Friday kicked off Memorial Day Weekend with a bang, with a mad rush to bake a strawberry rhubarb pie in the space between work and "Iron Man." Lemme tell you, you don't need one hour and forty five minutes to bake that bad boy. I had to stop after an hour or so because of "Iron Man." I mean, you can't just leave a pie to bake and let the oven timer decide what the appropriate on-off time is. Like it would know. And I shiver to think of leaving a fresh pie in a hot oven as it cools, drying out. As it was, the pie came out perfect. (Well, I substituted cardamom for the cinnamon, which is pungent in a bergamot-citrus way, and the berries and rhubarb are pretty pungent to start with, and I used brown sugar only, which was fine. I told Ray I was freestylin' it, and my spontenaity both thrilled him and made him nervous. SOP, really.)
Perhaps some of that had to do with using Ray's grandmother's pie crust recipe, which calls for some sugar, some vinegar and some egg in it, which is totally not the Mark Bittman/Jeffrey Steingarten way (nor, more critically, the Janice McMillan way, creator of the most intensely delicious and tender pie crusts), but it leads to a crust that browns well and is very flaky (tender, not so much, but tender vs flaky is the ultimate pie crust tension battle situation). I was happy not to make the crust, and Ray is quite good at rolling it out. I even latticed that thing. The recipe called for 7x7 latticing, I went for 5x5 because it took a ruler to get the even spacing and that was a little wide for the pie and appropriate latticing.
So then, "Iron Man." I was something of a wreck because we left five minutes before it started, hit all (like, three) red lights on the way and there was a line at the ticket booth. We didn't miss previews, even.
"Iron Man" was pretty awesome. Robert Downey Jr. can act, and Gwyneth Paltrow wasn't totally annoying. I was the only person in the theater who guffawed at the obligatory Stan Lee cameo. I'm a dork. Also I liked the 'splosions.
The tight schedule was not finished, no. See, we had to see the 6:40 showing of "Iron Man" so we'd be able to get up early enough to go clamming. We had to be out the door at eight. Shockingly, we were in a position to eat breakfast and book to Grayland. The clamming was ... meh. The clams were tiny, for the most part, and kind of hard to find. I pulled up a clam that I thought was the biggest clam I'd ever caught, but to be honest, I was looking at a lot of clams in my bag that didn't stretch across my palm so much. Also, it got warm, and Ray and I were swimming in our waders, we were so hot. Our limits didn't get nearly met.
But the tight schedule mandated we get home around 10 a.m., which we did, because that Saturday Beth and Chris came out for the day. Clams were dinner, and we had to catch something! We all got to the house at about the same time, so we pitched the clams in a bucket with water and cornstarch. We chatted then went back to Westport where we walked around enjoying the weather. Then we went to the Westport Winery, which on its surface sounds crazy -- we're on the wrong side of the Cascades, and Grays Harbor is not known for its oenophilia, but I'll be darned if the wines aren't pretty good. The Elk River Riesling is about the best Riesling I've tried (I find their reds kind of harsh, and the Compass Rose White Merlot to be, as Chris put it, "the weirdest tasting wine ever," which means it has an appeal, too), and the raspberry chocolate wine tastes like candy in a glass, but also it's wine. Seriously.
So we had a wine tasting and got happy on 5 oz of wine. We are kind of lightweights. The place was packed; there were even cyclists there. Good luck making it the next 15 miles to Westport while slightly tipsy! (Yes, the winery is not exactly in Westport, it is in Markham, which does not have its own post office so it's technically also in Aberdeen, and South Aberdeen at that.)
We made it back and Ray and Beth gutted, ahem, dissected, the clams. She was totally fascinated. Chris and I cut up vegetables. Carrie and John came over and we all had more wine. I did a fast dredge-n-drop clam bake. I fried some of our frozen clams that were pre-prepped. Everything went over great except the pie, which everyone except Beth liked. She also does not like cake. I also found out Carrie only recently has taught herself to like pie, and she did like the strawberry rhubarb pie. Who does not like dessert? I have yet to find one that I can turn down! I even ate the chocolate pyramids with odd bolus at the lair of the Numcat!!
