Bitter Orange: Travel and Food Writing

2010-09-09T18:43:00.000-07:00

Longer Than the Average Two-Week Vacation

by Catherine Arnold

Beijing. Sprawl and shouts and always, the jack-hammers of change, pounding out the construction projects everywhere in the city. Ni hao!" and "Hello," "Hey, Ladee," and DVD, I give you good price!"

The vendors who miss nothing, always pressing forward with postcards of Tian'anmen or The Great Wall, not to be put off by pretenses of only speaking German.

Back alleys called hutongs, where men slap and smack noodles, then give them a final, snapping twist on a floured surface in preparation for soup.

The street to our hostel is such an alley, without the shops but with the jackhammers that start each morning at 6:30 and continue until 10:30 p.m., sometimes later.

All of this has been my world for a month. It is a short time in Beijing, but long in the life of the typical two weeks-off-per-year American. Some think it's quite a while to stay in a hostel but at only $5 per day, it's a good deal.

I've seen all the typical tourist destinations: the Summer Palace, Forbidden City, hiked 10 km of the Great Wall. Gasped at the exquisite professionalism of the Chinese acrobats in pretty pink, blue and white costumes, clambering from thirty bicycles onto one in the blink of an eye.

Ate too many jioazi, or dumplings, at the Donghuamen Night Market, and avoided the sparrow-on-a-stick. Received wrong change twice at the same market, and saw a friend receive incorrect change again the next night. In both cases, the change given was the half-yuan bill, not the five-yuan bill required; both read "5" but the half-yuan is visibly smaller in size.

Thought to self, Beijing is so wonderfully safe, but heard about people who noticed the sound of zips and apprehended thieves, and others who didn't hear in time. Had friends whose cellphones were stolen on the subway or coming from the airport, possibly contributing to the healthy supply of 250 yuan ($30) mobiles available on the local market. Wore my knapsack on my front.

Once, in a regrettable incident, shouted at a vendor selling fried banana cake balls at the Night Market, when she tried to charge me 20 yuan ($2.50), which I knew was far above the local price.

However, paid more than the going rate for an embarrassingly cheesy T-shirt reading, "I Climbed the Great Wall," partly because I felt that the Mongolian seller (a rosy-cheeked farmer woman hiking the broken bricks of the Wall in flat-soled Keds-type sneakers) genuinely needed the money, but mainly because the Italian tourist next to me had bought a shirt already and the vendor pressured me to buy "like my friend," and, for that moment, I couldn't see putting up a fight over an exchange rate that was hopelessly in my favor.

Marveled at the differences in prices. Twenty yuan is: half of my night's rent at the hostel; four yuan more than a regular small coffee at (gasp) Starbucks -- where I sometimes go here, contrary to any routine I had in the States, because Chinese culture specializes in tea but not coffee, and I'd rather get full-fuel at Starbucks than watery KFC or McDonald's coffee -- ten 550-milliliter Yangling beers from the hostel refrigerator (arguably better than Budweiser, for what that's worth); two, three or even six meals at certain noodle places in the hutongs; Kungpao chicken, rice and a yuan in change at a moderate-level restaurant; ten yuan short of a one-way soft seat train ride to Tianjin, a thriving city an hour and a half south of Beijing; four Chinese bread pastries with mystery fillings that include sausages, super-sweet almond paste and Indian curry, at a chain called Bread Talk; four bowls of noodles or eight triangles of sticky rice with vegetables and MSG, wrapped in green leaves, at none other than 7-Eleven, which seems popular with the Chinese middle class and has nary a Slurpee in sight.

I tried to speak words from my Rough Guide phrasebook, but had more success in showing people the Chinese characters. Was excited when people read them and stated the word approvingly and emphatically. "JAH-gurr" was "price," for instance. Tried to get the four tones right, the pronunciations that make a single word have four meanings.

One friend who had four months' worth of Chinese language gained so much entry at noodle shops and other back-street gatherings; people talked delightedly to him, offering better prices, questions about his country and suggestions of sweet pastries.

When I was out and about, people often peered over my shoulder at what I was doing, or looked into my face scrutinizingly. Other times I watched people shout at each other, then burst into laughter.

As smiling people laughed, called to me, and hung about to question and tease in a language I did not understand, I felt that being included in a group here might be easier than anywhere else. (It's true, though, that some places, such as certain hotels, still don't allow foreigners.)

On a shuttle bus, I clicked through photos on my digital camera while the middle-aged business man beside me leaned into my shoulder to see pals from my Hainan Island hostel, then flipped open his mobile phone to display pictures of a very pretty woman, much younger than he, playing with a toddler.

So much to know, and so much to want to know, here in China.

2010-09-09T15:51:00.000-07:00

Up Close in China (2005)

By Catherine Arnold

In all my dreams of world travel, driving a rental Volkswagen on the busy streets of southeast Asia wasn't something I'd envisioned doing.

I was having a grand time -- and if you can get hold of an international driver's license, or someone who'll let you drive their car, I highly recommend it.

It's typical of China that an activity such as driving, which in other places can seem insular and aggressive, is here more of a wordless interaction among the denizens of the road. Ultimately, all this seeming chaos works.

Here on China's only tropical island, everything's interactive: from bargaining for the new crop of mangoes, pineapple on a stick, longan or any of the numerous other local tropical fruits; walking the streets and meeting the gazes of vendors in straw hats and girls riding demurely side-saddle in skirts on the backs of their boyfriends's motorcycles; or passing evenings on the beach, which can be even busier than the days. As soft tropical dusk settles over the mountains along Dadonghai Bay, families and groups hang out or venture into the crashing green waves, while a pavilion band plays lulling Asian pop ballads. Every night, independent fireworks flame across the sky, culminating in great cracks and booms at midnight.

Back to the Volkswagen: I was driving with C. Lu, a Hainan-based travel agent on her day off, her husband Mr. Li, and their nine-year-old, pony-tailed twin daughters, Miao-Miao and Do-Do. We were off to see eastern Hainan , driving past pointed green mountains that run down to the sea. It's a landscape that resembles Jamaica's, except for the deep-green rice fields and workers in cone hats, bearing yokes for carrying baskets of that crop's long leaves.

Our first stop was the botanical garden at Xinglong, which conducts agricultural research for China, and has collected more than 57 species of coffee, along with examples of both green and red (called black in the U.S.) tea bushes, vanilla, cacao, and other tropical plants.

In the deep foliage of the botanical garden, Miao-Miao, C. and I peered at rows of pepper plants: verdant vines climbing tall poles; and Buddha's Belly bamboo, whose sections are amusingly rotund. We also discovered, to our surprise, that coconuts root in their own shells if left alone, as evidenced by fresh leaves bursting from the tops of green coconuts' wood-like shells.

Settling into cheery red plastic chairs in the tea garden that offers samples of crops grown on the premises, we sipped three teas: two green, one red. The first, Shang Dao Lan, tasted pleasantly of vanilla. Xiao Cao Kan , the second, tasted of vanilla too, as well as other spices. The third was a fruit tea.

Last, we had two types of coffee: one with coconut, the other with coconut and cacao, which tasted like Mexican hot chocolate. Miao-Miao, who had wrinkled her nose at the first coffee, quickly drank the cacao version and asked for more.

Rejoining Mr. Li and Do-Do at the car, we headed into the town of Xinglong for lunch. At Hainu Wenchang, a restaurant with doors and windows open to the breeze, a group of employees was gathered at a front table, clacking dominoes busily.

Inside, sitting over cups of Zhe gu, a local teasan made from large tree leaves, we had our first course. It was a very fresh, clear-tasting soup of small clams taken from a tank out front, along with mushrooms and thin slices of a white root vegetable called Dong hua.

Next we had a large platter of succulent, fatty pork in a dark rich sauce, a separate dish of beef in soy and mushrooms, and a garlicky platter of young asparagus, with rice.

Everyone served themselves with chopsticks from the communal platters. Although I'd always felt my skills with the wooden sticks were perfectly adequate for shoveling food from my plate to mouth, I suddenly recalled having read in a Chinese novel about a Westerner being critiqued for holding her fingers too high on her chopsticks. Also -- and there was no paranoia involved here: I was suddenly aware that all eyes were on me and the sticks in my right hand.

In the U.S., I tended to rely on spooning food from the serving dish onto my rice, but here I had no spoon, only chopsticks. I was also used to thinner, more manageable chopsticks than I was using -- so I was a bit slow in getting food from platter to rice here, although I felt that I was making out okay.

However, in a flurry, Mr. Li called over the waitress, who returned with a serving spoon. C. encouraged me to use the spoon, and in Chinese, she explained to the twins what was happening. Miao-Miao burst into giggles at the idea of someone who couldn't use the proper eating utensils, then stopped, guiltily.

After we'd dipped the tureen into the last dregs of the large communal bowl of clam soup, Mr.Li disappeared. Moments later, he returned with pineapple on a stick for each of us. Each dark yellow mound had been attractively cross-hatched with a knife by the elderly vendor who sat in the building's shade. We ate the sweet ripe fruit, drippily.

Heading back to Sanya, we took the old eastern road, less-used since the super-highway was installed in 1996. The two-lane road passed small towns, farms, and farm workers -- in the same way that many rural routes in the U.S. do -- although more individuals, carts and motorbikes occupied the road here.

As we headed along, keeping up the constant forward motion that is a hallmark of any Asian road, a boy of about eight years suddenly burst from the woods to our right, his body caught mid-run, poised to hurtle into our path. His face as he saw us was beautiful, and animated. His surprised expression was more like joy than fear. I slowed abruptly, and we all gasped. At the last minute, he veered to the right, turning to lope along the sandy roadside.

It was another close encounter with Asia and Hainan.

2010-09-09T15:03:00.000-07:00

Art that stands for a day

by Catherine Arnold (2003-ish)

Working as a professional sandcastle artist, or sand
sculptor, is a lot like life, says John Gowdy, who
lives in the coastal New Jersey town of Galloway, and
gets paid to fly around the world creating sand
sculptures that are sometimes 30 feet tall.

"Occasionally it collapses, and when that happens, we
make something else from the pile -- occasionally,
something even better," he says.

Gowdy didn’t always work in sand. He retires at
theend of next year from a 20-year firefighting
career,and looks forward to going full-time on the
world’s beaches.

Once, in Italy, he was finishing the papal collar
on a 15' likeness of the Pope when the structure
returned to the beach, dust to dust. As he considered
how to resurrect the heap, the nervous event
supervisor told him that the Cardinal and other
priests would arrive within an hour to bless the
figure.

"I felt like Edward Scissorhands," he said,
imitating the speedy hand-work of that Johnny Depp
character. "In cases like that, you have to make it
happen quickly."

He got started in the late 1980s, making
castles for his kids with sand and popsicle sticks on
the Jersey Shore. In 1987 he took third place in his
first professional competition, in Fort Myers, Fla.
"Until then, I hadn't known sand sculpting could be an
occupation: I met interesting people, talked to them,
and was amazed that they made a living at this."

After training in the early 1990s with San
Diego-area professional sand sculptor Dave Henderson,
Gowdy began getting work at competitions around the
world, as well as creating sculptures for beach
weddings and other events closer to home. Today his
weekends are full of work.

“I never would have thought I could get paid for this
and travel the world doing it!” he says, spade in
hand.

##

2010-09-09T14:54:00.000-07:00

Banana-seat Bike Enthusiast

By Catherine Arnold (2003)

I’ve always liked lists of highly divergent items and collections of curious things. That’s why A Nearly New Shop’s front window, with its display of red, green and yellow vintage Schwinn bicycles and a cluttered room dotted with such items as a plastic radio and an album of Hair, caught my eye on a drippy, chill March day in Chicago .

That this was no ordinary junk shop became clear when I met the proprietor, Ron Ashley, vintage bicycle enthusiast. Though a bit cluttered, this is an emporium to bicycles. Ashley, who is tall, slim, has medium coffee-colored skin, and looks like a dancer, usually sits in one of the shop’s easy chairs chatting with customers, or leans into the gears of one of the many bikes, crescent wrench in hand.

He’s been wielding a crescent wrench since the early 1970s, soon after his family relocated from a Louisiana farm to a Chicago housing project. In Chicago , Ashley’ father presented him with what he describes as “an old, sort of beat-up bike.”

Ashley recalls, “I was thinking, man, I want a new bike! I don’t want this old thing!”

But his father showed him how to replace the chain, hammer bent parts into shape, clean and polish the bike. By the time they finished, Ashley was an old-bike convert. “I haven’t wanted a new one since then. There’s no challenge in it.”

In 1999, Ashley opened A Nearly New Shop, which offers bikes more than 15 years old, along with a few other thrift shop items. “The Schwinns are the best of the old ones,” he notes. “When it was still a family-owned business, I think that around the dinner table, one of them might have said, ‘Man, what is it about the cranks that isn’t working right?’ But now that it’s a corporation, they’re like, ‘We need to crank more of these out!’”

Indeed, the older Schwinns are grand in the details. The basic model has a red/white seat topped by a script “S”, backed by a small metal plate that reads, “Schwinn Approved.” The gear cover names inspire thoughts of wind in one’s hair: “Typhoon,” “American,” “Spitfire 5,” and even “Corvette.”

The shop’s crowning glory are the Stingrays, banana-seat bikes that lounge insouciantly behind racks of used clothing. These can go for more than $200. At the front, and sometimes locked outside, basic Schwinns look like sturdy old cars with their fenders, gear covers and handle-bar tassels.

Ashley is a rider as well as a seller. “For cruising around the neighborhood or to the lake, I take a Stingray,” he says, moving his arms to illustrate relaxed steering on a low-slung bike. “If I need speed, I’ll take a road bike. Going to the store, I’ll grab a one-speed," he indicates a standard Schwinn.

If happiness is a shop full of bikes, Ashley has it. “I’m not one of those guys who can afford a garage full of expensive cars,” he says. “But I can fit about 50 bikes in my basement, and that pleases me!”

A Nearly New Shop, 3826 N. Broadway St . , Chicago . (773)525-0692.

2010-09-09T14:37:00.000-07:00

From Dim Sum to the Daily Show: Cheap NYC

By Catherine Arnold

Once you have a place to stay, you can have the apple--the big one, that is--for spare change. In New York, walking or subway fare will get you all over town: taking you straight into the pay-what-you-will realm of museums, free wooded green spaces, and fabulous street life.

Instead of shelling out $8-15 for a Circle Line cruise of Lower Manhattan , get a sense of Manhattan as an island by paddling on the Hudson River for 20 minutes on free kayaks available at three locations: Pier 26 between Chambers Street and Canal Street ; at 26^th St. ; or 72^nd Street . You’re given a life preserver. At Pier 26, hours 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. weekends and holidays; other locations, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. weekends and holidays. To find out weekday availability, call daily status line, 646-613-0740. For general information, call 646-613-0375 or see www.downtownboathouse.org. Open May 15-Oct. 15

Have the jaw-dropping (and entirely free) experience of seeing the East River, Brooklyn, the buildings of Lower Manhattan, and the mythically silhouetted Chrysler Building and Empire State Building, by strolling across the Brooklyn Bridge’s high, romantic, pedestrian walkway. The bridge is one mile from tip to tip. From Manhattan , enter the walkway at Park Row and Centre Street , across from City Hall Park. See http://www.transalt.org/bridges/brooklyn.html.Hear free music concerts into September, at Central Park Summerstage (New York World Festival Sept. 12-19 will include performers such as Mariachi Real de Mexico and Jamaica ’s Burning Spear). Certain shows suggest a $10 donation. To reach Summerstage, enter Central Park at 69^th Street and 5^th Avenue . See http://www.summerstage.org/. Bands also play, no charge, at Chelsea Piers till the end of September. Chelsea Piers is off the West Side Highway between 23^rd and 24^th Streets. Go to http://www.chelseapiers.com/musicPiers.htm.

Sure, you can get discounted tickets to Broadway shows at TKTS locations on 47th Street and Broadway, or Front and John Streets in South Street Seaport, http://www.tdf.org/tkts/. However, tickets to smaller, and often edgier shows in New York go for much less. If you want to watch improv performers who could make next year’s cast of Saturday Night Live, drop by Upright Citizens’ Brigade Theater and see shows for $5-8, and sometimes free, seven nights a week. 307 W. 26^th Street , 212-366-9176. Reservations are recommended. http://www.ucbtheatre.com/

Eat your fill of savory Chinese dumplings filled with vegetables, shrimp, pork and other small bits at dim sum in Chinatown , often for less than $25 for four people. For a big banquet hall with lots of selection, try Jing Fong, 20 Elizabeth Street , 212-964-5256. Alternatively, the smaller, more retro Hop Shing serves dim sum every morning from a single cart, at 9 Chatham Square , 212-267-0220.

