You know, how he hosts the Oscars all the time? Or is that Whoopi now? I dunno, not like I watch awards shows.
Anyway, I get to host the Young Artists Showcase again and it's been two nights of talking to kids and reading their little bios and stuff and, hey, what can I say, I dig the gig. It's my little way of supporting the arts and the people who are working their tails off to create a vibrant arts community in a Harbor that hasn't always been a real receptive audience. Anyway, the kids are always so excited to do this event. It's precious.
Oh, a YAS first this year: A married, pregnant performer. She's 23 so although she's young, she's not THAT young.
I'm thinking of debuting a dress I bought like two years ago at this thing. There are not a lot of opportunities to wear a sleeveless anything in Grays Harbor. Even though it is almost May it gets up to the high 60s with lots of wind. There is a reason the Pacific NW/grunge look was flannel and jeans, and it is the weather here. Seriously. One chance to wear (this) nice dress in two years.
Still reading "A Fraction of the Whole." It is amazing.
Made a huge batch of rice pudding with leftover rice. It was ploughed through in about four or five nights. Man, I love sugar. I balanced it with salads and stuff in my lunches and dinners.
There are still many, many block party baked beans in the fridge. Perhaps because the kind of party they throw keeps the neighbors up with the noise and the garbage left all over the street. Metaphorically speaking.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The Depression
Well, I'm not saying it has come to Aberdeen, even though Weyerhaeuser basically pulled out the other day, taking with it the reamaining 54 in-town jobs it had, because we haven't had any bank runs, even though WaMu got dissolved and is now Chase. Things like the FDIC are very good.
So things here are kind of on the bleak tip, not too different from normal, actually. But I think, like our neighbors in Europe and to the south, when the US gets a cold the rest of the world gets pneumonia, that kind of applies to the Harbor, too. The rest of the country or state suffers a setback, the Harbor gets kneecapped by it.
I'm not really sure how "The NOW Habit" fits into this, with its anti-procrastination advice that includes an anecdote about the author's jumping out a plane in airborne training that he manages to sound like he talked himself into taking control in a bad situation fits in when the discussion is about a community, but it seems it might be one way of going about. Embracing the bleakness, taking charge, surging forward as if it comes from volition. They're rambly ideas, but maybe not such bad ones.
The perpetual bland sitcom comedy of my life with Ray had a pretty iffy episode this weekend. Ray decided to make a recipe for "Block Party Baked Beans" from the new Cooks Country and I was like, "as a main dish?" and he was like, "that's what it is." And I was like, "I think it's a side," and he was like, "it has meat in it," so I had to concede that point.
Among beans you get in a can it has lima beans and green beans in it, even though it's more of a smoky-tangy-sweetish dish. So I was all, "let's swap out the lima beans for peas," but you cannot get Ray to freestyle with a Cooks Country recipe. So I have been eating some lima beans, people. Lima beans. Disgusting. They get worse as they age, and the final of these lima beans that I eat will be really bad because that Cooks Country apparently intended the recipe to feed a block party of hungry people. We've got frozen beans. And the green beans in the red sauce are not exactly floating my boat either. They're kind of crunchy so it ruins my ability to tell myself I'm eating chili or maybe sloppy joe stuff without a bun.
Other than that, and the intense bloating from the gas, I'm enjoying the beans. Cooks Country is fun.
We went to the Shorebirds Festival this weekend with Beth and Chris. The alleged shuttle bus ran maybe every half hour, which I think means it should not be called a shuttle bus. And the weather was iffy. But we saw some birds. No peacocks or ostriches, but the excitement among the bird people seemed to indicate we'd just missed the bandersnatches. No, seriously, Winged Migration (note the sourpuss who wrote THAT entry!) is an amazing thing, but once you've seen the movie you can't just experience the cold, wet, very distant reality of the boring brown birds the same way.
If I sound unenthusiastic it's probably because the Scotch Broom and some sort of tree pollen are sucking away my ability to feel joy. They are making me anhedonic, as well as unable to breathe through my nose. Life as a mouthbreather is not for me. I feel acutely unproductive and I'm embarrassed to talk to people face to face as I'm also a sneezing mess.
