http://www.badgerbadgerbadger.com/
Oh, how delightful.
Courtesy of my brother, who, in honor of the PSU-Wisconsin game today, is rooting for the snake.
10.13.2007
10.12.2007
White Party
What to wear to a White Party?
Especially (gasp) after Labor Day!!!!
This is trying my preppy sensibilities.
We are going to a white-themed party Saturday night, and I'm not sure how far to take it. People will be in silly costumes, I'm sure, so do I go all out with go-go boots and a wig? Do I have to wear white jeans? Can I just wear regular clothes and don a white accessory, like a boa?
I know we're all about praying for snow, hence the theme, but I much prefer the goold old Ullr Fest, complete with bonfires, drumming, dancing and black clothing.
Not that I'm complaining. I'm done complaining because the woman who handles the problem client made everything better and I no longer have to deal with the heinousness. Props to you, Ms. Account Manager. Many thanks.
Henceforth: a complaint-free blogging venue.
Especially (gasp) after Labor Day!!!!
This is trying my preppy sensibilities.
We are going to a white-themed party Saturday night, and I'm not sure how far to take it. People will be in silly costumes, I'm sure, so do I go all out with go-go boots and a wig? Do I have to wear white jeans? Can I just wear regular clothes and don a white accessory, like a boa?
I know we're all about praying for snow, hence the theme, but I much prefer the goold old Ullr Fest, complete with bonfires, drumming, dancing and black clothing.
Not that I'm complaining. I'm done complaining because the woman who handles the problem client made everything better and I no longer have to deal with the heinousness. Props to you, Ms. Account Manager. Many thanks.
Henceforth: a complaint-free blogging venue.
10.09.2007
Prancing Arnie
He's like a unicorn.
See the similarity?
I didn't get to post the GRT image yesterday because if I'd been within 10 yards of a computer I'd have thrown it out a window.
On a happier note, I went running before ski conditioning last night, alongside three Golden Retrievers (Arnie, Moxie and Sydney) and one Heeler. Red was very busy keeping them all in line. Everyone I passed smiled at me, saying things like, "What a happy group of dogs!" and "You've got your hands full."
Maybe if I traipsed through the office with the same herd, my client would be nicer to me.... If not, those happy dogs would come down on him like a ton of bricks.
See the similarity?
I didn't get to post the GRT image yesterday because if I'd been within 10 yards of a computer I'd have thrown it out a window.
On a happier note, I went running before ski conditioning last night, alongside three Golden Retrievers (Arnie, Moxie and Sydney) and one Heeler. Red was very busy keeping them all in line. Everyone I passed smiled at me, saying things like, "What a happy group of dogs!" and "You've got your hands full."
Maybe if I traipsed through the office with the same herd, my client would be nicer to me.... If not, those happy dogs would come down on him like a ton of bricks.
But Speaking of Goats (See Post Below)...
Fainting Goats - the cutest things in the world. Maybe I'll give up copywriting and start me a goat farm.
Still Very Upset.
Well, my heinous work situation isn't getting any better, but in honor of you, my kind-hearted and lovable readers, I'll refrain from yelling and screaming and jumping up and down.
It's time to celebrate the 24" of settled snow in the mountains, the first fire of the season and trips planned for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I'm filled with ideas for art and knitting and sewing projects right now. I'm loving the running temps and I swear fall in Mill Creek is as beautiful as it is on the East coast.
UGH. But even though things are great and I'm psyched about so much, I just can't get the sourness of this whole work thing out of my mind. It feels like I'm the scapegoat for the shortcomings and failures of the chumps who are making six-figures to do nothing but insult me.
Sigh. Hate and Anger. Not nice.
It's time to celebrate the 24" of settled snow in the mountains, the first fire of the season and trips planned for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I'm filled with ideas for art and knitting and sewing projects right now. I'm loving the running temps and I swear fall in Mill Creek is as beautiful as it is on the East coast.
UGH. But even though things are great and I'm psyched about so much, I just can't get the sourness of this whole work thing out of my mind. It feels like I'm the scapegoat for the shortcomings and failures of the chumps who are making six-figures to do nothing but insult me.
Sigh. Hate and Anger. Not nice.
10.05.2007
An addendum.
Ok, look: I know I’m far, far from perfect.
(Like, if perfect is in this field over here, by the angels and wild roses and golden retriever puppies, then I’m across the highway, below the overpass, knee-deep in piss-filled Mountain Dew bottles and dirty diapers. Ok, well, maybe not that bad, but still...far from perfect.)
I know I need an editor and proofreader. I know my writing sometimes falls short of expectations. I acknowledge and accept these things as widely understood facts.
But the reason I was so upset earlier, when I wrote the post below, was that no one bothered to say, “I think you misunderstood the product.” All I got was, “are you stupid?”
I know that I’m not owed anything, but it’s common kindness, isn’t it?
After leaving the office for an hour for lunch, I feel a little better, but it still stings.
(Like, if perfect is in this field over here, by the angels and wild roses and golden retriever puppies, then I’m across the highway, below the overpass, knee-deep in piss-filled Mountain Dew bottles and dirty diapers. Ok, well, maybe not that bad, but still...far from perfect.)
I know I need an editor and proofreader. I know my writing sometimes falls short of expectations. I acknowledge and accept these things as widely understood facts.
But the reason I was so upset earlier, when I wrote the post below, was that no one bothered to say, “I think you misunderstood the product.” All I got was, “are you stupid?”
I know that I’m not owed anything, but it’s common kindness, isn’t it?
After leaving the office for an hour for lunch, I feel a little better, but it still stings.
So mad it hurts.
Having worked at companies with no more than ten employees for most of my adult life, I walked into my current job completely unprepared for the clash of personalities, communication styles, attitudes and posturing. I was dealt a stomach-punch this morning, in the form of an annoying client’s continued unhappiness with my work. On the phone, discussing a recent draft, the client told me that I “don’t possess the brain capacity” to understand his product, and therefore couldn’t be “expected to write well.”
Right, ok, well, how about FUCK YOU? How about I show you my resume? My CV? How about I scratch your car with my PHI BETA KAPPA KEY you self-important piece of trash?
I would beat that man over the head with one of my MANY PUBLISHED WORKS if he happened to be cowering in front of me right now.
But the thing is, it doesn’t matter. He wins. He can say whatever the hell he wants, because he’s the client, and he’s RIGHT.
And as hard as it is, I have to sit here and take it. I have to accept the fact that whatever the reason – my inability to understand the concept or his just being a jackass – I’ve failed. I can’t do the work correctly.
And it sucks and I want to quit and run from here to Park City along the ridges I can see out my office window. I want to walk away right now and, I don’t know, wait tables for the winter so I can ski everyday.
These are the times when, hands shaking and eyes welling up, I regret having left the outdoor industry. It’s far from perfect and some of the people are hard to work with, but at least there I understand the products well enough to write about them; at least there I’m well regarded, respected. Not called “mentally obtuse.”
Right, ok, well, how about FUCK YOU? How about I show you my resume? My CV? How about I scratch your car with my PHI BETA KAPPA KEY you self-important piece of trash?
I would beat that man over the head with one of my MANY PUBLISHED WORKS if he happened to be cowering in front of me right now.
But the thing is, it doesn’t matter. He wins. He can say whatever the hell he wants, because he’s the client, and he’s RIGHT.
And as hard as it is, I have to sit here and take it. I have to accept the fact that whatever the reason – my inability to understand the concept or his just being a jackass – I’ve failed. I can’t do the work correctly.
And it sucks and I want to quit and run from here to Park City along the ridges I can see out my office window. I want to walk away right now and, I don’t know, wait tables for the winter so I can ski everyday.
These are the times when, hands shaking and eyes welling up, I regret having left the outdoor industry. It’s far from perfect and some of the people are hard to work with, but at least there I understand the products well enough to write about them; at least there I’m well regarded, respected. Not called “mentally obtuse.”
9.28.2007
"Avy Savvy..."
One of the forecasters used that term last night. I can't believe I never thought of it. Savvy, after all, is one of my favorite words.
Ed and I went to the FUAC Board meeting last evening, which only made me more excited to go skiing. It also reminded me, though, that last season I committed to once a week beacon drills. I kept that commitment, like, twice. Even in our lean snow year, it was too hard to give up a weekend day, and on weeknights, I just, well, didn't do them.
I'm saying this now, on the record: this year, I will do beacon drills once a week, either at a beacon park or the schoolyard down the street. Preferably with someone screaming at me and throwing snow at me and making the situation super tense, because chances are, if I ever have to really search for someone, I won't be sauntering about with a gimlet in my hand.
Ed and I went to the FUAC Board meeting last evening, which only made me more excited to go skiing. It also reminded me, though, that last season I committed to once a week beacon drills. I kept that commitment, like, twice. Even in our lean snow year, it was too hard to give up a weekend day, and on weeknights, I just, well, didn't do them.
I'm saying this now, on the record: this year, I will do beacon drills once a week, either at a beacon park or the schoolyard down the street. Preferably with someone screaming at me and throwing snow at me and making the situation super tense, because chances are, if I ever have to really search for someone, I won't be sauntering about with a gimlet in my hand.
9.26.2007
Up Up up.
It's definitely getting colder, growing dark earlier and there's snow on the peaks. I'm so happy. As you all know by now, I'm not much of a warm-weather person. Really, though, more than the weather, I'm just excited about skiing. We're very lucky, in Salt Lake, to have almost immediate access to the backcountry, and last night, Ed and I were talking about the dozens of absolutely wonderful ski partners in this town. Here's an image from a day, two years ago, when Brad, Ed, Bill B., Anna R., Matt T., Dylan F. and I skied Bonkers, one of my favorites.
Dylan must have taken that picture, because he was ahead of us most of the day...it could have been Bill, though...so the credit goes to one of them. I should be careful to give Bill the credit he deserves, because as you can see, he's not one to tangle with:
I remember the day getting off to a rocky start. I forgot my boots and didn't realize it till I was at the trailhead, so I was 30 minutes behind the group (see what I mean about easy access, though? I drove home, got my boots and was on the trail skinning in just half an hour). Brad came with me, so I felt bad about cutting into his ski time (and thus became Katie the Mean, or rather, Katie the Guilt-Ridden). It was so beautiful, though, such good snow and such great people, that my standard, pre-skiing nerves ("will I be able to keep up?" "will I be good enough?" "will everyone be laughing at me behind my back and wondering why Brad married me?") (Ahem, I know what you're thinking, and for the record, I'm already on medication) faded away in 30 minutes. Which is like, a record for me.
Either a Brad or Bill photo, Katie the Happy.
Dylan must have taken that picture, because he was ahead of us most of the day...it could have been Bill, though...so the credit goes to one of them. I should be careful to give Bill the credit he deserves, because as you can see, he's not one to tangle with:
I remember the day getting off to a rocky start. I forgot my boots and didn't realize it till I was at the trailhead, so I was 30 minutes behind the group (see what I mean about easy access, though? I drove home, got my boots and was on the trail skinning in just half an hour). Brad came with me, so I felt bad about cutting into his ski time (and thus became Katie the Mean, or rather, Katie the Guilt-Ridden). It was so beautiful, though, such good snow and such great people, that my standard, pre-skiing nerves ("will I be able to keep up?" "will I be good enough?" "will everyone be laughing at me behind my back and wondering why Brad married me?") (Ahem, I know what you're thinking, and for the record, I'm already on medication) faded away in 30 minutes. Which is like, a record for me.
