laboratory

Mr. Crampton once said (well, once to us) that Chemistry Laboratory was "the first five letters, not the last seven"...genius. Still my all-time favorite teacher; Westside High School was so much fun. That nugget crosses my mind as I try to engage my Chemistry and Anatomy/Physiology lab classes on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Chemical reactions do not need absolute silence...law of mass conservation and all. Maybe a little less chit-chat and little more labor....nevermind. If I'm not having fun than school's a drag. Some little bird told me that lab partners can be dangerous so I've paired up with the class savant...that's a picture of him above, and he's NOTHING if not business. I'm well safe. There's also a shot of Western Nevada Community College/Fallon Campus...go 'Cats!

Speaking of labs, what's with this little 'life' lab from the 'Unlikely Angel'? There are few things that rub me the wrong way but this is one of them. Reminds me of the book written by the wife of the man who allegedly said "let's roll" on the flight that crashed in Pennsylvania on September 11th. I remember seeing it in the store and wondering why there was a picture of her on the cover, alone, and the title was something like "Billy's life, a hero". Where was his picture? So now we have Ashley spouting on about her ordeal and I'm left to wonder; can you be a 'hero' if the only hostage you save is yourself? I mean, there weren't others, it's not like she was the only one left after the slaughter...she was the only hostage, period. If I lift a fallen tree off my battered body and make it to hospital before I die, am I a hero? I have nothing more to say on that... (rub rub rub)

Glad to see that former FEMA director Brown has decided to defend himself and blame everyone else. The mayor blames the governor, they both blame FEMA, FEMA blames me...endless circles. I think Mr. Brown would be best served by heading out to the stable and concerning himself with the horses. Wait, I learned something from FEMA. Had it not been for Mr. Brown and the 'Judge of Arabian Horse Judges' qualification, I wouldn't know that Arabians have one fewer vertebrae then other horses (see the shorter backs). Thanks X. Someday I'll win Trivia Night with that sweet tidbit...

Laurel has enrolled in Adventure Guides in Omaha (Cherokee tribe) and her tribe name is Nutty Bear. Perfect.

Shadow is back to the chase, pictures soon. I'll quit bitching...don't want to drive away the masses.

The best to all...

T

cool side of the pillow

Just like those nights when turning the pillow rewards you with the perfect salve for the heat, Buddy and Emmylou are just what one needs to forget about the world for an evening. We all have those patches of light that make everything brighter: the dahlia garden at Anglesey Abbey in September, Laurel showing me a new magic trick, X walking from the Reno terminal, or that perfect cup of coffee and NYTimes on a cool Sunday morning. It's all about stuff that kicks the rest of the world, and it's ills, to the back of the queue. A cool night at the base of the hills in South Reno and the outdoor amphitheater were just the tonic to forget about the news. I don't have TV so I don't find myself dwelling on the non-stop reporting...I can just click my mouse and move onto something else so it's not as if my days are overrun with horror, but still. The stage was set with only two microphone stands and a plethora of guitars. I figured we were in for just the two of them intermingling songs from their catalogs throughout the show, and that was the case. You won't hear two purer voices anywhere in music and the years touring together mean that everything is perfectly synchronized. Overall, almost three hours with a thirty minute break after Buddy's set. Wow. Funny stuff that happened? Well, at one point Emmylou's guitar got a little flat between songs and Buddy just told her "not to play that string", to which she responded "I paid for it, I'm playing it". She also referred to him as "all the band a girl needs", which was true enough. Some Townes Van Zandt songs, a few Gram Parsons diddies, a trio of Louvin Brothers songs, and a herd of originals. An excellent show under the stars...now I'm ready for anything. A shot of the two during her set...and one of me and Buddy after the show. Love to all.

divulging the secret

For those wondering about stocking stuffers...everyone will get a copy of "Universal United House of Prayer" by Buddy Miller. Maybe I'm a year late, I've had it all along, but in the end everyone'll be happy. I'll try to make the background quick. Buddy Miller is a country singer-songwriter that singlehandedly represents everything that country music was years ago. His guitar playing and singing are second to none in the industry (apologies to Lyle Lovett), and the respect he commands is beyond pale. Buddy was Emmylou Harris's bandleader/guitar player for eight years, Steve Earle's guitar player (a true Duke) for a couple of years, and now tours with his songbird wife Julie and the blues-based McCrary sisters. If you're at a festival you'll see every artist standing stage left to watch Buddy play his set. The reason this comes up? I'm off to see Buddy open for Emmylou Harris tomorrow night in Reno; outdoors at the beautiful Hawkins Amphitheater...bundled up for a cool night in the mountains. A bad word against Emmy gets you in hot water, a bad word about Buddy and we'll be fighting outside on the sidewalk...be warned! From this I get the pleasure of two days at Hardly, Strictly Bluegrass in San Francisco next weekend (Buddy and Emmy playing). Not only is the music singing through the park, but the lovely Christine joins me for two days of the best that strings can offer. I haven't sorted whether she's coming to see to me or if she's ensuring that I don't have too much fun without her around (last year she listened by cellphone). Her intentions seem true...