At Chinatown ’s Pho Bang, get a banh mi, or Vietnamese sandwich, for about $2.75. It’s a combination of barbecued pork, ham and other cold cuts, laid out on a crisp French baguette spread with homemade mayonnaise, cilantro and carrot slivers. A sandwich with one type of meat is $2.50. Beef pho (soup) is $4.25, or $5.25 for an extra-large bowl. 157 Mott Street , 212-966-3797.

Stroll spacious greens, explore woods, hear African drums and watch informal skate board competitions. Parks to roam include Prospect ( Brooklyn ), Van Cortlandt ( Bronx ) and, of course, Central Park . See http://www.prospectpark.org/; http://www.nycgovparks.org/sub_your_park/vt_van_cortlandt_park/vt_van_cort_park.html; and http://www.centralpark.org/.

Park your towel at free beaches such as Russian-flavored Brighton Beach and the revived Coney Island . See http://www.nycvisit.com/content/index.cfm?pagePkey=361. At the latter, watch minor-league baseball team the Brooklyn Cyclones from a bleacher seat for $5 – in view of the Atlantic Ocean and Astroland amusement park’s famous Cyclone roller coaster, http://www.astroland.com/. Also, check out the Coney Island Circus Sideshow, which has performed for the Museum of the City of NY and the NY Historical Society. A show is $5 adults, $3 kids; see http://www.coneyisland.com/sideshow.shtml. For NYC subway and bus info, see www.mta.nyc.ny.us.

Chortle at The Daily Show with Jon Stewart’s turn on the day’s political and other events, free, by requesting tickets for the show’s live taping. Call 212-586-2477, at least four months in advance of when you want to go. The show tapes every Monday through Thursday at The Daily Show studios, located at 513 West 54th Street. Doors open at 5:45 pm. You must be 18 or over to attend. ##

2010-05-04T18:42:00.000-07:00

Trading Names Like Snacks: A Work Day

Beauty finds its way before our eyes, even as we are occupied in the dullest of work.

Sometimes we crunch numbers, we type, we answer phones. It is not always fascinating. But we talk to coworkers about apartments found or not gotten, colors we paint houses, relationships and passions, and sometimes Japanese cookies with frills on the outside; on our break, we espy a Steller Jay, its plumage a bright New World kind of blue, like a robe from Montezuma's court.

Then it is back to work.

Lifting each page of documents that enumerate tetanus and rubella vaccines and date the last-received training in patient privacy, our eye is caught by the perfection of a photocopied benefits card with its sharp edges and its names: Kresskill, Schuylkill, other places in Pennsylvania probably known for flinty rocks, and possibly for the availability of shoo-fly pie at their organic farmers' markets. Kill, which in the Dutch origins of those names is muted to mean "creek."

The mind meanders along its lovely rippling streams of image and brightness. When applicants are from my home state, the mind seeks out that memory of taste: the bursting juice of a large, velvet peach like those grown near my grandparents' farm; sees the halls of the the Isabella Court art deco apartment building where a friend lived when we were in college, and where one of the names on these documents lives now; thinks of the bougainvillea that will fill the court-yards only walking distance from a mentioned medical center.

Names bring lush images, too--the chunky, interlinking syllables, a mouth-full of vowels and consonants that are a Nigerian name: Okchekwu, maybe. We see Nigeria, overgrown by tropical plants, people walking in colorful, striped, and draped clothing to a market. Perhaps we recall that just after college, we worked for a Nigerian organization. Despite oil juntas, and later email-spam jokes, and heat and humidity that at least duplicated where we lived then--which was significant, we thought we'd enjoy spending time in this country, in this all of Africa. We would talk to people who were frequently kind and sociable, aware of the world, sometimes opinionated, sometimes loud, sometimes late, often delightful and very often laughing. Like so many other people. We wanted to be in their midst, on the streets they came from. We wonder if this Nigerian person grew up in America, went to an American high school.

All of this thinking, and still we turn the pages, make marks, type into the computer spreadsheet. We get the work done. We make photocopies. A break comes and we go outside. We return from sun and open a new sheaf of applicant papers.

Other names roll from the tongue as well; we and the coworker trade them like shared snacks. Alcala, Ocala, the Spanish names of the Southwest. These too are names from my childhood, and we think of a woman walking swingingly in a long, colorful skirt; of dark-leaved, low trees near cool, thick walls; of rolling a corn tortilla between my hands, and the nose-prickling smell of onions and tomatillos in salsa.

We hear Japanese names: Okoshimo, perhaps. This person may have grown up in Denver, may never have eaten the pink spongy pastry we once had in a hotel outside of Narita airport in Tokyo. Still we think of large fish sliced open to show their pink insides, and of the sea beside an island.

These things combine to create beauty in fragments, in bursts--but we wish for more beauty, for creating it all day long. For finding it in research, painting it, clicking photos of it, riding on a bike with it flipping back our hair, this beauty.There are times, lately, when we feel that we are past the time for such work, these jobs with less beauty, less prickling of the mind and more photocopying.

True, we are making money and experiencing coworkers (rather than working at home by myself, looking for a different coffee house a couple of times each week) during a nation's glacial slow period, and I am already investing my time in finding more sustainable work for myself.

And we are happy that the beauty pushes itself forward, like tomatoes from the garden, both as the coworkers who stop to offer cookies bought on sale at Uwajimaya or talk about their night job at the Showbox nightclub, or just in the names from Halifax and Palo Alto.

It is beauty, all the time.

Copyright 2010 Catherine Arnold

2009-12-14T16:20:00.000-08:00

Coming up in January--Chicago suburb Evanston, Ill.:

“B” as in Bleary-eyed (copyright Catherine Arnold 2009)

As flimsy metallic “flying saucers” move jerkily across the screen in Ed Wood’s infamously low-budget 1959 movie Plan 9 From Outer Space, paper plates--tossed by audience members--rain through the theater.

It is a cold January day in Evanston, Ill., and the temperature outside has dipped to 10 degrees with the wind chill factored in. But inside this Northwestern University auditorium, 12 miles north of downtown Chicago, 250 people have been watching B-movies for the past 24 hours.

That’s B-movies as in definitely not “A-list;” B as in bad. And sometimes, B as in: Bela Lugosi was in the first half of the movie, but later his character was played by director Ed Wood’s wife’s chiropractor.

This is “B-Fest,” which has screened Godzilla pictures, 1930’s sexual safety film strips, and cinematic wonders such as Nicholas Meyers’ 1973 Invasion of the Bee Girls (centered around the hunt for women who are killing men by having incredibly intense sex with them) every year since 1981, on the Northwestern campus.

The Chicago-area festival is one of several U.S. festivals celebrating bad movies, which include Portland, Ore.’s H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival in October, and Syracuse, N.Y.'s B-Movie Festival in November.

“My favorite films in previous B-Fest years--The Lonely Lady, Alice in Wonderland, and Can Hieronymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humppe and Find True Happiness--were all psychedelic, disturbing and sometimes just plain stupid,” says Christopher Holland, co-host of the B-movie review Web site StompTokyo.com and author, with Scott Hamilton, of Reel Shame: Bad Movies and the Hollywood Stars Who Made Them (Stomp Tokyo, 2002). “There’s a real pleasure in watching another human’s jaw drop at what they see on screen.”

“B-Fest” returns in January, and though the final schedule won’t be released until the week before, two films that often return to the screen include Plan 9 From Outer Space at midnight and Mike Jitlov’s 1989 short The Wizard of Speed and Time.

Known for its stop-motion effects, the Wizard features a creepy wizard running around the world at incredible speeds, while the second half is a music video that employs stop motion.

"B-Fest" serves as a gathering place not only for Northwestern students who crave cheap screen effects, but for 50 or so B-movie aficionados who host review sites (such as Jbootu.com) or write reviews and commentary on the bulletin boards of such sites, says Hamilton, who made the trip in 2000, 2002 and 2004.

Often, those die-hards are among the 100 or so audience members who stay all night.

“The first time, it really kind of fried my brain, trying to sit through 24 hours of these things,” says Hamilton. “For me, it was more about meeting all these people from our bulletin board, whom I’d only exchanged e-mails with before.”

Still, for the full experience, bring a blanket and a cooler so you can stay awake in the auditorium as long as possible, thinks Ken Begg, host of Jabootu.com. “Retaining at least a groggy awareness of the iguanas with glued-on fins in the 3:35 a.m. showing of One Million B.C. is what B-Fest is all about.”

For more information, go to www.b-fest.com.

2009-10-04T16:26:00.000-07:00

"Tequila" and Honey crisp apples

Am fresh from the Ballard farmers' market, which is starting to burst with fresh Jonagold and Honey crisp apples, cider, smoked salmon, kombucha, and many other things.

My friend Beth lives nearby on a boat, with her partner and her 1-1/2-year-old son. We are about to go biking. Right now we are counting red apples from the fridge: "Two ap-les. Big ap-les!"

Kalen has recently graduated to two-word sentences. "Play ball," is another one, so I figure he's ready to lead the pitches.

Later we sit on the boat, singing "Tequila."

"I'm having fun," says Beth, "I don't know, maybe it's psychologists' material 20 years from now, but I'm enjoying it."

2009-09-15T18:33:00.000-07:00

A Cheer for Populist Food Writers

Fresh; foraged; and lots of seafood. What they say about food in Seattle, it is true.

The city's a superb combination of tiny, beautiful eateries opened as labors of love in most neighborhoods; the high-end Tom Douglas and other chef-driven creations; and an international array of cheap that includes taco trucks whose stewed meat and sobbingly flavorful salsas are a real buy; Eastern-European bakeries and sausage spots; Middle Eastern and Indian foods; and a huge range from places with bright and sometimes melancholy foods.

That said, I've never lived in a city that didn't have its own rich offerings in food, whether it was known for them or not.

In Houston, a city defamed mainly for sprawl and Republicans, my parents' neighborhood is a hive of Salvadoran pupuserias, taquerias, Nigerian eateries, one large Cuban coffee shop, and many other small eateries that have edged out the Baskin-Robbins. Not only that, but the range of sophisticated Italian, Mexican, Asian, and New American chef-driven restaurants is significant as well as interesting--and has been covered extensively by national food publications like Saveur and writers including John Mariani. Local food writers Allison Cook and Robb Walsh have influenced my own ideas about food writing that creates a story, and made me picky about food columnists in the weekly newspapers of the cities where I've lived.

Granted, atmosphere can suffer a bit in newer cities based on car transport. Doubtless, I'd rather eat in a small restaurant than in a strip mall, and in Houston many of the most interesting places--though not all--are still in strip malls. That's unfortunate, but it doesn't lessen the city's food offerings.

I remember being amused but frustrated when a New Yorker told me that he figured any Southern or Southwest city was a joke in terms of food variety. Thirty years ago, probably so, but not now. If you have an unlimited budget, New York is fantastic, but if you're really watching your money, as I was when I lived on the edge of New York, the range of good food for low prices isn't as wide, or as easy to find, as what's available in Houston or Atlanta.

Also, every region has its particular food skill. As we all know, New York does pizza and Italian food better than anywhere else in America. New Jersey is known for diners, and is often touted for this in diner-less regions like the Northwest. New York and New Jersey also have an extensive range of sophisticated offerings, of course.

Fortunately, common-food writers like Jane and Michael Stern have discovered the regional strengths of American places, and are busy rounding up the nation's great peach stands, sausage spots, and burger palaces.

Populist food writers they are, and hurray for them.

2009-02-24T21:42:00.000-08:00

A friend and I are working on publishing ideas lately, and Indie Thrift is just one part of that.

Indie Thrift (TM) Tips: 10 Money Savers

1. Music CDs from the library. This is a great way for the short-attention-spanned music lover such as myself to find out whether they just liked that one song, or if the album is a real, solid hankering. Hard to say from a quick online listen, but it’s easy to solidify your thoughts when borrowing for two weeks. Currently in my player: Blonde Redhead, Grizzly Bear, Sparklehorse, Of Montreal, and Rough Guide to Paris Cafe Music. Two of them I returned within two days, but the rest I’ve kept around.

2. Cook with dried beans. Soak them overnight--then, oh, the wondrous soups, stews, and other dishes you can make. These include Tuscan soups floating with vegetables, like something served at a sunlit table in Italy, surrounded by dozens of dancing family members; Morroccan stews in bright desert hues of burnt orange and yellow, wonderfully blended spices; and good old chili, vegetarian or meat. Look up recipes online.

3. Walk, run, or bicycle at every opportunity. Do this at lunch, part or all of the way to work, and in the morning or evening. You’ll smell the changing seasons, see trees' buds or turning leaves, hear birds. Ideas will come. Just as fresh notions pop into your head in the shower, walking will untangle all those ideas.

4. Take a small, inexpensive notebook for writing down thoughts, wherever you go. These might be about your family, doing your job better, another career or hobby you’d like to try. Pay attention.

5. Go to book readings at the library, bookstores, and other venues. These are usually free or inexpensive, and it’s a great chance to get ideas, hang out with other people, and hear about things that might not otherwise cross your path. At readings within a few blocks of my apartment, I’ve heard about the French philosopher Descartes’ bones having been kept in a box after his death then marched through the streets for his supporters to see; a man who voices several prime-time cartoon characters but is also a political folk song writer with a repertoire of surfer songs about George Bush; and the college-age Tibet period of a New Yorker writer who went there because it interested her and was so cheap.

6. Watch DVDs from the library--many have terrific, very current selection; you can reserve online, or go by and see what they have left on the shelves. At my library, finding out what is left over is half the fun. Without fail, there are one or two films that I wouldn’t otherwise have seen, whether they’re Korean, anime, or Russian, from 1981.

7. Go to outdoor festivals and walk around, see the booths that exhibit crafts or the cultures of other countries, play games.

8. Go to parks. Watch people with their dogs, throw a Frisbee, lie in the heady smell of the grass, play basketball, write down ideas or draw, have conversations.

9. If you’re going to be out walking or in a park for several hours, take some water and a sandwich. That way, you can eat outside and won’t end up buying an impulse meal or break down under chocolate and junk food fantasies.

10. In a garden or window boxes, grow herbs and basics that can be used in soups and stews. These include lovely carrots, green onions and chives, garlic if your climate is sufficiently sunny, tomatoes, fingerling potatoes, and others. If you have no room, consider getting on a waiting list for a community garden plot; this is also a great way to meet other gardeners and get some fresh air.

##
Copyright 2009 Catherine Arnold for Indie Thrift.

2009-02-04T22:37:00.000-08:00

FICTION: (Continued: Cecile, the Whittled Wood, and the Hawaiian Islands--Installment 3)

Cecile slid into a seat, nodded and smiled at her table mate. Her mind was already on recording the plants she had seen, and she pulled from her bag a small notebook and stub of pencil.

Scratching busily, she rendered the large, morning glory-like flower, then began sketching what she recalled from the busy streets: leaning palms, brightly painted shop fronts, women and children on bicycles.

“Not bad,” prompted her table mate, and Cecile looked up.

“Thank you." She was pleased. Everyone in her family drew and painted routinely, pulling out drawing pads after supper, and she was not used to receiving recognition.

“New sights to you?” asked the girl, turning her head so that the hair pins sparkled, “If I may ask.”

“Yes--they're the most beautiful--maybe of any I've seen,” Cecile said, taking a deep breath so that her hands would not shake with her enthusiasm. “This is a lovely place.”

“You should see it from the air, then,” said the girl, smiling. “It is even better.”

Something about the girl’s mischievous but confident look stopped Cecile. “Are you an aviator?”

“I am,” the girl answered, “And I am Louise. It is good to meet you.”

“Wonderful to meet you too,” Cecile said, marveling. What other wonders were on this chain of islands? Coconut palms, the hula--and women flyers, soaring over the green and flowered land.

After all, sitting across from her was a person who flew aeroplanes.
##

2009-02-03T22:08:00.000-08:00

FICTION: Brave Warrior (copyright 2009 Catherine Arnold)

Last week Harriet realized she needed a language to learn. She was filing, and she wasn’t post-college like so many of her temporary agency coworkers, but past 35, the age of decision in many careers (even though she didn’t believe strictly in such things, and Grandma Moses was her hero for late starts of all kinds, and Mark Twain for multiple job changes).

She felt dulled by mid-winter in a foggy place, and she wanted the definition of verbs.

Usually she worked as an illustrator. Her current gig was designed to fill in the gaps. Her design jobs paid decent rates when the payments arrived, particularly for marketing and advertising but were not always steady. This could throw a person back to work that was essentially like the most unglamorous of breadcrumbs, those that fall between the cushions.

Harriet had worked duller temp jobs, in less interesting buildings and cities. In a humid and flat city, she had sat in a windowless room with many others, in rows facing flat-screen scanner monitors. They knew the off-tone hues of overhead fluorescents, and a bathroom where people went to escape the main floor.