Either a Brad or Bill photo, Katie the Happy.
9.25.2007
The Happiest Place in the World
Happy Golden Retriever Tuesday. Tonight, in honor of Lord Tweedmouth, who is the Father of the breed (learn more here), I offer this image:
Descendants of the original lineage, at Lord Tweedmouth's estate in Tomich, Scotland.
Descendants of the original lineage, at Lord Tweedmouth's estate in Tomich, Scotland.
9.24.2007
Baked on Sunday, on Monday.
Yeah, I know. I'm late.
But this recipe, from Barefoot Contessa, is totally worth it. It's terribly easy, too. I can do it while listening to Fair Game (which you really should be listening to) and talking to my mom on the phone and ironing. Christ, who knew I was so domestic? Also, it's easy to make this recipe healthier, by using organic products, natural peanut butter, and jam that contains real fruit. I think these might become a long-distance and backcountry skiing food.
PB&J Bars
1/2 pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 extra-large eggs, at room temperature
2 cups (18 ounces) creamy peanut butter (recommended: Skippy)
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 1/2 cups (18 ounces) raspberry jam or other jam
2/3 cups salted peanuts, coarsely chopped
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
Grease a 9 by 13 by 2-inch cake pan. Line it with parchment paper, then grease and flour the pan.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar on medium speed until light yellow, about 2 minutes. With the mixer on low speed, add the vanilla, eggs, and peanut butter and mix until all ingredients are combined.
In a small bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt. With the mixer on low speed, slowly add the flour mixture to the peanut butter mixture. Mix just until combined.
Spread 2/3 of the dough into the prepared cake pan and spread over the bottom with a knife or offset spatula. Spread the jam evenly over the dough. Drop small globs of the remaining dough evenly over the jam. Don't worry if all the jam isn't covered; it will spread in the oven. Sprinkle with chopped peanuts and bake for 45 minutes, until golden brown. Cool and cut into squares.
But this recipe, from Barefoot Contessa, is totally worth it. It's terribly easy, too. I can do it while listening to Fair Game (which you really should be listening to) and talking to my mom on the phone and ironing. Christ, who knew I was so domestic? Also, it's easy to make this recipe healthier, by using organic products, natural peanut butter, and jam that contains real fruit. I think these might become a long-distance and backcountry skiing food.
PB&J Bars
1/2 pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 extra-large eggs, at room temperature
2 cups (18 ounces) creamy peanut butter (recommended: Skippy)
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 1/2 cups (18 ounces) raspberry jam or other jam
2/3 cups salted peanuts, coarsely chopped
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
Grease a 9 by 13 by 2-inch cake pan. Line it with parchment paper, then grease and flour the pan.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar on medium speed until light yellow, about 2 minutes. With the mixer on low speed, add the vanilla, eggs, and peanut butter and mix until all ingredients are combined.
In a small bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt. With the mixer on low speed, slowly add the flour mixture to the peanut butter mixture. Mix just until combined.
Spread 2/3 of the dough into the prepared cake pan and spread over the bottom with a knife or offset spatula. Spread the jam evenly over the dough. Drop small globs of the remaining dough evenly over the jam. Don't worry if all the jam isn't covered; it will spread in the oven. Sprinkle with chopped peanuts and bake for 45 minutes, until golden brown. Cool and cut into squares.
A New Low
Last night, after an atrocious Scrabble performance by myself, Brad and I were channel-surfing before bed. Flipping through all our new tv stations, we came upon this show.
Wow.
Really?
Brad, though, didn't share my dismay, and was entranced by the antics of the sort of fit-looking participants as they hung from a rope, ran across a bridge and jumped approximately 4 feet in the air.
"I'd CRUSH this thing!"
And actually? I'm sure he would.
Wow.
Really?
Brad, though, didn't share my dismay, and was entranced by the antics of the sort of fit-looking participants as they hung from a rope, ran across a bridge and jumped approximately 4 feet in the air.
"I'd CRUSH this thing!"
And actually? I'm sure he would.
9.22.2007
"Boo Hoo, I am So Melancholy, Okay?"
Could he be my new favorite muppet? Pepe the King Prawn?
"This clam looks very familiar to me, okay?"
Grab Life by the Balls
It's rainy and cold and absolutely delightful here today, and after goregous run with the dogs along the mid-mountain trail this morning, reading the majority of Harry Potter while watching PSU-UM this afternoon and a brief (maybe too brief?) Crossfit workout, the boys and I are watching Dodgeball. Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn, Jason Bateman, the guy who played Milton in Office Space...oh my god it's funny.
Some of my favorite lines: "I read it. In a book." and "It's gotta be the hair, it's beautful - feathered and lethal. You just don't see it like that nowadays."
Even Red is enjoying it.
Last night I met up with Amber, mother of this girl:
We went to Kayo to see Catherine's show. WOW! My friend, the artist, presented beautiful work, and the buzz around her prints was audible. "How did she do that?" "I wonder if she's a full-time artist." And on and on. It was awesome. I'm so psyched for her.
After the gallery, Amber and I went to the Oasis cafe, which was hosting Dine a Round. I had a Newcastle for the first time in years - yum - and we ate crabcakes and hummus and salmon and asparagus and pot au creme....I must learn to make this pot au creme. Maybe I'll share the recipe on Baked on Sunday (don't forget! It's tomorrow!).
Nice weekend so far. I'm loving the cool weather. I ran in a long sleeve today, and my hands were sort of numb when I finished. Awesome. The boys were panting less than usual, and now they're curled into furry circles beside me, snoozing, snuggling, happy.
I'm looking forward to climbing and another mountain run tomorrow.
Some of my favorite lines: "I read it. In a book." and "It's gotta be the hair, it's beautful - feathered and lethal. You just don't see it like that nowadays."
Even Red is enjoying it.
Last night I met up with Amber, mother of this girl:
We went to Kayo to see Catherine's show. WOW! My friend, the artist, presented beautiful work, and the buzz around her prints was audible. "How did she do that?" "I wonder if she's a full-time artist." And on and on. It was awesome. I'm so psyched for her.
After the gallery, Amber and I went to the Oasis cafe, which was hosting Dine a Round. I had a Newcastle for the first time in years - yum - and we ate crabcakes and hummus and salmon and asparagus and pot au creme....I must learn to make this pot au creme. Maybe I'll share the recipe on Baked on Sunday (don't forget! It's tomorrow!).
Nice weekend so far. I'm loving the cool weather. I ran in a long sleeve today, and my hands were sort of numb when I finished. Awesome. The boys were panting less than usual, and now they're curled into furry circles beside me, snoozing, snuggling, happy.
I'm looking forward to climbing and another mountain run tomorrow.
9.19.2007
Devil Come Down to Utah...
...looking for a soul to steal. And he found mine.
After years of watching tv only when in hotel rooms, at my parents’ house and on JetBlue flights, we got cable.
This is going to be a definite test of my self-control, because with the likes of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert at my disposal, I stand to lose all motivation to do anything but laugh and laugh and laugh. And laugh.
Not having tv for so long, I’ve definitely turned into one of those, “oh no, I didn’t see that show; you see, I don’t watch tv (AND AM THEREFORE BETTER THAN YOU)” people. Arguably, that could be worse than being a total tv-a-holic, like my former colleague who spoke of nothing but the lives of fictional television characters. I always felt a bit superior to that guy, as if by reading the latest Sophie Kinsella novel in lieu of watching a sit-com, I was somehow smarter than he? I mean, while the Shop-a-holic books make me slightly uncomfortable due to my own former spending habits, I can’t say that they’re actually deep or require critical thinking, so who was I to cast judgment?
And now I dwell among the likes of said former colleague. A tv-owner. A cable-haver.
Still, I think it’s a good idea for me to get news from places other than NPR, the New Yorker and the New York Times. I mean, as BALANCED and NON-BIASED as those sources are, I would probably benefit from hearing the other side of the story occasionally....
After years of watching tv only when in hotel rooms, at my parents’ house and on JetBlue flights, we got cable.
This is going to be a definite test of my self-control, because with the likes of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert at my disposal, I stand to lose all motivation to do anything but laugh and laugh and laugh. And laugh.
Not having tv for so long, I’ve definitely turned into one of those, “oh no, I didn’t see that show; you see, I don’t watch tv (AND AM THEREFORE BETTER THAN YOU)” people. Arguably, that could be worse than being a total tv-a-holic, like my former colleague who spoke of nothing but the lives of fictional television characters. I always felt a bit superior to that guy, as if by reading the latest Sophie Kinsella novel in lieu of watching a sit-com, I was somehow smarter than he? I mean, while the Shop-a-holic books make me slightly uncomfortable due to my own former spending habits, I can’t say that they’re actually deep or require critical thinking, so who was I to cast judgment?
And now I dwell among the likes of said former colleague. A tv-owner. A cable-haver.
Still, I think it’s a good idea for me to get news from places other than NPR, the New Yorker and the New York Times. I mean, as BALANCED and NON-BIASED as those sources are, I would probably benefit from hearing the other side of the story occasionally....
How shameful
I’ve been reading nothing but Chick-lit lately. I know, ew.
But the thing is, it helps me fall asleep at night, because no matter how crazy delusional the characters are, everything always turns out happy in the end. Which is why it helps me sleep soundly.
(I recently read Himalayan Dhaba (not chick-lit), which, while exquisitely beautiful and well-written, managed to cover a bicycle accident, death, grief, rape, arson, murder, a car accident, kidnapping, illness and more grief in 400 or so pages. Even though I loved the book, I had nightmares for weeks.)
I just finished Room for Improvement by Stacey Ballis (definite chick-lit, and because the author is a poet, I am not ashamed). I laughed and laughed, mostly one of the characters said only, “Really? With the screaming? Really?" And, “Really? With the pillow-fighting? Really?” And, “Really? With the not being ready? Really?”
He reminded me of Len, an old client, who said things like that to me all the time. “Really? High heels? You think that’s a good idea?” and “Really? That press release? You think that’s appropriate?”
But the thing is, it helps me fall asleep at night, because no matter how crazy delusional the characters are, everything always turns out happy in the end. Which is why it helps me sleep soundly.
(I recently read Himalayan Dhaba (not chick-lit), which, while exquisitely beautiful and well-written, managed to cover a bicycle accident, death, grief, rape, arson, murder, a car accident, kidnapping, illness and more grief in 400 or so pages. Even though I loved the book, I had nightmares for weeks.)
I just finished Room for Improvement by Stacey Ballis (definite chick-lit, and because the author is a poet, I am not ashamed). I laughed and laughed, mostly one of the characters said only, “Really? With the screaming? Really?" And, “Really? With the pillow-fighting? Really?” And, “Really? With the not being ready? Really?”
He reminded me of Len, an old client, who said things like that to me all the time. “Really? High heels? You think that’s a good idea?” and “Really? That press release? You think that’s appropriate?”
9.18.2007
The Moxie Girl Ain't Nothin' to F&*k With...