The girls are doing well. Laurel and I had a long talk about friends, skating parties, slumber parties, and how difficult it can be when you're nine. She's always been a simple soul and now she worries about friends and hanging out...she'll be fine, but it can be heart-wrenching to hear such a sweet voice worry about friendships.

Sarah's doing well at school though we debate some grades...the easy ones...that slip away. Maybe it's best if she came here and we went to school together. Between A&P and Chemistry I think I could get her on the right study schedule...well, my schedule....

I've settled on the house and garden I want. Be warned....

xo

T

ten for my age

Lots of ideas have driven me to the list of ten. Much like John Cusack's character in "High Fidelity", I tend to keep lists in my head, sometimes I even write them down. Once I get going I find categories expand and page upon page full of writing falls to the floor. I decided that at 40 I'd make a list of ten that I would want anyone to see or hear, regardless of what you think you may, or may not, like. I try to keep age and the spectrum from the tally. As much as anything, I'd like to take my family and friends on a tour of the sights just so I can sit back and watch reactions. I'll do the ten in bits-and-pieces, no need for everything at once. Here we go, in no particular order...

The Office (BBC) - Apologies to Seinfeld, but the Office is the best TV series ever made. Ricky Gervais has the benefit of density (only 13 episodes, including the Holiday special), but every one was amazing. There isn’t a character to match Kramer but the cast and idea is so true to life that you have to turn away because it often hits too close to home. I'll put forth that living in England for ten years makes it easier to understand the lingo, but the premise is dead-on. If you don't start singing along with 'Free Love on the Freelove Freeway' then you've got no humor (or humour).

The Grand Canyon - This summer has added Mt. Rainier and Lake Tahoe to my list of devastatingly beautiful scenery. Something about how nature signs its name that makes a very small piece of the universe (me) wonder what's going on. I'm still struck by what I saw at the Canyon a number of years back: mountains in reverse, unbelieveable colors, California Condors soaring at 5,000 feet....below me. I'd love to hike the canyon south to north with a night camping at the base. It's the most amazing vista I've ever seen. Sarah and I stayed at a beautiful B & B in Flagstaff on that trip and the drive to the Canyon was a wonderful thing.

Tammam in Hania, Crete - THE best restaurant in the world. At least the best place I've ever been. A bevy of appetizers, a fabulous house wine, a nice atmosphere and a surprising bite for dessert. I've probably eaten here 30 times and I've never been disappointed...the hot cheese salad, tzatziki, hot peppers, saganaki, and skordalia. The restaurant is an old Turkish bath off the city's main area and allows a nice long meal before heading to the harbor. You can sit and people watch, drink some cocktails, and enjoy Greek life.

Michealangelo's David - Yes, it's Florence. There's endless amounts of art throughout the city (the Uffizi, the Botacellis, the Rembrandts...) but David is the centerpiece. Don't let the David bobblehead dolls, 'fridge magnets, and postcards put you off. If you have time, go to the Academy on a Wednesday night (it's open late) and have the place to yourself. Standing before this massive sculpture is like nothing I've ever seen...deep, moving, dark...massive. Move about the room and see how his eyes watch you. Stand before him and take a little time to contemplate how human he is...and how human we are...

Someday, Someway by Marshall Crenshaw - It's what pop music is suppose to be...the best song of the last 35 years. The lyrics certainly aren't philosophical but the tune and chorus are so very sweet. I could listen to this on loop for days on end but I try to keep it fresh. I've seen Marshall twice and he always plays the great old man...I think he knows.

That's five for now....xo to all

where does my time go?

