Monthly Archives: July 2005

Since we had a car for the weekend, we had a few more adventures than usual. After our chores were done on Saturday, we found ourselves heading south on 82nd. We decided to see where it went. Soon, we found ourselves on a freeway heading toward Salem, which was fine with us...but along the way we saw a sign for the Street of Dreams. Why not? So off we went, following the well-marked way, to what seemed the ends of the earth. Meander, meander, meander, park. We paid our $15 and spent several hours wandering through very expensive homes.

Mostly, they seemed big and awkward. We saw a few ideas we liked. A good open plan here, a nice tile there. The infinity pool was pretty. At one point, the Spousal Unit remarked that he was surprised he'd found nothing to envy. I never really expected to--I just wanted to pick up a few ideas and look at the pretties. And maybe feel morally superior.

On Sunday, we intended to go hunting for public art in Northeast, but instead ended up at Rose City Cemetery, a place I'd been before. It's a lovely cemetery, dominated by upright gravestones, rather than the modern flush-to-ground ones that make a graveyard seem more like a golf-course. As I always do, I saw something very cool.

From there, the SU thought we could visit the Willamette National Cemetery, the signs for which we keep passing on 82nd. So, back to 82nd we went, and made the appropriate turn toward Mt. Scott. Turns out WNC is right across from Lincoln Memorial Park, and oh my is that a big place. We slowly drove the lanes, not seeing anything much we wanted to get out for--but it is a pretty setting. We finally made our way to Willamette National, only to be disappointed by one of those golf-course graveyards. This is not a big surprise, considering it was established in the early 1950s.

There's something wrong about the attitude that getting the mower around easily is more important than having a personal memorial. Wandering Rose City, it's easy to connect with the people who once lived, whose remains now rest there. It is peaceful and sad and deeply human. Places like Willamette are more like Public Storage. They may as well paint the headstones orange.

After the cemetery run, we headed out Foster until it ended, turned right, and eventually landed at Alice's Country Market. What a nifty place--topiary and statuary and produce and Moxie! I bought a Mountain Dew in a glass bottle. The SU picked up a Moxie cream soda to try.

Finally home, tired and well-ventured.

2 Comments

  1. I'm a good tipper, but the Shitty Tipper Database makes me never want to tip again (NOTE: I would never do this). In fact, it makes me never want to go out--much less pay with a credit card. What a nasty little violation of privacy.

  2. Because I am a creature of routines, I have been thinking lately about what my perfect day and week would look like. Not too structured, but definitely a place for everything. My ideal day:
    • 0430: Hit snooze a couple times.

    • 0500: Drag sorry ass down to treadmill.
    • 0530: Wake up Spousal Unit, get ready for work.
    • 0615: Catch the bus before Dolores.
    • 1615: Read on the bus home, having overcome motion sickness.
    • 1645: Do some nesting between catching up on Bloglines and client work.
    • 1800: Fix dinner, if I'm cooking.
    • 1900: Dinner.
    • 1930: Evening walk.
    • 2100: Read in tub.
    • 2200: Sleep.

    On Thursdays, we'll order D-dish and watch a movie rented from GreenCine. On Saturday's, we'll have an adventure of some sort. On Sundays, clean house.

    This must sound terribly boring. It's bliss, I promise you.

1 Comment

  1. The Island was good fun. I wish it had stuck with the hard-sf, thoughtful pace marking the first half, and there were some silly anachronisms and errors (very few, really), but hey--what fun would it be for a geek if there weren't mistakes to spot? It was good entertainment, even with an overactive SBU factor. One problem the creators couldn't help--Scarlett Johannson and Djimon Hounsou absolutely sizzle when they are on screen together. Rowr. Sadly, they aren't the movie's couple.

  2. This morning I dreamed I was at a small gathering at a friend's house. Sitting on a couch to my left was a goth guy. He must have been 6'5", wearing a long black trench, metal in his face, teeth filed down to points. He looked at me, and somehow saw a kindred spirit. He felt he had to tell me about his "religion"--that strange stuff Peter Murphy sings about so cryptically (I have no idea what this is in the waking world, I just accept the songs at face value and haven't looked into Murphy's life). It turned out to be a kind of apocalyptic simplicity. Getting rid of everything except what you would need "after". Investing in key stocks (I wouldn't do this--apparently my moral stance on the stock market holds up in dreamtime), with very little hooey. I was amazed and intrigued.

    Then I got up, checked my feeds, and found out Bauhaus is re-forming.

  3. As niche sites and expert blogs multiply, I'm feeling more excited about the web.

  1. Seen on the streets of Southampton.

  2. The little couch for the library arrived, so now we just need a window treatment to call it done. Oh, and do something with the closet. And...oh, hell--is it ever reallly done?
  3. Finished Blink. I was most fascinated by the science of reading facial expressions. Gladwell calls it "mind reading", which I found amusing and not inaccurate. A few good links:

4 Comments

  1. We rented The God Who Wasn't There expecting a scholarly--or at least informative--breakdown of the argument that Christ did not exist. While the evidence for this view is rich and fascinating, very little of it was presented in the film. For the most part, The God Who Wasn't There is a sneering look at Christianity (including a primer that no one watching the film would need), and an embarrassing exploration of the filmmaker's personal demons. While he says he isn't afraid, we get the impression he very much is.

    More biography than documentary, this film could be very cathartic for bitter ex-Christians. As an atheist film, it is greatly lacking.