This week's GRT is brought to you from Moxie, aka, the Ghost Face Killah.
Moxie smiles when she's happy, wrinkling her snoot and showng her teeth, even as she wags and wiggles and makes the "dog greeting" noise that I cannot for the life of me phoneticize. (Word, yes? I don't know...)
Moxie is our favorite Guest Retriever.
9.17.2007
Our Red.
I know, Red. There are many, many pictures of and stories about your brother, Arnold, on this blog. There aren't as many of you. I've been negligent. I'm sorry.
Red, you're a compact little animal - a tank of a thing - and you're the best snuggler I've ever met. You used to sleep between Brad and me at night - our chastity heeler - but now you favor your dad's side of the bed. I think you're a little pissed at me for the lack of Red-related posts. I know you read this blog every day, right after you finish the Times crossword and check out what Wonkette is saying.
So this is my homage to you, little man. You talkative monkey. Every morning, just as the thin line above the horizon breaks the night, you spring to it. "Raar rar, raar! Arr, rar,raar!" You nibble our ears and necks and hair and faces. You nuzzle in, still talking. More like yelling, actually, especially at 5:30 am. You're so funny, Red. Trying to be tough in front of your dad, but really a total lover. You prefer sleeping under quilts to "heading secuity," which is your dad's job for you. Just underfoot, you go where I go (I step on you rather frequently). You read my moods and know when I need a furry shoulder. There's a great big heart in that fawn-like coat-covered body of yours, and I'm glad you're willing to share it with me.
To you, buddy.
In case you want some cheese straws, too.
This is the easiest recipe in the world.
CHEESE STRAWS
Combine:
1 c. flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1 c. grated cheese (I used sharp cheddar)6 tbsp. butter
1/4 tsp. ground mustard
1/4 tsp. cayenne
Roll or press into shape. Bake at 425 f for 15-20 minutes.
The best part? The warm and wintery and comforting aroma while they cook.
CHEESE STRAWS
Combine:
1 c. flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1 c. grated cheese (I used sharp cheddar)6 tbsp. butter
1/4 tsp. ground mustard
1/4 tsp. cayenne
Roll or press into shape. Bake at 425 f for 15-20 minutes.
The best part? The warm and wintery and comforting aroma while they cook.
Homesick
I ran in Mill Creek tonight, 9 or so miles along the Pipeline Trail, all lined with fallen leaves. The valley was clear; the scrub oak (I think) already reddening. It was a perfect run. Arnie a few paces in front of me, until we met a "very scary" and frail woman who looked to be older than dirt and seemed about as threatening as a ground squirrel.
(For what it's worth, the Iranians take the threat of squirrels very seriously.)
After that, Arnold stayed on my heels.
I got home and drank some chocolate milk, my new favorite recovery drink, and went grocery shopping. Kind of homesick for a Pennsylvania Autumn, I decided to bake cheese straws and make chicken soup. The house is warm, the air outside growing cooler and Brad just called, on his way home with a van-load of firewood. We'll unload the van tonight, stacking the wood into very specific piles (if you know Brad, this is no surprise) and imagining winter, fires in the stove, skiing, sleeping under the quilt, the dogs curled near.
(For what it's worth, the Iranians take the threat of squirrels very seriously.)
After that, Arnold stayed on my heels.
I got home and drank some chocolate milk, my new favorite recovery drink, and went grocery shopping. Kind of homesick for a Pennsylvania Autumn, I decided to bake cheese straws and make chicken soup. The house is warm, the air outside growing cooler and Brad just called, on his way home with a van-load of firewood. We'll unload the van tonight, stacking the wood into very specific piles (if you know Brad, this is no surprise) and imagining winter, fires in the stove, skiing, sleeping under the quilt, the dogs curled near.
9.16.2007
Now for the Funny
This weekend, in A-PLACE-THAT-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED, Brad was working on a tough route that he couldn't seem to free. After he ran a coulpe laps, Arnie thought he'd give it a go.
Even with the Evolve shoes, .5 splitters are hard for Arnie. I mean, he doesn't have fingers, so he can't exactly secure ringlocks. Not that I've even learned what "ringlock" means yet, so far am I from ever perfecting the form.
It was a nice weekend, though, with beautiful weather (we were at 9,000 feet, so I was almost not too hot) and amazing terrain. I like to think that part of the pleasantness came from my new cookie recipe, samples of which we took with us to
A-PLACE-THAT-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED. Here's what they looked like:
Minus the silly box and cheesy ribbon (I mean, chiffon? Ew. Why not a velvet ribbon? Or Grosgrain?). I used organic flour, brown sugar, eggs and butter, then threw in some non-organic vanilla (it's all I could find in the pantry) and added dried cranberries (no sugar), dark chocolate shavings and coconut.
Good, but not perfect. They just weren't quite right. Maybe too much "stuff" in them? Maybe oatmeal dough next time? I don't know.
And yes, by telling you this, I'm now introducing another feature on this here blog (in addition to everyone's favorite: Golden Retriever Tuesdays). It's called: Getting Baked on Sunday!
Stay tuned; there'll be more goodies to come.
Even with the Evolve shoes, .5 splitters are hard for Arnie. I mean, he doesn't have fingers, so he can't exactly secure ringlocks. Not that I've even learned what "ringlock" means yet, so far am I from ever perfecting the form.
It was a nice weekend, though, with beautiful weather (we were at 9,000 feet, so I was almost not too hot) and amazing terrain. I like to think that part of the pleasantness came from my new cookie recipe, samples of which we took with us to
A-PLACE-THAT-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED. Here's what they looked like:
Minus the silly box and cheesy ribbon (I mean, chiffon? Ew. Why not a velvet ribbon? Or Grosgrain?). I used organic flour, brown sugar, eggs and butter, then threw in some non-organic vanilla (it's all I could find in the pantry) and added dried cranberries (no sugar), dark chocolate shavings and coconut.
Good, but not perfect. They just weren't quite right. Maybe too much "stuff" in them? Maybe oatmeal dough next time? I don't know.
And yes, by telling you this, I'm now introducing another feature on this here blog (in addition to everyone's favorite: Golden Retriever Tuesdays). It's called: Getting Baked on Sunday!
Stay tuned; there'll be more goodies to come.
Not all that funny
My apologies - if anyone is still reading - for the lack of engaging repartee lately. I've been lazy about posting because, well, now that I KNOW who's reading this thing, I sometimes feel the need to hide a bit, to not be out there in the open, exposed.
I was thinking about that this weekend, in a place I'm not allowed to mention under threat of Brad, when I was trying to convince myself that I should go running. I love running, just as I love writing. But in both pursuits, it's the start that's the hardest. The first twenty steps of a run; the first few sentences of a blog or journal entry. The opening of an email to an old friend.
It's hardest for me to crest those beginnings. So I stop running for a while - and writing - until I become so annoyed with myself that I just have to do something.
Climbing is the same way. Getting out of the car, approaching in the sun, just to get on a route that's too difficult for me - so much so that I come off the weekend looking like a bare-hands fighter. Sometimes it just doesn't feel right, but when asked what I'd rather be doing, I don't have an answer. Of course, I probably DO have the answer, I'm just not able to say it yet; I'm too scared that it's not the "right" thing.
Sundays used to be sad for me. We'd leave our ski house and drive down into the city. The weekend was over. My "ski friends" were heading home for the work and school week, too, and I wasn't going to see or hear from them again until the following Friday (long distance calls were kind of rare back then, and cell phones came in giant bags that sat in the back seats of our mothers' SUVs). I had to return to the school I didn't really like, to the peers who I thought didn't "get" me (who gets" anyone at age 14? And really, how complex could I possibly have been? I was a girl in the suburbs, not the next Steven Hawking). I remember sitting in the backseat, listening to my parents' music, watching the gloomy Pennsylvania dusk take over what was most likely a cloudy day, and giving up. I didn't stand a chance at having a good week at school, because right there, in that car, I decided not to have a good time. I decided that it was going to be hateful and annoying, and so it was.
And as I watched Brad put up a new route this weekend, in a PLACE-THAT-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED, I began to think that maybe I was doing the same thing with climbing. Not always, but definitely on those weekends when I'd rather be watching Fall overtake the mountains and baking brownies than hauling a huge haul bag up a crumbling talus field in PLACE-THAT-MUSTNOT-BE-NAMED.
I need to stop giving in to that fatalism.
I was thinking about that this weekend, in a place I'm not allowed to mention under threat of Brad, when I was trying to convince myself that I should go running. I love running, just as I love writing. But in both pursuits, it's the start that's the hardest. The first twenty steps of a run; the first few sentences of a blog or journal entry. The opening of an email to an old friend.
It's hardest for me to crest those beginnings. So I stop running for a while - and writing - until I become so annoyed with myself that I just have to do something.
Climbing is the same way. Getting out of the car, approaching in the sun, just to get on a route that's too difficult for me - so much so that I come off the weekend looking like a bare-hands fighter. Sometimes it just doesn't feel right, but when asked what I'd rather be doing, I don't have an answer. Of course, I probably DO have the answer, I'm just not able to say it yet; I'm too scared that it's not the "right" thing.
Sundays used to be sad for me. We'd leave our ski house and drive down into the city. The weekend was over. My "ski friends" were heading home for the work and school week, too, and I wasn't going to see or hear from them again until the following Friday (long distance calls were kind of rare back then, and cell phones came in giant bags that sat in the back seats of our mothers' SUVs). I had to return to the school I didn't really like, to the peers who I thought didn't "get" me (who gets" anyone at age 14? And really, how complex could I possibly have been? I was a girl in the suburbs, not the next Steven Hawking). I remember sitting in the backseat, listening to my parents' music, watching the gloomy Pennsylvania dusk take over what was most likely a cloudy day, and giving up. I didn't stand a chance at having a good week at school, because right there, in that car, I decided not to have a good time. I decided that it was going to be hateful and annoying, and so it was.
And as I watched Brad put up a new route this weekend, in a PLACE-THAT-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED, I began to think that maybe I was doing the same thing with climbing. Not always, but definitely on those weekends when I'd rather be watching Fall overtake the mountains and baking brownies than hauling a huge haul bag up a crumbling talus field in PLACE-THAT-MUSTNOT-BE-NAMED.
I need to stop giving in to that fatalism.
9.09.2007
WE ARE....
...Penn State.
This weekend I returned to my alma matter for my parents' world-famous tailgate party and the Penn State-Notre Dame game. (Psu 31, ND 10)
Lots of old friends at the tailgate and in State College. The town looked welcoming and familiar despite new stores, new campus buildings and having spilled into the adjacent fields and open space. I still love it there, and as I write today I'm having to remind myself why I left State College. I wanted to be out West; I wanted to rock climb at places other than working quarries. But I also needed to know what else was out there, what my choices were. I needed to see everything before I settled down; I couldn't be still until I knew I wasn't missing anything.
Yesterday, I got to see the places and things that were my everyday in the Penn State years. I miss it there, but I'm not sure if I miss ME there or if I miss the place itself.
