You're Doing It Wrong

I thought there was a big gas war going on in our neighborhood since that new 76 station opened up across from the Arco station. It seemed like every week the Arco station dropped another two cents and then the 76 station dropped another two cents. 76 never meets Arco prices, but it always seems to stay within 2 cents. Last night I noticed Arco dropped down to $1.15 and I thought, wow, this price war should be on the news or something. But I got my oil changed today and on my way back across town I drove by another Arco with $1.15 so at least in Vancouver, Arco has cheap gas.

When I got my hair done last time I looked at Vegetarian Times while I was sitting under the dryer and there were about 4 articles I wanted to read more carefully so I picked one up at the newsstand. It’s amazing (in an irritating way) how organic and soy foods are so heavily marketed now. I thought about subscribing to the magazine because I like a steady flow of new recipes coming in all the time, but this magazine is written as if for 1st graders and people returning from a long trip off planet who have never heard of vegetarians before. And I tried a recipe tonight that said took 30 minutes or less to make and actually took 60 minutes or more to make and I’m not too impressed and not sure we’re even going to eat the leftovers much less try the recipe again.

Another busy weekend, two in a row. Mom came up on Thursday and we spent Friday running out to Bob’s Redmill Store and Powell’s Books and then came home and cooked to get ready for a family gathering. On Saturday I took her to Lillian Pitt’s Gallery and Trader Joes.

Saturday night Mom went out with Priscilla and Bob and I saw Cheese at University of Portland. It was an awesome show. I had a great time and danced my socks off and I would love to provide a more comprehsive review except I never know the names of the songs and I don’t have time to track down someone else’s review right now. I can tell you that it was a way more rockin’ show than I’ve ever heard (in my measly 5 engagements) — but they played a song called “Howard” which apparently was one of the ones I liked.

I’m working on stuff for my class this Saturday and trying not to get too distracted (ha!). For your entertainment, please check out these Weird New Zealand Dog Food Ads.

I saw that Anne Lamott was at the Jantzen Beach bookstore while I was in Tacoma — figures.

I noticed one of the buttons on my Ann Taylor sweater was broken. You know when you buy certain kinds of clothes and they come with spare thread or buttons and it seems like such a great idea except where do you put them so when you need them you can find them? I have one main button area but could not find an Ann Taylor button and I looked in two alternate spots and decided to settle for a different button, same size, rationalizing that you would never really notice. Wrong, it looks totally stupid and then this morning I found the Ann Taylor extra button area, so I do have the right button. Now I have to get motivated to take off the wrong one and sew the right one on.

And while I’m avoiding sewing projects, I finally decided to re-hem these black pants I have (aren’t they all black? I can hear you asking) because they have always been a wee bit too short and that old sixth grade “are you expecting a flood” humiliation would come back to me whenever I put them on and I would find something else to wear.

While I was looking at my notes for today’s blog, I found some old notes that I think are from Wintergrass (Jan or Feb 02) which was in Tacoma at the Sheraton, the scene of this writers conference I just endured. The first note says “great food is a Fife landmark — you get the feeling Fife is stretching for landmarks.” (Fife is an aesthetically weak strip of highway lined with rundown motels with weekly rates not far from downtown Tacoma). The second note says “your bluegrass musician has two kinds of outfits: the sharp-dressed man and variations of the over-sized Hawaiian shirt and jeans.”

I’m collecting notes for an eventual bio overhaul. This weekend I wrote that I don’t like to drink hot drinks out of small cups and I don’t like being asked questions I don’t have the answer too. Like when my Dad visits and he asks me things like, “Why is the doorknob broken?” “Why does your neighbor have a cement mixer on his lawn?” “Who’s motorcycle is that racing up and down the block?” This weekend it was things like “what’s going to be served at the banquet?” “what happened to the poetry workshop?” and “has anyone seen ______?” (Fill in the name of a person we really need to find.)

I guess I skipped blogging about the conference this weekend. Let’s just say the organization was pretty loose and everyone had ample opportunity to adapt in the moment. It was a huge personal growth weekend.