Instead, I prefer to curl up with a good book. So far, I've been finding that good book in A Fraction of the Whole. Also see this site for a brief synopsis of the ideas in it. It is just profoundly interestingly written. I am digging it deeply. Every page is dynamic. (And here comes the forced anhedonia part) I'm only a couple chapters in so... (okay back to rave) I'm sure it will be great all the way throughout. Oh please let it be this good throughout.
Next up is "The White Tiger," which actually won the Booker prize. If it isn't as mind-blowingly AWESOME as "A Fraction of the Whole" or"Sea of Poppies" I'll be annoyed. But it sounds pretty awesome too, no?
Oh, speaking of putting "no" at the end of a sentence, I have managed to create my own sentence in French: Ne touchez pas ma poulet, cest sensetif. (Don't touch my chicken, it is sensitive) Apologies for spelling errors and also maybe ma should be mon. But see, French is like English in that when it comes to pronunciation of spellings you can kind of fake some of it with nonchalance and a low voice. At least, that's what it seems like. I'll probably be gutted by any actual french people.
MA POULET EST SENSITIF.
So things here are kind of on the bleak tip, not too different from normal, actually. But I think, like our neighbors in Europe and to the south, when the US gets a cold the rest of the world gets pneumonia, that kind of applies to the Harbor, too. The rest of the country or state suffers a setback, the Harbor gets kneecapped by it.
I'm not really sure how "The NOW Habit" fits into this, with its anti-procrastination advice that includes an anecdote about the author's jumping out a plane in airborne training that he manages to sound like he talked himself into taking control in a bad situation fits in when the discussion is about a community, but it seems it might be one way of going about. Embracing the bleakness, taking charge, surging forward as if it comes from volition. They're rambly ideas, but maybe not such bad ones.
The perpetual bland sitcom comedy of my life with Ray had a pretty iffy episode this weekend. Ray decided to make a recipe for "Block Party Baked Beans" from the new Cooks Country and I was like, "as a main dish?" and he was like, "that's what it is." And I was like, "I think it's a side," and he was like, "it has meat in it," so I had to concede that point.
Among beans you get in a can it has lima beans and green beans in it, even though it's more of a smoky-tangy-sweetish dish. So I was all, "let's swap out the lima beans for peas," but you cannot get Ray to freestyle with a Cooks Country recipe. So I have been eating some lima beans, people. Lima beans. Disgusting. They get worse as they age, and the final of these lima beans that I eat will be really bad because that Cooks Country apparently intended the recipe to feed a block party of hungry people. We've got frozen beans. And the green beans in the red sauce are not exactly floating my boat either. They're kind of crunchy so it ruins my ability to tell myself I'm eating chili or maybe sloppy joe stuff without a bun.
Other than that, and the intense bloating from the gas, I'm enjoying the beans. Cooks Country is fun.
We went to the Shorebirds Festival this weekend with Beth and Chris. The alleged shuttle bus ran maybe every half hour, which I think means it should not be called a shuttle bus. And the weather was iffy. But we saw some birds. No peacocks or ostriches, but the excitement among the bird people seemed to indicate we'd just missed the bandersnatches. No, seriously, Winged Migration (note the sourpuss who wrote THAT entry!) is an amazing thing, but once you've seen the movie you can't just experience the cold, wet, very distant reality of the boring brown birds the same way.
If I sound unenthusiastic it's probably because the Scotch Broom and some sort of tree pollen are sucking away my ability to feel joy. They are making me anhedonic, as well as unable to breathe through my nose. Life as a mouthbreather is not for me. I feel acutely unproductive and I'm embarrassed to talk to people face to face as I'm also a sneezing mess.
Instead, I prefer to curl up with a good book. So far, I've been finding that good book in A Fraction of the Whole. Also see this site for a brief synopsis of the ideas in it. It is just profoundly interestingly written. I am digging it deeply. Every page is dynamic. (And here comes the forced anhedonia part) I'm only a couple chapters in so... (okay back to rave) I'm sure it will be great all the way throughout. Oh please let it be this good throughout.