In another city, on the East Coast, she had spent three weeks in yet another large room, scanning medical documents for foreign school applicants. At night she lived in the unlikely spot of a women’s hotel run by a religious cult, which required all guests to wear skirts and stockings. Her neighbors were women researchers visiting the nearby university, their rooms funded by scientific programs, who snickered at the rules and united outside to roll up stockings and stroll defiantly down the next block.

These were the jobs for people between significant work or waiting for something to happen: to join a loved one; start graduate school; get a massage license; leave the country to teach English in Japan; learn what in all life brought passion to them in the way of a career.

Here, fortunately, things were different from her summer in the East Coast city in the religious hotel. She had friends and loved ones, a bicycle, and she loved her neighborhood. Her apartment was hers to alter; she could spread plaid blankets on the futon back and leave out the Sunday comics and her library books.

Weekly, she was making better contacts for other work. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and if better work did not result, perhaps she could get a Master’s in English as a Foreign Language and travel, or study library science or even radio broadcasting. The latter sounded wonderful, but less certain, and the last thing she wanted was another career that might fall back on filing.

Good, too: the temp coworkers were intelligent and educated; and everyone was together in a certain amount of concern about a slow economy. They were joined by living in the foggy winter now turning towards spring, May-like, its light in the mornings straining at the edges and brightening with quick strength.

She would return to learning Turkish, do a language exchange with someone, meet to pore over the words in newspapers in a coffee shop. She liked this language, in which everyone’s name meant something: Cansu, pronounced, “jonsue,” was “eternal spring.” And, she seemed to remember, one male name meant “brave warrior.”

Now, she decided, was her chance to recall which one.

##

2008-11-17T00:53:00.001-08:00

FICTION: Cecile and the Polynesian Dance, II (a Serial--cont'd.)

Arriving at the school of hula had been Cecile's plan for the late morning--but she was too stunned by every curve of the road overhung by lush vines and bright flowers, the sheer explosive greenery of the island, to proceed at a pace that would ignore all of that glory.

Cecile asked the taxi driver to stop at a tropical garden on the way, and stepped eagerly onto the muddy trails.

She had never seen such plants. A rainforest, that's what this was, a veritable jungle out of "Tarzan". At the entrance shop she found a multi-paged guide and grasped it with purpose, heading down the wood chip-strewn path.

Here, the names: these were part of why she was here on this island. Mamaki, a tea plant. One was growing just to the right of the path. To think that her family's morning cups of tea, and everyone else's, came from such sprightly green bushes.

She thought of Linette and Arthur, her older sister and brother, and how interested they would be to see these leaves growing on a plant.

Just briefly, Cecile recalled the topic at the family's last card game: Felix Chester. She pictured him, tall, maybe a bit too dapper--wearing suspenders, striped shirts, highly shined shoes. He sold foot-wear on the square. Cecile's sisters liked him, and so did Mama and Papa, but Cecile wasn't sure.

She spotted what the guide book called a yellow hibiscus, bright, spreading, with an earnest dark stamen. Cecile wondered how to pronounce it. Should she know that from her Latin classes? It was larger than a morning glory--with similarly opening petals, but on a much larger scale. A hao, it was called in Hawaiian.

Cecile passed delicate but fierce ferns--one called a palapalai, a "hay-scented" fern. She stopped to flex her nostrils. True, a bit of a dusty, straw-like smell wafted from the bushes. The sword fern, tall and, yes, sharp, was called kupukupu. Cecile laughed a little at the sounds of the words, and thought that was a nice thing in a language.

Cecile decided to put off the hulau for a day when she could concentrate better. Back at the hotel, she rented a bicycle and rode away from the roar of the ocean, into Honolulu.

Nearing the business districts, Cecile was surprised that so many bicyclists shared the streets. Chinese women with glossy black hair, children with their parents, men wearing patterned shirts with open lapels. Coconut palm trees, on slender long trunks, bowed over the buildings' open verandas. Cecile admired the fringe of their leaves.

The warm air held a lovely, relaxed feeling. She enjoyed pedaling down the streets beneath the palms, looking at the bright shop signs and fruit sellers on wooden sidewalks. The tall, prickly oddities of pineapples--these she knew from newsreels, and she could see the pine cone resemblance, yes.

But there were so many other fruits here, and she would learn about them all.

After a number of blocks, Cecile was glad to spot a tea shop sign. Parking her bike in front and stepping inside, she noticed right away a girl of her age sitting at the communal table, wearing sparkling pins in her hair that sprayed out like a bird's tail.
(To be continued)

2008-11-09T16:25:00.001-08:00

FICTION: Cecile and the Polynesian Dance, I (a Serial)

Forty years later, Cecile's granddaughter, Elle, would learn to read, first slowly, then practically running with the words, flinging them in armloads over her shoulders, calling them out to hay fields and horses as they passed them on the highway.

Elle had a long body, a skinny chest and slightly rounded little belly, lanky arms and legs. Looking at her, Cecile pictured her father
and brothers and sisters, all long-legged members of the Burien clan, springing toward the finish line in one of their many foot races at
the farm. They had been a competitive bunch, vying for glory, the fun of winning before the others, and the prizes that her father fashioned from pieces of leather, tin, and whittled wood. Like so many other flotsam and jetsam of her life, Cecile had tucked away several such prizes in cedar boxes and underwear drawers, and sometimes she showed them to Elle.

When Cecile was still young, however, she went looking for the one true hula, which she had heard about while still on the farm in northeast Texas. It was a story that she would later share with Elle.

In 1930, as a teacher of mathematics in her second year at the Epsilon Hill School, Cecile had laid away some money, having already fulfilled her obligation to help pay for her sister Ruellen's college tuition. Cecile's elder sister Linette and brother Arthur had, in turn,
taken up the bulk of her own tuition a few years before.

Cecile heard about the hula at a bridge game at Elwell Station, a town known mostly for its spreading pecan trees planted on Armistice Day in 1917. Sitting at the table with Lucy Tupton, Andie Detterbeck and Edina Rath, Cecile listened to the table talk with a heightened sense of awareness, contemplating her next move. She watched the others' actions with bright eyes, making wisecracks from time to time. She was most alive at a gaming table or solving a math problem for any purpose: calculating the depth of a natural well; estimating the number of beef cattle in a herd; instructing a ninth-grade class at the chalk board. Her movements sang, her face was open, and she paid attention.

In this receptive mood, she heard about hula. This month's National Geographic held an article about Hawaii, the island-territory in the Pacific, Edina told them. It was a lush and exotic land of rain forests, volcanoes, pineapples, and people who danced and had once been led by a princess.

Hawaii was recognizable from many newsreels, with its huge tropical flowers, crashing waves, and coconut palms. Edina added something, though. Hula, as it turned out, was not just the swaying, grass-skirted, vaguely forbidden dance they had glimpsed.

That version was for tourists, but the real dance was about women (and even men) dancing to appreciate nature. Fully dressed, they moved their arms to arch like imagined rainbows, and down like falling rain.

Edina even had a pressed-wax record of Hawaiian songs, also from National Geographic. She set it on the phonograph while they continued to play and deal.

From the first, the music struck Cecile. It was lilting, graceful, each syllable like water falling at different levels, at varying mathematical degrees.

This had been a year ago, and over the school year Cecile had carefully put away dollars in a coffee can, writing new totals in her bank book with each week's pay. Her expenses were low, but to save more money, she took trimmings from old skirts and sewed them onto new ones to spruce them up. Instead of buying a new hat, she had the old one re-blocked.

On the walls of her rented room were clipped photos of Hawaii and other islands of Polynesia. She played the music on her phonograph. When she cracked open the thin shells of pecans from the yard and ate their meat, she thought about how a pineapple would taste straight from its native tree.

At last, summer arrived and Cecile was prepared. Her sister Ruellen was going with her to the train station. She had a new silk scarf that Mama had given her as a vacation present, dyed a tropical turquoise and printed with light-green leaves.

That she was going so far away was a little surprising to her mama and papa and siblings. On the other hand, they had always seen how her eyes burned at the thought of adventure. They knew that, along with wanting to solve mathematics problems in every situation, Cecile
wanted to see places and report on them in her notebook, like the journalists she admired. And, being hardy foot racers and avid readers themselves, the family understood her drive to glimpse other shores.

Six days later, after spending a night in Los Angeles, Cecile landed on the island of Hawaii. Her steamship, the Liliana, was anchored in the harbor.

On shore, hula dancers in grass skirts and leis approached the travelers, but Cecile was not interested. Notebook in hand, she strode forward to find a hotel along the shore, her turquoise scarf flying like a banner on the salty island breeze.

She checked into a hotel with cool, shaded rooms that faced the Pacific, its hallways open to breezes, the railings laden with winding vines and flowers whose scent saturated the damp sea air.

In the common room, where there was a wide dance floor, the concierge told Cecile where she could find true hula dancers. She decided she would go tomorrow, and that tonight she would dance to the lilting Hawaiian music.

On the dance floor, she met a strange young man who called himself Earnest. On his wrists were spiraling tattoos that he said came from the Maori, an Indian tribe in New Zealand. Cecile only talked to him because he was able to solve complicated trigonometric theories, which
he demonstrated on a napkin while they sat out a dance.

The next day, Cecile took a taxi-cab across the island to a school of hula, called a hulau.
(to be continued)
(copyright Catherine Arnold 2008)

2008-11-07T00:57:00.000-08:00

TRUE HULA

Tonight: learned the music of “konichiwa” in Japanese voices, and about the true hula.

Museums are free on First Thursday in Seattle, so after work I headed to the Burke Museum, which emphasizes Northwest tribal artifacts and covers natural and cultural history. On the bus, a guy of about 24 shared my seat, reading his X-Men comic book and talking from time to time in what was clearly a falsified British accent. Despite the fact that he was faking the accent, he maintained it for the entire ride. He said, "I have spent a great deal of time in the British isles, yes indeed." His accent also included East Indian intonations, a little like Abu on The Simpsons. I said, "It seems that you've also spent some time in Madras." He replied, "Ah, what you're hearing, my dear, must be that I watch many Indian movies, it is true." He was tall and thin and uncommonly good looking, wearing a plaid hipsterish Western shirt, a floppy hat, and something hanging from its brim--perhaps a fishing fly. He was headed to his apartment in the neighborhood of Ballard, he said, pronouncing it "Bal-lahhrd," when it is actually "Bal-lerd."

Despite all this, he seemed to be a solid source of information. I asked if he knew how to reach the Burke Museum, because I wasn’t exactly sure where it was on the University of Washington campus. After telling me, he said that he had studied Native Arts in his art history classes "at Hahrvard" and that going to the Burke Museum makes him sad and angry, because so many of the native objects there were given by families either to pay for doctors during small pox epidemics, or, in Alaska, sold by families who needed to make money after commercial fisheries moved in and began to fish the salmon upon which the tribes depended. He talked about repatriation, which involves museums returning objects to their sources. Despite the absurd hamminess of his accent, there was a gravity to what he said. By the end of the conversation, I thought, hm, maybe he actually had gone to Harvard; who knew?

After this, of course, I felt less enthusiastic about going to the Burke Museum, but I went ahead to see what it held. In front of the museum were two large totems, one of the Wild Woman of the Woods, and the other a burial-related figure with a gaping mouth. Feeling full of trepidation about their sources, I read the descriptions and saw that both had been created as replicas around 1970 by an artist. A little reassured, I proceeded inside.

There I found an exhibit called Pacific Voices, which was just great. It started with a video of people from around the Pacific rim greeting the museum visitors: Hawaiians, a group of Japanese children, a Philipino couple, Maori, and many others. They spoke in their native languages, which were subtitled. The Japanese “hello,” konichiwa, was pretty and musical: high female voices, in a falling scale.

The Hawaiian language also struck me as uniquely melodic-- music in every syllable, like a series of waterfalls. I wondered why I'd never thought about it before, and decided it was mostly because of a lack of exposure to the language and culture. After all, much of what is widely known about Hawaiian culture is schlock, it seems; the best-known version of hula is just a dance developed to attract tourists after steamship travel arrived on the islands, the exhibit told me.

Hawaiian voices, chants, and musical instruments were in the next exhibit, and the sounds were lovely. This exhibit was a series of instruments and sound-makers, including several versions of shaped sticks that could be tapped together. Pushing a button on the wall started the series; a light near each lit up at its sound. The first was a series of chants for the hula. Again: beautiful, melodic, and not at all the sound of a mid-winter tourist ad. An accompanying information card explained genuine hula moves, showing a woman from the waist up and demurely clad in a blouse, reaching up toward a rainbow, then moving her arms downward to indicate falling rain.

I thought, listening to the series of pipes, drums, and other Polynesian sounds, that while all of us had our roots in indigenous tribes that wandered the earth and in those tribes that originated in Asia and crossed the land bridge, I had heard the low, rumbling chants of many tribes without feeling especially moved. But hearing the flute-y Hawaiian sounds, I felt shaken, having heard something with which I identified; I felt the unique love that involves all serious earthly interests.

As it happened, the museum was closing in half an hour, so I didn’t have time to investigate how many works’ sources. But in the Pacific Voices exhibit, I saw that one display of “house” totems from British Columbia was accompanied by an elaborate placard. The original poles, it said, had been removed illegally from a house in the early 20th century and were sold to what is now the Burke Museum, and one other museum. Late in the 20th century, the Burke Museum returned the poles; those currently on display were carved, again as replicas, by an artist in 2005.

At closing time, I walked into the rainy night. The long, Jonah-cartoonish figure of a whale, carved from wood in the style of a Northwest tribe, faced the entrance. Its mouth grinned wide; a wooden hunter rode its back, and it was the embodiment of life-sustaining.

A little sustainability, that’s what the museum gave me on this wet November night. That, and some ideas on the true hula, marked: for further investigation...

2007-09-19T15:16:00.000-07:00

BITTEN

Would it be worth talking about? The topic of a film, even a non-documentary?

Attacked by Zombies today, had a sheep thrown at me, ended the day with a pink sprinkle donut from the bakery application?

I’m a bit sleep-deprived, so bear with me. But the thing is, against all expectation, it wasn't a complete waste of time to fill out the bio for yet another online social network.

It's become this strange but wonderful gathering of people I like, with whom I’d normally have lost touch.

It has collected onto one page people I met while hosteling in Asia; in the lobby of a women’s residence in Philly; in a Turkish language exchange; interviewing for a housing share in the Chicago suburbs that I didn’t end up taking. I liked all of them, but would have dropped ties without this Web-based safety net that involves being bitten by Vampire Rock Stars, drinking virtual beers to friends’ health, and trying to achieve a higher score on the New York Times news quiz.

It sounds nonsensical, and also like a big waste of time. But I've never been in a space quite like it, this absurd community of people in their off moments. You could say that I’m just a voyeur, and to some extent it’s true: I love seeing the minute changes, knowing that one friend is “couching, wheezing” this morning and another rejoices that his court date resulted in a lowered parking ticket.

Strange things happen there, that would not happen in the world of myspace, which true to its name assigns everyone to their own space, visitable by everyone who doesn’t mind a loud blast of music at an unexpected moment, but still apart. On Facebook, I can “connect” with a Montreal pal after many months out of touch, and view photos of her baby born 10 days before, and hear that a baby wrap has ensured at least six hours of sleep each night. I can see that one is “watching Entourage” and another is mourning her bad batch of French macaron pastries, which she started too late the previous night.

It’s a world interconnected by what we each feel comfortable saying, given both limits and levity by that -- and I like it.

2007-07-22T13:06:00.000-07:00

BRIGHT DAYS

We have had much sun for the past couple of months, a fairly un-Seattle development. July and August are usually bright, it's true, but there's been a surfeit of solar power, which is enough to make any Northwesterner feel displaced. When the rain came on Wednesday, for that one day it was almost a relief from the intensity of the light, but several days later, we still have rain and it's almost November-y outside. By this I mean gray and a bit chilly, although it's still low-70s out. At any rate, there's some peace to the weather, I suppose (putting it in the best possible anti-light), so I've had a quiet weekend, un-agitated by endorphin-churning sunlight.

As part of that slow-moving weekend, yesterday I went to a new little shop in my neighborhood. It's a cute small place with a nice eye for antiques and kitsch. The owner, about my age, is interesting and fun to talk to: we had some discussions of movies -- the most recent Rocky, Million Dollar Baby -- after I asked the price of the vintage boxing gloves he has hanging on a wall.

On a whim, I tried on the boxing gloves and they fit just right -- surprising; I hadn't expected to like them. However, like the tae kwan do classes I used to take in college, they filled me with a rush of capability and strength that doesn't get exercised as much as I'd like. That feeling, of physical strength, seems counter to being a woman in our society. Which certainly got me thinking about how do to garner that feeling more often! Hm, maybe I should join a gym.

