Confessions of a Riot Grrrl

My confession? I wasn't a riot grrrl.

I wasn't.

Now, many people would disagree. Those who knew me then. Those who know me now. Those who saw pictures of me from the early 1990s.

I fit the profile. I was (and still am) an avowed feminist and proud of it. I was angry. I was (and still am) fiercely pro-choice. I had been part of my local punk rock scene. I wore combat boots, I colored my hair, I shaved parts of my head, I wore a black leather jacket.

I was called a bitch. And a dyke. And I wore each one of those labels like a badge. And threw them back in the face of the person using them with the explicit intent to humiliate them. And I almost always did.

I was in your face. I would stand up for women who couldn't stand up for themselves. If you were a dick in any way, I called you on it.

I was a bad ass.

But I wasn't a Riot Grrrl.

This all came about when some friends and I went to see The Punk Singer: A Film About Kathleen Hanna. And I loved it. I loved it because it made me nostalgic and happy and proud and excited. I was nostalgic about being part of my local punk scene. I was happy about being a woman and being very sure of who I am. I was proud of Kathleen Hanna and how she has always stood up for who and what she believes. I was excited by the music. And the next day, I told a friend that I never considered myself a Riot Grrrl. And by the mid-90s when someone called me a Riot Grrrl, I'd get irritated. My friend was surprised, and I tried to explain why.

First and foremost, to some extent, I was too old. Not by much, really. And shortly before Hanna and the Olympia/Evergreen/Seattle scene began to bloom, I was part of my local punk scene. I was of that generation. But my focus was super local. I mean almost too local. I was involved in my scene, which for a medium-sized college town in Iowa was pretty vibrant. I was aware of the scene in Iowa City and knew of people down there, but I wasn't part of it. Same with Des Moines. My knowledge of punk bands was local. I knew more about the Hollowmen (Des Moines) and Zenoglossia (Iowa City) than I did about the other 1980s punk bands. That came later.

The world of punk is often testosterone-driven. It is aggressive. It can and often is chauvinistic. Despite that, I never felt it aimed at me. I never felt talked down to, oppressed, marginalized... or anything. Partly because the guys I knew were pretty great. The girls I knew were even greater. They were independent, opinionated and never took shit from anyone. And they were skaters and they were in bands and they did all kinds of things that weren't very girly.

Does that mean that everyone felt this way? No.

Another reason I wasn't a Riot Grrrl: I didn't (and don't) like being labelled. And boxed in. And I don't like those who don't know me deciding what I am. And by the time Riot Grrrl became something I was called, it was a label put on me by those who didn't know me and didn't understand my world.

The first introduction I had to the concept of a Riot Grrrl was in Time magazine. Or maybe Newsweek. It was the early 1990s. It was an article about feminism and like many articles before it and after it, it questioned whether feminism was still alive. I was disgusted by it. I was disgusted by those who felt that everything women had wanted had been achieved. They talked about people my age and how apathetic we were about women's rights because, you know, we had it all. And then they discussed the movement of riot grrrls. And I recognized me, at least in look and attitude. But did I think it represented me? No. But I don't remember why. My guess is that like most mainstream news sources, they article represented punk in a way that showed they didn't "get it." Or they simplified it. Or they just got it wrong.

Skip ahead a few years and someone saw a picture of me decked out a leather jacket, combat books, and jeans with hair cut in multi levels in a way that looked like it had been cut with a pair of fabric shears (and it probably had), and that person said, "Nice riot grrrl outfit."

Blood, boiling. And threw clenched teeth I said, "I wasn't a Riot Grrrl."

Do I dislike Riot Grrrls? No. Was I one? No. Do I understand why people think I was one? Yes. Am I irritated that people make an assumption I was? Yes.

So, simply put... It's complicated. But I wasn't a Riot Grrrl for the simple fact that I didn't identify as one. It wasn't part of me or my being or my self-awareness. It wasn't part of my world.

Oh... and a digression: Something that surprised me about the film? Was how cool it was to see how fucking cute and adorable and compatible Hanna was with her husband, Adam Horovitz, also known as a Beastie Boy. And it was interesting to hear her talk about what it was like when they first began dating. And it was very cool to see how much he supports her now when it comes to he health her anxieties and everything.

And my cats?

They have flees. Actually, I think I have more bites than them. They barely seem to notice.

The vet thinks that we caught them early. She gave them medicine and sent me home with some carpet spray. And now I am very aware of the itchy bumps on my ankles.

I blame the sketchy downtown petstore.

Pet Store Conversation

Actually, it's a feed store downtown, but they mostly sell pet stuff.

I stopped by on Saturday because they have cat trees, and I have been wanting to get one for the cats. I'm tired of Ivan climbing the kitchen cabinets so that he can hangout in the highest point in my apartment.

Anyway, I picked up some cat food and whatnot, I asked the stoner at the checkout counter if they had a delivery service. The pet trees are huge and while one *might* fit in my car (but probably not), I wouldn't be able to get it up my stairs on my own.... so I thought I'd ask.

This is what happened.

Me: Do y'all deliver?
Stoned Check-out Guy: No, we don't. Sorry.
Me: That's too bad, I've been wanting to get a cat tree but it won't fit in my car, plus I can't get it up my stairs on my own.
SCG: Well, maybe if you knew someone with a truck....
Me: pause I don't know anyone with a truck. If I did, I wouldn't be asking if you delivered.
SCG: Well, we always have them, so if you ever meet anyone with a truck you can get one.
Me: pause...pause Yeah, okay.

This when I wanted to ask: Are you high? But decided it would be better for me to just leave.

Kittens Become Cats

One year ago yesterday, I picked up two little black kittens at the Humane Society. That also means that one year ago Friday I lost Alexsi.

I went to the Humane Society intending to get two cats, not kittens, cats. I wanted cats about a year old, because I didn't want to deal with kitten stage. When I go there, I actually settled on a different cat: An eight-month old ragdoll, but I didn't. The ragdoll, while adorable couldn't be with another cat (and I was set on two) and had some poop issues. There was a Russian Blue, who at eight months old was bigger than most adult cats. And a tabby about the same age.... But no one was sure they would get along. There was a pair of older cats that were bonded. I really hated not taking them because they were adults, but while I didn't want teeny kittens, I didn't want grown cats. While I know they would have more years in front of them, having just lost two cats, I wanted and needed younger cats.

Because I wanted two, I was told the best thing to do would be to get two from the piles of kittens because they all liked each other. Oh, and I wanted boys.

It was the day after Thanksgiving and the Humane Society was having a "Black Friday" special. Adopt any cat with black on them for $25. I had initially noticed a block and black tabby, but the Human Society person pulled out two cats, checked them both and said: "Two boys." She also refereed to one of them as "the crazy one." We took them into one of the little consult rooms where they were more interested in playing with each other than anything else. And despite them being nothing like what I wanted (other than boys), I took them. I named then Boris and Ivan. Ivan was "the crazy one." They were both eight weeks old and full of energy.

Day 1. After checking the place out, they settled on the couch. Boris (left) and Ivan (right).

And then they got sick. Ivan had goopy eyes when I took him home so I expected him to develop an upper respiratory infection. And then the other one did. I got them on Friday and by Sunday I had them in the Emergency Vet (where they were treated by the same vet who I saw on Wednesday with Alexsi) because Boris was breathing so hard he was wheezing. A few weeks later I had them at the vet again to treat ringworm. All of this meant giving two kittens two different types of medicine twice a day. Oh, and then they had intestinal parasites. Medicine number three.

After two months and one round of URI and parasite meds and two rounds of tuna-flavored ringworm medicine, they were healthy.

Ivan (left) and Boris (right). One year later. 