In the build-up to last Christmas I was gabbing on the phone with Christine at a fairly regular clip. A "fairly regular clip" would be something between once a week and once an hour; I'll let you imagine the pyramids of time. With the trans-Atlantic time change I'd catch her at the end of her day while I was either just beginning mine or sitting around early on my Saturday. As one does, I'd ask her how the day went, if anything interesting happened, what they had for dinner...the usual going steady chit-chat. Not knowing the secret of the quilt (she made me a beautiful handmade quilt for Christmas) I always thought her days sounded a little, well...boring. What was this woman doing with her days? While on her end, she had to come up with various stories, events, and embellishments to fill the massive gaps that the quilting demanded. Now, this story doesn't mean much aside from wondering where my time goes. I always end up saying the same stuff when I talk on the phone, "nothing new here, just studying and doing the laundry". That's not really true though, I do a lot beyond those basic necessities, but most of the activities are in kitchen. In fact, today I was staring at some really brown bananas that needed help (or saving), talking on the phone, and wondering if I had both a recipe for something baked with bananas, and the ability to not completely screw up the baking part. I'm not much of a baker, too exact (baking, not me), but I managed to give it a go with the help of my Moosewood cookbook; a batch of banana-walnut muffins. Voila! What this led to was remembering my Mom's banana bread, circa 70s and 80s. I thought about calling and getting that recipe because everyone's mother's banana bread is the best ever. It's a part of childhood just like her meatloaf, green bean casserole with french onions on top, and Western Springs spaghetti. Hmm, would Mom make all the dishes of yore if we showed up one Saturday night for dinner? After some time I'm sure the recipes fade from memory, the cards get brown and tattered, and once the kids are gone there's no need to worry so much about piles of food on the table. So, anyway, this long process led to the muffins and some more answers to my weekend. Saturday and Sunday usually mean a batch of romesco sauce, a pile of hummus for wraps, a load of falafel and getting the fruit and veg ready for the week. My time is valuable...full of using and cleaning the Cuisinart. Now I just need someone to show up and need lunch made for the day, "Here, look! I've got a wrap 'strip mall' in my 'fridge. Come on, hurry...". Unlike my mother, I don't yet have the stalwart dishes that fill my repetoire, but Laurel always insists on Salmon and pototoes for dinner on our first day together. Sarah just wants a large slab of meat, but what can you do? If I could convince them to eat Nan with shrimp, pesto, chevre or my eggplant/almond enchiledas I'd be set. Hello to all. Have a piece of cheese and some OJ before you leave. xo

secondhands, head of the line, friday nights

There was an article written in some magazine or other a few months back by someone who'd purchased a coworker's old iPod. For those not on the fast train (read: "geek ride") of earthly needs, the iPod and it's progeny are more duplicitous than the feeling a little puppy gives when kids and parents shop for a new companion. I, for one, have had only two iPods; an original 10Gb model and it's better (smarter and more caring) sibling, the 40Gb model. I've managed to restrain myself from the iPod photo, the U2 iPod, the 60Gb (lord only knows I've got the music to fill it), the Mini, and the Shuffle. Actually, I did order a couple Minis for gifts but that doesn't count. Now we have the iPod Nano...but that's not what this is about. We're not talking about new-y stuff, we're talking about secondhands and Netflix movie queues. Back to the start. This guy had purchased his coworker's iPod, taken it home, charged it up, and then taken a gander at the playlists before erasing the hard drive in order to load up his hoi polloi of tunes. As he looked through the list, and listened to some of the stuff on the player, he suddenly had a completely different view of that coworker. The music was quite different from the picture he'd drawn. No adjectival decision was made: hipper, cooler, less interesting, wierd, but something clicked. Unless you really hang around someone in a relaxed atmosphere you have no idea what taste they have in music. Often I wonder what other people listen to all day, all evening, or when they're working out. I can't imagaine it's different than my musical tastes, right? No one really buys the new Jessica Simpson, do they? That's all just a gag that MTV and the checkout tabloids have perpetrated on us. If someone nabbed my iPod they'd really wonder what I was about, examples: the Be Good Tanyas, Caitlin Cary, Futureheads, Gear Daddies, Olympic Hopefuls, Volebeats. All great bands but a bit in the 'who-the-hell-are-they' neighborhood. You'll find Neil Young, Dylan, the Stones and whatnot, but the vast majority is stuff that seems so off the beaten path. What would they think of me? If they listened, they'd think I was genius, that's what! So, now they have my iPod and suddenly they're looking at my Netflix queue. I don't know why they are, but they are...right now, and this is what got me on the subject tonight: the Netflix queue. You might ask what I have at the top, well, I'll tell you: Bottle Rocket (a comedy by Wes Anderson), The Harder They Come (a Jimmy Cliff movie), Lost Boys of Sudan, Death in Gaza, and Born into Brothels...the last three being documentaries. You don't need to know the rest, that 'list nibble' should be enough. Not all my documentary doings are depressing real world vehicles. I've been very happy with Spellbound, Supersize Me, Word Wars, and Deep Blue (respectively; the Nat'l Spelling Bee, eating nothing but McDonald's food for 30 straight days, the U.S. Scrabble Championships, and Kasparov vs. IBM's Deep Blue in chess). See? I'm FUN. FUN! Isn't it a whole new world when you plan a list on what movies you want to see? It's not like opening the paper on a Saturday to see what's showing, or falling into a Blockbuster and mindlessly walking up and down the aisles in search of entertainment. Planning ahead. Between the musical relish populating my iPod and the ability to queue up desires on Netflix, I'm so set. It's like having a list of people you'd like to meet...and in what order. "Yeah, Karen's pretty cool, but have you listened to her iPod?. Yeah, exactly. Put her at number 8 in my queue (CLICK-REORDER)." Strange. So many combinations of music, movies, magazines and things to do on a Friday night amongst the people. I'm going to do some Anatomy study tonight, maybe watch a documentary, and then cue up R.L Burnside on the stereo. Don't tell me you don't want to come hang with me tonight...just don't bring Karen.