To jump completely off to the side: it's such an intriguing and disturbing thing, that our society demonizes the word "Amazon", Asia-Minor women (all of whom I always pictured as like the goddess Diana: lithe, dark-haired, gracefully capable with a hunting bow, accompanied by a deer perhaps?) who rushed into battle and led their own nation. Doing so ran fiercely counter to the overarching Greek and Roman cultures, in which women had a status on level with that of slaves.

When I was in the fifth grade, my friend Kelly and I used to lead battles against my younger brother and our neighbors, Mark and Jason -- we all used wooden shields, made by my father on a table-saw in the garage. We called ourselves the Amazons, and felt a rush of glory just saying the name -- we were blissfully unaware of any negative connotations. Who, looking at that energy and passion in a group, first turned it into something negative, I wonder? I think the boys were The Dragons, or something like that.

Back to the shop: I liked wearing the gloves, but in following through the thought of what one does in boxing, I imagined what it's all about: punching someone's face repeatedly. Hm -- it's the reality of boxing that I don't like so much.

Not, of course, that I wouldn't make a decent Amazon, if put to the test, right? Time to work on those bow-handling skills.

2007-06-25T22:18:00.001-07:00

ROCK STARS

On Saturday, I saw starfish in real life for the first time. They cluster on rocks on the edge of Puget Sound, and are bright purple. My college friend Beth and I found them at Larrabee State Park, near Bellingham, Wa. (about 80 miles north of Seattle).

We were walking along rocks by the shore -- and saw, luckily from that safe perch, hundreds of tiny, filmy-white baby jellyfish: each maybe two inches across -- a school of young ones. I thought at first that they were tiny floating fish embryos, but Beth identified them as jellyfish. Through their translucent sacks, we could see the swirling of their insides -- the reactions that look like electricity inside a jellyfish. They took in water and scooted around in the water, interacting like the little spider offspring from Charlotte's Web. They were strange and interesting to watch.

Well away from the jellyfish, we also walked in some tidal pools, seeing several of what I think were stone crabs -- large brown crabs with especially horned and tough shells; and many tiny snails and hermit crabs and orange and pink sea anemones with waving feelers that will respond to a stick, if one is so pesky as to place one near them.

Also luckily, I noticed a sand-dollar that was just a white edge peeking from below the sand. I had a premonition that it was not just one of the many shells, and brought it forth lovely and whole.

While hiking through the woods to a small, pretty lake, we came across mushrooms and many other woodland plants. The hike was typical Northwest: lots of gigantic coastal cedar and other conifers, not much undergrowth, lots of switchbacks. Beth and I reflected that, in fact, all the hikes here are the same. She conjectured that that's why it's important to get something interesting at the end: a waterfall, a lake, spectacular wildflowers, or something else. Maybe Bigfoot. Or, uh, maybe not...

2007-05-06T22:08:00.000-07:00

Art Dazzle

The Seattle Art Museum, SAM, just completed its year-long renovation, and this weekend is the big re-opening celebration. For 36 hours, admission was free, and there was music and other festivities. Also, the galleries weren't crowded, because admission was by free tickets and each ticket was for a block of time starting at a certain point. Once you're in, you can stay as long as you like, but entry is timed.

It was terrific! Like a rich dessert of art, art, art! We only looked at the modern stuff. I've never looked at so many of the early 20th century moderns -- art from 1923 that looks strikingly modern, clean lines, slight premonitions of Art Deco in some cases. I love those clean lines, mm.

The early 20th century moderns made me want to take an art history class, pronto. Time to know about these artists. Also made me want to be a fly on the wall in those art studios and cafes, back then. But then, art is always being made, yada yada, and there's plenty of time to be in the studios -- and working -- now, too. I know. But just think of those early clean-line makers, following painters who were still classical, like the Impressionists. Extraordinary times.

2007-03-22T15:05:00.000-07:00

Owl!

Sunday night, walking near my apartment, I looked down and saw in the grass what I realized--with great surprise--was a tiny owl looking right back.

I did a double take, and the owl's saucer-like eyes visibly grew in circumference. Its eyes grew bigger, my eyes grew bigger, and we could have continued cartoonishly for some time.

The bird was so small that I wondered if it was full-grown. I considered calling someone--but whom? The ASPCA?

I looked away for a second in order not to scare the bird any more than necessary. When I looked back, it had disappeared.

All I saw was a small, dead rat--the owl had evidently been standing on it.

Ah, I thought: not a baby at all, but able to feed itself. I felt a surge of pride for the small owl, mixed with slight wonderment over this rodent, which was nearly as large as the owl, but was nonetheless so dead that it could have X's for eyes.

With the bird seemingly gone, I walked away. However, later I returned to the same spot and saw something flutter out of a nearby shrub. It was the owl, now standing atop the barely visible rat.

Seemingly unperturbed by me or anyone else, the creature was engaged in its task: scruffing its feet from time to time as if cleaning them on a welcome mat. I figured this was how the owl started to break down the rat, before getting started more aggressively on the job.

Seeing the owl gave me a lovely feeling of having seen nature, of going into another world beyond traffic and streets and churches and people and all civilization. It was exciting, and I felt a glow for the rest of the evening.

In case you're wondering what kind of owl it was, I looked online and consulted a naturalist acquaintance, and it seems likely that it was a Western Screech Owl, although there's some chance it was a Northern Saw-Whet Owl.

Whichever, it was a cool critter.

2007-03-21T16:01:00.000-07:00

Ze Frank's video blog

It's definitely part of my routine, watching the daily video blog update from www.zefrank.com.

For the past few days, I've avoided the site because I didn't want to think about it. That is, didn't want to think about The Show having ended -- on March 16. Oh, dear. After a whole year of uplifting or hard-hitting commentary, and always at least a bit of goofiness, it's hard to go without.

But today I checked the site, and sure enough, there are blog updates to let us all know Ze lives and breathes and checks email. Below is a terrific piece on what The Show meant, saying that Frank's show did for video blogging what "I Love Lucy" did for establishing TV as a medium apart from radio. Very true.

http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/news/2007/03/ze-frank-our-i-love-lucy.html

2007-03-14T12:02:00.000-07:00

Lighting the Way Forward, ahem

How do you like this daylight savings time? So far, I dislike it this year. I seem to recall liking it in Houston and maybe in New York -- or at least, I liked getting out of offices with light remaining -- but here it strikes me as an unnatural (well, yes) interruption of the usual progress toward spring.

Spring here in the Northwest has come on gradually, with a bit more light every day pulling at the edge of the sky, enough to make people feel just a bit cheerier every day. Other signs: purple and yellow crocuses poking forth from the earth, the ornamental cherries frothed in pink But as of Sunday, it seems we took a rocket launcher and moved forward all of an hour every day! Abrupt, I have to say.

Anyhow, we'll see.

2007-03-08T13:22:00.000-08:00

Cirque du Soleil may have been my first reminder of the incipient, jewel-pretty movement of neo-variety shows, performance, and occasionally burlesque.

Seeing Coney Island's Mermaid Parade in June 1999 was another chance to experience the phenomenon.

It's a growing and interestingly individualistic movement -- one part is Seattle's Fremont Summer Solstice Festival, another chance (like the Mermaid Parade) for the undressed and the creatively painted to ride bicycles through city streets.

And, since 2004, Seattle has also had The Moisture Festival, with its purposely sly and meteorologically correct name -- a 14-day festival of variete, performance, and the burlesque. It's a chance to see performers from all over the world, as well as the region.

The Moisture Festival, the world's grandest showcase
of local, national and international Comedy/Varietè
artists, returns to Seattle March 15-April 1, 2007!
www.moisturefestival.com
206-297-1405

Believe it or not, the FOURTH Moisture Festival
approaches with an Opening Night Gala and
Comedy/Varietè show on Thursday, The Ides of March.
Ceasar looks forward to greeting you and hopes you
will please help us spread the word of the festival by
telling your friends and family.

The no-two-alike Comedy/Varietè shows are once again
at Hale's Palladium located in the brewery warehouse.
(Now with flush toilets!) Children are welcome at all
of the Hale's Palladium shows, except 21+ 10:30pm Late
Night Varietè. The first weekend kicks off Late Night
in style when Circus Contraption takes over Friday and
Saturday Night!

Exciting news this year - ACT Theatre is the new venue
for the Burlesque Shows. For only one weekend, the
beautiful Falls Theatre at ACT will burst with a live
show band and a tantalizing mixture of Burlesque and
Comedy/Varietè for 4 shows: Fri. & Sat., March 23 &
24, 7:30pm & 10:30pm. Tickets are already selling and
it would be wonderful to sell out, so make your
reservations now.

QUICK info. for the Two Venues:

Hale's Palladium (Comedy/Varietè Shows) at Hale's Brewery
4301 Leary Way NW, Seattle's Fremont/Ballard neighborhood
TICKETS for HALE'S PALLADIUM

$5-$20
www.brownpapertickets.com,

1-800-838-3006

ACT Theatre (Burlesque shows)
700 Union St., Downtown Seattle
TICKETS for ACT THEATRE
$20 (21+ only)
www.acttheatre.org
206-292-7676

2007-03-02T23:26:00.000-08:00

In search of new bands and songs, lately I've been enthusiastically making my way through a few music review sites.

Here's the one from Salon.com: http://www.salon.com/ent/audiofile/2007/03/01/logo_contest_winner/index.html

The Guardian's site for daily favorite new bands (mother lode -- only problem is: no links to mp3s, just web sites, which slows things down):
http://music.guardian.co.uk/newbands/0,,1969764,00.html

A very cool BBC culture magazine (nice) with mp3s and podcasts:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/collective/watchandlisten

This is an article: favorite songs of various Brits consulted for this story, and Nick Hornby's 31 favorites:
http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,6903,877496,00.html

(Dunno about you, but I can never get enough of Guardian and Observer articles.)

NPR's All Songs Considered -- a bit clunky because every clip contains the reviewer's intro.
http://www.npr.org/programs/asc/

From Chicago Public Radio, although not one I know well.
http://www.soundopinions.com/

Other places I was thinking of looking: Utne online, New Yorker, New York magazine, and possibly New York Times audio/video files. Have other suggestions?

2007-02-26T12:31:00.000-08:00

Anyone seen the German film Goodbye, Lenin? I saw it last night, and was disappointed. It's a fairly lightweight comedy, and the soundtrack makes it sentimental, I thought.

However, it won a bunch of European film awards and was nominated for a Golden Globe. Why is that, I wonder? It's not so typical of the European films that usually make it over here -- it's not really beautiful, which I suppose is more what I crave from European cinema; it's just sort of light and goofy, like a mix between Better Off Dead and My Life as a Dog. Actually, no, those are both better movies.

Maybe it's one of the first movies to address that world now gone, the German Democratic Republic. And maybe a director having made a free-wheeling comedy about just those things has a significance that I just can't grasp. Maybe I'd love it if I were East German -- able to see again the pop culture, the life that I had lived, the labels of Communist-era pickle jars and coffee brands, and a life before Coca-Cola.

2007-02-15T17:20:00.000-08:00

Stranger Love

Last night I went to The Stranger Valentine Bash, which is hosted by Dan Savage, the nationally syndicated sex columnist, gay rights activist, and editor of Seattle alt-weekly The Stranger. The main event: people bring items from failed relationships, introduce themselves and tell their stories to Savage on stage -- then choose a method for destroying the items.

Those methods include: blow torch, freezing by dry ice (really), sledge hammer, and others.

Some of the stories were terrific. A woman with a well-structured tale of infidelity announced the name of her ex-boyfriend's locally playing band several times; Savage announced a groan-worthy painting by her ex would appear as The Stranger's cover next week. We also watched video footage of one guy's ex-girlfriend undulate across a large screen in amateur belly dance style. Then the video camera was destroyed. My.

In my opinion, however, the best destruction was a cactus in a ceramic pot: the spiky plant was dipped into a dry ice cauldron, then presented on tongs to Savage. In one sledge hammer maneuver, he reduced it to flying splinters that caused people near the stage to duck.

It's worth saying: Savage is quite deft with the sledge hammer (something I never thought of in combination with that particular tool, to be honest). It's really too bad that this is The Stranger's Valentine Bash's last year (in ten).

He's also a great host and seems like a genuinely nice guy. We know he's got an edge, though -- particularly with a sledge hammer.

2007-02-13T13:10:00.000-08:00

Valentines

A few weeks ago, someone wrote in to The Stranger, the leading alt-weekly here, to scold anti-Valentiners.

The letter writer said that people who didn't like Valentine's Day when they weren't in relationships should send cards to everyone anyhow, and maybe even take a few pretty treats to a retirement home, and quit whining and let everyone enjoy it.

It was a nice anti-the-anti-Valentine's argument, really. Because at core, the holiday *can* be about love and good feeling and pretty hearts, and without the spend-all aspect, it's a fine idea.

So, I've been cutting out colored paper hearts.

Colors I've used include powder blue, orange, brown (chocolate-y), green, sun yellow (so glad to see that), royal blue, and, of course, bloomin' scarlet.

The red ones are still my favorites; they have the purity of the classic, Victorian image. But I like powder blue and chocolate as well. Also, yellow is my favorite color, so those are nearly as good as red -- even if they don't look good *next* to red (think traffic light).

I've found that they're surprisingly easy to cut free-hand -- it's kind of like a right-brain exercise: just let go and you'll cut it right. If not, they're easily chiseled to the right shape. They have such pretty, graceful curves: wasp-waisted bottoms and full tops, and lovely colors, ha! Yep, I'm still talking about cutting out hearts.

2007-02-11T22:02:00.000-08:00

Bands to be excited about now (according to me):

Hem. They're progressive folk from Brooklyn, although this is not a sound that says to me, "New York City." As a former resident of Jersey City, though, I realize that folk exists in NYC as well, of course -- the Knitting Factory; that one public radio station in Jersey City that broadcasts Laura Cantrell's pick of country, folk, and roots; and plenty of other examples.

But when you hear Hem, you'll know it isn't fast, hard-driving music, and that's pretty intrinsically linked with the urban Northeast -- Springsteen, the Cars, and all their postmodern successors. Not that Springsteen doesn't write folk as well -- he does, of course. But that wasn't his first step, was it?

Okay, but back to Hem. Listen to the song, "He Came to Meet Me." Beautiful song-writing. A number of magazines have written about them, and they have been called "American music at its best."

And, speaking of some lovely American music: The Innocence Mission is back, the band from Lancaster, Pa., with the heart-breaking vocals by Karen Peris, and poetic, thought-provoking lyrics. They've had a number of CDs, although I haven't heard music from them since 1995 or so -- time to catch up, I guess! What a treat this is.

Unexpectedly, I also came across Don Peris, the guitarist for The Innocence Mission -- he does independent work as well. His music is a real jewel as well.

And a band that was just recommended to me, Kings of Convenience. After a short listen, I'm now in love with their witty, stylish tunes, and the lyrics too. They're from Bergen, Norway, and arrive this month for a North American tour.

http://www.myspace.com/hem

www.myspace.com/theinnocencemissionPA

http://www.myspace.com/donperis

http://www.kingsofconvenience.com/#

2007-02-07T20:51:00.000-08:00

In Winter, a Sunny, Sandy Topic

Working as a professional sand castle artist, or sand
sculptor, is a lot like life, says John Gowdy. "Occasionally it collapses -- and when that happens, we make something else from the pile: occasionally, something even better."

Gowdy lives in the coastal New Jersey town of Galloway, and gets paid to fly around the world creating sand sculptures that are sometimes 30 feet tall.

However, he didn't always work in sand. In 2006, Gowdy retired from 20 years of fighting fires. He looks forward to full-time beach-going.

Once, in Italy, Gowdy was finishing the papal collar
on a 15-foot likeness of the Pope when the structure
returned to the beach, dust to dust. As he considered
how to resurrect the heap, the nervous event
supervisor told him that the Cardinal and other
priests would arrive within an hour to bless the
figure.

"I felt like Edward Scissorhands," he said,
imitating the speedy hand-work of that Johnny Depp
character. "In cases like that, you have to make it
happen quickly."

He got started in the late 1980s, making
castles for his kids with sand and popsicle sticks on
the Jersey Shore. In 1987 he took third place in his
first professional competition, in Fort Myers, Fla.
"Until then, I hadn't known sand sculpting could be an
occupation: I met interesting people, talked to them,
and was amazed that they made a living at this."

After training in the early 1990s with San
Diego-area professional sand sculptor Dave Henderson,
Gowdy began getting work at competitions around the
world, and creating sculptures for beach
weddings and other events closer to home. Today his
weekends are full of sand castles.

"I never would have thought I could get paid for this
and travel the world doing it!" he says.

--me

2007-01-23T20:05:00.000-08:00

The Inspirationals!

(C'mon, Pixar, animate 'em...)