For now, proof that Brad was THRILLED by the football game:
9.05.2007
En Route to Pennsylvania
Last night, as I packed for my trip to Pennsylvania, I realized that I'm not allowed to take contact solution or a water bottle on the plane with me. This is problematic because I'm taking a red-eye, but whatever. No big deal. More pressing is the weather in Salt Lake. Last night we had a huge thunderstorm with high winds; we're having another one right now. Crossing my fingers that the plane can fly out on time tonight.
9.04.2007
'Tis the Season
It's desert climbing season again. This past weekend we pilgramaged to Indian Creek with Arnie, Red and Moxie (Guest Retriever - we love her) to meet Mike and Lisa Ray and their dog, Tanner. Three days of chasing shade and climbing pitch after pitch of sandstone....I loved it, which kind of surprised me; normally Indian Creek is ok, but not awesome. This time, it was absolutely rad. I think I've turned the corner and finally found the rhythm, the fun, the grace of crack climbing.
Not that I was particularly graceful this weekend. My hands are swollen and cut up, my knees and forearms are bruised. Ok, so my form is still lacking; at least I'm having fun.
Photographic evidence of the fun.
GRT - Biting the Hand That Feeds Him
Tucker, who left this world not long ago, was a wonderful Golden Doggie. 14 years old when he died, Tuckie lived a long, happy and healthy life. He was sweet and friendly and loved people and animals. Once he peed on a retarded man, but not on purpose.
Here's Tuck with my dad. Biting the hand that fed him.
8.28.2007
Already?
Why, it's Golden Retriever Tuesday again!
This week's photo, from somewhere on the Interwebs, is a friendly reminder never to leave your baby human unattended around Golden Retriever puppies, because, as you can see, the puppies will try to eat him.
This time he's GONE TOO FAR!
His troubling beliefs in unchecked presidential power and support of torturous interrogation procedures were bad enough, but now Gonzo's screwing with TEE TIMES???!!!
From Wonkette:
“In a final act of lawlessness,” outgoing asshole general Alberto Gonzales apparently pushed back everyone’s tee times at the Chevy Chase club so that he and his non-member guest Condi could get the best time last Saturday. AND THE CLUB FORBIDS NON-MEMBERS FROM GOLFING ON WEEKENDS.
That's right, Gonzo! Non-members CAN'T GOLF ON WEEKENDS. Next thing you know, he'll be trying to eliminate Caddy Day at Bushwood.
From Wonkette:
“In a final act of lawlessness,” outgoing asshole general Alberto Gonzales apparently pushed back everyone’s tee times at the Chevy Chase club so that he and his non-member guest Condi could get the best time last Saturday. AND THE CLUB FORBIDS NON-MEMBERS FROM GOLFING ON WEEKENDS.
That's right, Gonzo! Non-members CAN'T GOLF ON WEEKENDS. Next thing you know, he'll be trying to eliminate Caddy Day at Bushwood.
8.27.2007
Muppets on Monday - Something Fishy
Lew Zealand and his Boomerang fish ("I throw the fish away, and it comes back to me!") are on to something. Something's fishy in the Bush administration, namely, the cowboy's posse is falling apart.
8.26.2007
Arniepine
This was a great weekend. Arnie and I ran the Pipeline Trail in Mill Creek yesterday morning and spent the afternoon with Robin and Bill at a fun, techy crag in American Fork. Today Arnie and I ran in Park City - Spiro to Mid-Mountain - then met Emma and Floyd (her Border Collie) in East Canyon for a hike. Such a wonderful weekend...except for this:
Poor Arnie met a porcupine. My brave (oblivious) puppy handled it so well; he barely broke his stride - it's almost like he didn't even notice - until I saw him and said "OH MY GOD, ARNIE!" Then he clued in that something was amiss. (Another reason why I should never parent a baby human.)
I pulled one or two quills out on the trail, but because I know so little about porcupines and how their quills work (are they poisonous? What if I break one off too close to pull out? Are there really barbs on the ends?) I decided to wait until I'd spoken to a vet.
20 minutes later we were back in the truck and within cell range. I kept an eye on Arnie as we drove; I didn't want him to rub at the quills with his paws, pushing them in deeper. He didn't. Again, he didn't really seem to notice that anything had happened to him. He just stood at the window that looks into the cab, sniffing at the air and wagging his tail. Same as always.
At home, as I was looking up quill-removal tips in the Interwebs and talking to emergency vets, Arnie got sadder and sadder. He couldn't figure out how to drink with his quilly mouth, he couldn't eat the Rimadel I tried to give him. He kept dozing off, but as his big furry head dipped down, he bumped the quills and jolted awake. It was heartbreaking - his pathetic expression compounded by the strings of drool developing from his jowels.
I found out that we could take him to the vet, or we could pull the quills out ourselves. Brad, who fancies himself a master of the veterinary arts, elected home-removal. I pulled 6 out before he got home (he was climbing in the desert this weekend), and now Brad's removing the rest with needlenose pliers (it seems cruel, but it's what three vets and four websites recommend). Because I can't stand the thought - or sight - of Arnie in pain, each time I pulled a quill out, I had to hug him for at least ten minutes. The time-consumption of my process was killing Brad. He took over and subsequently banished me from the room where he's now working, because I kept yelling at him to slow down, to give Arnie a few minutes to rest and feel loved in between pulls (what am I, a vet?).
Arnie is all better now, if a bit tender around the snoot and a little mopey. He fosters no resentment towards us, though, for inflicting great pain, and to the Arnie-neophyte he'd just seem sleepy.
I wonder if he learned his lesson today. If he'll remember this sad, painful day the next time he considers trying to make friends with a porcupine. Brad doubts it, but I'm not so sure.
Poor Arnie met a porcupine. My brave (oblivious) puppy handled it so well; he barely broke his stride - it's almost like he didn't even notice - until I saw him and said "OH MY GOD, ARNIE!" Then he clued in that something was amiss. (Another reason why I should never parent a baby human.)
I pulled one or two quills out on the trail, but because I know so little about porcupines and how their quills work (are they poisonous? What if I break one off too close to pull out? Are there really barbs on the ends?) I decided to wait until I'd spoken to a vet.
20 minutes later we were back in the truck and within cell range. I kept an eye on Arnie as we drove; I didn't want him to rub at the quills with his paws, pushing them in deeper. He didn't. Again, he didn't really seem to notice that anything had happened to him. He just stood at the window that looks into the cab, sniffing at the air and wagging his tail. Same as always.
At home, as I was looking up quill-removal tips in the Interwebs and talking to emergency vets, Arnie got sadder and sadder. He couldn't figure out how to drink with his quilly mouth, he couldn't eat the Rimadel I tried to give him. He kept dozing off, but as his big furry head dipped down, he bumped the quills and jolted awake. It was heartbreaking - his pathetic expression compounded by the strings of drool developing from his jowels.
I found out that we could take him to the vet, or we could pull the quills out ourselves. Brad, who fancies himself a master of the veterinary arts, elected home-removal. I pulled 6 out before he got home (he was climbing in the desert this weekend), and now Brad's removing the rest with needlenose pliers (it seems cruel, but it's what three vets and four websites recommend). Because I can't stand the thought - or sight - of Arnie in pain, each time I pulled a quill out, I had to hug him for at least ten minutes. The time-consumption of my process was killing Brad. He took over and subsequently banished me from the room where he's now working, because I kept yelling at him to slow down, to give Arnie a few minutes to rest and feel loved in between pulls (what am I, a vet?).
Arnie is all better now, if a bit tender around the snoot and a little mopey. He fosters no resentment towards us, though, for inflicting great pain, and to the Arnie-neophyte he'd just seem sleepy.
I wonder if he learned his lesson today. If he'll remember this sad, painful day the next time he considers trying to make friends with a porcupine. Brad doubts it, but I'm not so sure.
8.23.2007
This Goes Out to ArmyEd - Welcome back to Sugarhouse Bikram.
We can't wait till our dear friend Ed comes home to the Wasatch. While Ed is actually very appropriate and mature in yoga classes, I think it'd be funny if he acted like the guy in the video.
8.22.2007
Sniper Saves the Day (Exclamation Point)
Sniper ONE Shot - video powered by Metacafe
I learned about this from my colleague Dave Rathbun, who also told me that yesterday was National Punctuation Day. Oh, joy of joys, a whole day dedicated to one of my favorite pursuits - the proper portrayal of punctuation.
(When I was younger, I HATED the letter "P." HATED the way it sounded; didn't like it one bit. My family - because they're the kindest people in the world - regularly alliterated their sentences with the annoying letter, peppering their proffers with P-words. See why I'm the way I am? I grew up in a horribly cruel household.)
8.21.2007
Kind of like Taco Tuesdays, but not really.
Golden Retriever Tuesdays (GRT) is a new feature on The Wasatch Report. To those of you rolling your eyes, consider this: now I won't post pictures of Golden Retrievers EVERY day, just on Tuesdays. Or wherever I think about it. Or find one I like.
This week's first image comes from Mavis. She found it on www.cuteoverload.com.
See how mean Golden Retrievers can be? Brad used to say that the reason Arnie slept right between us, head on our pillows, was that he was actually trying to sneak in and suffocate Brad in the middle of the night. Manipulative Arnie, he called him. Yes, my dog is indeed VERY calculating. Why, just this morning, he came damn near to hacking into CIA's secure server. Then he accidentally fell asleep (see below).
Ms. Mavis
This is my dear friend, Mavis, who is planning to overcome her aversion to unspeakably warm temps and join me in Indian Creek over Labor Day weekend.
Please note, Mavis does not actually have dreadlocks, and she generally bikes with a helmet.
8.20.2007
No to Dog-Fighting.
I want everyone to know that while I find this picture hilarious (I found it on the internet. Props to the photographer for capturing the true spirit of the Malicious and Very Viscious Golden Retriever. Also, see? I’m not claiming it as my own, so please don’t sue me), I DO NOT THINK DOGFIGHTING IS ACCEPTABLE IN ANY WAY.
So, Michael Vick? Go to hell you evil, twisted son of a bitch. I can’t open a newspaper these days without your heinous, cold-hearted scowl, and it’s beginning to annoy me.
And to the poor doggies you tortured? Oh, there’s a place for you in doggie heaven.
Yes, I’m Agnostic and while I find the ideas of heaven and hell for people troublesome, heaven for dogs TOTALLY exists and is the happiest place ever, with clean rivers for swimming, no “Watershed – No Dogs” signs, lots of snow for scooting and sun for sleeping, plenty of soft couches and many, many treats.
Hey, this is my blog, and therefore my delusion.
8.18.2007
Ugh.
I'm scared tonight, thinking about immobility, about stasis, about no action taken to alter the course. I need something to change, and I'm not sure how to make it happen. Well, I know how to make it happen, but I don't know if it's my place to do so.
I turn to my favorite poets at these times - when I am searching for clear, evocative language, when my own words fall short, are too emotional.
Billy Collins, one of our greats, is my favorite for this kind of writing; always kind and warm, he is also consise and direct and I know of no other artist who creates a similar landscape.
On Turning Ten
By Billy Collins
The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.
You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.
But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.
This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.
It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.
Walking Across The Atlantic
By Billy Collins
I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping onto the first wave.
Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.
But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing.
"Thinking about Spain..." I love that line.