Next up is "The White Tiger," which actually won the Booker prize. If it isn't as mind-blowingly AWESOME as "A Fraction of the Whole" or
Oh, speaking of putting "no" at the end of a sentence, I have managed to create my own sentence in French: Ne touchez pas ma poulet, cest sensetif. (Don't touch my chicken, it is sensitive) Apologies for spelling errors and also maybe ma should be mon. But see, French is like English in that when it comes to pronunciation of spellings you can kind of fake some of it with nonchalance and a low voice. At least, that's what it seems like. I'll probably be gutted by any actual french people.
MA POULET EST SENSITIF.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Updating is hard
So much has been going on that it's hard to keep up.
First things first: There is documented video of the Grays Harbor Banjo Band. If you're a FB friend, check out my videos IF YOU DARE. We were playing th Bluegrass by the Bog festival at the Cranberry Hall in Grayland. We do not play bluegrass, although a couple of 5-stringers who have infiltrated the ranks can pick out "Blackberry Blossom" and "I'll Fly Away," so we have some filler for the peeps there. According to Ray, the reaction from the watchers was more excited than you'd think. The president (our benevolent dictator) of the Banjo Band announced the songs and people were like, "Oooh! 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame!'"
Next things next: My birthday gift. I RODE IN BETSY's IZETTA! She picked me up in her itty bitty car and, so inside, there's one little pipe that brings in warmed air from the teensy engine. For fresh air, there's a little sliding vent in the door, which is the front of the car. The gearshift is on the left and is about the size of a car's dipstick. We went to the 7th Street and ate lunch, then Betsy ran me back home to get my gym bag and we went via Scammell hill. Now, on the way to try to cross the street Betsy almost got us T-boned (on my side) but not really. That car is so tiny that even if it had gone out into the street an approaching car can easily dodge it.
So you noticed I said Scammell Hill. Now, this is a famously steep hill. It is seriously steep. And we were going to go up it. In a tiny car that was already kind of underpowered. I was halfway expecting to have to get out and either push it up or just try to keep it from careening downhill by grabbing it from the side window. Oh well. Lemondrop, as the little yellow car is called, totally made it and didn't have to be put in second gear. Betsy, as usual, was laughing the whole way up.
Other news: The sun came out this weekend! It was great! But I was working so I didn't get to enjoy it until Sunday, when Ray and I went biking, first out to Junction City and then back around to Hoquiam. Then, at four, we saw the Olympia Choral Society perform some stuff. The program was kind of Americana with one piece called lambscapes that was Mary Had A Little Lamb in the style of Handel, Schubert, Verdi, "Carmina Burana" and sons of the pioneers, which I'd never heard of.
God help me, when I hear "We Shall Overcome" I get all choked up. I'm supposed to be too cynical for that.
Today I took advantage of the sunshine by walking my errands (I thought I'd bike but I changed my mind at the last minute: Too much locking the bike up over and over in too little a space of time to make it worthwhile. This meant I was in my dipes (i.e. padded bike pants) the whole time). I stopped at Rosevear's but they were closed. Like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story," I pressed up against the window and saw that there was a five-string banjo. Drool. One of the five-stringers showed me how the five-string has a chord already tuned so all you have to do is put your finger across all four strings. Making a minor chord is another situation entirely, as is a 7th or a diminished. Still, I'm game.
I also pulled out an old crummy media shelf of Ray's from the basement (it did not survive the transition of going from being his room to our room) and put it on the porch. I dug out some old pots I'd once had dreams for and got some herb seeds and starts and potting soil and I'm going to try and make those fresh herb dreams come true: Cilantro, sage, mint, basil, thyme and tarragon. Do you know how tiny mint seeds are? Almost all the seeds, really; they're all part of the mint family. Yeah, I'll drop some Linnaeus.
Well, I'm hosting the Young Artist's showcase again. Wish me luck! No accidental cussing! No whammies!