Aren't they great? People who've worked out a way to live happily doing what they like. Examples, below:

Janice Taylor, whose web site is called Our Lady of Weight Loss, bills herself as a weight-loss artist because she makes art about food rather than overeating. She has been featured in the New York Times, NY Post, NY Daily News, Good Housekeeping, and on radhttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifio shows for her book, witty e-newsletter about healthy eating, and her distinctive story.

When not giving talks about her book, producing her e-newsletter, or creating art, Taylor teaches classes in healthy eating and works as a personal coach.
http://www.ourladyofweightloss.com/artware/supper/index22.asp

Ze Frank's web broadcast, The Show, was featured in the New York Times in May 2006, after he pledged to air the show every weekday for a year, starting in March. Clever, funny, and politically and personally insightful, the show is not only a forum for Frank, but for his nationwide network of viewers, dubbed Sportsracers. He encourages viewers to create video and animated segments to use in the show as well. He works as a consultant, flying around the country to give irreverent speeches about creativity, which are peppered with just the right amount of earnestness.

www.zefrank.com/theshow

Lastly, other inspiring people are still in the nascent stages -- but working hard -- at enacting their dreams. One of those is Portland, Ore. anti-sugar specialist David Vanadia.

Vanadia, a storyteller and instructor by trade, is so addicted to refined sugar that he once drove from Manhattan to the Girl Scout cookie distribution plant in Brooklyn, in order to purchase six boxes of the first Thin Mints of the season. After trying and failing to quit sugar on several occasions, Vanadia went cold-turkey in Nov. 2005, and stayed off for a year. After that, he allowed himself some sweets for a four-day period starting with Halloween, then quit again, with short breaks for Christmas and Valentine's Day.

Vanadia's web site has attracted other sugar addicts, as well as lively discussions of inordinate fondnesses for Reese's Pieces; he also arranges workshops at a local health food grocery to talk with others who want to quit the habit.
www.stopbeingsweet.com

**

Cheers to all, and good luck.

2007-01-16T07:46:00.000-08:00

Today, SNOW! Holy heck, it's like I moved to Boston insteada Seattle! I love it.

Because I'd missed that part of last night's weather report, it was a surprise to open the blinds and see everything white, with people walking through the quiet falling snow, and cars going up their designated tracks. It's still coming down, too.

My apartment building is on the side of a hill -- I'm on the third floor, but am on the sixth floor if I take the back stairs. So the view out the window, besides much beautiful white stuff, is of the occasional car that doesn't have 4wd or front-wheel-drive, spinning its wheels mightily trying to make the hill.

Hurray, hurray! Snow, I mean, not so much lack of traction for the occasional vehicle. ;-)

2007-01-10T18:07:00.000-08:00

Wow! I feel a million times better since spending three weeks in the Sun Belt, where I gained freckles on my nose (even though it was rainy for at least a third of the time, if not half) and surrounded by fairly friendly people, and was around family a lot. This last had its ups and downs, but it was certainly good to see them and be at a more casual distance.

Bottom line: I like visiting places -- I'm aware that if I lived full-time in Houston, there would be pluses but also minuses, don't worry. If I can work out a way to spend long periods in various places in the course of a year, getting sun breaks and snow breaks and breaks from outrageous heat and humidity or else from overcast, that's what I'd regard as ideal. The change of scenery is always good.

As a result, I also feel highly motivated here in the new year. Instead of procrastinating on side details, I've been doing them right away, with an energy that I simply didn't have in early December. I am filled with can-do thoughts, and I'm aware that by setting goals for each week and following them, it's possible to accomplish amazing things.

So, here in Seattle it is snowing tonight, which is grand. A million flakes filling the sky in the early evening. I hope it will stick. This, too, makes me want to live in a place that gets frequent snows. Not a whim! I talked to a friend recently who said that when her home of NYC doesn't get enough snow, she goes upstate. Now, that I can relate to!

On to other news: I can't believe that in the past few days there've been TWO cases of a plane passenger being stung by a scorpion: on a Chicago-to-Vermont flight and another to Toronto.

And I thought I had problems with the delays in Denver last week.

And, another thing: scorpions in the already really limited foot room is a creepy thing to contemplate.

Yeesh.

2006-12-01T11:57:00.000-08:00

The Mystery of Old Plant Roots...

The company Southern Bulbs was featured in a New York Times article a couple of months ago. Several horticulturally interested people drive around the South looking for plant hybrids that are well-adjusted to hot, humid climates. In the course of this mission, they meet a lot of people who live way out in the country and don't always get that many visitors. They have some interesting conversations.

I thought the story was enchanting, and kinda wished I'd known about it first. But isn't that always the case?!

Now, two of the Southern Bulbs folks are traveling around Central America. They mention that they love their work, because they have that mission, to find these particular bulbs and make them more available. It's exciting.

http://www.trackbrad.com/centralamerica/

2006-11-28T19:27:00.000-08:00

http://www.simonsays.com/content/book.cfm?sid=449&pid=510941&agid=2

This is an excerpt from Ariel Levy's very smart book, Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture, which is out in paperback now.

A contributing editor at New York magazine, she wrote the book after looking around and realizing that "as a culture, we had become like one big lap dance club."

Without being judgmental of the people involved, who are mainly just mirroring the entire culture and what is considered "cool" now, she makes excellent points.

Check it out if you're curious -- it's well-written and, I'd say, a breath of fresh air!

Levy was also interviewed by Terri Gross on "Fresh Air" this week. See WHYY.com or NPR.com for a transcript.

It was a good interview. One thing she mentioned was: when she was growing up, her father encouraged her "to be funny, and to be smart, without saying much either way about my looks." She observed, "I think that's one of the greatest things that a father can do for a daughter."

2006-11-27T00:09:00.000-08:00

Holiday Elf List

Here's an idea that I like...my friend Deborah has posted the following on her livejournal blog page. She's asking people to post 10 material things that they'd love to have for Christmas/Hannukah/the winter holidays of light, etc. Then, people are encouraged to look around at others' lists, to see if they already have something the others are seeking, that they no longer need. One person's trash is another person's treasure, etc.

I think I'll do it. But first, here's Deborah's version of the process:

Sunday, November 26th, 2006
Step One
Make a post (public, friends-locked, filtered...whatever you're comfortable with) to your Livejournal or other blog. The post should contain your list of 10 holiday wishes. The wishes can be anything at all, from simple to medium to really big. Make sure these wishes are things you really, truly want.

If you wish for real life things, make sure you include some sort of contact info in your post, whether it's your address or just your email address.

Also, make sure you post some version of these guidelines in your LJ, or link to this post (it'll be public) so that the holiday joy will spread.

Step Two
Surf around your friendslist (or friendsfriends, or just random journals) to see who has posted their list. And now here's the important part:
*If you see a wish you can grant, and it's in your heart to do so, make someone's wish come true. Sometimes someone's trash is another's treasure, and if you have a leather jacket you don't want or a gift certificate you won't use -- or even know where you could get someone's dream purebred Basset Hound for free -- do it.
*You needn't spend money on these wishes unless you want to. The point isn't to put people out, it's to provide everyone a chance to be someone else's holiday elf--to spread the joy. Gifts can be made anonymously or not; it's your call.
*There are no rules with this project, no guarantees, and no strings attached. Just... wish, and it might come true. Give, and you might receive. And you'll have the joy of knowing you made someone's holiday special.

Please Note: The list that was posted here originally was Deborah's, not mine. Cheers!

2006-11-22T14:15:00.000-08:00

A Roadtrip Patched Together from Strangers

http://www.zefrank.com/thewiki/RunningFool_Trip

This fan of Zefrank.com is patching together a trip across the country from volunteers who also like the show, who've offered him rides in their cars and sometimes places to stay.

I'm sending you this link because you have a car and might be interested, or might at least like hearing about it, or might know other interested folks. Btw: he doesn't need Oregonians, because he's headed to Portland and has plenty of contacts there. Cheers and happy Thanksgiving...

2006-11-17T15:03:00.000-08:00

In other odd bits, I just heard that a high school classmate, Brady Smith, married Tiffani Amber Thiessen, who used to star on 90210 and Saved By The Bell, and did a good job, I thought, in a Woody Allen movie.

About Mr. Smith, mostly I remember how the yearbook advisor, Ms. Waki, used to say, "Oh, Braa-dy." Also, he drew cartoons and still does so.

He is also an actor and seems to be doing a swell job of getting roles; he's appeared on ER and has a long list of credits on imdb; a couple of high school friends say they've seen him in AFLAC and dog food commercials. Anybody need any more Hollywood trivia? Here's the InStyle magazine video on their meeting and wedding...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3gAWOZ8CGw

2006-11-14T13:03:00.000-08:00

Jam and Bread

So, fall is rolling along. Because I have work here and a few friends, things are going well here. I like having my own apartment, and knocking around in everyday life.

Speaking of that, I have never quite lost the feeling of gratitude for everyday things that I got while living in hostels abroad. It's really about having the texture of domesticity. In the Beijing hostel, a couple of Norwegians and I often made tea and had bread with Nutella for breakfast in our room. As they observed, "At home, you don't have to eat the same thing every morning. If you want jam instead of Nutella, you can have it."

Sounds simple, but means a lot.

Regarding the weather here, I do fine unless someone asks me to declare that I love it. When challenged about it, I get miffed. For instance, the other day a man hauled out a quote that gets mentioned far too much here: that the annual rainfall is actually lower than that for New York and many other places. (He was originally from New York, too.) To me this sounds like nonsense: if the drizzle is a constant, I'd much rather have a good downpour. I miss snow, too.

That said, fall has been really nice: the leaves are all red and yellow; some streets are entirely red, and the colors fall in interesting patterns on the sidewalks. The fact that Seattle has fall foliage was a surprise to me last year when I arrived, as I expect it is to many visitors. It starts in early October, which is maybe on par with Boston, not sure.

Speaking of being far north, this is the first time I've lived in a state bordering with Canada. Think of that! And not even icy. Even more odd!

2006-11-14T12:39:00.000-08:00

Red Leaves, Brochure Copy

Yesterday, trekked to the suburbs for an assignment through a creative agency, to write copy for a financial brochure.

Took two buses out there, then learned that they just wanted to have a meeting and pass off the materials. It was kind of annoying not knowing this in advance -- I'd packed a lunch and brought snacks, planning to be there all day.

But ultimately, it was great to be able to leave again. The leaves were all yellow and orange and umber. I always forget, also, how beautiful the evergreen forests of the Northwest are; my neighborhood mostly has a view of downtown and the largest cathedral in the area, which rings its bells entirely too long. Not that I'm complaining -- I like the neighborhod (though the bells do ring too long!)

Have been amazingly busy with work the past three-four weeks, which is good. It is work from renewable sources, too -- the best kind. Also, yesterday a long-time contact passed my name to a business owner who might need case studies written. Good to be reminded to pursue that particular vein of work.

Currently I'm reading Paul Auster's The Red Notebook. I never took to Auster before, but I like this book; it's sort of a series of true fables. Auster always writes about everyday magic, I think. He is very popular in France.

Speaking of Europe, a friend from my neighborhood/creativity group in Seattle is traveling soon to Denmark, Berlin, and Poland, to join another traveling Seattle friend. Hearing about this got me thinking about northern Europe, and soon I was dying to go: the better to use my new-found stoicism about long periods of gray weather, heh. I have one magazine contact for Europe, so I thought I'd just pitch stories and go. But they're late-payers, so I've since reevaluated and decided to keep a low profile/save money, etc., for now. (How boring! But always good to defy credit card industry advertising expectations, right?)

So, how is everyone? Cooked anything wonderful lately? I am into the fall squashes. Ooh, acorn and butternut...

2006-11-03T14:18:00.000-08:00

Last night I saw an Icelandic band called Amiina, at a club here called Chop Suey. myspace.com/amiina

They seemed very Old World, though with electronic sounds behind it all. Violins, cellos, a saw, water glasses, and the eerie tinkling of a mini-casio occurred across a lurking background generated on laptops.

When I say Old World, I mean it was like watching people in a living room putting together sounds, dressed charmingly and smiling at each other in the sweetest and most winning way, as if they're having a friendly, amusing time. It made me think of the Little House on the Prairie books, of people creating their own entertainment during a long winter.

They were four women, but not, refreshingly, known as a "girl band." They were dressed in jewel-toned 80s dresses (red, blue, green, and navy-patterned), and before they started, they put a lace paper fringe along the front of a table where the laptop was, as if they were decorating for Christmas.

We had to chalk some of this up to the much-talked-about uniqueness of Iceland...Cool.

2006-10-19T09:03:00.000-07:00

Uh-oh, sugar wooziness is setting in! Oh, that's right, I was supposed to *avoid* refined sugar. Usually I do -- but when it's set in front of me, say, in the form of doughnuts, often I take it.

The situation: temp position in north Seattle. With the usual office temptations of sugar and carbs -- but not too bad on that scale. I've seen worse: one place where I worked had special breakfasts every Friday, which were often from McDonald's, or else consisted of heaps of danish. One place had a taquitos habit.

Anyhow, their habit becomes my habit. One nyc office had a kitchen full of fruit juices. They lined the walls with it. That was only good for a while. Liquid nourishment has its drawbacks.

Other things I've concluded today:
it is better, in my opinion, to get up at 7:30 than 6:15, and I would give money to do so.

socked-in white-out drizzle conditions such as those we've had since wednesday are easier to take when i am very, very busy in an office job, and indoors.

that said, when i walk around outside at lunchtime or in the evening or morning, eventually i get tired of the weather. still, it's encouraging that when i'm busy all day, it just becomes "natural" weather -- sort of the way I imagine life in London to be. Yesterday at lunch I walked out into the gray sky and drizzle and my first impression was of the bright red and yellow.

Nice how colors pop like that against the gray. In New York, the red sandstone buildings of SoHo popped against the overcast too. Not that I'm getting soft, or that I'd *ever* prefer rain over SNOW. But the colors have been nice.

2006-10-16T11:42:00.000-07:00

Charles S. Schulz International Airport?

Snoopy flyers:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_M._Schulz_-_Sonoma_County_Airport

Anybody been through this airport? It's in Sonoma County, Calif., which is a good spot for a whimsical name -- to start anyone out on a tour of the wine country.

It's nice to have a cheerful, non-bureaucratic-type name waiting at the end of a journey, don't you think?

2006-10-03T22:29:00.000-07:00

Love Boat sunset, Autumn

This afternoon was overcast, but if you looked down the hill in downtown onto Elliott Bay, where the huge Love Boat-style ferries depart for Bainbridge Island and the other 'suburban' islands, the cloud shelf ended, and you could see clear sky. The sunset was very much a brooding winter one: the edge of the cloud bank was a bruised brownish red, with pale pumpkin-colored sky soaring beyond.

That view is just down the hill from my place, so I see it pretty often. Puget Sound is always caught as a blue or pewter rectangle between buildings, a framed portrait of the water, and it's cool when one of the massive white ferries move into the frame. They are designed to carry many cars, the largest I've seen for conveying commuters across waters. Still, there's plenty of walk-on traffic too: a pedestrian bridge crosses a highway near the waterfront to reach the ferry terminal, and before each departure people emerge from offices and stream to the piers.

Water views are nice.

Today I tried not to think of the sky as sooty or dingy, although both described it pretty well: lack of clarity, and lidded over with clouds. At a certain point, after emerging from a brightly lit office, I thought of what someone had said in late May on just such a day -- actually, it was drizzling that day -- when I was volunteering in the offices of a film festival: "Isn't it just the kind of weather that makes you want to go curl up at home and sob?" Um, yeah. Luckily, though, today that feeling passed for me.

Generally, though, I felt exhilarated by the ripple of autumn in the air. Fortunately, I was able to go striding about in the late afternoon, in the kind of light that brings about feelings of romance, youth, vitality. All of those things are about to die in fall, I suppose, so they sing ever higher. Well, perhaps romance doesn't die in winter, but it becomes, well, blanketed, right? Hmm -- I don't know where this metaphor is going. Anyhow, all of these were present: falling temperature, jackets, the kind of subdued light that makes me want to sit indoors with a good novel.

It may be nearly time to bake gourd vegetables. And root out the better leather shoes. So, how's the weather where you are?

Faces

2006-09-18T15:22:00.000-07:00

Faces
Posted by: cat527 on Buzznet

Italian Market, Philadelphia. Summer '05.

2006-09-18T15:20:00.001-07:00

Leaves, Philadelphia
Posted by: cat527 on Buzznet

In appreciation of fall...

2006-09-17T22:38:00.000-07:00

Hungry

Today I was listening to blues songs on KPLU and heard this lyric, "I want you, baby, like a chicken wants corn!" Now that's some scratching need.

Polar Bear Autumn Swim

Saturday: a switcheroo weather day: gray in the morning, beautiful and sunny for the long afternoon into evening. Very nice!