I turn to my favorite poets at these times - when I am searching for clear, evocative language, when my own words fall short, are too emotional.
Billy Collins, one of our greats, is my favorite for this kind of writing; always kind and warm, he is also consise and direct and I know of no other artist who creates a similar landscape.
On Turning Ten
By Billy Collins
The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.
You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.
But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.
This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.
It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.
Walking Across The Atlantic
By Billy Collins
I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping onto the first wave.
Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.
But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing.
"Thinking about Spain..." I love that line.
This actually happened.
I promise this is the last mention of the Speedgoat. I know it's getting gratuitous and self-serving. But because Rob Russell just sent me a cd of images from the race, I get to talk about it one more time.
Here's a shot of Roch trying to make me eat, you know, food, and me trying to explain that I saw the 50k mountain run as a great opportunity to starve myself and lose weight. At which point Roch (and everyone else within earshot) looked at me like I was completely retarded. I can't believe Rob didn't drop the camera.
Whatever. I still think it was a good plan.
Here's a shot of Roch trying to make me eat, you know, food, and me trying to explain that I saw the 50k mountain run as a great opportunity to starve myself and lose weight. At which point Roch (and everyone else within earshot) looked at me like I was completely retarded. I can't believe Rob didn't drop the camera.
Whatever. I still think it was a good plan.
Hmm.....time to get fit?
How can you see this and not want to get fitter? I made the mistake of opening this video this morning, sent to me by a friend (you know who you are, you evil wench), and now my rest day is blown. Maybe a crossfit work out to balance out my busy day of petting the dogs and reading? I feel like I saw this workout somewhere, on some affiliate site, but now I can't find it. If I've gotten it wrong, my apologies:
Run 200m
20 pushups
20 squats
5 rounds for time
I like this one because I won't really be using my pulling muscles, which need rest because I'm still tired from climbing this week and I'm going to Maple tomorrow.
8.17.2007
8.16.2007
Chocolate Moose
If it's not poems, it's Muppets clips. I'm always pushing something.
I've had moose on my mind for the past few weeks - there's a family of them living somewhere along the trail to Dog Lake, and I'm worried about running into them. (Ahem, Catherine, though, had no issues whatsoever when she came upon a young one the other day...) The boys (Arnold and Red) have never seen a moose, and I'm not sure how they'd react. The first time Arnie got close to a cow (Indian Creek, December 2005), he followed her around for a half hour, seemingly thinking she was his mother.
So with moose in mind, I bring you tonight's "Muppets Must-see" - one of my all-time favorites - "Chocolate Moooooooose."
Life Imitating Art
Passenger keeps monkey under his hat
August 8, 2007, NEW YORK - A man smuggled a monkey onto an airplane Tuesday, stashing the furry fist-size primate under his hat.
The escapade began in Lima, Peru, late Monday, when the man boarded a flight to Ft. Lauderdale, said Spirit Airlines spokeswoman Alison Russell.
During a connecting flight to La Guardia, people around the man noticed that the marmoset had emerged, Russell said.
How I would have loved to be the one that got to say, "Excuse me, Sir, but is that a monkey on your head?"
8.15.2007
More on Christian the Lion.
I know. You've been wondering about Christian the Lion. Where did he come from? How did he come to know the two men in the video? Does he agree that their pants are too tight? And why the 70s hair? And WHO IS that feral-looking guy with the goatee?
I was curious, too, so I went a-googling.
Here's what I found out:
http://www.kimbawlion.com/christian.htm
I feel better now.
I was curious, too, so I went a-googling.
Here's what I found out:
http://www.kimbawlion.com/christian.htm
I feel better now.
8.14.2007
For Those About to Laugh, I Salute You.
I think this is a serious - as in, not Spinal Tap-esque - endeavor from this woman.
http://www.wingtunes.com/public/songs.aspx
I know you're busy, but it's worth it.
http://www.wingtunes.com/public/songs.aspx
I know you're busy, but it's worth it.
8.13.2007
You knew they were coming.
The poems.
If you know me well, you’re probably surprised that I’m not using this blog as a venue to push poetry onto unsuspecting readers. Well, that’s because I want to attract visitors, and frankly, the anti-poetry comments from (oh, you know who you are) might drive said visitors away.
That said, I’m taking a chance today and posting this, my favorite William Stafford poem, in honor of friends who’ve just had a baby. I love this poem – it makes me feel safe and warm and content, with thoughts of firelight and quilts.
I hope the beautiful new baby girl always experiences such joy.
At Our House
-William Stafford
Home late, one lamp turned low,
crumpled pillow on the couch,
wet dishes in the sink (late snack),
in every child's room the checked,
slow, sure breath--
Suddenly in this doorway where I stand
in this house I see this place again,
this time the night as quiet, the house
as well secured, all breath but mine borne
gently on the air--
And where I stand, no one.
If you know me well, you’re probably surprised that I’m not using this blog as a venue to push poetry onto unsuspecting readers. Well, that’s because I want to attract visitors, and frankly, the anti-poetry comments from (oh, you know who you are) might drive said visitors away.
That said, I’m taking a chance today and posting this, my favorite William Stafford poem, in honor of friends who’ve just had a baby. I love this poem – it makes me feel safe and warm and content, with thoughts of firelight and quilts.
I hope the beautiful new baby girl always experiences such joy.
At Our House
-William Stafford
Home late, one lamp turned low,
crumpled pillow on the couch,
wet dishes in the sink (late snack),
in every child's room the checked,
slow, sure breath--
Suddenly in this doorway where I stand
in this house I see this place again,
this time the night as quiet, the house
as well secured, all breath but mine borne
gently on the air--
And where I stand, no one.
These bong-shaped muppets are wierd, funny
I cannot take credit for unearthing this rare piece of Muppet history in which the hippie bong-shaped Muppets blow up the corporate bong-shaped Muppets; I found it here: http://www.mamapop.com/
The two-minute skit begs the question: what were the puppeteers smoking?
8.12.2007
Damn Straight.
The high priestess.
Hell Yes.
Hell Yes.
You are The High Priestess
Science, Wisdom, Knowledge, Education.
The High Priestess is the card of knowledge, instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. She holds scrolls of arcane information that she might, or might not reveal to you. The moon crown on her head as well as the crescent by her foot indicates her willingness to illuminate what you otherwise might not see, reveal the secrets you need to know. The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation, particularily when it comes to your moods.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
8.11.2007
I'm simply delighted.
When I was studying poetry in college, Mark Doty came to one of my contemporary seminars to read and discuss his work. Best day ever. Well, at least, best LITERARY day ever.
He was delightful. I'd always adored his work (at the time, I never went anywhere without my dogeared, noted and studied copy of "Sweet Machine"), but hearing it read aloud...no words.
Anyway, he's a golden retriever man. He's written about Beau, his big sweet Golden, in several poems, and his newest book, "Dog Years," is about how Beau was "the life force that keeps hims from abandoning all hope during the darkest days." I know that sounds heavy, but the man wsa losing his partner to AIDS at the time, so his grief was warranted. "Dog Years" is on my nightstand waiting; I can't wait to open it up and start reading.
If you like good poetry, read his stuff.
www.markdoty.org
He was delightful. I'd always adored his work (at the time, I never went anywhere without my dogeared, noted and studied copy of "Sweet Machine"), but hearing it read aloud...no words.
Anyway, he's a golden retriever man. He's written about Beau, his big sweet Golden, in several poems, and his newest book, "Dog Years," is about how Beau was "the life force that keeps hims from abandoning all hope during the darkest days." I know that sounds heavy, but the man wsa losing his partner to AIDS at the time, so his grief was warranted. "Dog Years" is on my nightstand waiting; I can't wait to open it up and start reading.
If you like good poetry, read his stuff.
www.markdoty.org
Um.....
http://www.spandexwear.com/
What's the deal with the "closed-face hoods?"
Seems like nefarious business to me.
What's the deal with the "closed-face hoods?"
Seems like nefarious business to me.
8.10.2007
So nerdy it almost hurts
We have five bird feeders in our backyard (which Brad calls, "the sanctuary"): one tube feeder, two cedar a-frame feeders, a finch feeder and a hummingbird feeder.
For weeks, we had hungry, happy birds getting fat at our feeders. We had eight quail, two pairs of mourning doves, black capped chickadees, finches, jays, hummingbirds, robins (the golden retriever of the bird world) and flocks of others I couldn't identify, even with the help of the marvelous, full-color birding book my parnts gave us for our first anniversary. Our birds seemed content and comfortable. If one of us forgot to fill a feeder, the birds sat on the empty structure and squawked at us - the avian equivalent of banging your shot glass down on the bar?
One night, during a party with tons of people in the backyard, our hummingbird (Hummy, I call him) flew up to the feeder, swilled some nectar and darted around the party for several minutes, delighting our guests and making me feel like Saint Francis.
But now they're gone.
Over the last week, I've noticed no bird activity in our backyard - not even a sudden flutter into hiding when I open the door. They've all gone, and I can't figure out why. It's not any hotter than it has been - actually, it's been almost (almost) pleasant in Salt Lake for the past couple days. The dogs pay no more attention to the feeders than they did before.(Arnie, the bird dog, is afraid of our backyard guests. He sticks to my side when I'm out there, like he just saw Alfered Hitchcock's "Birds" and is convinced they're all out to get him.)
Why have they left us? I really miss them.
Lions and afros and jeans, oh my!
First, you should know that there is nothing about this video that I don't completely adore. It might be one of the cutest things I've ever seen, and as you know, I have a Golden Retriever, so I see copious amounts of cute.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xr1pWzoLvT8
That said: Who''s the half naked dude? They cut away to him briefly, and it appears that he's watching the events unfold, but why is he not wearing a shirt?
When the lion first lunges at the big-haired-tight-pants-wearing fellow, didn't you think he was gonna maul him? I did.
Truthfully, I think it's a lab in a lion suit.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xr1pWzoLvT8
That said: Who''s the half naked dude? They cut away to him briefly, and it appears that he's watching the events unfold, but why is he not wearing a shirt?
When the lion first lunges at the big-haired-tight-pants-wearing fellow, didn't you think he was gonna maul him? I did.
Truthfully, I think it's a lab in a lion suit.
8.09.2007
ANGRY!
There's (ongoing) discussion among the backcountry skiing community about whether or not dogs should join in the fun. Black-hearted dog-haters declare backcountry dogs to be as bad for the environment and community as helicopters (this is a whole other subject that I'll address later, but for now, just know that HELISKIING HELICOPTERS = BAD).
I love skiing with Arnie and Red. They love to bound through the powder after us (only after one of us has skied the slope and declared it safe for our boys). They love to roll on their backs and make snow-angel-dogs. Snow-dogs. Dog-angels.
We're not idiots; we don't take them out for huge days, we don't take them into dangerous terrain. We don't let them jump on people. We CLEAN UP THEIR POO. (Why do the dog-haters always assume that we dog-lovers revel in leaving dog shit for others to step in? Hey haters? Breaking news: I hate stepping in dog shit, too.)
Check out the boys. Note that they're waiting patiently to be told "go."