First things first: There is documented video of the Grays Harbor Banjo Band. If you're a FB friend, check out my videos IF YOU DARE. We were playing th Bluegrass by the Bog festival at the Cranberry Hall in Grayland. We do not play bluegrass, although a couple of 5-stringers who have infiltrated the ranks can pick out "Blackberry Blossom" and "I'll Fly Away," so we have some filler for the peeps there. According to Ray, the reaction from the watchers was more excited than you'd think. The president (our benevolent dictator) of the Banjo Band announced the songs and people were like, "Oooh! 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame!'"
Next things next: My birthday gift. I RODE IN BETSY's IZETTA! She picked me up in her itty bitty car and, so inside, there's one little pipe that brings in warmed air from the teensy engine. For fresh air, there's a little sliding vent in the door, which is the front of the car. The gearshift is on the left and is about the size of a car's dipstick. We went to the 7th Street and ate lunch, then Betsy ran me back home to get my gym bag and we went via Scammell hill. Now, on the way to try to cross the street Betsy almost got us T-boned (on my side) but not really. That car is so tiny that even if it had gone out into the street an approaching car can easily dodge it.
So you noticed I said Scammell Hill. Now, this is a famously steep hill. It is seriously steep. And we were going to go up it. In a tiny car that was already kind of underpowered. I was halfway expecting to have to get out and either push it up or just try to keep it from careening downhill by grabbing it from the side window. Oh well. Lemondrop, as the little yellow car is called, totally made it and didn't have to be put in second gear. Betsy, as usual, was laughing the whole way up.
Other news: The sun came out this weekend! It was great! But I was working so I didn't get to enjoy it until Sunday, when Ray and I went biking, first out to Junction City and then back around to Hoquiam. Then, at four, we saw the Olympia Choral Society perform some stuff. The program was kind of Americana with one piece called lambscapes that was Mary Had A Little Lamb in the style of Handel, Schubert, Verdi, "Carmina Burana" and sons of the pioneers, which I'd never heard of.
God help me, when I hear "We Shall Overcome" I get all choked up. I'm supposed to be too cynical for that.
Today I took advantage of the sunshine by walking my errands (I thought I'd bike but I changed my mind at the last minute: Too much locking the bike up over and over in too little a space of time to make it worthwhile. This meant I was in my dipes (i.e. padded bike pants) the whole time). I stopped at Rosevear's but they were closed. Like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story," I pressed up against the window and saw that there was a five-string banjo. Drool. One of the five-stringers showed me how the five-string has a chord already tuned so all you have to do is put your finger across all four strings. Making a minor chord is another situation entirely, as is a 7th or a diminished. Still, I'm game.
I also pulled out an old crummy media shelf of Ray's from the basement (it did not survive the transition of going from being his room to our room) and put it on the porch. I dug out some old pots I'd once had dreams for and got some herb seeds and starts and potting soil and I'm going to try and make those fresh herb dreams come true: Cilantro, sage, mint, basil, thyme and tarragon. Do you know how tiny mint seeds are? Almost all the seeds, really; they're all part of the mint family. Yeah, I'll drop some Linnaeus.
Well, I'm hosting the Young Artist's showcase again. Wish me luck! No accidental cussing! No whammies!
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
My very first playout
This Saturday I had my very first playout with the Grays Harbor Banjo Band! This has been months in the making since I started going to Banjo Band meetings this winter, practicing the dickens out of the Program 6 book (naturally we played from books 1,2 and 9, which I only recently received and haven't been able to get fully under control).
I got in my new pair of black pants (can you believe I didn't have any?) a button down white shirt and, of course, my Banjo Band maroon vest. If only I'd had the sparkly black bowtie (have it now) and a straw boater I would have been a hot little organ grinder — or organ grinder monkey, whatever.
So Ray and I head out to Elma, where the Banjo Band is playing at the Music Factory. Now, from the name you might think this is a big place and be kind of confused because Elma is not so big. It's kind of an old-timey multipurpose hall that its owner, an older guy named Dave (I think?), has been patching up the past decade. It has a booth above the floor that is accessible by a staircase, painted seafoam green, that you can hoist up along the wall. The stage, about a foot above the floor, was staggered so everyone could be seen. There was a very large picture of Jesus — you know the one, the iconic one where he has the light hitting him from the front and behind, only the shoulders up kind of pic, this in tones of brown instead of the usual blue — behind us.