drawn to mars by love

I remember the first period of time I spent in Tucson...horrible. Actually, the first time I was there was back in 1978, as a thirteen-year old, and I think I spent some time hanging out of a sunroof while someone drove the streets of the city. That one doesn't count. 'Period of time' was actually in 1993 when I first went down to visit Sarah after she moved back from England. The city was hot, dusty, hot, tumble-weedy, dirty, dusty, hot and hot...we stayed at a La Quinta out on I-10. I remember waking up about 6am and deciding to walk across the parking lot to the Denny's for a coffee to go. No worries, Sarah will sleep until 3pm if you don't rustle her, and I had no intention of waiting for that bag-o-bones to get up. Anyway, I open the door (at 6am) and it's a million degrees out. Literally. Who lives like that? Who? The trip was nice because we were together, but I remember thinking "this place is horrible, I'd never live here...". Of course, if the opportunity would have been there (it never was...) I would have moved down in a heartbeat. Back to the story. As the trips to Tucson piled up, I found myself sorting out the city and knowing that I'd have no problem living there, and here's why: the things I need....live music venues, a good record store, a good bookstore, some scenery, a decent place to live, and an excellent grocery store. In order in Tucson: Plush, Hear's and Zip's, Bookmans, Mt. Lemon, Civano homes out West, and Wild Oats. Shhh...yes, and Sarah. Stay with me, please. There was a time when I needed a good barber but my clippers and my vanity have been powerful and have waned, respectively. You see, it's not much one needs...a focused core of important things. For the last twelve years I've begun to rapidly develop ideas for where I could live, and in the end, it could be anywhere. It's nothing but a rabbit trail and eventually you'll sort out the the important stuff. Which brings me to the District and thereabouts. I'll take the easy route and not type it over again: Iota and the 9:30 Club, [fill in the blank], the Bay, N. Park Dr., and Whole Foods/TJs. Shhh...yes, and what's-her-face. (Ducking.) Throw in a job down the road and public transit and I see I've gotten to a point where setting foot somewhere isn't even necessary. At some point, it all sorts. Maybe it's people, maybe it's place, maybe it's both. Actually, it's people and where they are....but it's nice to know everything else will fall in order. You aren't there for nothing, you're there because that's where there is. The District or the river of Monks, either would be fine. Morning to all... x

the end of summer. no more whites

Just a year ago I recall standing over Lake Tahoe and positing that Labor Day, not New Year's, should be the time when we make resolutions and revelations. I think it may have been the company. Labor Day is much more significant as a 'time' than the wholly arbitrary idea of the first month...the first day of the first month. In fact, nothing changes on New Year's Day, nothing but the dayplanner you rarely use. Yes, that one....Audubon Society, New Yorker, the gift from Auntie May. New Year's could fall on a Monday, it could be a Thursday, there's no rhyme or reason, it's a floater. Does anyone ever roll out of bed on a Thursday morning and say, "right, got to quit smoking, and Thursday IS a perfect starting point"? Mondays are the more logical dock of departure on journeys of hope. (Don't even start with Mondays being arbitrary...don't!) So, as you put away your summer white shoes and matching pants; you drink the last of the Chardonnay because white is so not post-Labor Day; the kids (and olden people) are back in school; the dog days of summer are over and the coming Autumn signifies the work ahead for the harvest...make those promises. We're already changing clothes, the weather's turning, the summer wines are gone, back to work we go, getting on with life. A PERFECT time to start on some new reclamation project in your life. New paint around the house? Back to the gym? More time with the kids? Labor Day, a perfect beginning. New Year's? What? Do you get up that morning and change anything? Nope. Nothing. It's still cold, dark and a little bit depressing. In fact, you're probably not working over the Holidays and the idea of combining getting back to work (argh!) and some crazy, vice-halting, life altering new habit is beyond comprehension. Who came up with this tomfoolery? I can't give you Dick Clark in Times Square to signal a new beginning, but I can give you a Monday to get started. So little stress over the Labor Day weekend. It always seems like such a point of change...the last of the Summer Festivals, the putting away of shorts, sandals, and shirt sleeves...the beginning of a new time. Spread the word, watch the leaves start to change, and get off to the gym. (Cue Auld Lyne Syn....trust me, it'll work.) Love to all