Beth and Chris left the next morning, and Ray's dad came down with Bonnie. We had lunch and took a hike at Johns River, where we discovered what would be a really nice mountain biking trail should it get cleared. There are also trails that are overgrown by grass. Ray's dad Ray waded out there in the damp grass, we saw elk (we'd looked there the day before with Beth and Chris but did not see elk), and generally got our pant legs soaked. It was nice. We also saw the bend in the river where Ray's dad's Ray's parents had a tiny home and garden, and where a bear, startled by some men, ran up while Ray's dad Ray was playing along the riverbank. Ray's dad Ray's mother was so alarmed and angry she ran after the bear, which she did not know was fleeing but rather thought was about to attack her son, with a "rake or hoe or some such," Ray's dad Ray said. She beat that bear with her gardening tool as it ran off.
It turns out Ray's dad Ray is something of a bad omen for bears. On the Johns River trail, we came to a point where he had come across a bear after he'd been hunting. It was absorbed in scratching the bark off a trunk, and the tree was still there and barkless. There wasn't enough room to pass, Ray's dad Ray said, so he fired his gun above the bear's head, causing it to spontaneously crap before it ran off into the woods.
After Ray's dad Ray and Bonnie left, we watched "Charlie Wilson's War." Well, Ray did. I fell asleep.
On Monday, we packed out to Ocean Shores, to look at an art show in various local galleries. There was an exhibit of fanciful "portraits" of great hookers of the west (like Klondike Kate, who lost a bunch of money to the guy who started the Pantages Theater in Tacoma, and the wife of Billy Gohl, a serial killer in Aberdeen, and other sundry hookers), a woman billed as the "top feather painter in the world," which means she paints on feathers, not finds feathers to be her favorite subject, and saw a bunch of books by locals in the galleries, including one that was an epic poem about the death of a boston terrier. No kidding. Sample verse "You used to sleep with the stuffed rabbit. Now I sleep with the stuffed rabbit." and "Oh, God! The pain hurts me. The pain comforts me." I may not be blessed with perfect recall here, but you get the sentiment. We rode our bikes, hiked the Weatherwax property, finally I get to understand what it is that makes the 4,000 seniors who live there year-round so ... volatile and apt to overthrow their government in democratic revolution. Well, it definitely looks nothing like anything else in Ocean Shores.
We got back in time for "Indiana Jones and the X Files Plot," and I have to say, when I take into consideration that it is supposed to be fifties-riffic, it works better. It's sad to see Harrison Ford mail it in, though I wonder if he doesn't just lack the energy to smirk at the crazy lines he's forced to read anymore. Maybe Callista Flockhart has worn him down? Or he found Shia LaBoeuf (sp?) as soul-killing as I did? Whatever, there were 'splosions. I was pretty sure the whole South America crystal skull thing was just in order to have more Nazis to fight -- I mean, after WWII, isn't that about where they went? -- but no, it was the Ruskies. It was good to see it in a theater, in any case.
Speaking of Nazis, I just finished the purportedly YA book "The Book Thief." It is super long, narrated by Death and takes place in Nazi Germany and is unrelentingly sad. It is also quite beautiful. I highly recommend it.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
What you'd call a bloggable day
Instead of "a story to tell the grandkids," I suppose "bloggable day" is a decent substitute for a day of mishap and misadventure. Although Saturday ended up okay, there were plenty of things that went bonkers.
First there was the plan to get out and bike at Capitol Forest. We missed the turn we thought we were going to make and instead ended up at the opposite side of the forest, which might have been okay had we been prepared for the possibility but we weren't bringing the bike guides because, well, the place we were going to bike wasn't where we going. On the way in we passed a guy apparently loading a handgun. I was like, "keep going, keep going!"