They've grown into great cats. They're not as needy as Sasha was. They are more cat-like, meaning that they like to curl up next to me on the couch, but they aren't big lap cats and neither one of them likes to be picked up. Boris, the bigger of the two, is overly skittish, but he is the first to curl up next to me when I sit on the couch. Despite being skittish, he's the hunter of the two. He will pick up a toy, throw it across the room and chase after it. He drags around a specific toy, it's a puffball on a long thin metal cord. That's all he does--he just drags it from room to room. Every so often he'll hold the puffball in his mouth and chase the end of the cord. When he was a kitten he would leap through the air and catch any toy I threw in midair--and then carry it around while growling. He's stopped growling and he is too big to leap that high in the air, but he's still a hunter. 

Ivan is still "the crazy one." And he was crazy, but he has grown into a very inquisitive cats. Highly active, he is a fast and agile cat. He hates to be picked up, yet he is the one that will follow me from room to room and curl up on my feet regardless of what I am doing. Ivan rarely meows like a normal cat, instead he shakes his head while making a weird squeaky noise--or he does a half meow that ends in a strange gurgley sound. When he does meow like a normal cat it's because he wants something. Like food. 

They're my cats. And they're awesome. And I'm gad the Human Society volunteer pulled them out of the pile of kittens and said, "Here, two boys."

Things I've been doing/thinking

• I'm still unpacking. Those last four boxes are mocking me. 

• I attended the wedding of some friends. In August. It was the same weekend I moved and I had decided I wasn't going to go. But after some shuffling of hotel rooms, I went. I'm glad I did. It was small and low-key and a really nice get away. A saw some people I have known (via email) for years but never met. And I got to see my good friend K marry the love of his life. After seeing him go through a very nasty divorce ten years ago, it was nice to see the other side. 

• I met my above-mentioned friend's ex-wife. Since I always swore that if I ever met her she would find one of my Doc Martens planted squarely in her ass, my friend found it interesting that I spent so long talking to her. She is very personable and I liked her (new) husband. But what my friend didn't know was that in my head I ended every sentence I said to his ex with, "...you fucking bitch."
• I went back to my Old Stomping Grounds for the second time in six months. I went to homecoming. After going back for Bruce's memorial, I hadn't planned on going back again this year. But after cashing in some frequent flier miles, I got a fairly cheap ticket. I graduated from college 20 years ago... It seemed like a good time to go back.

• I wish I could say it was a massive drink-fest, but it wasn't. We sat around a friend's living room, talking, drinking some, laughing, and just being. Three of us slept on couches and air mattresses in the living room. We giggled like 13 year olds. It was pretty great. 

• I turned in my tenure file. 

• Yes, after almost ten years and two different universities, I finally applied for tenure. 

• I can't even begin to describe the relief. 

• I finally became a member of our local art theatre. I've seen some good films.
• In the Fog. I didn't like it at first. I grew frustrated by the artiness of it. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. My opinion of it has changed. It's haunting
• The Grandmaster. Also, I had an initial reaction to the close-up shots of water dripping off hats, railing and whatever else. But I got into it. 
• Big Star: Nothing to Can Hurt Me. After seeing Big Star in Chicago, I figured I should see this. I have to admit, I thought it dragged in places, but I still liked it. 
• Enough Said. I adored this. It was delightful. And lovely. And wonderful. It was bittersweet since it was James Gandolfini's last film and he was great. I liked Julia Louis Dryfus's character because she was incredibly flawed, yet she always meant well.
• Muscle Shoals. A documentary about the Muscle Shoals sound. Lots of good music. The guy in front of us seemed to be mad we (and others) were tapping our feet. He eventually left in a huff (after telling a friend to stop tapping her feet). Listen, jackass, it's a documentary about R&B music. If you aren't tapping your feet, you're dead. Also: Every time Keith Richards spoke, the entire theatre giggled because, seriously, how is he still alive?

• One afternoon while taking the garbage out, I had one simple thought: I really like living here. I belong here. 

Lookin' Good Pop-Pop

Remember Dollar Shave Club?



I know, who could forget?

I'm here to say that the blades as as awesome as their commercial. Especially for $6 every other month.

I signed up because I hate shaving my legs for lots of reasons, but one of them is just the act of buying blades. I did an every-other-month option since I shave as little as possible. Totally worth it.

What's Making Me Happy This Week

This video:



This is some spectacular 80s hair and clothes and dancing. And I am being stone-cold serious. These were my people. I look at this and feel like I know every single one.

Catching Up

So, my life has calmed down a little. Well, it wasn't really all that hectic, but there were a few things that had become big time sucks. When I wasn't working on the time-suck project, I was thinking about it. And being a midwestern half catholic, trying to do something relaxing or "wasteful" when I knew I needed to work on the time-suck project made me feel guilty.

Well, the time-suck project is done, and this has been the first week without the time-suck project dragging me down. And even though for a time I only worked on it while I was at work (it was a work-related project), I thought about it while I was doing other things. And once classes started, I only worked on it on the weekends.

But now it's over. And just knowing it is over has been much more of a relief than I thought. It's no longer the dominant thing in my head (but it's still there), and I don't have to plan my weekends around it. So, over the last week I have gone back to my more normal do-whatever-I-want schedule.

This is what I have done:

• Watched TV, both semi-smart and incredibly dumb
• Had dinner with friends
• Gone to our local indie-theatre twice where I saw In a World (awesome) and Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me (it dragged at times, but it was still good). Have I ever mentioned how much I love our little indie theatre? I do. It was a shitty little rec-room-like theatre that has morphed into a two-screen center that is pretty great. 
• Dragged out my knitting projects
• Watched football

And right now I am sitting outside on my little landing/balcony enjoying what is probably one of the last sunny weekends of the year.

I love having do-whatever-I-want time.

Dress Green

Let's talk about soap.

I have bad skin. Terrible skin. My mom has a lovely peaches and cream complexion. My dad had bad skin. Ruddy, rough, blemish-prone skin. Unfortunately, I inherited my dad's skin.

Growing up I tried all kinds of things. I tried all the various forms of zit cream*, cheap soaps, department store skin treatment, and pretty much everything. Nothing really worked until I found Dress Green a few years ago. Lauren, the woman behind Dress Green, used to live in town but has since moved to Detroit. I heard about her  in my knitting group when someone told me she made grapefruit-scented lotion, and I am a sucker for scented anything.

I visited her store and found out she also made soaps. Because my skins is terrible and fairly sensitive, I was wary of trying someone new, but she has a charcoal-based soap that was supposed to help blemish-prone skin. What the hell, I thought, I'd give it a shot.

And you know what? It's awesome. Seriously awesome. Her Clarifying Activated Charcoal Soap is the best facial soap I have ever used. It is the only thing that has kept my skin clear. And it is the only thing that hasn't dried the hell out of my skin in the process. I have some of her moisturizer, too, but I rarely use it as I have found I usually don't need it. And just recently I tried her Green Science Face Mask (and when she says it smells like the sea, it smells like the sea). In addition to these two things, I am also an avid user of her shave bars. They moisturize and are so much nicer than shaving creams and lotions.

Other things of hers I have tried: Her lip balm (it melts if you carry it in your pocket, so I don't really use it), her perfume sticks (pink grapefruit, of course) and her body butters and creams.

Lauren is pretty awesome. Her products are great: all-natural, vegan, and totally not expensive but would be worth every penny if they were. I can't say enough good things about her and her products. So, if you're looking for facial soap, perfume, lotion, or just some gifts, check her out over at Etsy.



And by the way, this was not a "sponsored" post, I just really like her products and wanted all four of my readers to know about her.

Shut Down

A few things for the viewing/reading pleasure of the GOP, Tea Partiers, and their supporters:

A quick reminder of how a bill becomes a law:



Jon Stewart's Rockin' Shutdown Eve:

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Get More: Daily Show Full Episodes,The Daily Show on Facebook

Just watch it. Because you need to.

