, I wished her a happy birthday as well. She must be serious about wishmaking too, because she blew out the candle on my cake. I walked back to my table with the slice of cake and announced what had happened and everyone thought it was a hoot. Tina summed it up well "That is so typical of her! It's like she was saying 'We're done with your birthday thing- Whuff!- go back to your table" Christy pulled a lighter from her purse, rekindled my birthday candle, and I got to make my wish. Thank you.
From this picture, you might imagine that my birthday wish was to lose weight:
That's not a wish, it's a plan. I simply have to face the fact that sugar is to me what vodka is to an alcoholic. Hi Wendy, welcome.
Here are some other pictures from the cruise, which was wonderful. It was a clear but cold and windy day. I was the only person on the boat to (briefly) venture onto the deck. It was blustery indeed. It was far more pleasant to enjoy the tour of Elliott Bay from inside the cabin.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Oregon, Washington, Arizona, Whatever...
I finally got my Washington driver's license, three days before my Oregon license was due to expire. I haven't lived in Oregon since March of 2004. Yes, I should have gotten a Washington license when I moved to Seattle in March of 2004, and yes, I should have gotten an Arizona license when I moved to Phoenix in March of 2006 (I always move in March...it's weird) but the important thing is I now have a state-appropriate license.
This means I'll probably move to Tennessee next month. No, actually, March. It's always March.
This means I'll probably move to Tennessee next month. No, actually, March. It's always March.
Monday, November 26, 2007
We're Easily Amused
"This student's last name is Nibblet" I casually commented.
Shrieking laughter from the cube behind me. Shrieking laughter from me. With tears streaming down our faces and gasping for breath we pondered if her father was the Jolly Green Giant. "What if....what if... she one day became president...Hail to the Chief would be played for (wiping tears away) President Nibblet."
Like I said we're easily amused. Be happy for us.
Shrieking laughter from the cube behind me. Shrieking laughter from me. With tears streaming down our faces and gasping for breath we pondered if her father was the Jolly Green Giant. "What if....what if...
Like I said we're easily amused. Be happy for us.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Aroma of Tacoma
If you had asked me ten years ago to tell you what Tacoma was like, I would have told you (even thought I'd never been there at the time) that it was a crime-ridden city that smelled like paper mills. I've been told that ten years ago that was somewhat true. Tacoma has since gentrified into a (mostly) lovely little oasis of sparkling fountains, funky coffee shops, and nice walking trails. Granted, the view from my 14th story window reveals industrial smokestacks, belching out vast quantities 24 hours a day. But the famous 'Aroma of Tacoma'? Nonexist. Until today. I stepped outside and it smelled like sauerkraut.
Let's hope this kraut thing does not start to occur on a regular basis or I'll be transported back in space and time to Pumpernicks in Miami. Pumpernicks, an authentic Jewish deli (no ham) always had gleaming metal buckets of sauerkraut on each table. They also had a gleaming metal bucket of these truly frightning baseball-sized pickled green tomatoes, but I covered weird food in my last post so I'll leave it at that.
I'm in the computer lab at work (instead of at my desk) ADD at full throttle. I simply can't concentrate on work right now. Thanksgiving vacation is coming not a moment too soon.
Let's hope this kraut thing does not start to occur on a regular basis or I'll be transported back in space and time to Pumpernicks in Miami. Pumpernicks, an authentic Jewish deli (no ham) always had gleaming metal buckets of sauerkraut on each table. They also had a gleaming metal bucket of these truly frightning baseball-sized pickled green tomatoes, but I covered weird food in my last post so I'll leave it at that.
I'm in the computer lab at work (instead of at my desk) ADD at full throttle. I simply can't concentrate on work right now. Thanksgiving vacation is coming not a moment too soon.
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