carrot recall
Nov. 18th, 2024 03:05 pmSo my gastrointestinal issues from a few days ago? May have been caused by contaminated carrots. Mine were indeed from Grimmway Farms, and I've replaced them.
The Tickler wanted to go to the Fremont solstice parade on Saturday, so they came up Friday night. Brouwer's, which is closing for good at the end of the month, had a line way out the door as I suspected it would. As luck would have it, the Tickler is way into Indian food, and I now know a good Indian place in the neighborhood now: Meesha. Nom.
We came back to the Devil Girl house, listened to some artists I heard a Treffen, and drank the bottle of champagne that Ex gave me. No naughty business, but I'm OK with that, honestly.
So the solstice parade! We got there just in time to see the naked bicyclists, and it took several blocks of walking for us to find a spot where we could see. Did you ever think a parade was too short? I think this one was. As ever, some of the floats — if that's what you call them when they're not motorized — were wonderful. I think my favorite was the sardine can with kids wearing silver fish heads.
Afterward? Mediocre eats & music. Pretty good drinks at Mischief Distillery, but crowds & noise everywhere. If it's too much for me, it's too much, period. The Tickler, who's all about weird cocktails, wants to hit Mischief sometime when all of Seattle isn't visiting the neighborhood, and I think that's a fine plan.
Late this morning was Dancer's birthday dim sum; she drove me way up Aurora to HK Dim Sum. Not bad as dim sum goes, but... I'm just not that into dim sum. I did spot a couple of goths there that I hadn't seen in ages.
So I spent the rest of the day:
We came back to the Devil Girl house, listened to some artists I heard a Treffen, and drank the bottle of champagne that Ex gave me. No naughty business, but I'm OK with that, honestly.
So the solstice parade! We got there just in time to see the naked bicyclists, and it took several blocks of walking for us to find a spot where we could see. Did you ever think a parade was too short? I think this one was. As ever, some of the floats — if that's what you call them when they're not motorized — were wonderful. I think my favorite was the sardine can with kids wearing silver fish heads.
Afterward? Mediocre eats & music. Pretty good drinks at Mischief Distillery, but crowds & noise everywhere. If it's too much for me, it's too much, period. The Tickler, who's all about weird cocktails, wants to hit Mischief sometime when all of Seattle isn't visiting the neighborhood, and I think that's a fine plan.
Late this morning was Dancer's birthday dim sum; she drove me way up Aurora to HK Dim Sum. Not bad as dim sum goes, but... I'm just not that into dim sum. I did spot a couple of goths there that I hadn't seen in ages.
So I spent the rest of the day:
- picking up Fluevog Peacemaker Elsie — Yeah, they look like Birkenstocks, which is why I wanted them. I needed something that's comfy enough for grocery shopping but isn't flip flops.
- picking up armature wire to more securely attach one of the horns on the balcony
- laundry — There was more than usual this weekend because my poor son had COVID last weekend
- cooking next week's lunch
- cutting out the last of the Devil Girls for my windows
- grocery and plant shopping — Don't put an African violet on the sill of a north-facing window.
I put on the big, blue outfit that I got from Gallery Serpentine for my tenth rebirthday. This was perfect for swanning around Marktplatz and getting photographed by Germans.
But I had a destination: Auerbachs Keller, a very traditional, family-owned "dining cellar". In other words, it's a restaurant that can't be any more German. They have a policy of not bringing the check quickly, and they tell you that on the way in. Good on them! The pork roast with red cabbage & potato dumplings were right on. The decor is Faust-themed, Renaissance-inspired, and ten kilometers over the top. It's a pity I was alone, but still, I'd go back with at least one other person.
Fun fact about every large restaurant I ate at in Germany: much of their wait staff are of Far Eastern extraction, I'm guessing Vietnamese. There's a story in there somewhere, and I wonder if it's a happy one.
Thence to the tram to Haus Leipzig, which is a decent-sized concert hall in the middle of the residential Waldplatz neighborhood, to see Automelodi. Automelodi, recommended to me by esteemed stylist Adi, is only one awful purdy, floppy-haired French-Canadian dude, but he sure got around that stage. He played the keyboards & drum pads as well as singing. He has clearly listened to Depeche Mode, which is an automatic in with me. He was also a hit with the capacity crowd, which I believe to have been mostly German. (Automelodi's lyrics are in French, natch.) I almost got to talk to him at the merch table afterward, but I was a little too slow.