I had to cram in between Jim Redding and the piano, and I saw Eloise (Frank Andy said she was the oldest member of the band at 86 and she hollered, "I'M 87 GOIN ON 88!!!" so there you go) and asked how she was doing and she said not so good, she'd had a terrible fall but the Lord gave her the strength to get up and call her daughter, so praise the Lord for that. Eloise is fiercely independent.
Then we got rolling and I really had no idea what all was going on half the time. But it was fun! Linda Hall did the Charleston to 5-foot 2, and she is actually that tall and has eyes of blue. She and Marilyn Redding both wore their fringed blue dresses with red, white and blue feathers in their hair.
We played "Alabamy Bound," a train song that meant putting on conductors hats. Luckily Linda had an extra for me. I am starting to think being a member of the Banjo Band = slight chance of clutter. Ray, who was sitting in the back, tried to take pictures but it was too dark and they came out blurry. He also said whenever the band played a song, people would sing along, even if no one was singing. They did this with "Bicycle Built for Two" and "Wild Irish Rose," which Andy Hall sang and dang if he didn't sound just like an Irish tenor. The guy is so musical it's ridiculous.
We also played "Spanish Eyes," during which Eloise got out from behind the piano to play maracas. She used to get up and dance but she said she just can't do that anymore. Still, she played the dickens out of those maracas. Shake it, don't break it Eloise!
So the last number -- aside from the encore, "Banjo Polka" -- was the service songs. Now, I may be a former Quaker school student with limited experience in all things military, but I do know that you're supposed to stand when you hear the service song played for the branch of the armed forces that you were once a part of. The Music Factory crowd, though all of the so-called "Greatest Generation," did not seem to know this or had a collective senior moment. The first song was "Anchors Aweigh," and a guy in the band was a Navy guy and he stood up for the song and like the whole audience stood up! And Ray said he tried to wave them down like, "Hey, that's not what you're supposed to do! You're messing it up!" but nobody paid attention or understood. Then they stayed standing throughout the rest of the songs. Maybe I got it wrong and they were all members of the Navy, Army, Marine Corps, Coast Guard and Air Force. It could happen!
So I had another practice tonight before our playout at Bluegrass by the Bog in Grayland on Saturday. For the third month in a row we had the election of officers. How does the election of officers get continued as old business for three months? And although it has always seemed like we have reelected our benevolent dictators/only people willing to take a leadership role each month has it yet been definitively done? Only time will tell. This was supposed to be the annual meeting so maybe so.
Because it was the annual meeting everyone brought food. About five people brought in devilled eggs. I'm going to have to learn how to make them because my generation is not a devilled egg making generation, and if there aren't devilled eggs at a potluck something is dreadfully wrong. At least, that's my take on things. And not because I'm such a devilled egg fan, either.
Also there was some jamming, and Ernie Walls jammed with me — he played "Summertime" and I sang. It was fun. He's just a sweet guy.
Ray has been helping me practice some of the unfamiliar songs. I can't follow the music too well and I'm too excitable to stay on beat (I know, I'm a real asset to the band, huh?) so I kind of have to know the tune so I can, you know, feel the music or whatever.
Ray said at the "rehearsal dinner," we should pick out a few songs for entertainment of the guests and play them together. My family is very tech-savvy, and I told him we might be plastered all over the internet if so. Two people, playing old-fashioned music together, a little sloppily (he has to transpose on the fly), letting their freak flags fly.
The only other wedding update is Betsy wants us to have a raffle for the 7th Street as part of the ceremony. We're considering it since we need to give people SOMETHING to talk about.
I got in my new pair of black pants (can you believe I didn't have any?) a button down white shirt and, of course, my Banjo Band maroon vest. If only I'd had the sparkly black bowtie (have it now) and a straw boater I would have been a hot little organ grinder — or organ grinder monkey, whatever.