So I looked at the map and said, "Here's a trailhead." It was a teensy weensy repro of the Capitol Forest map (you can't buy it from DNR, you have to download a PDF — what good is that if you don't want to bring your laptop to the woods, or unless you have an iPhone or a professional-quality printer? I just don't get it) so I couldn't see very well. So we pulled in to the trailhead and it was packed full of ATV people.
ATV people are paradoxical. They claim to love the outdoors but scrape up the trails with their quads. They also say they love the exercise, but nine out of 10 of them are over thier maximum healthy BMI, and a good portion of those are morbidly obese. Mostly I think they just love burning gas, making loud noises and sitting around on folding chairs cramming potato salad down their yap as the wind blows the party end of their mullets into the huge forkfuls they are lifting over their multiple chins. Why they don't just own up to that, I don't know. I guess many of them are so used to cognitive dissonance that it has become their reality. I will admit to liking the psycho-superhero-animesque ATV protective clothing, however. (if you click the link, it comes from a site that has pics of sexy ladies in bikinis on quads, which strikes me as even more ridiculous than SLIBs on hot rods or motorcycles. I mean, these are quads, people. They are the outdoor machine of the people, and SLIBs are not really outdoorsy types. Maybe beach volleyball, frisbee is pushing it. SLIBs are antithetically opposed to doing something that may cause a nail to break or where they might see an animal. Look, if you don't believe me, watch the living exemplars of bikini ladies on "Flavor of Love" or "Rock of Love." Those ROL girls may think they're metal rednecks, but if they saw a snake they'd flip the heck out.)
So we had half of our sandwiches in this dystopian parking lot in 90-degree heat surrounded by the large ATV people, one of whom had staked out the only picnic table and marked it with a cooler but was not actually using it. ATV people would come in on their quads and tool around the parking lot. Thanks for riding with no helmets! You are helping evolution! (Flaw in plan, most seemed to have abundantly reproduced.)
I am being quite the hater today, aren't I?
So we backtracked to a trailhead for non-motorized uses and rode up the Mima Porter trail. The trail was very uphill for about a mile and there was some hike-and-bike. There were also some god-awful mud puddles that I had to walk my bike through and grunt through. My hiking shoes were like new at the beginning of the day. No longer. So we take this one trail and it's just muddier than heck. So we turn around and I'm in front and Ray says, "Your tire is really flat." No wonder I'm huffing like the Big Bad Wolf. So our epicnicity training was cut short. At the trailhead, I was quite grumpy. I mean really grumpy. Luckily there was a horse there I was able to pet, though she was supersweaty. So I felt a little better. (Another upside: Ray saw the Mima mounds, which he's been curious about. Downside: They aren't spectacular to look at.)
To make up for the lack of bike ride I found a trail that looked modest and flat (I didn't mention my achilles was screaming, did I? I think I wore too-flat flats the day before). But when we go there and started poking around for it all through everyone's camp sites, we learned it was gone. Not before disrupting everyone's day, but...
So Ray and I went to LaVogue's bike shop, where I got a new tube (the thick kind) installed. We rode from Ray's office to the airport and back. Not super far or anything, but it was riding. Then we had to get cleaned up for the Mosaic Brass concert. Looking at the website, I now understand why Ray said he swore the tuba player was Asian. Also, the French Horn guy we saw was younger. I guess Hoquiam scored the B-team. (They were very good). Towards the end of the first half, emo music from the emo place next door started to pour in, and Ray's face just went from composed and pleased to X-treem displeasure. At intermission, he went to ask them to pipe down (shut their door, really). They totally did. The girl who did had a very distracting pierce at the bridge of her nose.
It was a little surprising for Ray, I think, because he has a great discomfort and distrust for all things emo-kid since he saw one air-hump an unaware senior citizen a few days ago, a performance for the benefit of his emo girlfriend. "They were probably drunk," Ray said in a tone of disapproval. "They were probably high on drugs," I replied. The air-humping occured in the vicinity of the 7th Street Theatre, so chances are they were going to the new emo-kid hang out around the corner.