  2. Having moved to the inner 'burbs in part to escape frat parties, we are thrilled, thrilled I tell you, to find a bunch of students have moved in a few houses away, and decided to loudly occupy their back yard every night. I hope a meteor falls on the house while they're all away, and the steaming pit is filled with a Starbucks.
  3. Speaking of Starbucks, one is being built over the ruins of the old Kupie Cone (most recently the breakfast nook Sunday's). I believe there will be other businesses there as well. Not too far off, I expect mixed-use zoning along Holgate, so some of those old houses fronting that busy road can become cafes and bead shops. Sooner than that, however, I expect the cool kids to start businesses on Foster. A couple of artist collectives have already moved in.
  4. I've recently become fascinated with stencil graf. Here's a favorite. [On edit: there seems to be something wrong at Stencil Revolution. Hope it's fixed soon.] Directories here, here, and here.

2 Comments

  1. My memories of Mad Magazine are few (I mostly liked the foldy things in the back), but when I'm sneezing my brains out, I do remember one particular feature. It was one of their "sung to the tune of" comics, this one to the timeless earworm, "Close To You". It featured a poor schmuck afflicted with seasonal sniffles, who was afraid of being seen as a nerdy allergy-boy. In the end, he discovers that his suffering is hip, with the final line: "It's not bad, you're cool if you've had...allergies."

  2. From the imdb biography of David Dukes:
    His wife, Carol Muske, wrote a book titled Life after Death, where a woman upset at her husband for leaving her and child says to him "Why don't you just die?". The next day he dies of a heart attack on a tennis court. Shortly after the book was completed, David Dukes went to play tennis and died of a heart attack.

    Creepy.

    I'm watching Rose Red on the sci-fi channel, since I didn't catch it the first time 'round. Yeah, it's bad. I pretty much want everyone to die horribly--but not for real, like David Dukes did during filming. I'm cheerfully calling the African companion ghostie "Zucchini" instead of Sukeena. I'm also a little ticked that she's the only non-white character. Yes, yes, Julian Sands is Martian, but he's still white.

  3. Today's eargnat: Tycho Brahe.

1 Comment

  1. I listen to a lot of music that is not in English. I only speak English. This sometimes leads to my brain trying to make sense of non-English words. Hilarity ensues. For example, there's a line in Enya's "The Celts" that goes "see, now, see, Disco Jerry..."

  2. When I'm having a particularly crappy period, I'm often soothed by the idea of having one of those punchy clowns that plays "I Enjoy Being A Girl". I! *SMACK* AM! *SMACK* NOT! *KICK* FUCKING! *SMACK* ENJOYING! *SMACK* MY! *SMACK* GIRLHOOD! *STOMPSTOMPSTOMP*
  3. I NEED TO TURN OFF my caps lock.
  4. Swifty's photostream is particularly entertaining.
  5. We had a couple of far-away friends visit recently. Here is Jared at The Dalles Dam. We couldn't take the tour on the train, because it was "broken down". This is Savannah, the next mayor of Seldovia, Alaska. She's hanging out with us at the Chinese Gardens.

I watched the first of the new season of Iron Chef America last night, and I'm kinda pissed off.

I used to love the original Iron Chef. But I made the mistake of watching a couple shows that featured female challengers. The condescension was unbearable. "Ho-ho! Does her husband mind her career?" Gah.

So when I heard there was going to be an Iron Chef America, I rejoiced. Not only would the food be a bit more accessible for me, but I wouldn't have to put up with blatant sexism, right? Right?

Okay, Batali calling his female sous-chef "honey" and "baby" got on my nerves a little. But my love for Batali overcame. Mostly. And then--joy of joys!--they added Cat Cora to the list of Iron Chefs! Hurrah!

But wait, they added her near the end of last season. Then they had some time off. And now...where is she? Her portrait isn't up there with the other chefs--she's cut in during the intro. That's right--they didn't bother to re-work the stage. That, and Batali's continued honeying, has me ready to turn away again.

Let's review the messages:

1. It's okay for a star chef to call a woman by a demeaning endearment. After all, she doesn't seem to mind! And he doesn't appear to treat her badly--well--except that he doesn't respect her enough to use her name.

2. We've added a female chef, but she's hardly as important as the men. We'll just cut her in--we don't want her mixing with the real chefs.

I'm hoping the staging is just some technical problem, soon to be corrected. Batali I'm sure won't change, and each time I watch him it makes me cringe a little more. He slaps every woman in the audience when he treats Ann disrespectfully. So brilliant, so clueless.

Food Network usually does better than this. Come on, folks, work it out. Quit dissin' the wimmin'.

2 Comments

  1. An eargnat is like an earworm, only instead of a song, a word, phrase, or often a name gets stuck in one's head. I have them all the time. They are not about the words, but about the sounds made by the words. Today's eargnat: Zephyr Teachout. What a euphonious name. Zeh fir tee chout. With my luck, "teachout" is pronounced "tay KOO" or something equally ridiculous. Zeh fir tay koo. Still works.

  2. Subscribing to the feed of this LJ gets me through the toughest of days. And also non-tough days.
  3. The Spousal Unit and I now have separate computers, all hooked up to the Intarweb and everything! It's neato-keen.
  4. The Life of Mammals dvd set was my birthday present to the SU. We just started watching it. Best birthday present ever.
  5. The Marvelettes say: "Don't mess with Bill!"
  6. I chew ice. Mmmm...refreshing!