Something to Say

I'm in the mood to write. Thing is, I really don't have much to say. I just feel like writing. About nothing. I really don't live an exciting life, so I don't have much to write about. But who cares. It's my blog and I'll write if I want to.

I guess I'll write about my boring weekend:

I went to the farmer's market. It runs from April to December and yesterday was the first Saturday of the season. I got coffee from the coffee guy. I don't drink fancy coffee, but since it is the Pacific Northwest, black coffee is "drip, no room." So my coffee order is a 16 oz drip with no room. Sometimes it is a three-shot,16 oz Americano with no room. But drip is easier. Every Saturday, the coffee guy knows. When I'm not there for a couple of Saturdays, he always mentions it. Once, last year, I walked by on my out and he asked me to try a newer brew. "Be honest," he said, "your opinion is what we want." Thing is, I am not a coffee aficionado. I am kind of a coffee snob. But, mainly, I just want dark, strong coffee. That's it. And that batch? Too weak. And that's what I told him. Anyway, yesterday he told me he only remembers the orders of a few people and I am one of them. Remembering someone drinks drip coffee may not seem that special, but it probably stands out since the others around me are ordering latte, machiato, soy, steamed something or other coffee drinks. I told him that I was going to take all this to mean I was special instead of horribly, terribly predictable. But, my main point, is that the market means Ethiopian food for breakfast, strong coffee, bumping into friends and acquaintances, fresh vegetables, and if we're lucky, sun. There was lots of glorious sun. I came home with fresh brussel spouts, radishes, potatoes, kale, collards, and bread. I picked up some basil and asparagus at the co-op and made asparagus pesto salad. And holy fuck, it was amazing.

I read Nick Horby's Juliet, Naked. In, like, four hours. I love Nick Hornby. Did I ever mention I saw him read in Ye Olde College Town? In that effing bar where it seemed like anyone who was anyone played... but they were all ruined by the incessant talking of sorority girls. Why anyone would pay a cover to sit at a table, talk about their over-dramatic lives and ruin the evenings of others when they could do that for free anywhere else was always beyond me. Anyway, he was touring with the band Marah. He'd read a short story, usually revolving around music, and then Marah would play. It was one of my favorite music/book moments in Ye Old College Town. I love Nick Hornby. To me, he just gets it. He understands what is important to me and can express it in a way that just works. I can read one of his books in a few hours becuase 1) I get lost in them, and 2) they are easy to read. I think the only one of his books I haven't read is Fever Pitch. I want to.

Today, being Easter and me being a basic non-believer, I didn't have plans. I didn't go to the gym because I didn't know if it was open, and I didn't feel like making the effort to find out. I made pancakes (I loooooove this recipe). I listened to the most recent Pop Culture Happy Hour. I listen to this every Sunday morning while making breakfast (talk about being predictable). I love it. I love it because it is just up my alley: Over-analyzing pop culture. And getting into heated arguments about stupid shit. This week they talked about teen sex comedies, and part of this required defining teen sex comedy versus teen comedy versus raunch. But it also involved discussing the "high points" in history of teen sex comedies, why there aren't many made anymore (spoiler: because it's easy to find boobs on the internet), and what role teen sex comedies play in adolescence. And then there was a heated discussion about the best Easter candy. Seriously, people, if you are not listening to this podcast, you are missing out.

Because I didn't go to the gym, I went for a long walk. And the sun was out. For a second day in a row. I walked down to the waterfront park close to my place, wandered, got some coffee, sat and read, perused the newest yarn store in town, and then walked home.

I settled in for an afternoon of laziness and stupid movies, when I hear a high-pitched "eeeeeeee" followed by, "Fire Fire. Leave the building immediately." I knew that wasn't the alarm in my building, but I wasn't sure about the one next to me. I live in an older building, and I live next to an even older one. But it sounded like it was coming from the condos below me. I could see others outside their places, looking confused. After grabbing my keys while wondering if I should throw the cat in the carrier just in case, I went outside and found out it was indeed from one of the condos below. Looking outside, I could see them standing around. Judging by the lack of fire trucks and the nonchalant-ness of the people down there, it was probably burned food.

This whole thing was a bit unsettling since we had a big fire here a week ago. A boathouse in the marina, along with ten boats, went up in flames. It was called into 911 about 5:30 that morning. I was up just after 6:00am and could see the flames shooting into the air and the thick black smoke. Every so often I would see a bright flash. it was obvious that something extremely flammable, probably a gas-filled boat, had just burst into flames. Then there were news and Coast Guard helicopters flying low over the bay all morning. Tragically, the person who reported the fire, along with her husband, didn't survive. So, when I heard the alarm going off this afternoon, it was one of the first times in a long time--if ever--that my first thought wasn't, "Someone turn that damn alarm off, it's annoying." My first thought was to grab the cat and get the hell out.

And.... that's about it. See, I don't live an exciting life. But I'm okay with that. The older I get, I've found I appreciate my quiet, hermit-ish weekends and wish they could last longer. I think it's because I have a job where I have to interact with a lot of people. And having time just to myself is just, you know, nice. Plus, my favorite thing to do is whatever I want to. And usually what I want to do is something easy and lazy.