And Elizabeth Warren, reprimanding those who shut down the government:



A choice quote: "Hostage tactics are the last resort for those who can't win their fights through elections, can't with their fights in Congress, can't win their fights for the presidency, and can't win their fights in the courts. For this right wing minority, hostage taking is all this right wing minority has left, a last gasp for those who cannot cope with the realities of our democracy. The time has come for those legislators who cannot cope with the realities of our democracy to get out of the way..."

While I adore Senator Warren and want her to run for president, she's nicer than me. I blame the entire GOP not just the Tea Party fucks who have taken over. Because if the party had a backbone, the rest of the GOP would not let this happen. Silence means approval, motherfuckers.

...And from Esquire: The Reign of Morons is Here. "This entire article is quotable, but this is a good one: "We have elected an ungovernable collection of snake-handlers, Bible-bangers, ignorami, bagmen and outright frauds, a collection so ungovernable that it insists the nation be ungovernable, too. We have elected people to govern us who do not believe in government."

So to the fuckwads in Congress who seem to think they are fighting the good fight, who think that this is what democracy looks like, and who don't understand the checks and balances put forth by the founders of this country that they claim to so admire (but obviously know nothing about): Fuck you. Seriously, Fuck you. And to those who support them? You're fucking morons.

That is all.

Still Here. Really.

Yes. Still here.

I've had a few things to blog about but when I tried to put it together in my had, it never worked. Plus, I've been busy. And tired. And exhausted.

A few topics:

A friend's wedding. A good friend married the woman I have been calling his wife for seven years. After two kids and a mortgage, they decided the time was right. I almost didn't go because the wedding was the same weekend I moved and the wedding was in Seattle, but I knew I needed to be there. I'm glad I went. It was small, low key and nice. In some cases, those might be seen as bad, but they aren't. It was everything it should have been, no less, no more.

Got mostly unpacked. Then stopped. I got about 90% unpacked and then just stopped. I haven't even tried to finish. Someday I will. But when I was in Ye Olde College Town I had one box I never unpacked. It was open, I kept looking at it, but for 3.5 years, it was there, mocking me and my laziness. Now I have three boxes behind my couch, some baskets sitting under my kitchen counter, and two boxes of shoes in my bedroom. Someday, I'll unpack them. Maybe.

I still love the new place. A lot. Even more than when I first moved in. The big thing: I'm sleeping better. My other place was super stuffy and lacked fresh air. And the bedroom faced a walkway. I would regularly wake up in the middle of the night and not know why. And this is weird because I was one of those people who would sleep through loud, rocking thunderstorms. In my new place? Lot of fresh air and quiet. And all of a sudden, I'm sleeping better.

Comcast still sucks. I was able to work out a decent deal with them and lower my bill. Awesome. The person that handled that told me to call her when I was getting ready to move and she'd take care of it. I did, and she said it was taken care of... and that she would waive the move fee. Did she? No. And then I paid my bill, assuming my account number would stay the same. But with the move I have a new account number. And a bill for almost $300. Why? My move fee was not waived. And I am being charged for two months because the payment I made shortly after I moved (which was not for the past month, but for the future month) seems to have disappeared into the ether. So I call back the person who "took care of it" and she tells me she merged my accounts. Which apparently means nothing. And I am still being charged for a month I already paid. How much time have I wasted trying to get answers? More than I care to admit.

Plates

So.... I moved. There's a long boring story related to this move, the length of time it has been in the works (two months), and constant delays related to construction--not construction in my new place, but in an adjacent place. However I don't feel like telling that story.

I want to talk about plates.

Whenever I move I get rid of craploads of stuff. I got rid of the avocado green chair that had been my grandmothers. She probably bought it in 1975. My grandma would sit in it, her feet up on a footstool with a top she had embroidered. When my grandpa was ill, shortly before he died, he'd sit in that chair. My mom had it for years and she gave it to me after I graduated from college when I needed furniture. And while there was some emotional attachment, the chair, while still comfy, had seen better days. And by now it was pretty much a cat bed. It was time for it to go, and go it went.

I got rid of a lot of things, but the things that were hardest to get rid of? Plates. But these weren't just any plates. These were the plates purchased when I moved into my very first apartment in college. I moved out of the dorms towards the end of my freshman year in the spring of 1989. I went home for a week at the end of the school year, and Mom took me to Target to buy me shit I'd need: Pots, pans, flatware, and dishes.

Of that trip to Target, the only two things I remember Mom buying were a set of cast iron pans and my dishes. I loved the dishes. They were of the time: Black with white specks. They were more expensive than other dishes, but they had style. And while there were cheaper alternatives, I had (and continue to have) one rule when it comes to dishes: No Corelle or Corelle-like dishes.

Up until last week, I still had those Target-purchased dishes. Years ago I started buying Fiesta Ware and my plan was to get rid of the black-and-white-speckled dishes when I had complete dinner service set Fiesta Ware. But you know what? I have no clue what makes a complete dinner set: Four dinner settings? Eight? Ten? Twelve? As I was getting ready to pack my kitchen, I realized I had eight full sets of Fiesta and since it is just me, there is absolutely no reason to keep my black-and-white-speckled plates. Hell, eight settings of Fiesta Ware is probably more than I will ever need.

And that thought kind of hurt. I mean I felt my stomach tighten. It was time, but my plates! They were mine. They were so '80s. They were still good! And what if I host a dinner party? And.... And... Oh hell, it's just me. And I am never going to host a dinner party, because I don't like hosting dinner parties. I don't need twelve place settings. I packed up my Fiesta and used the black-and-white-speckled plates for the last few days before I moved. It was oddly nostalgic. And I considered many times not getting rid of them, but the days before I moved, I put them in a box and dropped them off at Goodwill. I actually felt a little sad.

One of the last times I used my black-and-white-speckled plates.

Thing is, those plates were oddly symbolic. The new place I moved into is super nice. I mean crazy nice. It's the first place I've lived that didn't feel like an apartment. It has character. It has hardwood. It's old yet renovated, has a great kitchen, granite counter tops, lots of windows, an awesome view, a private entrance (with enough outdoor space for a small table and a couple of chairs), and it only shares one wall.* I've been pretty mobile most of my life and this is the first place I moved into that feels like a home, not just a place to live. I want to decorate** Simply put: This is a grown up place. And getting rid of my black-and-white-speckled plates was like getting rid of that last thing I was still holding onto from some previous part of my life.

So, goodbye black-and-white-speckled plates. I hope someone else trying to set up their first apartment sees you, thinks you are oddly funky, and purchases you. And to that person, I hope they serve you well.





*I choose to continue to rent because after lots of thinking, I decided that that buying wasn't for me. It requires a commitment I'm not comfortable making, and I really like not being responsible for things when they break. Plus, I love my neighborhood and can't afford to buy anything in my neighborhood. 

**We are encouraged to make our places our own because the more a person feels at home, the less likely they will be to move--meaning less tenant turnover. There are people who have been in this complex for ten years. Not bad for a place a few blocks from a college campus

What's Making Me Happy this Week

Friday Night Lights

It took me awhile to get around to watching this show. I'm sorry I waited so long because holy crap, it's great. I didn't grow up in Texas and I know Texas people think they are the only ones who love and understand high school football, but Midwestern small towns revolve around football, too. When I was a kid, in small-town Iowa, Friday night was about football. I remember when my cousin was on the Homecoming court (I don't remember is she won or not). I wanted to be both a cheerleader and a football player. The stands, the game, the lights... everything about it, I loved. As I got older and after my parents split, I'd still go to the small-town games. Instead of watching them from the stands, I watched them from an ambulance. My dad was a fireman and at the time, the fireman were also EMTs. And since there was always an ambulance at the game... well, it was warm in the ambulance.