So Ray and I head out to Elma, where the Banjo Band is playing at the Music Factory. Now, from the name you might think this is a big place and be kind of confused because Elma is not so big. It's kind of an old-timey multipurpose hall that its owner, an older guy named Dave (I think?), has been patching up the past decade. It has a booth above the floor that is accessible by a staircase, painted seafoam green, that you can hoist up along the wall. The stage, about a foot above the floor, was staggered so everyone could be seen. There was a very large picture of Jesus — you know the one, the iconic one where he has the light hitting him from the front and behind, only the shoulders up kind of pic, this in tones of brown instead of the usual blue — behind us.
I had to cram in between Jim Redding and the piano, and I saw Eloise (Frank Andy said she was the oldest member of the band at 86 and she hollered, "I'M 87 GOIN ON 88!!!" so there you go) and asked how she was doing and she said not so good, she'd had a terrible fall but the Lord gave her the strength to get up and call her daughter, so praise the Lord for that. Eloise is fiercely independent.
Then we got rolling and I really had no idea what all was going on half the time. But it was fun! Linda Hall did the Charleston to 5-foot 2, and she is actually that tall and has eyes of blue. She and Marilyn Redding both wore their fringed blue dresses with red, white and blue feathers in their hair.
We played "Alabamy Bound," a train song that meant putting on conductors hats. Luckily Linda had an extra for me. I am starting to think being a member of the Banjo Band = slight chance of clutter. Ray, who was sitting in the back, tried to take pictures but it was too dark and they came out blurry. He also said whenever the band played a song, people would sing along, even if no one was singing. They did this with "Bicycle Built for Two" and "Wild Irish Rose," which Andy Hall sang and dang if he didn't sound just like an Irish tenor. The guy is so musical it's ridiculous.
We also played "Spanish Eyes," during which Eloise got out from behind the piano to play maracas. She used to get up and dance but she said she just can't do that anymore. Still, she played the dickens out of those maracas. Shake it, don't break it Eloise!
So the last number -- aside from the encore, "Banjo Polka" -- was the service songs. Now, I may be a former Quaker school student with limited experience in all things military, but I do know that you're supposed to stand when you hear the service song played for the branch of the armed forces that you were once a part of. The Music Factory crowd, though all of the so-called "Greatest Generation," did not seem to know this or had a collective senior moment. The first song was "Anchors Aweigh," and a guy in the band was a Navy guy and he stood up for the song and like the whole audience stood up! And Ray said he tried to wave them down like, "Hey, that's not what you're supposed to do! You're messing it up!" but nobody paid attention or understood. Then they stayed standing throughout the rest of the songs. Maybe I got it wrong and they were all members of the Navy, Army, Marine Corps, Coast Guard and Air Force. It could happen!
So I had another practice tonight before our playout at Bluegrass by the Bog in Grayland on Saturday. For the third month in a row we had the election of officers. How does the election of officers get continued as old business for three months? And although it has always seemed like we have reelected our benevolent dictators/only people willing to take a leadership role each month has it yet been definitively done? Only time will tell. This was supposed to be the annual meeting so maybe so.
Because it was the annual meeting everyone brought food. About five people brought in devilled eggs. I'm going to have to learn how to make them because my generation is not a devilled egg making generation, and if there aren't devilled eggs at a potluck something is dreadfully wrong. At least, that's my take on things. And not because I'm such a devilled egg fan, either.
Also there was some jamming, and Ernie Walls jammed with me — he played "Summertime" and I sang. It was fun. He's just a sweet guy.
Ray has been helping me practice some of the unfamiliar songs. I can't follow the music too well and I'm too excitable to stay on beat (I know, I'm a real asset to the band, huh?) so I kind of have to know the tune so I can, you know, feel the music or whatever.
Ray said at the "rehearsal dinner," we should pick out a few songs for entertainment of the guests and play them together. My family is very tech-savvy, and I told him we might be plastered all over the internet if so. Two people, playing old-fashioned music together, a little sloppily (he has to transpose on the fly), letting their freak flags fly.
The only other wedding update is Betsy wants us to have a raffle for the 7th Street as part of the ceremony. We're considering it since we need to give people SOMETHING to talk about.
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