Then, as we were leaving (it took longer for us to get out than everyone else because we had to pack up some chairs Ray borrowed from his church) the guy from LaVogue's came in and was disappointed he'd missed the concert. "Hey," he said. "Have I seen you two before?" Oh, yeah.
The guy from LaVogue's clearly knows his bicycles. But you have to hear him talk to understand why he's such a treasure to the community. There's some surfer in there, but the laid-back kind.
Not much else to say. Epicnicity is taking longer than I expected. I wonder if there are any really good beginner trails anywhere in the state. Preferably dry trails with no mud.
First there was the plan to get out and bike at Capitol Forest. We missed the turn we thought we were going to make and instead ended up at the opposite side of the forest, which might have been okay had we been prepared for the possibility but we weren't bringing the bike guides because, well, the place we were going to bike wasn't where we going. On the way in we passed a guy apparently loading a handgun. I was like, "keep going, keep going!"
So I looked at the map and said, "Here's a trailhead." It was a teensy weensy repro of the Capitol Forest map (you can't buy it from DNR, you have to download a PDF — what good is that if you don't want to bring your laptop to the woods, or unless you have an iPhone or a professional-quality printer? I just don't get it) so I couldn't see very well. So we pulled in to the trailhead and it was packed full of ATV people.
ATV people are paradoxical. They claim to love the outdoors but scrape up the trails with their quads. They also say they love the exercise, but nine out of 10 of them are over thier maximum healthy BMI, and a good portion of those are morbidly obese. Mostly I think they just love burning gas, making loud noises and sitting around on folding chairs cramming potato salad down their yap as the wind blows the party end of their mullets into the huge forkfuls they are lifting over their multiple chins. Why they don't just own up to that, I don't know. I guess many of them are so used to cognitive dissonance that it has become their reality. I will admit to liking the psycho-superhero-animesque ATV protective clothing, however. (if you click the link, it comes from a site that has pics of sexy ladies in bikinis on quads, which strikes me as even more ridiculous than SLIBs on hot rods or motorcycles. I mean, these are quads, people. They are the outdoor machine of the people, and SLIBs are not really outdoorsy types. Maybe beach volleyball, frisbee is pushing it. SLIBs are antithetically opposed to doing something that may cause a nail to break or where they might see an animal. Look, if you don't believe me, watch the living exemplars of bikini ladies on "Flavor of Love" or "Rock of Love." Those ROL girls may think they're metal rednecks, but if they saw a snake they'd flip the heck out.)
So we had half of our sandwiches in this dystopian parking lot in 90-degree heat surrounded by the large ATV people, one of whom had staked out the only picnic table and marked it with a cooler but was not actually using it. ATV people would come in on their quads and tool around the parking lot. Thanks for riding with no helmets! You are helping evolution! (Flaw in plan, most seemed to have abundantly reproduced.)
I am being quite the hater today, aren't I?
So we backtracked to a trailhead for non-motorized uses and rode up the Mima Porter trail. The trail was very uphill for about a mile and there was some hike-and-bike. There were also some god-awful mud puddles that I had to walk my bike through and grunt through. My hiking shoes were like new at the beginning of the day. No longer. So we take this one trail and it's just muddier than heck. So we turn around and I'm in front and Ray says, "Your tire is really flat." No wonder I'm huffing like the Big Bad Wolf. So our epicnicity training was cut short. At the trailhead, I was quite grumpy. I mean really grumpy. Luckily there was a horse there I was able to pet, though she was supersweaty. So I felt a little better. (Another upside: Ray saw the Mima mounds, which he's been curious about. Downside: They aren't spectacular to look at.)