I also hung out in the ambulance because it wasn't my town. I knew a few people, but they weren't my people. I did sometimes go to the football games at my school, but I went to the big well-funded school. Out team played home games in the local university's dome. And we were good. We regularly played state. We had multiple football coaches (they also taught PE).* We regularly won state. (And state playoffs were played on our home field but we always had to be on the visitors side because somehow that made things fair. So, yes, my high school football team played indoors. It was fine and I still have fond memories, but it wasn't the same.

So Friday Night Lights and all of it's small-town football worship? I get it.

The other great thing about the show? The music. It's amazing.

Drunk History

I stumbled on the second episode on Comedy Central, the one about Chicago, and I almost hurt myself laughing. Then I looked into it and found out Drunk History has been a thing for awhile. And then I watched all the online versions and I began DVRing the Comedy Central shows. Because holy shit, it's brilliant.

Drunk people describing an historical event and actors acting it out, including all the drunk ticks. It's like someone recorded almost every drunken conversation I had in college.




*We also had multiple wrestling coaches because it was Iowa and wrestling is huge in Iowa. And the wrestling coaches taught driver's ed. 

I Went to the Mountain

So I live near a mountain. Technically, it's an active volcano. I have wanted to go up there since I moved here, but I'm afraid of heights and terrified of driving those switchback mountain roads. And mountains scare the shit out of me... I am a total flatlander.

Well, there is a state highway that goes up to the ski resort on the mountain and for a few months out of the year, the state highway is open past the ski resort. It's only open a few months because they can't start clearing the snow until May or June and it often takes them a month, and then the road is closed when it begins to snow again--usually September. Some years the snow is so deep they won't open the road at all.

Mom was visiting me right after ALA and when I saw the mountain road had just opened (earlier than normal), I decided we should drive up it. Now, let me restate that I don't like heights and I don't like switchback mountain roads. Just getting to the lower parking lot just past the ski resort (which is 2.6 miles below the upper parking lot) was a challenge. Several times I got very squeamish. And when we stopped at the lower lot I said I couldn't drive any farther. I was shaking and pretty freaked out. So we took some pictures and walked around.

Then I announced we were going to the top. We didn't come this far to not make it to the top.

Holy shit.

At least twice I told mom she couldn't talk and I announced I was going to cry--I was that freaked out. But we made it. And then I said we were living there because I wasn't driving back down the mountain.

The upper lot is just that: A parking lot at the end of the road surrounded by massive amounts of snow. Because it is in a National Forrest there was a park ranger in a tent answering questions and giving out tips (like, it's 20 minutes to sunburn at that altitude). They had a telescope so you could look at the peak of the mountain; the ranger said you can often see mountain goats wandering around.

The snow surrounding the parking lot is massive. Some winters the snow is close to 50 feet deep (last time it was that deep the upper road didn't open), but this year it was around 15 feet deep. The snow is deep enough and packed enough that you can climb up it like a hill. I climbed up the snow so that I could see the peak of the mountain on one side, the Cascades on the other, and turn turn around and look down at the parking lot (and look south towards the Cascades). It was amazing. It was breathtaking. I felt like I was standing on top of the world. I also had to resist the urge to drop to the ground and make snow angels.

Looking out over the Cascades. I think this is north-ish. 

Our local mountain and active volcano. 

And I am so very glad I drove the last 2.6 miles, because the experience of being up there took my breath away. It was worth every ounce of fear I felt to stand up there and look out over the Cascade range.

And the drive down wasn't nearly as terrifying.

Chicago

I love Chicago. Love. There is just so much going on and so much to see and so much more I want to do when I am there. Unfortunately  I rarely get to Chicago for fun and vacation. I am usually there for ALA conferences and never have the time I wish I did to explore.

But when I am there for ALA, I always find the chance to have some fun and eat some good food.

Food

Vermillon, 10 W. Hubbard
The first night we ("we" being Frenchie and I) were in Chicago we had plans so we needed to find someplace for dinner that was close, convenient, and vegan-friendly. I searched Google maps for "vegan" and Vermillion popped up.

Holy crap was it good. Indian-Latin fusion, they had a separate vegetarian menu and the waiter was able to tell me which items were vegan or could be made vegan. Being this was the first real food either of us had eaten that day, we were very hungry. Starting with the Lime Ginger Martini, everything just got better. My pictures aren't that great because it was kind of dark and I had to use the flash.

I started with the Verdent Medeley Salad (minus the queso fresco)

Then I had the Chili-glazed Blackened Eggplant with avocado Pakoras.
This was fucking spectacular. 

Chicago Diner, 2333 N. Milwaukee Ave (Logan Square)
I have wanted to go here for awhile and it never worked out. The Chicago Diner is an all meat-free restaurant that is veggie and vegan. They recently opened a new one off Logan Square and it was much easier to get to from the Loop than the original one on Halstead. And to make up for not getting there in the past, I went twice.

Sunday night
I went one night with some library friends and I had the Radical Rueben and a chocolate shake. It was pretty much perfection.

Radical Rueben. So good. So messy.
Paired with kale, a pickle, and a chocolate shake. 

Tuesday morning
The Logan Square location is on the Blue Line (of the el) which is the el train that goes from the Loop to O'Hare. So... since my flight left mid-afternoon I checked out of the hotel earlier than normal and stopped off at the Chicago Diner for breakfast where I had a cinnamon roll and the Country Benedict -- basically fake eggs benedict with faux sausage gravy instead of faux hollandaise. Spectacular.

Country Benedict

Russian Tea Time, 77 E. Adams St. 
I've blogged about this place before and about the same dish I had this weekend, but whenever I am in Chicago, I try to get here. I love the atmosphere and the food. And it is vegan-friendly. I emailed ahead of time to see if the Domlama (Uzbeck layered stew) was vegan but was told it had butter in it. In the past I was told it had margarine. When I was there this time I was told it didn't have butter and that they used vegetable oil. In many cases I wouldn't get it because of mixed messages and go with the Mashkitchiri (Uzbeck Mung Bean Stew) which I have been told many times is vegan. But I wanted the Domlama because I love it. My waiter, Sergei, was great and checked for me on both the Russian Black Bread (they didn't make it there so couldn't vouch for it's vegan-ness) and assured me the stew was vegan. I decided to believe him. And it was awesome. Add bottomless Russian tea--so good, so comforting.

Domlama

Fun

Big Star
So, Frenchie brought the Big Star Third Tribute to my attention--not just the tribute but the fact that it would be in Chicago the evening we arrived. (This is where we needed to be after eating at Vermillion.) For very little money we got to see musical legends (Mitch Easter, Jody Stephens, Ken Stringfellow and others) perform Big Star's Third--and more. Mike Mills is usually part of the core band but wasn't able to be there due to a family illness. While he was missed, the show was awesome. And I got to shake Mitch Easter's hand afterward. Mitch fucking Easter.

Left to right: Mitch Easter , Django Haskins, Ken Stringfellow

Friends
As always, it is good to see friends at ALA. I room with Frenchie becuase we understand each others idiosyncrasies and various weirdnesses. And then I see library friends, and this time I actually had the chance to catch up with my replacement at Ye Olde University (although he has since moved on). We had a good time takling about former coworkers and laughing. A lot.

I also got to see some college friends, one in particular who wasn't able to make it to Bruce's memorial. He only had a couple hours, but it was enough time to drink a couple of scotch on the rocks in Bruce's name and catch up on the last twenty years.

This is also when I found out I can't hold my scotch. "Scotchy, scotch, scotch."

There were other things, like walking past out hotel in a downpour because the hotel changed it's name and no one told us. Being put in a single when we requested a double. Again. Me losing my shit at the front desk of a hotel. Again.

And so on and so forth.