25K down, 25K to go
Brad took this as I marched up the final hill in the Speedgoat. Important to notice here: I am carrying ONE water bottle, and a small one at that. I have no food on my person, and I'm in no way shaded from the elements. Think I underestimated this race? Not only was I the only racer without provisions, I also seemed to be the only one who, like, didn't prepare.
Oh well, that's how I do things, I suppose. Sort of jump in blind. Now that I know that I CAN run a 50K, I will actually TRAIN for the next one (oh yes, there'll be a next one). And carry more water. And food.
Jesus. I can't believe I didn't pass out mid-course.
8.07.2007
On Top of Fairview Dome With Bird
While in Tuolumne last weekend, Brad and I climbed one classic route after another, including the Regular Route on Fairview Dome (in the image, we're on top of said route).
It was my first time in Tuolumne, and I want to return again and again. It's heaven to me, because even though the climbing is exceptional and plentiful and easily accessable, it's also just a small part of what that place offers. When I remember it now, I think of camping in cool mountain temps, snuggled into down bags and waking to frost on the windows of the van. I think of swimming in a cold, clear lake in the middle of the day when it's too hot to climb. I think of meeting good people with similar passions and goals. I remember feeling like we were doing exactly what we were supposed to be doing in the exactly the right place. I think of taking it easy and enjoying the time togehter, not feeling rushed to get more routes in, and even so, going to bed each night completely exhausted.
I spent a lot of time staring into the Sierra, the Range of Light, and thinking about how, while the Cascades may have given life to Gary Snyder's poetry, it was the Sierra that moved Snyder to settle and build a homebase, that continues to inspire him even now.
One after another, the granite peaks - domes, sharp aretes, ridges - filled the middle distance and beyond. The possibilities - link-ups, big runs, traverses, routes - grew in my mind as I racked my brain for a way to live there, just for a season, for a way to make the Sierra my home. Our home.
It was my first time in Tuolumne, and I want to return again and again. It's heaven to me, because even though the climbing is exceptional and plentiful and easily accessable, it's also just a small part of what that place offers. When I remember it now, I think of camping in cool mountain temps, snuggled into down bags and waking to frost on the windows of the van. I think of swimming in a cold, clear lake in the middle of the day when it's too hot to climb. I think of meeting good people with similar passions and goals. I remember feeling like we were doing exactly what we were supposed to be doing in the exactly the right place. I think of taking it easy and enjoying the time togehter, not feeling rushed to get more routes in, and even so, going to bed each night completely exhausted.
I spent a lot of time staring into the Sierra, the Range of Light, and thinking about how, while the Cascades may have given life to Gary Snyder's poetry, it was the Sierra that moved Snyder to settle and build a homebase, that continues to inspire him even now.
One after another, the granite peaks - domes, sharp aretes, ridges - filled the middle distance and beyond. The possibilities - link-ups, big runs, traverses, routes - grew in my mind as I racked my brain for a way to live there, just for a season, for a way to make the Sierra my home. Our home.
Pillow
Arnie has been very cuddly lately, very near. A few weeks ago, camping in the van at Maple, we took a nap while Brad make dinner. Perfection.
Another List. This is Surprisingly (and Narcissistically) Fun
Three Things That Scare Me:
1. Mountain Lions
2. Strange Men
3. Poverty
Three People Who Make Me Laugh:
1. David Sedaris
2. George Oscar Bluth
3. Megan
Three Things I Love:
1. Trader Giotto’s Italian Roast first thing in the morning
2. Waking up to snowfall
3. Fall clothing
Three Things I Hate:
1. Seeing people in pain
2. People who don’t like animals
3. People who are consciously hurtful
Three Things I Don’t Understand:
1. Tax stuff
2. How to figure out gas mileage
3. Why people wear open-toed shoes with tights
Three Things On My Desk:
1. A picture of Brad and me in front of the Captian
2. The tiki-style pencil holder that Megan bestowed upon me when she left Backbone
3. Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style
Three Things I’m Doing Right Now:
1. Waiting for the day to end so I can go running
2. Looking forward to tomorrow when I can go climbing (I need to rest my muscles tonight)
3. Wondering if I can make it to Red Pine Lake and back without running into a moose
Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Go on a hut trip with Brad
2. Live on the road, in the van, climbing full time
3. Visit Vermont in the Fall
Three Things I Can Do:
1. Pull-ups
2. Poems
3. Pet Arnie
Three Things I Can’t Do:
1. Wear horizontal stripes
2. Christmas – it makes me feel sick and sad
3. Play soccer
Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
1. Folk music
2. NPR
3. My mother
Three Things You Should Never Listen To:
1. The doubting, taunting voice deep inside
2. Haters
3. Fundamentalists of any kind
Three Things I’d Like To Learn:
1. To save mo money mo better
2. To think first, speak second
3. To react less emotionally
Three Favorite Foods:
1. Hamburgers
2. Chocolate Milk
3. Saag Paneer
Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:
1. Sesame Street
2. Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood
3. The Muppet Show
Three Things I Regret:
1. Not learning to save money sooner
2. Cutting my hair
3. That I have regrets
1. Mountain Lions
2. Strange Men
3. Poverty
Three People Who Make Me Laugh:
1. David Sedaris
2. George Oscar Bluth
3. Megan
Three Things I Love:
1. Trader Giotto’s Italian Roast first thing in the morning
2. Waking up to snowfall
3. Fall clothing
Three Things I Hate:
1. Seeing people in pain
2. People who don’t like animals
3. People who are consciously hurtful
Three Things I Don’t Understand:
1. Tax stuff
2. How to figure out gas mileage
3. Why people wear open-toed shoes with tights
Three Things On My Desk:
1. A picture of Brad and me in front of the Captian
2. The tiki-style pencil holder that Megan bestowed upon me when she left Backbone
3. Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style
Three Things I’m Doing Right Now:
1. Waiting for the day to end so I can go running
2. Looking forward to tomorrow when I can go climbing (I need to rest my muscles tonight)
3. Wondering if I can make it to Red Pine Lake and back without running into a moose
Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Go on a hut trip with Brad
2. Live on the road, in the van, climbing full time
3. Visit Vermont in the Fall
Three Things I Can Do:
1. Pull-ups
2. Poems
3. Pet Arnie
Three Things I Can’t Do:
1. Wear horizontal stripes
2. Christmas – it makes me feel sick and sad
3. Play soccer
Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
1. Folk music
2. NPR
3. My mother
Three Things You Should Never Listen To:
1. The doubting, taunting voice deep inside
2. Haters
3. Fundamentalists of any kind
Three Things I’d Like To Learn:
1. To save mo money mo better
2. To think first, speak second
3. To react less emotionally
Three Favorite Foods:
1. Hamburgers
2. Chocolate Milk
3. Saag Paneer
Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:
1. Sesame Street
2. Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood
3. The Muppet Show
Three Things I Regret:
1. Not learning to save money sooner
2. Cutting my hair
3. That I have regrets
Kucinich all the way
Here’s a helpful quiz:
http://www.dehp.net/candidate/index.php
It allows you to weight in on the key issues facing the upcoming Presidential election and calculates, based on the level of importance you apply to each of your answers, the candidate who best suits you.
I was very surprised by who my “ideal candidate” turned out to be.
Try it; it’s kind of neat.
http://www.dehp.net/candidate/index.php
It allows you to weight in on the key issues facing the upcoming Presidential election and calculates, based on the level of importance you apply to each of your answers, the candidate who best suits you.
I was very surprised by who my “ideal candidate” turned out to be.
Try it; it’s kind of neat.
8.06.2007
Too much to write about, so this is my cop-out.
1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
No. Katherine Anne Cavicchio marks the start of a dynasty.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Wow...it’s been awhile for real sobs, though yesterday I got a bit teary-eyed when my friend Robin told me that she has a tape of Mugs’ voice. The thought of hearing the voice of your life-long love, long after he died....Completely crushing.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
With the proper pen or pencil (the lead must be 0.7, not 0.5).
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Prosciutto
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Even better - I have two dogs. Arnie (aka Arnold, the Bear, Little, Sweet Pea) is a 3 year old Golden Retriever and Red (aka Red Dawg, Heeler, Dingo, Red Puppy) is a 4 year old Red Heeler.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Hard to say; I tend to be scared of people who are too much like me.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No. Never. That was sarcasm.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yes, but I always wanted them to be taken out because I really wanted to eat all the ice cream. Just like George Costanza.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Nope.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Cracklin’ Oat Bran, but I never eat it on account of its copious sugar, fat, bleached flour and cost. I also love me some oatmeal.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Yes. If I don’t untie them when I’m taking them off, I’ll just have to untie them later, when I'm putting them back on. Why wait?
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
No. I KNOW I am strong.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Anything that starts with vanilla and adds some form of chocolate or peanut butter.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Men: their smile.
Women: how skinny they are.
15. RED OR PINK?
Pink.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
How my completely distorted self-image affects my mood.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Grama and Pap Cavicchio.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Sure.
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Brown velour skirt and pink wooden clogs.
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
HealthyPop Butter flavor popcorn, but I'm still hungry.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The woman in the office next to mine is on the phone, trying to help a friend feel better. It sounds sad.
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Today I’d be white. I’m looking forward to snow.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Brad’s neck, woodsmoke, sweetgrass, Arnie’s fur, Red’s paws.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Brad.
25. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Penn State football.
26. HAIR COLOR?
Darker brown than most people realize.
27. EYE COLOR?
Blue.
28. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Yes.
39. FAVORITE FOOD?
Hamburgers.
30. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Happy endings. Always.
31. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
32. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
White.
33. SUMMER OR WINTER?
In summer, winter. In winter, summer. Always, fall.
34. HUGS OR KISSES?
Big hugs.
35. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster.
36. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I don’t use one.
37. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
I don’t watch tv.
38. FAVORITE SOUND?
Brad calling, “On belay,” Arnie scratching his back on the carpet, Red saying good morning.
39. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
No, thanks.
40. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Southeast Asia.
41. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I remember every single thing a person was wearing at any point, right down to the make and model of their running shoes and what kind of barrette they have in their hair.
42. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Greensburg, Pennsylvania.
43. WHAT SUPERPOWER WOULD YOU LIKE?
Endless motivation.
No. Katherine Anne Cavicchio marks the start of a dynasty.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Wow...it’s been awhile for real sobs, though yesterday I got a bit teary-eyed when my friend Robin told me that she has a tape of Mugs’ voice. The thought of hearing the voice of your life-long love, long after he died....Completely crushing.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
With the proper pen or pencil (the lead must be 0.7, not 0.5).
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Prosciutto
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Even better - I have two dogs. Arnie (aka Arnold, the Bear, Little, Sweet Pea) is a 3 year old Golden Retriever and Red (aka Red Dawg, Heeler, Dingo, Red Puppy) is a 4 year old Red Heeler.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Hard to say; I tend to be scared of people who are too much like me.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No. Never. That was sarcasm.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yes, but I always wanted them to be taken out because I really wanted to eat all the ice cream. Just like George Costanza.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Nope.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Cracklin’ Oat Bran, but I never eat it on account of its copious sugar, fat, bleached flour and cost. I also love me some oatmeal.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Yes. If I don’t untie them when I’m taking them off, I’ll just have to untie them later, when I'm putting them back on. Why wait?