To make up for the lack of bike ride I found a trail that looked modest and flat (I didn't mention my achilles was screaming, did I? I think I wore too-flat flats the day before). But when we go there and started poking around for it all through everyone's camp sites, we learned it was gone. Not before disrupting everyone's day, but...
So Ray and I went to LaVogue's bike shop, where I got a new tube (the thick kind) installed. We rode from Ray's office to the airport and back. Not super far or anything, but it was riding. Then we had to get cleaned up for the Mosaic Brass concert. Looking at the website, I now understand why Ray said he swore the tuba player was Asian. Also, the French Horn guy we saw was younger. I guess Hoquiam scored the B-team. (They were very good). Towards the end of the first half, emo music from the emo place next door started to pour in, and Ray's face just went from composed and pleased to X-treem displeasure. At intermission, he went to ask them to pipe down (shut their door, really). They totally did. The girl who did had a very distracting pierce at the bridge of her nose.
It was a little surprising for Ray, I think, because he has a great discomfort and distrust for all things emo-kid since he saw one air-hump an unaware senior citizen a few days ago, a performance for the benefit of his emo girlfriend. "They were probably drunk," Ray said in a tone of disapproval. "They were probably high on drugs," I replied. The air-humping occured in the vicinity of the 7th Street Theatre, so chances are they were going to the new emo-kid hang out around the corner.
Then, as we were leaving (it took longer for us to get out than everyone else because we had to pack up some chairs Ray borrowed from his church) the guy from LaVogue's came in and was disappointed he'd missed the concert. "Hey," he said. "Have I seen you two before?" Oh, yeah.
The guy from LaVogue's clearly knows his bicycles. But you have to hear him talk to understand why he's such a treasure to the community. There's some surfer in there, but the laid-back kind.
Not much else to say. Epicnicity is taking longer than I expected. I wonder if there are any really good beginner trails anywhere in the state. Preferably dry trails with no mud.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Discoveries of late
Spotted at the GH YMCA: A girl, of indeterminate, but young, age, in a gray T-shirt with the armpits/sleeves cut out muscle shirt style, the back emblazoned (by hand, with marker) "GET SOME." Luckily, because she had nothing on the sides of her shirt, there was a tank underneath. Also, she had a pair of shorty-shorts made of pyjama material with the Superman S all over them. Under those shorty shorts were a pair of leggings. This is a weird workout outfit, and it seems a little too constricty/hipster wannabe.
Over the weekend I tried a new recipe for a type of pudding I had yet to experience. I know! Me being a huge fan of pudding and all! It was panna cotta. I think of PC as the kind of thing classy Italian whitetrash whip up for a church potluck, because it relies on gelatin for its structure. They apparently use cream (sour sometimes) to achieve a super creamy consistency. I, however, can out-whitetrash them. So I used whole milk. For something that is basically milk, sugar, vanilla and gelatin, it tastes pretty darn good. It's like tapioca, but like the whole of the tapioca, the essence of the custard and the texture of the tapioca beads, have been combined into one sublime substance. It's okay with rhubarb sauce or chocolate sauce, but I actually like it plain best.
It's so easy -- a packet of Knox, sprinkled on a half-cup of milk, left to sit while you get a saucepan with a half cup of sugar and 2 1/2 cups of milk (or cream) up to a simmer. Pull the simmering milk off the heat, dump in two tsps vanilla and stir in the bloomed milk-gelatin mix, whisk like a mugwump, pour into ramekins and put in fridge for a couple hours or so (there is no need to strain the stuff through cheesecloth like some recipes would have you believe, just stir like crazy). Voila, white trash food with a name fancy enough for social-cutthroat Real Housewives. (No, I don't watch that show. I see commercials during "Project Runway," though.)
What else is new ... Dad remembered Mother's Day and got mom a Nano. That's kind of major. It's hard to get her stuff she not only likes but actively wants. However, the fun has just begun because she will have to figure out iTunes. GUIs and intuitive program design have nothing on my mom.