What's Making Me Happy This Week

or: Reading, Watching, Listening

Reading

Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted. I watched The Mary Tyler Moore show as a kid. I like reading behind the scenes stuff about pop culturey things. This book seemed like a good bet when I read about it in Entertainment Weekly and promptly preordered it. I started it on my trip back to My Old Stomping Ground, but didn't really devote much time to it until Memorial Day Weekend--and I finished it in a couple of days. Reading about the show and how it portrayed women in a way that had never been done and how women contributed to the show was interesting. But this is the thing: As a little girl, I never saw Mary Richards as someone to look up to. Why? Because it always seemed like the only thing she was concerned about was on making other people happy. That's it. And she cried all the time. Neither of these things impressed me when I was a kid. So reading about the development of the show and how Mary was perceived by society and how she did empower many women was interesting. If I had been older and closer to Mary Richard's age and single and had people asking me when I was going to get married, have kids (which I did experience when I was that age; now people have stopped asking), etc., I'd probably see the show in a different light. As a kid without those preconceived notions of what women were supposed to do or be, Mary Richards didn't seem all that independent. Looking at it now, I see her becoming independent and successful and having a full life without all the things society said she was supposed to have. The book discusses the development of the show, but also focuses on the people behind it, including how women rose through the ranks as writers--a first. Recommended, for sure.

Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls. I started this shortly after it came out, but honestly, I'm having a hard time getting into it. I adore David Sedaris, but this book feels kind of been there, done that.

Watching

I'm watching the same worthless crap I always have.

So You Think You Can Dance. Some seasons I watch this show when it's on, some seasons I don't. This season I am.

Newlyweds: The First Year. I find this show utterly fascinating. But I have to say that John and Kathryn are an uncomfortably awkward couple to watch.

Mad Men. It's on, I'm watching it. It's more uneven than past seasons, but that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying it. And that one scene with Pete Campbell smoking pot with Janis Joplin playing the show out? Awesome.

Before Sunrise/Before Sunset/Before Midnight. I was talking to a friend about the Before movies and how they are films I assume everyone my age has seen. I saw Before Sunset on TV a few years after it came out. I remember hearing about it and thinking it sounded good, but I never saw it. When it was on TV I almost missed a company event, I was so wrapped up in the film. While living in Ye Olde College Town, some friends and I watched them both. In preparation for the major release of Before Midnight, I watched them both over Memorial Day weekend. Twice. God, they are good. I saw Before Midnight last night after avoiding any and all press about it. So good. Just so damn good. But I'm not even going to try to explain why. Just go read Linda Holmes' summary over at NPR's MonkeySee.

Speaking of NPR, watch this:



I am such an NPR geek that my favorite parts are the cameos. Ari Shapiro is a favorite since he's an NPR hottie. And Carl Kasell in the elevator because he's Carl Kasell.

Listening

Honestly, the things I am listening to other than my iPod on shuffle are Big Star's Third/Sister Love and They Might Be Giants' Flood. Big Star because of this, and TMBG because somewhere along the line their album Flood was deleted from my iTunes. I still have the CD but it's in storage and I am too lazy to dig it out. So while I was in My Old Stomping Ground, D and I went through each others iTune library to swap songs (as is the norm for us) and he gave me a copy of Flood. (Actually, I lost everything from They Might Be Giants (three or four albums, total, but Flood was missing the most.)

Sketti Cook

So, while I was in college, I worked at several different places--all food-service related.

I worked the night shift Hardee's for less than two weeks. I quit when I was scheduled to work during the two mornings I had classes. I told the manager that I couldn't work those hours (and had told her that when I was hired), and she told me I needed to give her that kind of notice two weeks in advance. I asked her how I was supposed to do that when I wasn't working there two weeks prior. She didn't know nor did she care. I never went back.

I worked in the main kitchen for the dining hall on campus for one semester. Then I worked at the burger place on campus the next semester.

Let's see.... After that. Well, after that I was unemployed for a bit. Having a partially shaved head in a small, midwestern town in 1989 hurt my chances of getting a job. The owner of a restaurant friends and I frequented told me she'd give me a job if I wore a wig. I tried to tell her hiring me would show she was diverse and not afraid of different people--she didn't buy it.

Then I worked at a truck stop. I was hired to be a cook but ended up doing dishes and other random stuff that needed to be done--basically, anything that didn't involve working directly with customers. I didn't shave my head anymore so that wasn't the issue. I just didn't like people. I was there for about a year and a half, but after a couple of freak outs after Cori died and I'm pretty sure my boss saw me as an unstable employee. I quit before they could fire me and began working as spaghetti cook at a pizza place in town. Or as it was called there, "sketti cook."

This place was a local institution and was completely and totally beloved by both locals and college students. My roommate D worked there and Brown, the boss, and Amy, the assistant manager, loved D. So when he recommended me, the job was mine. As sketti cook I worked three nights a week (spaghetti was served on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; still is). I was also supposed to supervise the kitchen. Or at least try.

This place had been there since the late 60s when Brown moved there after being a small-town cop  (cops always ate free). Brown was... a character. He looked like a retired cop. He had a weird little chuckle. And he would pretty much answer any question asked, no matter how stupid, offensive, or raunchy it was (and we would ask him all kinds of things just to see if he would answer).

His employees were family. Most of us were high school and college kids. Most of us got jobs there because we knew someone who worked there. Brown took care of us. But there were expectations. Guys couldn't have long hair (two friends who worked there, including D, had to cut their hair before they could start), and there is no way I could've worked there when I had a partially shaved head.

No one ever went home without food. Ever. On my second or third night working there, Brown told me to order something before I left. I wasn't hungry, I told him. He wouldn't listen. He insisted. He had grown up poor, he said. Food had been hard to come by, and under his watch, goddammit, no one who worked for him was going home without food. Once he even offered to buy me healthy groceries when he saw I was only buying shitty college student food (I thanked him for the offer, but turned it down.)

So I ordered a pizza, went home, gave it to my roommates, and went to bed.

I think everyone there borrowed money from him--including me. He'd give us the cash, no questions asked. When you'd try to explain to him what it was for, he'd say "Don't tell me. Just pay me back when you can."

Once while in school, I was moving to a new apartment, I needed to disconnect the water at the old place and reconnect it at the new place. I was broke, of course, and for some reason it was more complicated than normal. Brown made a few phone calls and it was taken care of.

When it was someone's birthday, we got cake. Sometimes we'd trade food with the Dairy Queen across the street and everyone got Blizzards. One Super Bowl Sunday we were so bored (Super Bowl Sundays were busy, but mainly for pizza delivery; the restaurant was dead) we began searching the calendar for the next employee birthday because we wanted cake. Brown came across us scrolling through the calendar and was all, "If you want a damn cake, I'll just buy you a damn cake." We got cake.

This was one of those places where it wouldn't be right if someone wasn't yelling at someone. Half of the time it was Brown yelling and Amy or Amy yelling at Brown. Sometimes it was me chewing out the high school kids who worked in the kitchen (usually something along the line of, "Stop talking to your little friends and get your asses back in the kitchen and get to work."). Once, I slapped a coworker for making some comments to me that bordered on sexual harassment. When my coworker complained to Brown (who witnessed the whole thing), Brown responded with, "You deserved it. You're lucky she only slapped you." (One of the waitresses kneed the same guy in the balls for some stupid thing he said.)

So, yeah. A family. One, big dysfunctional family.

D worked there. I worked there. J began working there shortly after me (after he cut his hair). BFF took my job after I left (she stuck around town for a few more months).

After we all graduated, whenever my friends were in town, we'd stop by, and we are always remembered. Brown has long retired. Amy owns the place now and all these years later, my friends and I still eat free. It's amazing how Amy always loses our check.

While I was back in My Old Stomping Grounds a few weeks ago, a large group of us stopped at the truck stop where I had worked as we all headed out of town. While D and I were outside smoking a cigarette, an frail-looking old guy with a cane picked up a to-go order. As D was watching him walk back to his car, he said, "I think that's Brown." And it was.