I left Tacoma about noon and had a fabulous smooth ride with bright sunshine and blue sky. I think this is only the 2nd time in the history of me living up here that I’ve done that drive without using my windshield wipers. I saw at least three hawks (hawk? — too lazy to look up) along the way too.

Returning the Gift was an adventure and a half but everyone who made it seemed to have a great time, including me, so I guess it was a success. I’m beat now and plan to lay low and get my act together.

Yesterday we went to see Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner. This is an Inuit movie based on an Inuit legend and it’s incredible. Bob and I kept looking at each other afterward and saying, “I can’t believe what I just saw.” There’s another website Atanarjuat which is great and has maps and cast and crew information. It’s long and at times feels long but it’s worth it.

In other news, I’m going to be insanely busy here for the next week. We’re going to see Seamus Heaney on Tuesday night and then first thing Wednesday morning I’m driving up to Tacoma for Returning the Gift and I won’t be back home until Sunday night. It’s going to be an adventure I’m sure.

The real theme of this morning is: cold. Our furnace kicked on this morning — how depressing is that? I’ve been tempted to fire it up a couple of times but didn’t want to be wimpy but this morning the outside thermometer said it was 48 degrees and I heard the big basement rumble that means warm air is coming upstairs. When I was in the shower Bob did some sort of water activity that gave me a nice cold splash and then he came in to say sorry and let all the cold air from the entire house pour into my nice steamy bathroom. Now I’m sitting here with wet hair typing so I guess I’m not suffering that much.

Yesterday in the Oregonian there was this etiquette and entertaining type article. I think the point had to do with why the knife is placed where it is in a table setting and I didn’t pay attention to that part as much seeing as how I don’t think inconsistent utensil placement signals the end of western civilization. But the part of the article that made me stop was when she was talking about how when people are using a knife to cut something on their plate, they use their right hand then put the knife down and pick up their fork to eat the food with their right hand, so they have to do this crossing back and forth thing.

I never paid a lot of attention so now I’m taking an informal poll: is this how you eat your steak (or tofu, depending on your preference)? I’m a lefty and I keep the fork in my left hand and use my right hand to cut. This method is so much more efficient and logical.

Last week I read an interview in Bust Magazine — it was Pamela des Barres (has there ever been a boring person named Pamela?) interviewing Beck. They’re talking about the music business right now and Beck says, “It’s like there are so many good records, you don’t need to make one.”

PdB says, “Oh, don’t say that! Tell me, what have you listened to more than five times that’s come out in the last couple years?” and Beck says, “Hmmmm. Five times? Well, you got me there.”

So my reaction to this is: what a concept. Why would you even buy something if you weren’t going to listen to it at least five times? Or in my case: at least a hundred and five times? This is a major realization, that people, like say my husband with his bazillion cds downstairs, wouldn’t mind having music in their house that they would listen to less than five times. Really, my whole world view changed in an instant thanks to Beck.

Today’s rant: Bath and Body Works gargantuan franchise that sells gallons of products to make you smell beautiful. I don’t know why I even go in there but today is the last time. First of all, they are super aggressive ride-your-ass hard sell: *on bath products.* I mean, come on. I remember the first time I went to one it was in Santa Barbara and the gal comes over and shoves a basket in my hands, like I’m going to buy a basket-load of bath products. I put it down on the display.

All I want is some bath gel that makes me smell good all day. Last time I bought my bath stuff at one those kiosks at the mall in Vancouver where they were trying to sell me some contraption that would make my nails magically pretty. I garden, cook, wash dishes, type. These are working hands, not pretty hands. Anyway, the bath gel was supposed to be peach smell and it was nothing smell. It was $14 worth of pink stuff that lathered.

So today I’m browsing the shelves, trying to find something that sounds good. And the gals are offering to help me about every 30 seconds, because apparently it takes a lot of assistance to find a smell that you like. They have all these goofy specials like: buy a gallon jug of oregano banana spice bath gel and you can get a free anise papaya mist hand creme or cardamom cucumber breeze body spray. And all the stuff smells like Jello.

I found a lavender palmfrond bath thing that I liked and when I paid the surly teenager asked for my phone number.

Me: What do you need my phone number for?
Her: So we can send you coupons and things
Me: With my phone number?
Her: They look you up on the Internet.”

As if.