Still no clue as to what trails in the Olympic National Park have been scouted slash closed slash opened. The park's website is singularly un-user friendly. There are old newsletters which hint at the damage from the December storm, and newletters that say certain accesses are reopened, but there is no comprehensive map or page where the closures and conditions are laid bare. This is not the only park or trail or anything that does not do this service. Basically there is no governmental rec body that has a budget to do this service, which may only require wiki, really, let the users do it for popular trails, let the rangers do it for trails they have to investigate blowdown on. Because users are really the best sources, but the websites that deal with trails don't have a monopoly on them and it shows in the coverage of trail condition reportage. (I mean not updated between 10-15-07 and "spring?" the power of the blogosphere can only do so much original reporting, which I say because it's true and because my job still has meaning! Yay!)
Notes from pop culture: I have had bum DVD after bum DVD from Netflix. I actually rented "Tell Me You Love Me," which was just so mind-numbingly boring I couldn't even watch the final disc (and mostly watched the other episodes while cruising the internet or doing chores). I can't even remember the crummy movies I picked out. I hope, with the addition of "King of Kong," about a guy who loses his job and starts playing Donkey Kong competions. This is a documentary.
Books: Who has time for books? I finally finished Sally Vickers' "Instances of the Number Three." Bleah. I kept reading, believing that there would be a shocking revelation about the dead man's existence, like the cover promised. The cover lied. It killed my enthusiasm for reading other books I had lying around. However, I have great hope that I will rediscover my passion for the written word with some non-fiction I've taken off hold on my library list.
Music: A bright spot in my entertainment vortex. I discovered a band I like, The Fitness, which has this awesome song called "Chauffer." I discovered another song I'm obsessed with, She & Him's "Why Do You Let Me Stay Here." I mean, that's like six minutes of fun right there, hardly making up for all the blah stuff I've poured hours into.
Over the weekend I tried a new recipe for a type of pudding I had yet to experience. I know! Me being a huge fan of pudding and all! It was panna cotta. I think of PC as the kind of thing classy Italian whitetrash whip up for a church potluck, because it relies on gelatin for its structure. They apparently use cream (sour sometimes) to achieve a super creamy consistency. I, however, can out-whitetrash them. So I used whole milk. For something that is basically milk, sugar, vanilla and gelatin, it tastes pretty darn good. It's like tapioca, but like the whole of the tapioca, the essence of the custard and the texture of the tapioca beads, have been combined into one sublime substance. It's okay with rhubarb sauce or chocolate sauce, but I actually like it plain best.
It's so easy -- a packet of Knox, sprinkled on a half-cup of milk, left to sit while you get a saucepan with a half cup of sugar and 2 1/2 cups of milk (or cream) up to a simmer. Pull the simmering milk off the heat, dump in two tsps vanilla and stir in the bloomed milk-gelatin mix, whisk like a mugwump, pour into ramekins and put in fridge for a couple hours or so (there is no need to strain the stuff through cheesecloth like some recipes would have you believe, just stir like crazy). Voila, white trash food with a name fancy enough for social-cutthroat Real Housewives. (No, I don't watch that show. I see commercials during "Project Runway," though.)
What else is new ... Dad remembered Mother's Day and got mom a Nano. That's kind of major. It's hard to get her stuff she not only likes but actively wants. However, the fun has just begun because she will have to figure out iTunes. GUIs and intuitive program design have nothing on my mom.
Still no clue as to what trails in the Olympic National Park have been scouted slash closed slash opened. The park's website is singularly un-user friendly. There are old newsletters which hint at the damage from the December storm, and newletters that say certain accesses are reopened, but there is no comprehensive map or page where the closures and conditions are laid bare. This is not the only park or trail or anything that does not do this service. Basically there is no governmental rec body that has a budget to do this service, which may only require wiki, really, let the users do it for popular trails, let the rangers do it for trails they have to investigate blowdown on. Because users are really the best sources, but the websites that deal with trails don't have a monopoly on them and it shows in the coverage of trail condition reportage. (I mean not updated between 10-15-07 and "spring?" the power of the blogosphere can only do so much original reporting, which I say because it's true and because my job still has meaning! Yay!)