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
No. I KNOW I am strong.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Anything that starts with vanilla and adds some form of chocolate or peanut butter.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Men: their smile.
Women: how skinny they are.
15. RED OR PINK?
Pink.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
How my completely distorted self-image affects my mood.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Grama and Pap Cavicchio.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Sure.
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Brown velour skirt and pink wooden clogs.
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
HealthyPop Butter flavor popcorn, but I'm still hungry.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The woman in the office next to mine is on the phone, trying to help a friend feel better. It sounds sad.
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
Today I’d be white. I’m looking forward to snow.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Brad’s neck, woodsmoke, sweetgrass, Arnie’s fur, Red’s paws.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
Brad.
25. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Penn State football.
26. HAIR COLOR?
Darker brown than most people realize.
27. EYE COLOR?
Blue.
28. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Yes.
39. FAVORITE FOOD?
Hamburgers.
30. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Happy endings. Always.
31. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
32. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
White.
33. SUMMER OR WINTER?
In summer, winter. In winter, summer. Always, fall.
34. HUGS OR KISSES?
Big hugs.
35. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster.
36. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I don’t use one.
37. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
I don’t watch tv.
38. FAVORITE SOUND?
Brad calling, “On belay,” Arnie scratching his back on the carpet, Red saying good morning.
39. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
No, thanks.
40. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Southeast Asia.
41. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I remember every single thing a person was wearing at any point, right down to the make and model of their running shoes and what kind of barrette they have in their hair.
42. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Greensburg, Pennsylvania.
43. WHAT SUPERPOWER WOULD YOU LIKE?
Endless motivation.
8.02.2007
Directly Above the Center of the Earth
Lately I've been reading this blog: http://replikate.blogspot.com/. This morning, the woman who writes it posted this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRnoh86FD2A&eurl=
And as the opening chords rang, I was back in Zeno’s, five feet away from where Ryan was playing, his foot kicking, his hair in his face, dark glasses, tight jeans, glaring at the audience. I think I remember the set list, I remember what I was wearing, I remember that I left the bar that night and rode home through the alleys because I was drunk, I remember the rainbow cruiser that I had in college. It had a purple bike horn and handlebar streamers and I adored it wholly. I was probably wearing patchouli oil with my Zeno's t-shirt and the carhart jeans I lived in back then. I got home to the bungalow on Buckhout Street and couldn’t sleep. I sat on the back porch facing the garden, smoking an American Spirit (in those years, I so wanted to be a smoker). Eric and Dave, my roommates, were probably asleep or at their girlfriends’ houses; my neighbors – Erin, Olena and I forget the rest – weren’t home. And as I sat there in the silver and white light, as the soar of the alcohol loosened its grip, I ached with loneliness.
Of course those feelings are gone now – more than 10 years later – but his music takes me there in a heartbeat, and it's still as beautiful to me as it was then.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRnoh86FD2A&eurl=
And as the opening chords rang, I was back in Zeno’s, five feet away from where Ryan was playing, his foot kicking, his hair in his face, dark glasses, tight jeans, glaring at the audience. I think I remember the set list, I remember what I was wearing, I remember that I left the bar that night and rode home through the alleys because I was drunk, I remember the rainbow cruiser that I had in college. It had a purple bike horn and handlebar streamers and I adored it wholly. I was probably wearing patchouli oil with my Zeno's t-shirt and the carhart jeans I lived in back then. I got home to the bungalow on Buckhout Street and couldn’t sleep. I sat on the back porch facing the garden, smoking an American Spirit (in those years, I so wanted to be a smoker). Eric and Dave, my roommates, were probably asleep or at their girlfriends’ houses; my neighbors – Erin, Olena and I forget the rest – weren’t home. And as I sat there in the silver and white light, as the soar of the alcohol loosened its grip, I ached with loneliness.
Of course those feelings are gone now – more than 10 years later – but his music takes me there in a heartbeat, and it's still as beautiful to me as it was then.
7.23.2007
Baaaaa
I ran (walked) the Wasatch Speedgoat 50k on Saturday, and even though I kept trying to quit, Brad saw to it that I finished. He recruited Catherine and Roch to help me feel motivated and happy and strong, and at every aid station, at the top of every climb (and even at the bottom of some of them), he was right there with me. I'm lucky. Seeing his huge smile at the finish line made me want to work harder in everything I do.
I'm so glad I finished. I'm so proud right now. Maybe next time I'll actually train. I feel great now...imagine how I'd feel if I'd actually taken the race seriously and given it the respect it deserved...if I'd like, worn shorts with pockets, eaten food during the race or even carried more than one bottle of water....
The next day, July 22nd, was our 1st wedding anniversary, and after a wonderful weekend togehter - including brunch, climbing and swimming together on Sunday - I feel like we're teammates again.
I'm so glad I finished. I'm so proud right now. Maybe next time I'll actually train. I feel great now...imagine how I'd feel if I'd actually taken the race seriously and given it the respect it deserved...if I'd like, worn shorts with pockets, eaten food during the race or even carried more than one bottle of water....
The next day, July 22nd, was our 1st wedding anniversary, and after a wonderful weekend togehter - including brunch, climbing and swimming together on Sunday - I feel like we're teammates again.
7.18.2007
A new level of WordNerd
http://wordsmith.org/anagram/index.html
An anagram for "Arnie" is "Near I," which he always is!
An anagram for Red Dog Barlage is "Labrador Egged," which is certainly what Red would do to a Labrador if he had opposable thumbs and could hurl eggs.
An anagram for "Arnie" is "Near I," which he always is!
An anagram for Red Dog Barlage is "Labrador Egged," which is certainly what Red would do to a Labrador if he had opposable thumbs and could hurl eggs.
7.17.2007
Homage to Humidity, Fall
The alarm sounded this morning, and I was jarred out of a horrible dream in which good friends (and a wonderful couple) were going through a divorce. I was shocked in the dream, mostly because they’re SO unlikely to ever split, and shocked BY the dream when I woke up, wondering why I come up with this awful stuff in my sleep.
After smacking “snooze” three times, I decided that all I really wanted out of the day was time to read. I didn’t want to go to work; I didn’t want to exercise. I just wanted quiet and books.
It’s cloudy today, offering a welcome reprieve from the searing, stifling heat. I know that complaining about the weather is, like, the LEAST productive thing in the world, and furthermore, I know it totally irritates my husband, but I just can’t help it! It’s too hot! It would be one thing if we lived in Phoenix and I was complaining about 100 degree temps, but we live spitting distance from the mountains that lay claim to “the greatest snow on Earth,” so why am I sweating by 7 am?
But today is cooler thanks to the clouds and a brief rain this morning. It’s even a little humid today, which is sweet relief after the dry-aired summer of itchy-scratchy skin. In honor of the Pennsylvania-summer weather we’re having, I got my East Coast on this morning, complete with pearls, an oxford shirt and flowery clogs that smack of summer camp and Scandinavia. It’s my default look, I’ve come to realize. It’s even more comfortable to me than yoga-wear (a close second), because East Coast girl look works even when I’m feeling fat, like today. (See above. No exercise makes me feel like I gained 40 pounds overnight.) Preppy with some roundness is almost expected, cute. Yoga-wear without the perfect bod is plain horrifying. Even if the yoga-wear in question is the otherwise perfect Lululemon Reverse Groove Pant.
The cloudy weather makes me think of J. Crew barn jackets, old jeans and hiking boots, pearls, shetland wool, grass, leaves. I’ll enjoy the final third of summer – no doubt about that – but part of me is already looking forward to Fall. To cool air coming down the canyons at night, to fires and wine and crunchy leaves underfoot. To climbing in the heat of the day then bundling up at night. To ski hats. Down vests. Wool socks. Woodsmoke.
After smacking “snooze” three times, I decided that all I really wanted out of the day was time to read. I didn’t want to go to work; I didn’t want to exercise. I just wanted quiet and books.
It’s cloudy today, offering a welcome reprieve from the searing, stifling heat. I know that complaining about the weather is, like, the LEAST productive thing in the world, and furthermore, I know it totally irritates my husband, but I just can’t help it! It’s too hot! It would be one thing if we lived in Phoenix and I was complaining about 100 degree temps, but we live spitting distance from the mountains that lay claim to “the greatest snow on Earth,” so why am I sweating by 7 am?
But today is cooler thanks to the clouds and a brief rain this morning. It’s even a little humid today, which is sweet relief after the dry-aired summer of itchy-scratchy skin. In honor of the Pennsylvania-summer weather we’re having, I got my East Coast on this morning, complete with pearls, an oxford shirt and flowery clogs that smack of summer camp and Scandinavia. It’s my default look, I’ve come to realize. It’s even more comfortable to me than yoga-wear (a close second), because East Coast girl look works even when I’m feeling fat, like today. (See above. No exercise makes me feel like I gained 40 pounds overnight.) Preppy with some roundness is almost expected, cute. Yoga-wear without the perfect bod is plain horrifying. Even if the yoga-wear in question is the otherwise perfect Lululemon Reverse Groove Pant.
The cloudy weather makes me think of J. Crew barn jackets, old jeans and hiking boots, pearls, shetland wool, grass, leaves. I’ll enjoy the final third of summer – no doubt about that – but part of me is already looking forward to Fall. To cool air coming down the canyons at night, to fires and wine and crunchy leaves underfoot. To climbing in the heat of the day then bundling up at night. To ski hats. Down vests. Wool socks. Woodsmoke.
7.16.2007
SILLY
Most people – especially in Utah – don’t know that I foster an intense love of all things silly. It overtakes me at times, cracking me up in the middle of a conversation, a meeting, an inopportune time. Most of the time it’s remembered references to my youth, when my brother and I lost it over the Muppets, Saturday Night Live, the Simpsons (“That’s where I saw the leprechaun…he told me to burn things!”). This clip, from Sesame Street, was – and remains – one of our favorites:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TT-2dkJxomM
I mean, the turtleneck? Hilarious.
We especially like when Kermit loses it and his arms go all floppy. Our recent faves include Arrested Development ("These are my awards, Mother, from Army. The Seal is for Marksmanship, and the Gorilla is for sand racing.”) and the Family Guy…these are hilarities I’ll probably never share with Brad; his sense of humor is usually fairly different than mine.I admire him for his focus and drive, and hopefully he’ll find reason to admire me for my ability to laugh myself to tears at a one-handed man-child born of a frigid alcoholic and a crook. Tears: a magician named Gob. Tears: Tobias. Brad seems to find the silly, well, silly, even as I delight in it.
But back to the Muppets, can you get over this one?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCbuRA_D3KU
Again, the turtlenecks are just too much.
Two nights ago, Brad and I were watching the Daily Show (I think we should be friends with Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert). In trying to explain how shabby his upbringings were, thus upstaging Obama at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, Colbert referenced his father, “the poor, Virginia turd farmer,” and his grandfather, “a goat ball licker.” Brad was laughing so hard he was emitting no sound at all, just rolling around on the floor and clutching his stomach. I laughed so hard I almost threw up.
Here’s my favorite writer right now: Jen Lancaster. I LAUGH out LOUD. Read her stuff; you will, too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TT-2dkJxomM
I mean, the turtleneck? Hilarious.