Today was a typical Northwest autumn day: subdued with banked blue-ish clouds, completely overcast. Despite some morning fuzzy-headedness that was hard to shake, I didn't mind -- probably because yesterday's sunshine was still in my eyes. Also, on overcast days I feel more accepting of things. At least, in the beginning.

Roused from bed, I went to a church in my neighborhood. This was my second Sunday there, and it's the first place where I've liked the sermons. The minister has spirit, seems opinionated, and talks about finding peace and happiness in our lives and making them whole, despite the fact that life and daily experience so rarely seem easily assembled into anything whole. He also talked about accepting things as they come, and realizing that our attempts to control things can never control the whole picture. As soon as the service was over, I darted out the door to head down to Lake Washington as early as possible.

Today's high was 64 -- so, along with the overcast, it was not looking like a typical day to hang out in a bathing suit. But because I failed to swim in yesterday's sun, I was determined to immerse today. My destination was the approximately 22-mile long lake that runs between Seattle and its eastern suburbs. It has chilly water year-round.

Let's just say that I was the only one I saw getting into that water. Today, I'd estimate its temperature was 55 degrees or so. I went out slowly, over pebbles, and could immediately feel that the winter chill had set in. Not colder than a mountain lake, but, hey, nothing to sneeze at, either.

But it was bracing and terrific once I got the nerve to swim -- once I let go of my need to control, I guess you could say.

Total immersion in that cold, wild-seeming water makes the day look entirely different: all the earlier fuzzy headedness is sluiced away, like a morning shower times ten. Everything looks bright and fresh to me. It's possible that I'd like polar bear swims.

Puget Sound off Seattle, from Space Needle

2006-09-17T16:56:00.000-07:00

Puget Sound off Seattle, from Space Needle
Posted by: cat527 on Buzznet

Here's to give the general idea of the pewter-colored weather. This is from November 2005.

High Life

2006-09-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

High Life
Posted by: cat527 on Buzznet

Bait shop, Twin Rivers, Wis., Feb. '05

Olive oil-savory eggs, bread

2006-09-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

Olive oil-savory eggs, bread
Posted by: cat527 on Buzznet

Blue Front Cafe, Sturgeon Bay, Wis., Feb. '05

Center of the Span

2006-09-13T11:50:00.000-07:00

Center of the Span
Posted by: cat527 on Buzznet

Sturgeon Bay, Wis., from Michigan St. Bridge, 02/08/05

Sun shadows, March, Washington D.C.

2006-09-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

Sun shadows, March, Washington D.C.
Posted by: cat527 on Buzznet

Sun in winter -- shadows of the newspaper boxes.

Pigs, sheep, chorizo

2006-09-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

Pigs, sheep, chorizo
Posted by: cat527 on Buzznet

I'm re-running some favorite pics...this, from Philadelphia's Italian Market, summer 2005.

2006-09-06T18:17:00.000-07:00

Today, temping at an international engineering firm that created the NYC subway and has offices everywhere, although I haven't heard much about them before. They're highly involved in transit here too, as well as everywhere else they're located.

I'm not interested in numbers, but I'm halfway intrigued by what they do, because it involves building places that I've actually seen around Seattle: transit stations, bridges, the Anacortes ferry landing. Also because my dad is an architectural engineer and I grew up around 3-sided rulers and bridge exaltation.

On family drives we were taught to take time to observe the bridges. Maybe some of you guys learned to smell the flowers...but for me, it was all about struts, support work, and the elegance of hanging suspension.

Another thing I remembered today: when I'm feeling a bit lost in a numbers world, it's reassuring to see their interest in art or beauty or good travel or people, as well. One of the engineers has on his wall framed blown-up photos of his prized dahlias. They are all close-ups taken with a Nikon 9 or 10 megapixel digital, and they are pure color: magenta, yellow, the light greens of petal edges, edged in platinum frames.

2006-08-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

Reading food blogs is all about research -- building connections for myself, I say -- although really, it's largely about feeling happy. Hurray, recipes for Turkish food.

Here's a blog -- not food-related this time -- about the life of a writer and expat in Istanbul. I like her picture of the snow on the city in January, and comparisons to New York. In the more recent entries, she seems to be back in America.

http://resplendancies.typepad.com/resplendant_reflectionsro/2006/02/au_retour.html

Tijen Inaltong is an author based in Antalya, Turkey, and I love her writing -- it's warm, humanistic, aware of nature, and also revolves around food. She worked in the computer industry for many years, and has an MA in public relations.

http://zeninthekitchen.blogspot.com/

2006-08-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

Phillyblog

I've been reading Phillyblog, a website divided into neighborhoods; posters log in and discuss day to day matters in their own neighborhoods, and answer questions about specific areas for people thinking of moving to the area. They also sometimes plan gatherings -- it's a cool and chatty forum.

One of the cute things: users pick names when they register. Usually they're one of these: Pretzel Vendor, TastyKake Maker, Cheesesteak GURU, and Water Ice Vendor -- all great regional references.

Typically I read the forum for Art Museum area, where I lived for a while. Today I was, as usual, a little alarmed by the petty and sometimes non-petty crime there. For instance, apparently someone in a car shot at a bicyclist the other night, in front of a well-known yuppie bistro. Another poster, citing the reasons that a neighborhood was safe, said that her apartment was only robbed once, and that was because the landlord put a sign on the front door alerting tenants that the lock was broken and they should pick up new keys the next day. Funny. But the odd thing is, even if you put up such a sign in Seattle, in most areas you *still* would not be robbed; I would put money on it.

So: cloudy but low-crime. Hm. But no cheesesteak! Ah dear, working with the trade-offs ;-). Salmon. Yes.

2006-08-21T13:04:00.000-07:00

No Fiction Like Contemporary Fiction?!

While I think there are many terrific contemporary writers, the topic of whether fiction these days is deplorable compared with the early 20th century and 19th century always comes up on listservs. And, admittedly, publishing these days is mostly about money.

Still, what a depressing thought that there's no good fiction! With that in mind, I'd like to post some of my favorites. Always happy to hear yours, too...

Homestead, by Rosinna Lippi
The Buddha of Suburbia, by Hanif Kureishi
(travelogue) Dinner with Persephone, by Patricia Storace
(travelogue) Neither East Nor West, by Christiane Bird
Paris to the Moon, by Adam Gopnik
Fabulous Small Jews, by Joseph Epstein
Other authors:
Alice Munro
Ehud Havazelet
Lorrie Moore
Sherman Alexie
Rick Bragg
Rick Bass (any stories; I haven't read his nonfiction)
Edna O'Brien
Jill Ker Conway

Others that I'd like to read: White Teeth, by Zadie Smith
and, for fun, Comfort Me With Apples, by Ruth Reichl
Snow, by Orhan Pamuk

2006-08-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

Channeling His Girl Friday (the time period, if not Rosalind Russell...)

In order to drum up work, I made cold calls this afternoon. On the last one, I reached an old-time ad man who was tremendously entertaining. Our conversation went like this:

Catherine: Hi, may I speak with your creative director?

Him: (pausing, not impolitely) And who are you?

C: I’m a freelance writer.

H: (hearty East Coast delivery) Ohh, you poor thing.

C: (wryly, after a beat) Ah, well, I appreciate your *sympathy*...

H: Well, you know where sympathy falls in the dictionary...

C: Oh -- yep, I know. [the joke is that it falls between "shit" and "syphilis"]
So, do you place any freelance work?

H: (relishing giving me a hard time) If I have a creative director, why would I need a *freelancer*?

C: Er, well, we all outsource, right?

H: Ohh, you poor thing. Here it is nearly five o'clock, and you're getting nothing but abuse. (pause) This is a three-person shop, I should tell you.

C: (having lost all hope) So, do you ever use freelance writers?

H: Oh, of course. I’m not a *complete* asshole. Although -- well, I’m a work in progress.

C: (surprised that this is turning around) Well aren’t we all...(laughing uncertainly)

To my complete surprise, this long-time ad man, who divulged at one point that he was born in Washington, D.C.'s George Washington Hospital, went on to brainstorm where else I should try. He named several graphic design firms, asked if I’d tried Publicis, and said he’d be glad to refer me to others if I’d send an e-mail; he might think of something overnight.

It was great to talk to someone in an old ad agency, a place that moves at a different pace than the modern age, where people answer the phone and talk to you in a real way that has nothing to do with corporate reality. I liked that a lot.

2006-08-14T13:13:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm just addicted to links lately. Here's a blog by a woman who calls her boyfriend "busnerd" -- they both use only public transportation to get around in Seattle. That's not so unusual in itself, although it's a bit unusual for people who work in Redmond, Bellevue, and other suburbs. This entry is about their trip to Mt. Rainier via Flexcar.

http://blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/buschick/archives/104891.asp

2006-08-14T11:16:00.000-07:00

I like this woman's blog, Bakerina...it is partly about food, and is a pleasure to read, language-wise.

http://www.bakerina.com/

2006-08-14T10:16:00.000-07:00

Shopping for Halloween Costumes, late 70s.

Very witty entry about Ben Cooper costumes, I thought. Does anyone remember that name? I didn't, but they're the classic plastic smock and plastic face-covering mask fastened in back with a snappy rubber band that breaks rather easily.

This is from a Muppets fan site that I came upon by accident, searching for Halloween parades. Turns out this person hosts a Muppets one, where the incidence of Beaker costumes is astoundingly high. Read on for more info...

http://www.toughpigs.com/journalhalloween2005a.htm

2006-08-12T00:09:00.000-07:00

Favorite Movie List...

A while back, I Googled for a list of eccentric comedies and didn’t find much. There's always checking people’s compiled lists on Amazon. But that failure has prompted me to add yet another list to the Internet: some of my favorite movies. For what it’s worth, here they are.

Raising Victor Vargas - a few weeks in a boy’s life in a housing project in NYC’s Lower East Side, during which he falls in love

Elling -- gentle comedy about two men released from a Norwegian mental institution to live on their own

Laurel Canyon -- conflicts between medical intern son and his mother, a music producer in LA, after the introduction of the son's fiancee.

High Art -- an idealistic photography magazine editor meets and is drawn to a famous older female photographer, who is now addicted to heroin

You Can Count On Me -- my first sighting of Laura Linney, wow. She is terrific in this, as a single mother in a blue-collar town in upstate New York, whose estranged brother shows up back in town. Matthew Broderick has a small role.

A Taxing Woman -- comedy/smart action movie/drama about a female tax collection detective in Japan

Aimee and Jaguar -- beautifully filmed romance in WWII Berlin, between a Jewish woman and a Nazi officer's wife

Morvern Callar -- very dark but charged drama set in Scottish port town; woman experiences difficult things; unexpected situations develop...

Sex and Lucia -- In Spain, woman meets famous novelist whose work she loves, they fall in love; totally out-of-the-ordinary problems ensue.

Wings of the Dove -- beautifully filmed and set romance between Helena Bonham Carter and a man who needs to marry a wealthier woman in order to do something -- remain in Europe? something.

A Price Above Rubies -- Orthodox Jewish woman who wants passion and freedom explores different side of life

The Whole Wide World - a romance between the man who wrote Conan the Barbarian and a schoolteacher/writer set in rural Texas; very interesting and thoughtful

Household Saints -- daughter in Little Italy wants to become a saint, sets her life to doing so

Trust -- my favorite movie of the early 90s -- offbeat, original Hal Hartley film

A Room with a View

Babette's Feast

Not too surprisingly, I also love Fight Club, Fargo, Trainspotting, Being John Malkovich, and Lost in Translation, and others that are on a lot of people's tops list. Also: Y Tu Mama Tambien, Amoresperros, and Secretary. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (and nearly anything by Almodovar). And Saturday Night Fever.

Also good: Eat Drink Man Woman. Me and You and Everyone We Know. Thank You For Not Smoking is a good satire.

Movies I'd like to see: Conversations with Other Women, starring Helena Bonham Carter and Aaron Eckhart.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Little Miss Sunshine.
Half Nelson.
Kitchen Stories (Norway)
Friday Night (France)

So, what're your favorites?

2006-08-11T11:07:00.000-07:00

100-mile diet; at least there are lots of fresh blackberries and blueberries around here...

"If I am eating bananas and oranges in the middle of winter," notes nutritionist Jennifer Adler, "I am just going to be craving sunshine and my body isn't going to be retaining Vitamin D in the same way because of the high potassium and sugar content."

Adler lives on Vashon Island, which is near Seattle in the Puget Sound. She was interviewed for an article in the magazine Conscious Choice, about the 100-mile diet, which involves eating only foods produced within 100 miles of where we live.

What she said makes a lot of sense, I had to admit. If we're eating sunshine foods, it seems natural that we'd crave the environment that surrounds such foods. Hello, Florida!

Adler lives in the woods on a rural island, and uses her kayak a lot, so she can gather food that way. She eats kelp pickle that she makes after harvesting it from the water, and gathers things from her yard like sheep sorel, dandelion greens, and chickweed. She also buys raw milk, local eggs and meat from a nearby farm.

Most northern diets also involve giving up coffee, tea, olive oil, chocolate, salt(!) and all tropical fruits. Some grains, too.

It's interesting to think what it might have been like for the Northwest tribes, gathering salmon, roots and berries, kelp and other seaweed, mushrooms, and native greens.

Undistracted by a global economy and cheap airfares, maybe they simply lived through each year, season by season. I suppose there were many ceremonies, dances, and gatherings to make life meaningful.

So, I'm thinking about how much eating a local diet might change my mindset, how it might make me positive and centered in a low-light atmosphere.

Apparently that food is deep within my system, though; after all, it's not only a way of life for most Americans, but I grew up in a place where bananas trees actually did grow, and oranges were produced six hours' drive away.

Today is the second overcast day in a row, a return to fall/winter conditions for the moment. And although I got up this morning and haven't had coffee or Vitamin C drink, it's hard to quell the thought that urges, "Sunshine, sunshine!" Of course, it's too soon -- as I said, the food is in my system and my mind. And maybe I can make the effort. Hm, it's a thought.

2006-08-07T13:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went with a friend to a hippie party in a large park on the Seattle waterfront. When we arrived, four kids were presenting sort of a play that involved feeling loved and joined with the earth. Sounds a bit much, I know, but it was actually rather nice.

After the play, a DJ turned on techno and we danced. It took place beside Lake Washington; the moon was nearly full and shone a trail across the water. The scene was quite beautiful. It made me think, hey, I wonder if there are parties like this on the Chicago - Lake Michigan waterfront?

I hadn't realized that techno had much of a role at hippie parties. Guess I'm out of it. I thought it was still all about Phish and The Grateful Dead!

2006-07-30T16:39:00.000-07:00

Backpacking

Went backpacking in the Cascades this weekend with a couple of old friends, on the eastern slope of the mountains.

We swam in a mountain lake with jewel-toned water. Ate far too many power bars, got (only one) blister, grew tired of the bumping load of a large backpack.

As wonderful as it was to be out there, the truth is, I think I've reached the age where I'll finally admit that I'd rather go to a mountain cabin and hike from there...Yes, I'm a weenie. I nearly wept with relief when I saw my apartment last night. I like kitchens and beds and bathrooms!

That said, the mountains were beautiful. Driving back, we took the scenic tour through Mt. Rainier National Park. It has the kind of scenery that I associate with booking Delta to reach. What can I say, I didn't grow up in a Rocky Mountain part of the country -- so I still have trouble remembering it's possible to drive only a few hours to find peaks on all sides and travel on a road cut into the side of a mountain face...

The eastern slope of the mountains -- furthest from Seattle and the coast -- was dry and delightfully sunny. As we headed back west towards Seattle, clouds descended in the usual coastal way.

Rainier National Park, with its dark conifer forests on either side of the narrow road, and mountains overshadowed by a steadily descending layer of swirling mist, had an interestingly doomed feeling: Twin Peaks scenery. At first, I just felt gripe-y at losing my good friend The Sun, but as we drove higher towards a place called Paradise inside the park, we moved further into the cloud cover. The mountains became mist-shrouded, and the scenery became a force to which we could only react, not be proactive.

We drove through short tunnels cut through the mountains, with arched stone entryways that may have been constructed during the Depression (a guess), and whipped around corners to see the astonishingly huge shoulders of Rainier descending in the mist. Because we never saw the entire mountain, only lines -- impossibly far apart -- of its sides visible through the dimness, Rainier seemed even more like Kong above the jungle, far larger than any of the other Rocky Mountains immediately surrounding it. Near sunset, we turned a corner to see amid the already jaw-dropping mountain landscape Rainier's summit visible above the mist: a massive volcano, its flat, blasted-off top magnificently capped in snow that glowed golden and cerise in the falling light.

2006-07-21T14:30:00.000-07:00

Godzilla Attacks Seattle, Causes Heat Wave

The rest of this overheated nation can take comfort: mid-90s temps will reach Seattle today and continue through the weekend!