D walked up, re-introduced himself (and me). Neither of us was sure he remembered us, but if didn't he hid it well (a lot of kids worked for him during his 30 years in business).

As D and I watched him drive away in a beat up old Saturn (Brown was never one for material things), I said, "...And with that, I think this trip has come full circle. And I'm pretty sure I still owe Brown fifty bucks."

What I Did While Hanging with Friends from College

• Drank a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill
• Drank a Mickey's Big Mouth
• Used the word "fuck" as much as possible
• Smoked like a chimney
• Found out Camel Lights are no longer called Camel Lights
• Been kissed by a Spaniard
• Had whisker burn from hugs and kisses given by a Spaniard
• Hugged a lot of other people
• Laughed at inappropriate moments
• Had "breakfast" at the truck stop where I used to work (meaning coffee and OJ)
• Ran into the former owner of the local pizza place where I (and three other friends) worked
• Sat outside and watched lightning
• Sang the Violent Femmes at the top of my lungs
• Sang the Violent Femmes at inappropriate times
• Discussed Iris Murdoch, Hamlet and the movie Hair with my former Intro to Lit professor
• Found out my former Intro to Lit prof and her husband visited Ye Old Stomping Grounds several times while I lived there
• Gossiped
• Gossiped some more
• Watched my friends' kids swim while drinking watered down hotel coffee
• Made travel plans around thunderstorms
• Been hungover
• Talked to friends about the Big Life Changes they need to make
• Quoted The Muppet Movie
• Quoted Better off Dead (because everything always comes back to Better off Dead)
• Quoted The Princess Bride (high note: When the Spaniard said "My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die"
• Discussed former profs while my former Spanish prof looked on in confusion and/or humor
• Walked down the middle of the street, arms outstretched, head thrown back looking at the sky
• Had friends turn three cigar boxes into three purses for me and two other friends (love)
• Had an amazing time

Saying Goodbye

While at Bruce's memorial last weekend, a group of friends and I went to Bruce's house. I knew it would be the hardest thing about the weekend, but I needed to do it. The last few times I have gone back to my Old Stomping Grounds, I stayed at K's house. We usually got together with Bruce and stopped by the house, but K and I mostly hung out at his place. So without seeing Bruce's house without Bruce, it would just seem like he was one street up and a few blocks over from K's... and we'd just see him later.

After the memorial we went back to K's. Drinks were had, and I was nominated to ask K if we could walk over to the house. I was nominated because it was decided I had the most sway.... meaning I said, "We're going now." And we did.

I know K didn't want to leave a house full of people, but going to Bruce's was a driving need for me--and for others. "We" being my core group of college friends: D&G, M, K, J, and BFF.

Was it weird? Yes. Was it difficult? Very. But I needed it. It was closure.

The furniture was the same, except when we sat on one of the love seats our butts almost touched the floor--they had seen better days. So had our knees. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and it was obvious no one lived there anymore. But it was still Bruce's. The same paintings. The same feel. As we walked through the house, we talked about memories. Like when BFF broke Bruce's bed (ahem) while house sitting. And how many glasses BFF broke (many). We talked about parties and dinners and conversations we had had in the house.

We moved to the dining room and kitchen and then into the music room. The music room was probably what had originally been the butler's pantry. The built-in shelves were stuffed with music. I know many were interested in Bruce's music collection--it was a pretty amazing. Off of the music room is a half-bath. Every single one of us went in there to see if the old All Things Considered poster was still in there. Back in the day, it was above the toilet. It was this old, worn out, probably fairly gross poster showing the orignal NPR folks from All Things Considered. And all of us remembered it vividly. Was it there? No.

As we were in the dining room, we began talking about graduation--which had been twenty years ago that week. We talked about the photo someone took of us in the gym as we were lining up in our caps and gowns. In the photo, I was in the middle and everyone surrounded me (since I am the shortest), with me holding J's leg up at my side (he was buck naked under his robe). At the moment of the conversation, J walked through the music room and asked, "Guys? This picture?" as he pointed at a corner shelf. I walked over and there it was--the snapshot that someone took was framed and in the music room.

I cried when I walked in the front door, but this is when I really lost it. This was Bruce's House. But it was also ours. And it was part of us. We were Bruce's family. And he was ours.

Bruce house will be sold. That was another reason for going over there--to see it one last time. To see it together. Not everyone agrees with the house being sold, but most have accepted it. While I am sad it will be sold, it's time. It would be weird for any of us to move in there--too many memories. And if anything was changed, there would be many hurt feelings. There was talk of turning it into the home of a non-profit to benefit LGBTQ kids, since Bruce took in so many LGBTQ kids who couldn't go home.  And while all of us would be willing to serve on a board, the time and money needed to do it was more than any of us could spare. But it's time. It's time for the house to become someone else's home. It's time for another family.

I love that house. But what I love more is what I learned in that house, what I did in that house. I grew into an adult in that house. I learned about the world. Bruce introduced us to a world most of us had never experienced. The vast majority of us were history, philosophy, or English majors. Bruce's House is where we took everything that we learned in class and brought it back to our own lives--and Bruce facilitated this. As a friend said to me today, finding someone who can do that is rare. And to be part of that is lucky. I was lucky. Very lucky.

K told us all to choose something small from the House. People chose music CDs, glasses, mixing bowls.... I chose three sets of Matryoshka dolls. The summer of 1992 Bruce, K, and I travelled to Russia with a group from the university. Bruce bought them while we were there--and the handwritten price tags are still on the bottom. It was probably more than what most people took, but K grabbed them, handed them to me, and said, "I know. It reminds you of that trip."

My Matryoshkas

Of course I promptly dropped them and BFF said, "This is why we don't let you have nice things." Man, I miss her.

The NPR poster? It had been claimed. I saw S, the person who grabbed it, at the airport--we were on the same flight. He was shocked so many people were interested in it (he grabbed it because he had worked at the local NPR station), but as someone at the house said, we all looked at it every time we went to into the bathroom to, you know, do our business.

As we were all leaving, I suggested one final picture on the front steps of the house. Looking at the few pictures that I took this weekend, these are the ones that are bittersweet. Because I was genuinely happy as we were leaving. I has happy knowing that Bruce is part of me. I was happy to know that I am taking part of the spirit of the house with me. It's time for the House to go to someone else. But, those pictures were the last time we will all be on those steps together.

This weekend was tough. But it was also great. Great because while so many times when I see my friends it usually feels like the end of some era: graduation, birthdays...something. And while we were all gathered to remember a great man, it didn't feel like the end of an era. To me it felt like a reaffirmation of what I am doing with my life. It was all of us coming together, fully grown, doing well and moving forward.

Real life or Weeds?

Okay, I mean no offense to the victims of the Boston Marathon Bombing.

But after this guy in Florida implicated himself and the older Tsarnaev in a triple murder related to a drug theft gone wrong and was then killed when he attacked an FBI agent, does anyone else think this whole thing is beginning to sound like an episode of Weeds?

This job would be great if it wasn't for the fucking customers*

So this weekend. This fucking weekend.

This was Bruce's memorial weekend. I feel odd saying I was looking forward to it, but I was. I wasn't able to go to his funeral and his memorial was my closure. Plus, this turned into a 20 year college reunion.

Much can be said about the weekend. And at some point I will. For now, I need to sort things out in my head--and that is going to take some time.

But before that, I want to talk about other, lighter things! Fun things!

Let's talk about Kevin Smith.

I adore Kevin Smith. I saw Clerks when I was about 25. I wasn't a clerk in a video store and I had a job I was eventually able to turn into a profession. But when I was 25, it was a deadend job working for a guy who was a giant ass. Clerks spoke to me for so many reasons.

I haven't seen all of Smith's movies, but I have seen many: Clerks, Chasing Amy, Dogma, Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. I've even watched his reality show on AMC.