Notes from pop culture: I have had bum DVD after bum DVD from Netflix. I actually rented "Tell Me You Love Me," which was just so mind-numbingly boring I couldn't even watch the final disc (and mostly watched the other episodes while cruising the internet or doing chores). I can't even remember the crummy movies I picked out. I hope, with the addition of "King of Kong," about a guy who loses his job and starts playing Donkey Kong competions. This is a documentary.
Books: Who has time for books? I finally finished Sally Vickers' "Instances of the Number Three." Bleah. I kept reading, believing that there would be a shocking revelation about the dead man's existence, like the cover promised. The cover lied. It killed my enthusiasm for reading other books I had lying around. However, I have great hope that I will rediscover my passion for the written word with some non-fiction I've taken off hold on my library list.
Music: A bright spot in my entertainment vortex. I discovered a band I like, The Fitness, which has this awesome song called "Chauffer." I discovered another song I'm obsessed with, She & Him's "Why Do You Let Me Stay Here." I mean, that's like six minutes of fun right there, hardly making up for all the blah stuff I've poured hours into.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Monday, May 05, 2008
Emceeing
So Friday I got to emcee the 7th Street's Young Artist Showcase. I was kind of nervous, which was not assuaged much by Ray's introducing me as a "local media celebrity." Okay, it totally cracked me up. The guy is hilarious and completely unappreciated by the masses who need Jim Carrey mugging to understand a funny line. I was considered successful in spite of a few slips because I did not curse (yay me!) and I kept the show moving along at breakneck clip. I also ad libbed some stuff when the piano bench appeared to break in the middle of the concert. Not break so bad it fell apart but got wobbly in one of the legs. Luckily Ray had told me how expensive the bench was the night before (when it was just wobbly in the seat, not the legs) and I told the audience to save that particular seat would be $500.
The show was as good as it gets. I mean, I've only seen one other one (last year) and apparently the first year's attempt was marred by excessive length. The kids just poured their little hearts out. There were numerous singers in rehearsals that bonked on their lines, but that did not happen. I even got a hug from little Jordan Bridges, who seemed preciously theater-y, if that makes any sense. You know, lots of extroverted, positive but somewhat untamed enthusiasm. The one act I did not see in rehearsals was the one that stood out for me. It was a little blonde 10-year-old in a dress with a red pleather vesty top connected by black mesh across the midriff to a flouncy skirt, getting tap dance insane to Crazy Frog's rendition of "Axel F." If you do not know this song, you are really missing out. She apparently dances during Seattle Storm games twice a week, which is a real haul. I don't think there's another 10-y-o out there who can body pump like this kid; it's called attitude, and she should give classes in it.
After the show Ray and I had some raspberry wine from the Westport winery with friends John and Carrie. I am not a dessert wine person, but this was so totally awesome that Sunday Ray and I hit the winery and tried a bunch of their wines and ended up getting some for guest situations, which are sure to occur once his floors are finished.
On Saturday we met up with my friend Lindley and her husband Phill for dinner before going to the Tacoma Concert Band's Sousa Extravaganza. The band was dressed up in these black smocks with gold piping that made them look like Haley Bopp Comet cultists, and the director, who was Ray's band director at the University of Puget Sound, had on a military-esque uniform with medals and cap and even a fake moustache and glasses to perfect the impersonation of Sousa for the stage. Or, as Ray pointed out, the thing wasn't so much an impersonation as it was an experiential tribute to the man (there are some tribute artists who do not like being called impersonators, lest it make a caricature of the impersonated). The music was totally entertaining (except for the "Songs of Grace, Songs of Glory" Sunday snorer, which Lindley totally warned me about), and the band was really good. They also have a huge American flag that covered the back wall of the stage completely. I figured it cost, minimum, as a special deal to a non-profit, $5,000. Phill said $15,000 to $20,000. But no, the director said it wasn't even $1,000.