That's an astonishing fact here in the Northwest, home of the unofficial motto "take a good sweater" and of the occasional un-air-conditioned grocery store. It might even be akin to an attack by a giant lizard. It makes for good swimming in chilly Lake Washington, though.

I hope everyone's holding up well here in late July. Is it just me, or is the summer passing quickly? I guess that's just a reality of a west coast summer. Beach Boys, you lied! But I guess they were from southern California.

Okay, does anyone have nominations for great summer food? I am hungry and seeking light-eating ideas.

2006-07-17T16:51:00.000-07:00

Time Capsule 1973, Boston-area Rabbi, Mystery

I've been reading a book called Tuesday the Rabbi Saw Red, by Harry Kemelman.

I found it lying on a shelf in the library's fiction section, and didn't realize till after I'd read a bit that it was a mystery. The rabbi in question lives in a town that seems to be based on Marblehead, Mass., and commutes to a teaching job in Boston. In Marblehead, he has a Conservative congregation.

As a book set in 1973, it's not so dated as to be impossible to read, but definitely has a certain period flavor.

If you've ever read anything set in the early '70s, you might have noticed how astonishingly social conventions have changed in the last 30-odd years. The use of language was totally different -- much more what you'd expect from a world in which some people still wore hats. And in which women were almost entirely clerical staff or at home.

The feminist movement did a whirlwind job in a short time, when I consider all that. The college where the rabbi teaches is a former women's college, so when he first goes there, he is surprised to find that the dean is a woman. He innnocently says to the person referring him, "She's the dean of the college? Not the dean of students, you mean?" The person's reply implies: 'Yes, I understand your confusion, but it's a former women's college.'

When another prof loses his job, the students say to the Dean, "We have it on good authority that you're looking to hire two new men to replace him." The use of "men" as the standard is such a time capsule. It's really interesting that such progess has been made that we automatically say "people" these days. In some ways, the language used in the late 60s and early 70s is so different from the looser language of today that it's like the distinction between British and American English.

To recap: although the book's definitely a time capsule, it's not disrespectful, so I didn't have trouble reading it. It's kind of a funny little book, and an interesting look into the time.

2006-07-05T14:09:00.001-07:00

Summers of Drawn Curtains

My former coworker Caroline McDonald, who lives in upper New York state, reflects that the feel of indoor life in her current summers is very different from those of her North Carolina childhood. Her recollections of her great-aunt's house, below, sound very much like my grandmother's house in east Texas. My mother was always saying to my dad, "We can't go up there in the summer unless she runs the air conditioner!" Caroline says,

"At my great aunt's house in the mountains of North Carolina, no matter how hot it was outside, it seemed cool in her house. That's because the shades were drawn and the house darkened from the intensely hot, humid sun. There was also a stillness, everything in its place, with soft reflections of the dim light on tabletops and hardwood and linoleum floors.

"Meals in the summer were amazing: homegrown sweet corn, sliced tomatoes, fried squash and okra and fried chicken--and watermelon and cantaloupe. And most important was the fragrant cornbread--southern style, which is made with white cornmeal. It's very light, not sweet and the texture is crumbly. It's hard to find cornbread like that anywhere else."

2006-07-03T14:49:00.000-07:00

Others' Summers

On this fantastic day before the Fourth, as beautiful weather fortunately continues, here's a summer memory from Des Moines, Ia. -- I asked my friend Gretchen Proksa, a Chicago neighbor, to share hers here. She says:

I too remember tornado sirens
and green skies. After storms my dad would walk with
us around the neighborhood with bare feet so we could
jump in the puddles.

I would ride my bike to friends' houses,
especially the friends who had pools!

Or get so hot running and playing outside,
then come inside to get a popsicle and watch tv
in the basement and get so cold down there we
needed a blanket. Then going back outside to get all
hot again.

My parents said we could stay outside until the
streetlights came on, then we had to come home.

I remember eating corn on the cob (and needing it to
be cut off the cob during the braces years) and
grilled hamburgers. And getting excited when Dad
bought marshmallows to roast over the grill embers.

Ah, to be young and worry free!

2006-06-29T16:00:00.000-07:00

Summertime...and the living is easy...

Gotta say, I've never heard the luxuriant tones of that song in quite the same way as I do this year. That's doubtless because I've never felt quite so huge a relief at having "summer" arrive in any place as in Seattle. It's like the gladness of someone resurfaced from being caught underwater, who'd been unsure whether they would eventually burst through the surface again. Sound melodramatic? I only wish it were ;-). Right now, though, it's all about light-joy; that is, sunlight joy.

Northwest summer is new to me, of course. But a Seattle native friend reflected that the recent heat wave (two rather long days of 90-plus weather) was a bit like the Augusts and Septembers of their youth. They said evocative things, which made me think about summer and how many of our memories reside there.

Even for children in hot climates -- such as the one where I grew up -- summer is often about a greater amount of play: the delicious feeling of being out of school for a long stretch, exploring forests, having picnics, swimming. What were your childhood summers like?

Mine were about -- in part:

hearing tornado and hurricane watches on the radio; the sky flushing a heavy green before a thunderstorm; and the locusts' deafening thrum -- the latter getting louder as the start of school approached. Also, fresh tomatoes, and watermelon split open on a picnic table.

How do you recall summer?

2006-06-22T19:29:00.000-07:00

(Once you're past the bug-eyedness...funny, and great political points too.)

Ze ("Zay") Frank's cat, Annie, supposedly has an obsession with a World Cup soccer player, and imitates the player's spike while batting a ball around Frank's Brooklyn apartment.

That bit from the captions in "My Cat Annie" was my introduction to www.zefrank.com several years ago. The black & white films of Annie performing her repertoire of tricks around his Cobble Hill one-bedroom are funny, but it's the captions that make it great.

Last week, I was happy to hear that Ze Frank has all-new material, a video log being called "The Show" that updates every weekday. It was featured in the New York Times. http://www.zefrank.com/theshow/

Also on the site, I saw this link regarding a friend of a friend of Ze Frank's, which I would recommend:

Thanks!

2006-06-17T16:14:00.000-07:00

City Market, a convenience store in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood, makes its own hand-lettered signs. Many involve celebrities supposedly endorsing the market, and they appear on sandwich boards out front.

"Angelina sez, 'If City Market were a baby, I'd adopt it,'" read a recent one.

2006-06-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

Saturday thru Tuesday, a Chicago visit.

Chicago was great. Dazzlingly sunny the whole time, although it's worth noting that it's gray there basically from Oct. to March, so sun and mild temps were a nice treat for locals as well. They talked about how it had either been way too hot (april) or jacket weather till now.

The last day I was there, Tuesday, was getting on the edge of too hot, and was humid too. At one point it sprinkled, which felt icky because it was humid and ALSO dusty. Chicago is a surprisingly dry place, although humidity arises as well. Seems to be agricultural-type weather -- the Midwest.

The first night, I stayed at a hostel -- which was nice because I had a good time chatting with travelers there. The desk attendant was a funny guy who wants to move to Latin America, and sings in a band in Chicago. My 'roommate' was an Indonesian woman who spent the last 9 months teaching Indonesian in Washington DC through a transfer program. She spoke great English, and was Greyhounding (ugh) around the country. She had just bused in from Seattle (made me feel guilty about my Delta flight...) and planned to depart the next day for New York (!!). My.

Saturday I met up with a writer pal and went to the Printer's Row Book Fair, downtown. This was my second time attending the fair, and I can now conclude that I don't really enjoy it ;-), altho it was nice to see my friend. Probably the main reason I'm not a fan is that I always end up feeling way too sun-exposed after hanging out there for a bit. I think that, being an agricultural climate, Chicago can have very direct sun. The other reason is that I suppose I'm just not a fan of large, bustling book-oriented events. Maybe I just like my books indoors, or at individual readings, or in libraries -- but not at festivals. At any rate, the Printer's Row fest has plenty of fans, that's clear.

We saw Dave Eggers leaving a reading, then we wandered around checking if anything else interested us in the way of speaking engagements, but ultimately left to have coffee and rest up.

Then we took the El north to my former neighborhood, to ditch my stuff at Chris and Matt's condo, where I was cat-sitting for Sat. night. The nabe was very shady and nice, which was great. Their condo has all kindsa windows and is set back from the street so it's quiet, with a big bay window looking across the back garden and an ivy-covered wall.

Sat. night, met for drinks with my old roommate Erik and his girlfriend Betty. We had a good time. Sunday, went over to their place to package my stuff for shipping; they invited me to stay the remaining two nights, so I canceled the hostel reservation with relief. We went for sushi at a sidewalk cafe afterwards, then had a cone at this great Italian gelato place in their neighborhood. It was still beautiful out, which felt like some kinda unnatural, San Diego-style environment. All the neighborhooders were walking, biking, and scootering along the streets in their best skirts, scoop-neck tops, halters, and other warm weather regalia.

Monday I met with Chris and matt for dinner back in their nabe; they had returned the night before. We went to a place called Matilda, which also had really good food.

On the way back, a street guy stole $2 from me; I was giving it to him for the bus, but he pretended to get ready to put it into the ticket feeder, then hopped off at the next stop. Huh. A woman sitting behind the driver said, "He stole your money!" I said yes, he did. She looked after him indignantly, tsking. It felt good that someone cared.

Okay, I'm sure you didn't really need a whole run-down of the trip, but here it is nevertheless! Hope your weekend was good.

2006-05-09T12:15:00.000-07:00

To update, I have been housesitting/dogsitting in an undisclosed Seattle suburb for about ten days. Although I liked the place when I first saw it -- it's set among gorgeous coastal cedar forest -- I am not crazy about being here. The house is too dark, too isolating, too much among strip malls, and dogs are a lot more trouble than cats; they have to be walked several times a day.

I know that sounds obvious, but let's just say that I didn't realize what was involved in owning dogs in a leash-only setting (where they can't just be let into the yard) until I experienced it.

I did this for a change of place, and to see what it was like outside the city. Although I'm getting paid a moderate amount, it's mainly just supplementing the writing work I'm doing, and I'd probably be more work-productive in the city. Next time I would charge more, although I probably won't dog-sit again, period.

But, at least I've learned some things. For instance, although the physical setting is beautiful, that doesn't make it worth being where there's no mobility or action, and very little in the way of original, non-chain establishments.

Also, I learned to be less selfish, at least a bit. When I first arrived and realized that I'd have to get up earlier for the dogs (although I've since learned that I *don't* have to), and that I'd need to take them out frequently and serve their needs, this really blew my fairly self-motivated world.

Having those responsibilities made it a lot harder to concentrate on my work and get things done; I was always being interrupted, and I felt solely responsible for these two small individuals. All of this was concentrated by the fact that I was marooned in suburbia with little else to do besides go outside, or work on my computer. It was like a mini-test for kids.

Since then I've learned to take things a bit easier, not worry so much about what the dogs do, as long as I know I've done my duties.

I've thought of writing an essay called How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Use the Retractable Leash.

Said leash did, in fact, make my life a lot easier. One of the dogs is a typical 'little dog'. She flutters around to all the nooks and crannies of the yards to smell every last thing, lingering endlessly in spots, and isn't very smart. Following her with a short leash made me feel attached at the hip, but the retractable frees things up considerably -- even if I do have to detach her from underbrush sometimes. It actually happens less often than not.

Fortunately, the other day I went to a suburban downtown, about two miles from here. It's pretty lively. I went into the Whole Foods and was dazzled by all the city-looking people there. People around here look much more suburban, and they're all getting in or out of cars; you only see them for a flash, or inside the Safeway.

When I first got here, I couldn't believe that anybody ever maintains their weight. Where is the exercise? It's been asked before, but deserves being asked repeatedly. Clearly, going to the gym is especially important in the 'burbs. I guess there's also going walking/jogging with friends, or having home equipment.

Since then I've located a pleasant, park-like hiking trail around the corner from this house. Also, one of the nearby narrow roads, which is lined with expensive houses set in the trees on big acreages, is edged by pine needle-topped riding trails. At first I thought that the area's name, Bridle Trails, was a typically fake suburban moniker. But then I noticed actual hoofprints in the pine needle trails. There was no poop, so they must clean it religiously. Can you imagine if horseback riders carried pooper-scoopers? Talk about your 10-gallon garbage bags...;-)

2006-05-05T00:07:00.000-07:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_27

We have entered May, a lovely month of spring and light and warmth, which I've always liked because at the end of the month, on the 27th, I get to eat cake...for my birthday. Hurray! I don't know yet what I'll be doing, but it'll be a celebration of the season, I'm sure.

It's also the day in 1930 that the Chrysler building opened. Which might or might not mean that it and I are the same star sign...has anyone else ever thought the Chrysler building was a Gemini? It really looks like more of an Aries (or some other determinedly pointing sign)...Hm.

2006-05-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

Alien Relocation, regarding the weather

My long-time friend who's also originally from Houston and in Seattle, cannot abide by long spells of cool to chilly weather. The wishy-washy nature of Northwest weather is getting to her.

The other day, friends said to her, "Wow, by the end of the week, it'll be 75 degrees!" She responded, "I wasn't aware that that was unusual in the month of May!"

75 is great, but I don't really mind 65 either this time of year. Admittedly, though, going without a jacket for all of two days last week was really swell -- also other-worldly. Such things, however, beget complacency! The lesson: on Saturday I went out wearing only a light jacket, and got caught in a sudden downpour and cool front. Drenched.

That said, lately there've been gorgeous sunny days out the wazoo. To speak more technically, five sunny days out of seven on average, for two to three weeks now. Positive radiance. And that, my dears, is freaking amazing. I mean, if Seattle would just alot some of this sunlight to the six months of winter that have hardly any, this would be a far better place. But I digress.

Regarding all this rampantly beautiful weather, I should add: there is a distinct possibility that I have been relocated by aliens without my knowledge. I wonder, is there a test for that? Any suggestions?

2006-04-09T12:29:00.000-07:00

Sushi and V for Vendetta

I had the kind of sushi yesterday that city magazines are always taking pictures of: fluffy rounds of rice and slivered fish with a few sprouts sticking out the top like so many tiny oasis palms. It was good, although I was a little disappointed to find cream cheese nestled with the salmon -- my fault for not reading the description thoroughly! Anything named after a neighborhood/city contains cream cheese, I guess...

Also saw that movie V for Vendetta, with a group. Have you seen it? I haven't watched The Matrix (same directors), so couldn't compare them. I thought V was kind of a lot of commercial rubbish. It did contain some interesting ideas; and it's always nice to see head-on confrontation of the current war situation and administration, as well as the problems of anti-Muslim sentiment and even homophobia (in this case a lesbian relationship was referenced, which I think is more daring from a media standpoint, especially since it wasn't done to titillate -- although it was still simplistically handled).

And I was glad enough to see Natalie Portman, and always enjoy Stephen Rea's performances. In fact, he pretty much made the whole movie for me: hurray, Stephen Rea as life preserver.

All in all, I generally agree with the Salon review of the movie, which calls it "simplistic." http://www.salon.com/ent/movies/review/2006/03/17/vendetta/index.html

2006-03-27T18:20:00.000-08:00

Hike, Snoqualmie

Yesterday Beth and I went up to Snoqualmie Pass, which is in the Cascades about 40 miles east of Seattle.

We went to hike, although this was probably not the type of hike recommended by, say, Health magazine. Mainly we hiked from the point in the road where it was covered by snow, about a quarter-mile into the national forest to the trail head, where we surveyed the deep snow and decided to hike back again.

Back in Seattle, where all the crabapples and pear trees are in full wedding cake-froth and daffodills and crocuses spring forth from every garden plot, we had forgotten about the whole, um, snow possibility. It only became clear when we made the turn-off onto the road towards the national forest.

Though the hike was minimal, getting out there was amazing. The thick-trunked cedar and firs are from a place apart, of truly mythical size.

Making our hike even less likely to be included on a list of recommended cardiovascular activities, we stopped on the way back in the town of North Bend, to have cherry pie at the diner featured in Twin Peaks.

The pie is only okay -- the crust seemed good, but the filling was purely from a can, I'd wager. But it was fun to have, and the little diner was great. The wait staff appeared to be having a good time, and the lunch crowd seemed very local.

Hope you're well.

2006-03-05T22:04:00.000-08:00

Rat City Roller Girls

Roller derby. In its rejuvenated form, it's been covered in the media for, what, three or four years? Saturday, I finally made it to see a show.

Well, wait no longer! I'd advise everyone to go -- for your weekly fun quotient. It's terrific entertainment and commentary, and includes staged fights. Hard to beat that. Commentator: "How does it feel, waiting for someone to get *injured*?!"

Several teams played, among them Grave Danger, a Seattle team, and Vancouver's Socket Wrenches -- bike mechanics, I think.