We especially like when Kermit loses it and his arms go all floppy. Our recent faves include Arrested Development ("These are my awards, Mother, from Army. The Seal is for Marksmanship, and the Gorilla is for sand racing.”) and the Family Guy…these are hilarities I’ll probably never share with Brad; his sense of humor is usually fairly different than mine.I admire him for his focus and drive, and hopefully he’ll find reason to admire me for my ability to laugh myself to tears at a one-handed man-child born of a frigid alcoholic and a crook. Tears: a magician named Gob. Tears: Tobias. Brad seems to find the silly, well, silly, even as I delight in it.
But back to the Muppets, can you get over this one?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCbuRA_D3KU
Again, the turtlenecks are just too much.
Two nights ago, Brad and I were watching the Daily Show (I think we should be friends with Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert). In trying to explain how shabby his upbringings were, thus upstaging Obama at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, Colbert referenced his father, “the poor, Virginia turd farmer,” and his grandfather, “a goat ball licker.” Brad was laughing so hard he was emitting no sound at all, just rolling around on the floor and clutching his stomach. I laughed so hard I almost threw up.
Here’s my favorite writer right now: Jen Lancaster. I LAUGH out LOUD. Read her stuff; you will, too.
7.09.2007
The Good.
Recent:
Shopping for birdfeeders
Working in the garage together
Laughing while playing tennis
Forever:
Our special way of holding hands
Our dog’s voices
Our similar views on simplifying life
When he calls me “sweetie”
When he calls me back into bed because he needs snoogles
Shopping for birdfeeders
Working in the garage together
Laughing while playing tennis
Forever:
Our special way of holding hands
Our dog’s voices
Our similar views on simplifying life
When he calls me “sweetie”
When he calls me back into bed because he needs snoogles
6.22.2007
LOVE
Because it could end in a heartbeat
Because it could be over tomorrow
Because life is too short
A car accident
A bad fall
Because it’s easier to laugh
Because it’s more fun
Because you feel better
Because it just doesn’t matter enough
Holding a grudge
Being right
Proving a point
Because you’re best friends, and you’re in it together
Because it could be over tomorrow
Because life is too short
A car accident
A bad fall
Because it’s easier to laugh
Because it’s more fun
Because you feel better
Because it just doesn’t matter enough
Holding a grudge
Being right
Proving a point
Because you’re best friends, and you’re in it together
6.21.2007
6.08.2007
Skunked
Last night I went running in Mill Creek with Arnie, Red and Zambonie (a wonderful, skinny German Shepard who’s visiting us while her parents are living it up in Maui).
We’d covered about half a mile before coming upon one of the many empty pieces of pipe along the Pipeline Trail (hence...). Suddenly Red charged the pipe opening with a fervor I’ve never seen from the relatively mild-mannered Heeler. Something was in there, and Red didn’t like it.
It occurred to me as I considered the light rain and cold, muddy ground, that the pipe’s occupant could be a rattlesnake. (I was thinking, you see, of the episode of Meerkat Manor in which brave little Shakespeare gets attacked by a puff adder.)
“Red, COME!” No response. That’s odd for Red. With Arnie, I’m used to calling two, three, nine times. But Red almost always listens on the first call. This was worrisome, especially because Arnie was close behind, peering into the pipe behind his big brother.
(Zambonie, for the record, was 25 feet ahead of us on the trail, looking back at the boys, plainly annoyed.)
At once Red and Arnie tore into the pipe, chasing the creature that was now darting from the other end. A black creature, smallish. A black and white creature. With a long tail and a stripe on its ba....oh my god, my boys were just sprayed by a skunk.
Red flung himself on the ground in the aftermath of the spray, scooting his head in the dirt and rubbing his eyes. He seemed ashamed and disgusted, the continued self-flinging a form of beratement. “No need to punish him,” I thought. “He’s doing it for me.” Forlorn and wide-eyed, Red’s ears were back in submission.
I looked around for Arnie, assuming that he’d be reacting similarly. Typical, though, of my sweet, dopey little retriever, Arnie was sprawled in the middle of the trail eating a stick. “Arnie!” I said, surprised. He paused momentarily, looking up at me with his “I am a canine gargoyle” face, cocked his head, and went back to gnawing bark.
He didn’t seem to notice that he had just been sprayed by a skunk.
As Red continued a display that would have put the monks of Opus Dei to shame, Arnie rolled over onto his back with a “please scratch my belly” look.
Five baths, one scrub with a dubious sounding combo we found on the internet (hydrogen peroxide, liquid soap, baking powder), and a whole lot of hosing down later, the boys were allowed back into the house.
Arnie, completely unaffected by the spray, the baths, the hose and the banishment from the house, hopped onto the couch between us like nothing had happened. Red curled up on his bed and proceeded to whine for the next 24 hours.
We get it. He’s sorry.
We’d covered about half a mile before coming upon one of the many empty pieces of pipe along the Pipeline Trail (hence...). Suddenly Red charged the pipe opening with a fervor I’ve never seen from the relatively mild-mannered Heeler. Something was in there, and Red didn’t like it.
It occurred to me as I considered the light rain and cold, muddy ground, that the pipe’s occupant could be a rattlesnake. (I was thinking, you see, of the episode of Meerkat Manor in which brave little Shakespeare gets attacked by a puff adder.)
“Red, COME!” No response. That’s odd for Red. With Arnie, I’m used to calling two, three, nine times. But Red almost always listens on the first call. This was worrisome, especially because Arnie was close behind, peering into the pipe behind his big brother.
(Zambonie, for the record, was 25 feet ahead of us on the trail, looking back at the boys, plainly annoyed.)
At once Red and Arnie tore into the pipe, chasing the creature that was now darting from the other end. A black creature, smallish. A black and white creature. With a long tail and a stripe on its ba....oh my god, my boys were just sprayed by a skunk.
Red flung himself on the ground in the aftermath of the spray, scooting his head in the dirt and rubbing his eyes. He seemed ashamed and disgusted, the continued self-flinging a form of beratement. “No need to punish him,” I thought. “He’s doing it for me.” Forlorn and wide-eyed, Red’s ears were back in submission.
I looked around for Arnie, assuming that he’d be reacting similarly. Typical, though, of my sweet, dopey little retriever, Arnie was sprawled in the middle of the trail eating a stick. “Arnie!” I said, surprised. He paused momentarily, looking up at me with his “I am a canine gargoyle” face, cocked his head, and went back to gnawing bark.
He didn’t seem to notice that he had just been sprayed by a skunk.
As Red continued a display that would have put the monks of Opus Dei to shame, Arnie rolled over onto his back with a “please scratch my belly” look.
Five baths, one scrub with a dubious sounding combo we found on the internet (hydrogen peroxide, liquid soap, baking powder), and a whole lot of hosing down later, the boys were allowed back into the house.
Arnie, completely unaffected by the spray, the baths, the hose and the banishment from the house, hopped onto the couch between us like nothing had happened. Red curled up on his bed and proceeded to whine for the next 24 hours.
We get it. He’s sorry.
More Funny, 2
I also adore:
http://birdchick.com/adventures/rabbit/index.html
(That’s the “disapproving rabbits” site)
And:
www.cuteoverload.com
I believe I’m turning into my grandmother. But without the shrinking. Yet.
And this:
www.someecards.com
It’s just so funny....
http://birdchick.com/adventures/rabbit/index.html
(That’s the “disapproving rabbits” site)
And:
www.cuteoverload.com
I believe I’m turning into my grandmother. But without the shrinking. Yet.
And this:
www.someecards.com
It’s just so funny....
Make Funny
Other Peoples’ Blogs are funnier than mine. Maybe I’m using this tool the wrong way. Maybe it’d be better to use this blog to make me laugh, which seems to be all it takes to settle me down. Well, laughter + not feeling fat.
Mostly not feeling fat.
But laughter is good, too.
The following make me laugh out loud:
Get Fuzzy
Anything from Seth McFarlane
David Sedaris
Amy Sedaris
Kids in the Hall
Braincandy
The State
Larry David
Arrested Development
David Rakoff
The Onion
Dooce.com - and she's in Salt Lake!
The Daily Show
Steven Colbert
General silliness of any kind
Mostly not feeling fat.
But laughter is good, too.
The following make me laugh out loud:
Get Fuzzy
Anything from Seth McFarlane
David Sedaris
Amy Sedaris
Kids in the Hall
Braincandy
The State
Larry David
Arrested Development
David Rakoff
The Onion
Dooce.com - and she's in Salt Lake!
The Daily Show
Steven Colbert
General silliness of any kind
6.07.2007
Charm
It’s easy – that crinkly-eyed smile, slight turn of the head. When I give it I know exactly what I’m doing, which leads me to think that others’ might, too.
When I get it, though, when I see it from Brad, it opens my heart right up before I have a chance to stop it.
When Brad throws his head back and starts to laugh, it’s that millisecond before sound comes out, that short intake of breath, that’s when it happens. That’s when I’m charmed completely and uncontrollably. When I know I’ve made him laugh, when he’s delighted. That’s what does it for me.
Laughter, I’m realizing, is everything for me.
When I get it, though, when I see it from Brad, it opens my heart right up before I have a chance to stop it.
When Brad throws his head back and starts to laugh, it’s that millisecond before sound comes out, that short intake of breath, that’s when it happens. That’s when I’m charmed completely and uncontrollably. When I know I’ve made him laugh, when he’s delighted. That’s what does it for me.
Laughter, I’m realizing, is everything for me.
6.04.2007
Don't be like this...
"The ones who don’t do anything are always the ones who try to pull you down."
-Henry Rollins
Instead, be supportive. Be compassionate. Be a friend.
This is a good one to remember.
-Henry Rollins
Instead, be supportive. Be compassionate. Be a friend.
This is a good one to remember.
Older and Wiser
Earth Verse
-Gary Snyder
Wide enough to keep you looking
Open enough to keep you moving
Dry enough to keep you honest
Prickly enough to make you tough
Green enough to go on living
Old enough to give you dreams
Because there’s always something bigger, something more powerful, something that matters a hell of a lot more than the reason for the tears or hopelessness.
And even after dark, when old demons come calling and fear fills the hollows, the truth is: it’s fine. Breathe. Stretch. Love and love fearlessly. Allow yourself to be vulnerable without thinking that your vulnerability will last forever. Allow yourself to move past anger without thinking that you have to be right. When it comes down to it, it doesn't matter who's right. What matters is that at the end of the day, there's love, friendship and compassion.
Allow yourself to trust completely.
-Gary Snyder
Wide enough to keep you looking
Open enough to keep you moving
Dry enough to keep you honest
Prickly enough to make you tough
Green enough to go on living
Old enough to give you dreams
Because there’s always something bigger, something more powerful, something that matters a hell of a lot more than the reason for the tears or hopelessness.
And even after dark, when old demons come calling and fear fills the hollows, the truth is: it’s fine. Breathe. Stretch. Love and love fearlessly. Allow yourself to be vulnerable without thinking that your vulnerability will last forever. Allow yourself to move past anger without thinking that you have to be right. When it comes down to it, it doesn't matter who's right. What matters is that at the end of the day, there's love, friendship and compassion.
Allow yourself to trust completely.
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