We did all this after another pre-epic bike ride prep. We went down to the national wildlife refuge to check out the local shorebirds festival on our bikes and then did the 2 mile or so trot around the plank walkway then biked back, which was so much easier on account of the wind being behind us and we stopped in at LaVogue's bike shop and I got my tires pumped. It turns out we could not figure out how to set the pump for schrader tires, only presston tires. Or however you spell those. We got it squared away and the LaV guy used the air compressor on my tires anyhow. It was also nice that the weather went from kind of gray and a bit misty to sunny on the ride out there. By the ride back it was beautiful, sunny skies all the way.
I was hoping that next weekend I'd get a rest. Not so much: I'm working. And I've got to take part in a Young Author's conference as a presenter with two bosses. I think they think I can connect with kids.
Sunday was gorgeous and so was today. Perhaps things are starting to take a turn for the better.
The show was as good as it gets. I mean, I've only seen one other one (last year) and apparently the first year's attempt was marred by excessive length. The kids just poured their little hearts out. There were numerous singers in rehearsals that bonked on their lines, but that did not happen. I even got a hug from little Jordan Bridges, who seemed preciously theater-y, if that makes any sense. You know, lots of extroverted, positive but somewhat untamed enthusiasm. The one act I did not see in rehearsals was the one that stood out for me. It was a little blonde 10-year-old in a dress with a red pleather vesty top connected by black mesh across the midriff to a flouncy skirt, getting tap dance insane to Crazy Frog's rendition of "Axel F." If you do not know this song, you are really missing out. She apparently dances during Seattle Storm games twice a week, which is a real haul. I don't think there's another 10-y-o out there who can body pump like this kid; it's called attitude, and she should give classes in it.
After the show Ray and I had some raspberry wine from the Westport winery with friends John and Carrie. I am not a dessert wine person, but this was so totally awesome that Sunday Ray and I hit the winery and tried a bunch of their wines and ended up getting some for guest situations, which are sure to occur once his floors are finished.
On Saturday we met up with my friend Lindley and her husband Phill for dinner before going to the Tacoma Concert Band's Sousa Extravaganza. The band was dressed up in these black smocks with gold piping that made them look like Haley Bopp Comet cultists, and the director, who was Ray's band director at the University of Puget Sound, had on a military-esque uniform with medals and cap and even a fake moustache and glasses to perfect the impersonation of Sousa for the stage. Or, as Ray pointed out, the thing wasn't so much an impersonation as it was an experiential tribute to the man (there are some tribute artists who do not like being called impersonators, lest it make a caricature of the impersonated). The music was totally entertaining (except for the "Songs of Grace, Songs of Glory" Sunday snorer, which Lindley totally warned me about), and the band was really good. They also have a huge American flag that covered the back wall of the stage completely. I figured it cost, minimum, as a special deal to a non-profit, $5,000. Phill said $15,000 to $20,000. But no, the director said it wasn't even $1,000.
We did all this after another pre-epic bike ride prep. We went down to the national wildlife refuge to check out the local shorebirds festival on our bikes and then did the 2 mile or so trot around the plank walkway then biked back, which was so much easier on account of the wind being behind us and we stopped in at LaVogue's bike shop and I got my tires pumped. It turns out we could not figure out how to set the pump for schrader tires, only presston tires. Or however you spell those. We got it squared away and the LaV guy used the air compressor on my tires anyhow. It was also nice that the weather went from kind of gray and a bit misty to sunny on the ride out there. By the ride back it was beautiful, sunny skies all the way.
I was hoping that next weekend I'd get a rest. Not so much: I'm working. And I've got to take part in a Young Author's conference as a presenter with two bosses. I think they think I can connect with kids.
Sunday was gorgeous and so was today. Perhaps things are starting to take a turn for the better.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)