As I was waiting to board my flight in SeaTac, I walked out of the bathroom and saw a guy I could've sworn was Kevin Smith. I saw some guy say something to him and him replying, "Thanks." He was wearing long shorts and a long jacket, and a hockey jersey--you know, the Kevin Smith uniform. And he was pulling Louis Vitton luggage.

I walked up to him and said: "Can I ask you a question? Are you Kevin Smith?"

He was.

And we chatted for about ten minutes. And he held my hand. And I am pretty sure I turned five shades of red.

He asked me if I was arriving or departing. Departing to Kansas City. So was he. (Kevin Fucking Smith was on my Fucking Flight.) He had a show in KC that weekend.

He asked where I was going. I told him where and why. He gave me his sympathies. And I said, "If we don't break a few laws, we're doing something wrong."

I told him I loved Clerks, except in the moment I forgot the name and just said, "Your movie, the first one."

And based on my previous career, we know some of the same people (and I did drop the names). He asked me what and how they were doing.

And I asked if we could take a picture together--a picture I immediately uploaded to Facebook.

During my flight I was chatting with BFF (yes, I pay for the inflight wifi), and she was beyond jealous of my brush with greatness. And she told me that Kevin Smith was her man-crush (being that she's a lesbian and all).

So when I got to KCI, I saw Kevin Smith and his wife standing by baggage claim. I walked over to him, apologized for bothering him again, and said:

"A little back story. One of my best friends is a lesbian. I always call her Big Ol' Lesbian because she's 6'1" and we're both old. And she's a lesbian. She was very jealous that I had a chance to meet you because you are her man-crush. So I just thought I would let you know that you are a Big Ol' Lesbian's man-crush."

And he said, "Awesome. Tell her I'm hung like a horse."

I love him.

*Quote from Randall in Clerks. 

File under, Shit Vegans Say

The weather the last week? Gorgeous. The weather we've been having is normally what we see in August. I took yesterday off to begin sorting through my crap. I had plans to power through my shit in a day. But after taking four boxes of crap to Goodwill and cleaning my fridge, I decided my time would be best spent in the sun. Because the weather is supposed to go back to normal later this weekend (rainy, cloudy). I am happy to say I even got a little sunburned.

The rain is supposed to return tonight so I wandered down to the farmer's market since I have yet to be there this year when it wasn't raining. Shortly after I got there, I ran into some friends. We're all pretty much cut from the same vegan, Prius-driving, co-op-shopping cloth.

As we were talking, I realized how cliche we sounded. Some soundbites:

• "I was out at the [north-side] Co-op a couple weeks ago. Their beer selection is pretty shitty. I was just trying to pick up some staples, you know, like basic tofu, and they didn't carry the same kind as the downtown co-op. I was disappointed" (Me)
• "The Market on Lakeway is the only place in town that sells vegan shrimp and fish." (me)
• "I had to special order the organic Silken tofu I use because both the co-op and public market stopped stocking it." (Her)
• "Oh! The co-op has vegan vitamin D." (Me)

Yeah..... These even goes beyond Pacific Northwest Problems.

And the purge begins

I'm moving.

Not far. And by not far, I mean across the parking lot. Next door, essentially. I don't have all the dates settled, so let's just say sometime this summer, I'm moving. And I've been told across-the-street moves are more difficult than long-distance moves because you lend to just move things little by little. So, yeah... I'm sure it will suck.

Moving means purging. Purging means going through my shit and asking myself things like:

• What the hell is this?
• Why do I have this?
• Who gave this to me? Wait, did I actually buy this?
• I thought I got rid of this years ago. 

Followed by comments like:

• Awwww..... I thought I got rid of this.
• I'm so glad I kept this, I thought I had thrown it away.
• I remember who gave this to me. 

Hopefully, the first set of questions will dominate over the second set of comments.

And now for something not so serious...

Sleeping cats/kittens.

On Russia

I spent the last half of my undergraduate career studying Russian history, I had developed a strong interest in early 19th century Russian history--specifically Tsar Nikolas I. In my little apartment in the little aggie town where I attended college, I had a Soviet banner, a Soviet flag, a Russian flag, and various other forms of Soviet and Russian propaganda. I remember when a repairman came over to check my furnace or AC or something, I was very self-conscious of all my Soviet stuff. The Berlin Wall had come down and the Soviet Union had collapsed in the previous couple of years, but the Cold War died a slow death.

As the repairman warily eyed my Soviet wall hangings, I explained to him that I studied pre-Soviet Russian history but had returned from a recent trip to Russia where I had been able to buy the Soviet souvenirs for a few dollars. And, I told him, the flag wasn't "real." It was a hammer and sickle silk screened on red fabric and sold for $5 to tourists like me.

"There is no such thing as a fake flag," he said. Ah, got it. He was one of those. Great.

He fixed my furnace and moved on. I'm sure he just thought of me as another one of those weirdo pinko liberals associated with the "college" (as locals called the small university I attended). And he was probably right.

In the early 1990s, I would get defensive about studying Russian history, because I didn't feel like explaining why. But why did I study it? Because I loved it. Russia (and I use "Russia" to describe the region that is generally seen as the former Soviet Union) has an incredibly rich and interesting and fucked up history. It is full of drama and violence and various forms of ridiculousness. Now, my knowledge of Russia and Soviet studies pretty much stops in the early 90s and a lot has changed since then, but I know enough that I can make some educated guesses about what is going on. Because when it come down to it, The Soviet Union was just another form of autocracy that had been developed by the Romonavs and it always seems that there will always be a form of this in whatever government is in charge.

I've been thinking a lot about Russia lately. Mainly because of the Tsarnaev brothers and the Boston bombing. I know they probably identified as Chechens and Muslims more than Russians, but to me, Russia is still part of who they are.

As mentioned in an earlier post, as soon as I heard their names and "Russia" on the radio, I knew they were Chechens. It made sense. And to say I have been following the story closely is an understatement --because this isn't just a Muslim thing, this is a Russian thing. At least to me it is.

I really don't have anything to add to this story that hasn't already been said. I still want to know why. I still want to know how a kid goes from wrestling in the basement to planting bombs. I doubt we'll every completely know. But just like twenty years ago, I feel myself getting defensive of Russia. I feel myself wanting to explain what little I know about the Chechen region (which isn't a lot).

Russians (and the other various ethnicities that make up the former Soviet Union) have a strong and deep sense of pride. If you saw the brother's uncle angry about how they brought shame to the Chechen people, you've seen that pride on display, and it can be a blessing and a curse. And even though it's been twenty years since I spent almost every waking moment thinking about Russia--its history, its culture, and its future--I still feel something for the place. And as odd as it sounds, the Tsarnaev's actions are to me more than a bomb planted at a marathon that killed three and injured hundreds in an attempt to make a point related to religion. To me, I feel a sense of disappointment. Like their uncle said, they brought shame to a region that meant a lot to me. It's almost like an assault on someone I used to know and care about.

I know it is more complicated than that. Much, much more complicated. And I know, in the end, it has absolutely nothing to do with me. (I did read that one of their sisters used to live in my current town. This makes sense since we have a sizable Russian population--sizable enough that when the city puts out announcements they come out in English, Spanish, and Russian.)

I really don't know how to end this post. I have started it over several times over the last two days, but I can never really get it to come together they way I want it to. But, really, I feel the need to say something about this but what that is, I don't know.

I don't trust anyone without a TV.

Shortly after I moved to Ye Olde College Town, I was telling Frenchie about this guy I went to grad school with who, when we were discussing TV-related stuff in class, would always announce, "I don't have a television." This was the same guy who spoke to his kid in Russian, but was not Russian (it was actually very fascinating to watch them interact), claimed his wife was allergic to electricity, and once said he couldn't listen to or learn from one of our profs because she used the British pronunciations of some words and it threw his concentration off.