my margaret yang

It's near impossible to be struck by something so obvious, such a memorable piece of my youth, the behemoths that have disappeared from our lives. It's a strange combination of the unbelievable and the wholly acceptable that catches us off guard: Nebraska passing the football, Cubs winning the World Series, a Londoner smiling. Now I'm digging in the dictionary for a word better than impossible...things CAN happen. The new central Seattle Public Library is nothing short of amazing (into the thesaurus). The leadership required to get the job done is something so lacking across the American landscape. Who, in their right mind, goes to city leadership and puts forth an idea to build a library that encompasses a city block...in DOWNTOWN Seattle? In this day and age? Who? We have computers, we have the internet, we have TiVo and DISH Network, what more could be need? We have GOOGLE. A library? Are you kidding me? When you back up a step and realize that computers do nothing more than the grunt work of our lives, you realize how vital community interaction and actual words and pictures can be; something more than 1s and 0s on a flatscreen. Christine and I found ourselves touring the library...touring! tourists! at a library. Taking pictures and buying t-shirts. The insanity of having a central location for research, quiet study, a repository of knowledge seems so foreign these days. It felt like being back in Mr. Crampton's Chemistry and Biochemistry classes at Westside High School...the place bursting with knowledge. Blogs, emails, IM chat and text messages be damned...I'd rather meet at the library and hang around talking about the issues of the day. After, we can amble down to Elliot Bay Bookstore and have coffee. After that down to the Irish Pub on First St. Bring your book bag, it'll be a gas...

and the brooks babble

None much a fan of the heads in the press (see my draft pitting Coulter v. Dowd. Wait, it's a draft....sorry). The least likely of my subjects is David Brooks of the Times. Seems an arbitrary voice amongst the chaotic chatter of the Times op-ed page. I always read him because he's got valid points and they're generally well thought out....bastard. D. Brooks and I could hang out and drink beers; lose the pink tie and relax...Maureen is NOT invited, she'd ruin the mood. Anyway, gathering the thoughts of Katrina and wondering about how we've failed. I've decided that I'll allow Brooks to speak. Seems like me and my gavel making arbitrary decisions...as I do. Here's his column today in the Sunday Times, well said Mr. Brooks. Morning to all...

views from a tart

I've taken to bringing my camera on the rides to and from work. The original idea was to get a picture of Shadow (my canine nemesis) some morning as he gave chase into the street. I figure that if I have the camera ready I'll be able to get a blurry snap of gnashing teeth and ferocity. Then I started thinking about other transit vistas: the road, the dark, the canal, a cow or two. Then I started thinking about what to call my transit. Then I thought that everyone else seems to use 'ART' as the area rapid transit baseline so I just added my 'T' as the prefix. My very own rapid transit system. Digressing. There's something cool about riding every morning and afternoon and how quickly one figures out the weather: when it's turning, how windy the day will be, how the pollen will fly through the air, whether rain's a-coming, and how strong the water supply in Northern Nevada is at any given time. It's like my very own trick knee. I'd imagine anyone who doesn't drive to work everyday (any input from those that walk to underground stations?) makes the same observations. And another parallel for all commuters; effing cars. Word from D.C. is that 'drivers' have no respect for walkers in crosswalks; all cyclists have similar issues all over America. I don't THINK there's a law saying that drivers are required to pass cyclists while staying within 6-12 inches of my knees. Regardless of driver stupidity, it's refreshing to have a 25-minute ride to start and end the day. Add in the crazy $3.50/gallon out here and I'm quite happy. Here are some vistas; most importantly, note the driveway (picture 2) and imagine trying to get a visual on Shadow sprinting out the driveway, through the trees, in order to attack. Add in morning darkness and the fact that Shadow, as you'd expect, is black. Love to all