Introducing the home team, the commentator phrased it: "Representing Seattle...and, indeed, *America* (melodramatic emphasis): Grave Danger, in red. And in black, from our neighbors to the North, Vancouver: the Socket Wenches; these mechanics are used to wiping up the floor with their opponents" (roughly quoted)

Individual skater names:
Drew Blood (#2 pints)
Miss Fortune
PMS 24/7

The best part is that it isn't just about the names; it's about good skating! Honestly, I'd like to see them make a living at it.

2006-02-01T14:30:00.000-08:00

Inspiring thoughts from Pico Iyer, the travel writer and novelist:

"A few years ago my house burned down, and I lost everything I owned; all my notes, all the books I hadn't yet completed, all my photos and hopes and letters. And yet traveling helped me see this as a liberation: to live more at home as if I were on the road, to savor the freedom from a past and from possessions, and to think back on all the people I had met, in Tibet and Morocco and Bolivia, who would still have thought of my life as luxurious. Most of the people one meets while traveling deal with more traumas every day than the privileged among us meet in a lifetime. That's how traveling humbles and inspires."

2006-01-16T11:57:00.000-08:00

Saturday was the 27th day of rain here. I'll give you a second to take that in.

This is a nearly record-breaking amount of rain (longest was 31 consecutive days). Normally, it doesn't rain quite all of the time here in the Northwest.

Sunday, thankfully, it did not rain! What a beautiful, beautiful day that was. It wasn't even a full blue sky -- just sketchily there -- but the very presence of any sun at all was wonderful.

Just heard about this Houston band, Clouseaux. They sound cool. I haven't located an mp3 by them yet, but they have a good name. Heh.

http://clouseaux.tripod.com/id2.html

2005-12-22T14:20:00.000-08:00

Hey there, happy late-December...

Yesterday I was interviewing the founder of an ale brewery here in Seattle, and found that he's originally from a suburb of Philly. I said Philadelphia's a great city, and he agreed, and we talked about some of the specifics, such as the historic streets and Fairmount Park.

I said the only thing I'd change about it is that there's no scenic vista around. He started to laugh (it's a familiar sound when Philly is discussed, actually) and said, nope, no vista in any way.

This isn't to say that Philly is unattractive -- I actually think it's quite a nice city. It has its harder areas -- crowded rowhouse areas without greenery, mostly concrete. But many of the neighborhoods are greener than most New York nabes, and there are lovely old brownstones and rowhouses and grand buildings.

And as for greenery, Fairmount Park is huge and reminiscent of Prospect Park in Brooklyn in some ways, and has awe-inspiring huge boulders that attract rock climbers.

You can tell I'm very fond of the city, in general.

But no, it doesn't have vistas, and alas, isn't right by the ocean (too bad); it's 80 miles from the coast.

On the other hand, it does have sun! And what a big value that is ;-).

Ah, well. Here's an inspiring photo from Seattle, of Elliott Bay facing the Olympic Mountains, just across from downtown.

http://www.pyramidcommunications.com/index.php?p=News&s=11

Happy holidays!

2005-12-15T17:15:00.000-08:00

Irish music

A coffee shop where I often use the wireless access plays bad Irish music.

Here's what I mean: the combination of bouncing accordion, autoharp, twee vocal solos, sounds of birds, and bubbly/sentimental background harmonies make me think of only one thing, and that thing is The Lawrence Welk Show.

One song has the refrain, "Shame on you, Seamus O'Brien." Another goes on and on about the boys and the girls attending Gilligan's ball, and there's too much altogether about the river Liffey.

Folk music, it varies. An American friend living in Scotland once told me that when she met her husband, she shared that she liked folk music -- and he was horrified. He thought it was all like the music of certain corny family-based groups that played at community centers and big shows in the British isles. I'm not sure who those people are, but now I'm sympathetic with those who hear 'em.

The tunes don't get much better in this coffee shop -- they alternate with Sinatra's Christmas carols. Oh, save me from the mall carols. "Ain't that a kick in the head?" is the refrain from one of the Sinatra songs. Apt, ain't it?

So, you be the judge: is this better than Dido? Her songs were played here pre-holidays. Yes, perhaps I should get earphones -- but I won't; I like hearing what goes on in the shop.

2005-11-22T14:07:00.000-08:00

Ta-da: It's a glorious, light-filled day here in Seattle -- the Cascade mountains are even visible. Yesterday, with a report of six more days of fog, I felt a bit glum -- but today proves once again how often the weather reports here mean, well, nothing...

Re Thanksgiving, it's come to my attention that there are lots of potlucks here! Even the neighborhood community center is hosting one; how nice.

Happy almost-Thanksgiving!

2005-11-21T13:17:00.000-08:00

Nearing Thanksgiving!

Today it's about 46, completely foggy, and I can hear a crow cawing. Out the back window, where on completely clear days I can sometimes see the overwhelmingly huge ghosts of the Olympic mountain chain on the horizon, I now see fog and the emphatic tops of firs and spruces, and the four or five 1920s houses that lie immediately down the hill.

True, that sounds pretty...but it's the third day of fog, so the romance is losing steam, shall we say...(or, it ought to).

Have been working steadily on articles; just turned in one to a national outdoors magazine; nice to get started with them.

Am having Thanksgiving here at the housesit with Beth and a few others; there's a big, nice table here. Hurray! I love big tables.

Okay, back to work!

2005-11-09T21:45:00.000-08:00

My mom has been visiting here at the second housesit in Seattle, with permission from the owner. It's in the Phinney Ridge neighborhood.

Doesn't Phinney Ridge sound like a Muppet name? Like it should be the name of the corn silk-haired singer in Dr. Teeth's band, Sharon or whatever her name was...

Moving along to the weather: Mom's first two days were rainy, but the others have been at least dry, and sometimes sunny too. woo-hoo, bonus.

Today -- clear, tho pewter-skied -- we went up in the Space Needle, which was actually really worth it. Gives a good idea of where both sets of mountains are (Olympics and Cascades), where they are, how big the Puget Sound is -- evokes Nordic myth and gods -- and where Redmond is -- home of everybody's favorite software co.

Also has a snazzy gift shop, with some retro items evoking the 1962 opening o' the Needle. Also Washington license plate key chains that read, "SPC NDL." can't beat that.

Seattle, Oct. 26

2005-10-30T05:02:00.000-08:00

Seattle, Oct. 26
Posted by: cat527.

This is along Puget Sound (well, Elliott Bay, to be particular), near the Belltown neighborhood.

2005-10-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

http://www.orcanetwork.org/sightings/map.html#recent

Yesterday one of the daily papers published a photo of orca leaping in Puget Sound. They were offshore of Seattle's Golden Gardens Park, en route to Tacoma, according to the caption. The paper also noted blithely that they were part of "J pod" and maybe some members of "L pod." Clearly these pods are well known around here...

Wow! So exciting that there's a possibility of seeing orca! Funny. I'm more surprised to hear about killer whales outside of a zoo than, say, lions and tigers and leopards.

Beijing street scene

2005-10-28T06:38:00.000-07:00

Beijing street scene
Posted by: cat527.

From time to time I'll post Beijing pics that haven't gone up yet, and here's one from Beijing. Great expression on the guy's face, eh?

Chinatown, Seattle

2005-10-27T05:48:00.000-07:00

Chinatown, Seattle
Posted by: cat527.

This was just kinda funny. It's in the International District (I.D.)/Chinatown. I'd just come from a big Japanese supermarket, which had the most amazingly comprehensive grocery selection I've ever seen.

Whole King salmon was $5.99/lb., and tofu was $1.19. The sushi was all marked down for end of the day. Too bad that a lot of it contained "shrimp salad" or "salmon salad" -- mixed with mayo. Seems common at some of the groceries 'round these parts.

off Elliott Bay, waterside park

2005-10-27T05:43:00.000-07:00

off Elliott Bay, waterside park
Posted by: cat527.

2005-10-06T12:08:00.000-07:00

Hello, am in...Seattle.

I can't believe that all the trees here are already orange and yellow and russet! I didn't even know that the NW had fall leaves, and the timing is so far ahead of Philly and NY.

The weather has been gray every day, altho on Tuesday it eventually turned out beautiful and blue. Today, rain expected. So, the weather here isn't just a rumor...it's indeed gray. A bit difficult that way, but does make the fall leaves look brighter in contrast.

Lots of places here have really big windows -- apparently to maximize all available light. The public library in the Capitol Hill nabe is very new and has a terrific design: gigantic wall of windows in the reading area, and a trellis up the outside covered in ivy, as well as ivy inside, runnning down the reading room wall. Also has great inset benches out front.

Right now I'm playing things by ear around here. It's true that living spaces are a bit cheaper, I think. It's a bit harder to get around -- I have to call the bus system to figure out routes -- altho it's still easier than in lots of American cities. It's about three times more laidback than Philly/E. Coast; I haven't made a judgment yet on how I feel about that...

Regarding work: Am working on an article for AirTran, and possibly have another if I can land an interview for it. And have an inquiry about another possible one. So, those're good things.

Hope everyone's well; keep me posted...

2005-09-22T11:21:00.000-07:00

My latest article is a Q&A with Gregg Allman of the Allman Brothers, about his home city of Savannah. It was a fun (phone) interview. http://airtranmagazine.com/contents/2005/09/home-turf-gregg-allman/

I'm currently working on another assignment for AirTran Go, and pitching other assignments.

2005-09-12T16:52:00.000-07:00

Wow, here it is September! I've been temping the past week and a half at a place that makes me think a lot about the book Nickeled and Dimed -- and that's never good!. (In Nickeled and Dimed, a journalist works in four or five typical minimum wage jobs around America for several months, taking notes about her living experience and her coworkers'. She works as a waitress, house cleaner, and department worker at Wal-Mart. It's grim.)

At any rate, the work I'm doing involves scanning the documents of professionals from other countries applying to work in the US. We do that all day long. In the training, we were told, "It's very tedious work." Also never a good thing...

Back to the Nickeled and Dimed aspect: the only place I've ever had interesting experiences temping was in New York. For some reason, I never had an assembly-line type job there, tho I did work in old offices without windows that didn't pay for coffee, and in big corporate places. But usually there was something interesting about the situation, like the garment district company where the mostly Syrian employees were all under pressure to make the needed quorum at the synagogue downstairs every afternoon...

But it's true that even that job involved a lot of paper shuffling. In fact, while people in specialized, professional-type jobs sometimes think it'd be great to have a job free of responsibilities, once we get into jobs like that, it's just so boring. There's hardly anything in between.

However, I still think it's better to have human interaction rather than just to look at and scan in documents all day!

Also, I don't have internet access at work, so can't plan ahead for other things or send out pitches during that time. That also makes me think about Nickeled and Dimed -- not being able to plan ahead. People all over this country don't have proper escape routes.

Sorry to express things poorly and simplistically, but I'm writing too quickly! Hope everyone's well, and I'm off to send out more pitches!

2005-08-14T10:15:00.000-07:00

http://www.houstonpress.com/Issues/2005-08-04/dining/cafe.html

Although this is about a very uncharacteristically bland Vietnamese restaurant in Houston, I'm posting it because the food reviews in Houston Press are one of my favorites. Besides having an insatiable curiosity and encyclopedic knowledge of world foods (the current critic, Robb Walsh, has written books, had articles in Saveur, and formerly edited Chile Pepper magazine), the reviewers also observe everything about the places, getting at least somewhat acquainted with the restauranteurs and other staff -- that way, it becomes more of an essay about the place, which I like. It's the first place that I ever read great food reviews.

Too bad the review is about a lack-luster experience, one that's totally unlike the general Vietnamese food experience in Houston, which is outta this world good (and I base this on having lived in New York and Chicago). A lot of Vietnamese boat people moved to the Gulf Coast in the late 70s, btw, where they could still own shrimp boats, so there's a large community in Houston.

Kind of a relief to hear that Nam isn't worth it, since I never made it there ;-). I occasionally heard its name from people who worked with me, but it was in an area that I didn't take seriously -- sort of a strip mall/night club district, ugh. Most of my friends went to places near downtown, closer to our neighborhood. The other good area is along Bellaire Blvd., which is mentioned in the article.

In Chicago, I'm sure there are lots of good places on Argyle -- I went to one whose name I forget (sorry) that was terrific. It was on the southern side of the street, kinda midway down -- east of the El. I recently happened onto a Vietnamese district here in Philly -- in a strip center near the old Italian Market. That was the first strip center I'd seen here.

Changing the subject slightly, I was just thinking about the concept of brunch. It's generally a little bit expensive, because it's such a specialty item. For people who favor cheap ethnic cafes, what to do about brunch? I think a Cuban "brunch" with empanadas would be good...

Which reminds me, I read a book set in Cuba in the 1950s -- the natives made fun of the pancake-eating habits of the Americans living there. I felt a pang for IHOP (and myself ;-)).

2005-08-10T10:51:00.000-07:00

Btw, I'm temping this week -- article payments are slow arriving and I was tired of not having much social interaction during work hours -- so I'm in the office of a 1768 church in Old City, Philly.

During the Revolutionary War, British soldiers lived here, burning the pews for firewood. One of the stones in the churchyard (graveyard) reads, "This man rang the bell to announce the Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776."

The graveyard is full of those brittle-looking upright slabs of slate for markers. It looks like a rock forest. Very pretty and European.

2005-07-30T10:57:00.000-07:00

Water-side

Along with the ties to people, certain qualities about a place always linger when we leave: in Chicago's case, for me, it's Lake Michigan.

Actually, it was on a recent day trip to that other city, New York -- walking along the East River ferry docks -- that I realized I miss the ever-present lakefront.

In Manhattan it was a beautiful day, the kind with golden, side-angled light that portends fall; the humidity had suddenly dropped out of the swelter range for the weekend. I passed the wooden planks of Pier 11, where ferries depart for Hoboken, Jersey City and Highlands, NJ.

The ferry landing brought back memories of living in Hoboken and JC. It was nice to be by the Hudson, although the river access was usually quite busy and public, not a place to escape from others.

But that Lower Manhattan waterfront property also made me think of Chicago, and how it's possible to live -- well, to rent, at least -- nice apartments by the lake for not that much, particularly if they're not downtown. And how there's always that lake-light.

That said, there are a couple things that hold me back: I have a still-strong memory of brittle-cold fingers, gray skies, wind, and thinking of the city as "the Ice Capital." Okay, maybe there's not always the lake light...

But you'll excuse my griping. I know there are lots of great things, such as the added indoor productivity folks get in winter, winter sunsets, and ice skating.

Then again, places always seem ideal in our memories. For instance, I talked recently to a pal who lives in the Rogers Park neighborhood alongside Lake Michigan, who said that this summer the temperatures are so high -- over 96, on average -- that it's certainly not "cooler by the lake" this summer: it's more humid. In fact, I can recall the steamy blue horizon -- although in my earlier memory it was a cool escape, a place to immerse in water.

Isn't it great to be by the water? This isn't really about Chicago, it's about the chance to walk alongside shimmering, defining waters.

Does anyone else have thoughts on this? I’d love to hear them.

Okay, I'm off (for the day) to New Jersey, on the PATCO Speedline. Maybe there's a river there.

2005-07-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

Publishing Updates

Hey, hope everyone's doing well. My broadband-from-the-neighbors access has been really sporadic this month, so I've been at coffee shops and have had less time to write anything here -- spent the extra time sending out pitches and working...

Speaking of which, in November I'll have a short article in Philadelphia magazine regarding a local food place I happened onto.

Also, it looks like Backpacker magazine is assigning me a short piece on city escapes.

Whoo-hoo! That's TWO new markets. Not bad a-tall, even if checks still reach my mailbox at sloth-speed ;-). Thank you everyone for your support.

And a national travel mag is looking in its upcoming schedule for room for a China piece I did.

I'm also concentrating on finding ideas and pitches regarding cottages and cottage communities -- just to reiterate that. Have made a couple of shelter magazine contacts, and would really like to write more about houses and interiors -- it's fun, it's visual, and it pays well.

It's important that those house ideas be pretty "done" -- meaning that there's thought behind the way the furniture was chosen, how everything's laid out, etc.: a plan. I sent one pitch already and was told that the house, a beach bungalow, was a bit too casual.

Okay, talk to you soon!

103_0364

2005-07-01T08:55:00.000-07:00

103_0364
Posted by: cat527.

The Italian Market, Philly

103_0368

2005-07-01T08:53:00.000-07:00

103_0368
Posted by: cat527.

Cool mural on 9th St. in Philadelphia

2005-06-27T15:25:00.000-07:00

The heat has been nothing to write home about, but today was pretty stiflingly muggy. However, it rained enough to clear it out this afternoon. Hooray.

Just came across this blog, http://www.independentamerica.net/, done by a couple who are driving across America, seeking mom 'n pop experiences, and making a documentary about it. I like their description of the differences in regional attitude evident in driving styles.

Heard about that from this journalist/journalism professor's site, www.sree.net. I've just come upon his site, but he seems to have fingers in many pies...even does TV commentary. Cool.