Anyway, when I mentioned how annoying he was based on his no-TV statements, French said, "I don't trust anyone without a TV. And at that moment, I had a 1) new friend, and 2) a new philosophy. I told this to a friend/coworker shortly after I arrived here since there is a big "I don't have a TV" contingent. He told me when he moved here he tried at almost every point during a conversation with a new person to talk about what he had been watching on his television just to figure who he wanted to talk to and who he didn't want to talk to. 

My point? I bought a new TV. A big one. Well, bigger than the 19" TV I bought in 1998 that I have been using for three years after my five-year-old TV broke. It's a 40-inch smart TV. And it's awesome. I mean awesome. I could lie on the couch for days and watch shit on TV or Netflix or whatever all damn day. Because I am that much of a slug. I do not care. 

The make-believe world looks better in 1080p.

Some days reality is just too much

Or maybe some weeks reality is just too much.

Like this last week.

The bombings in Boston happened while I was teaching class. I checked my phone during a break in a two hour class and saw the alerts on my phone. Then students began readings about it online. I hoped it was not real, because, really, who bombs a marathon?

But it was real.

All the shit that happened this week? In my world, it all happened in the background. This week was full of crap and was super intense for reasons I can't even explain. Maybe people were on edge. Maybe it was just me. Who knows. But it was weird. I spent all week trying to keep up with just the things I had to get done and barely did that.

Until Friday. Friday morning I woke up early. I sleep with the radio on, but the volume is so low I can barely hear it--it is generally just white noise. But Friday I could tell they were talking about the Boston bombings and that the shit that went down in Boston Thursday night. And then I heard them say, "Russia." And my first thought: Chechnya. My second thought: Well, this is new.

New in that what are the chances the Chechen Independence Movement would try to make a point at a marathon in Boston? Probably very slim. What are the chances that this whole thing was home grown? Probably very high. What are the chances that the general public and various politicians and talking heads will understand and accept this? Slim to none.

So, yes, everything during the week happened in the background. Until Friday. And then I couldn't stop following every single news report out of Boston. And every single time they showed a picture of Dzhokhar Tsarnev my heart broke just a little more. It broke for the people injured on Monday at the Marathon. It broke for those killed and their families. It broke for those who were there who ran in fear and for those who ran towards the explosion to help. And it broke because this kid they were chasing was just that: A kid. He's a 19-year old kid. He could be one of my students. He's not an innocent bystander in this, not at all, but how did he get to this point?

I want everyone who is screaming for his public execution to shut the fuck up. I want them to remember he is 1) and American citizen and 2) a human being. (And as an aside, the fact he wasn't read his Miranda rights really does tick me off.) And yelling for his blood just makes us look like a bunch of bigoted assholes.

So..... I was happy to end my week celebrating the birthday of a friend with other friends where we talked about nothing related to current events and we made fun of the usual suspects, talked about books and movies and this and that and whatever.

After this last week, it was needed.

Knitting Fail

So, some friends had a baby in January. When someone has a baby, I make a blanket. I talked to one of them and decided to wait until the baby was born to make the blanket. They didn't know the sex of the baby, but the names they had chosen were both related to specific colors. So... I thought it would be cool to incorporate the color into the blanket.

I went over a couple of patterns and decided to make the Baby Dotty blanket again. It's a fair isle pattern that looks complicated, but it it actually pretty simple--it just requires making and cutting a steek. Again, it isn't as complicated as it looks.

Well, first, I had issues with tension. I tend to knit tight and it is easy to knit fair isle too tight. I've done it before but I was always able to find ways to compensate. It started out fine and then got looser. This was frustrating because despite knitting tight, my stitches are usually freakishly consistent.

Nut, okay... I'll deal with it. So, I finished it. It was sloppy, but the colors were gorgeous (chocolate brown and light blue). I used a friend's sewing machine to tack the steek and then cut it.... and then I cut one of the floats. Fair isle knitting requires you to carry yarn int he back--the carried yarn is called a float--loose pieces of yarn on the back of the blanket. So, yeah, I cut three of them. After some thinking, a friend and I came up with a solution. And it seemed to work. (I used thread and a sharp needle to weave thread in and out of the yarn to join them together.)

I went to work on the edges. I cut the steek down to two stitches like the book said. last time I made it, I didn't cut it that close. This time I did. Next time? I won't do that. As I was pining the border down, I noticed some loose stitches. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the steek was unravelling. Hoping it was nothing more than me being worried, I kept going. And then I threw it in the washer.

Guess what?

I was wrong. It unraveled. Months of knitting and work and effort, ruined. I was sick to my stomach.

I know there was worse things in the world, but this last week was one of those where it felt like everything I touched I broke. And I guess this time, I really did break something.

Ugh.

Blerg, pt II

So, apparently, I have been not-sick for about three weeks since January. I'm not joking.

Sunday: Sore throat. Monday morning: Soar throat with headache and slight cough; could be allergies, could be a cold.

It's a cold. And despite going to Seattle for a semi-work-related thing, I was on vacation. Except that by the time I got back from Seattle I had a full-blown raging cold, and it got worse before it began to get better. So my vacation? I spent it NyQuilled up, half asleep on the sofa. I had wanted to spend my time off in the sun.

I did have a chance to try the Mac Daddy from the Wayward in the U-District in Seattle. Not as good as the vegan Big Mac from Doomies. I think I'll stick to breakfast at the Wayward.

Oh... I did watch the second season of Girls. I have mixed feelings. Especially about the ending. Did it bother anyone else that Hannah had to be rescued by Adam? Because it did me, but I'm not sure why it bothered me.

Anyway.... Even though I was sick I had to drive to Tacoma to give a presentation. Now, I've never actually been to Tacoma. I didn't see much of it during this trip other than a LaQuinta sandwiched between I5 with rooms that smelled like laundry detergent and the Tacoma Community College. I did make it to the UW-Tacoma area and it was actually pretty cool in its diversity and general funkiness.

Now, I drove. This is big. I hate to drive in or around Seattle. Hate it. Really, really hate it. I was in a day-long meeting on Thursday but left early hoping to miss rush hour. I don't know if I missed it since I spent an hour barely moving on I5. Was it rush hour or just shitty traffic? Don't know; don't care. Oh, and a lady behind me in an SUV was eating soup from a bowl with a spoon... while driving. People are stoopid.

I gave my presentation and left. I was going to stick around but I needed food and despite listing my diet restrictions when I registered for the conference, there wasn't anything I could eat (I usually don't expect it, but if asked my dietary restrictions, I usually expect an attempt). But, it was okay. It gave me both an excuse to leave early (and miss Friday rush hour) and a reason to head up to Hilltop Quickie Too (which is in the UW-Tacoma area). Owned by Plum Restaurants, I have been to several of their other places yet haven't been to actually go to one of the Hilltop Quickies because they tend to have weird hours. Their service can be slow, but the reputation of their food is stellar (and Plum Bistro is excellent). It's basic comfort/soul food: breakfast, sandwiches, greens, and anything that can be covered in gravy. It took me at least 15 minutes to decide what to order. I had to talk myself out of a milkshake and finally settled on the BBQ "burger" (BBQ tofu with caramelized onions and potato salad on a bun). I'm pretty sure I had BBQ sauce on my face as it was all over my hands, rings, and clothing. I did not care, it was just that good.

BBQ from Hilltop Quickie Too. Sloppy goodness.

(Oh, while grabbing the URL for Plum Bistro site I noticed they have a book due out in April. And I actually exclaimed, out loud to no one: "There's a book?" Because, oh my god, there's a book!)

My cold is going away. I am caught up on Big Projects and Deadlines so now I can begin working on the next Big Projects and their impending deadlines. There was debit-card drama earlier this week that was taken care of quickly and easily thanks to my credit union. The sun is out. So, while this week I have felt very "blerg," for the first time in a long time, I actually feel a teeny bit optimistic.