I sadly had to skip a few bands that Adi recommended that evening, because as good as the tram service is in Leipzig, it's not supersonic. I just couldn't fit it all in, and the dozen-plus venues are spread out all over the city.
Thence to agra again for Nitzer Ebb. They were one of the very few bands that I knew going in. They're very much for people who like boom with their gloom. I'm not that huge a fan, so I was content to hang out at the back of the crowd. That turned out to be fortunate: well after the show I found out that there were some thuggy moshers at the front of the crowd. One commenter said that it's a problem at Nitzer Ebb shows in Europe and especially Germany. (Nitzer Ebb is British.) If I remember correctly, that was the show where I saw a dude in a t-shirt that said, "I only speak German." It was the only overt expression of linguistic resentment that I encountered.
I need to wrap this entry up early because my social calendar is bonkers today. More on that later, and of course, more on WGT.
But I had a destination: Auerbachs Keller, a very traditional, family-owned "dining cellar". In other words, it's a restaurant that can't be any more German. They have a policy of not bringing the check quickly, and they tell you that on the way in. Good on them! The pork roast with red cabbage & potato dumplings were right on. The decor is Faust-themed, Renaissance-inspired, and ten kilometers over the top. It's a pity I was alone, but still, I'd go back with at least one other person.
Fun fact about every large restaurant I ate at in Germany: much of their wait staff are of Far Eastern extraction, I'm guessing Vietnamese. There's a story in there somewhere, and I wonder if it's a happy one.
Thence to the tram to Haus Leipzig, which is a decent-sized concert hall in the middle of the residential Waldplatz neighborhood, to see Automelodi. Automelodi, recommended to me by esteemed stylist Adi, is only one awful purdy, floppy-haired French-Canadian dude, but he sure got around that stage. He played the keyboards & drum pads as well as singing. He has clearly listened to Depeche Mode, which is an automatic in with me. He was also a hit with the capacity crowd, which I believe to have been mostly German. (Automelodi's lyrics are in French, natch.) I almost got to talk to him at the merch table afterward, but I was a little too slow.
I sadly had to skip a few bands that Adi recommended that evening, because as good as the tram service is in Leipzig, it's not supersonic. I just couldn't fit it all in, and the dozen-plus venues are spread out all over the city.
Thence to agra again for Nitzer Ebb. They were one of the very few bands that I knew going in. They're very much for people who like boom with their gloom. I'm not that huge a fan, so I was content to hang out at the back of the crowd. That turned out to be fortunate: well after the show I found out that there were some thuggy moshers at the front of the crowd. One commenter said that it's a problem at Nitzer Ebb shows in Europe and especially Germany. (Nitzer Ebb is British.) If I remember correctly, that was the show where I saw a dude in a t-shirt that said, "I only speak German." It was the only overt expression of linguistic resentment that I encountered.
I need to wrap this entry up early because my social calendar is bonkers today. More on that later, and of course, more on WGT.
[Confession: While I was in Germany I used Zuckerberg's data mine as a microblogging platform and scratch pad. I could have typed up Dreamwidth entries on my phone, but I mainly couldn't be bothered. Much of what you're about to read here is based on what I put there. I'll be doing this in chronological order because it's just easier.]
On the 14th, just minutes after my on-call shift ended, I left for Leipzig, Germany for Wave-Gotik Treffen, the goth & industrial music festival to end them all. Basically, a black-clad mass of thirty thousand takes over every venue in greater Leipzip with... music. And outfits, so many outfits. And a (very) little kinky stuff.
So how was the trip over? Nine hours in a coach-class seat, but at least not nearly as bouncy as across the tropical Pacific. I did get to see something interesting as we zipped over the Netherlands and north Germany: hundreds of windmills in rural areas. They're serious about renewables over there.
I never did really adjust to Central European Time, but that's just as well because I was staying up into the wee hours every night to see shows.
Getting my wristband was an adventure. I left my hotel room around noon on Thursday expecting to need to take the tram, which is free if you already have your wristband. But no! I was staying in the beautifully designed Adina Hotel just two blocks from Hauptbahnhof (main train station). Since that's the transpo nexus for the whole city, the WGT ("veh-geh-TEH") organizers wisely put a satellite box office there.
There was one trip through the line to figure out that I needed to get into the short line for ticket buyers, get the paper ticket that they won't mail overseas, then go through the line again to get my wristband. It all seemed a little bit cumbersome; I'm not sure whether that's German or not. They just didn't seem very well set up for people coming from outside Europe. To be fair, such people are a small minority of WGT attendees.
I was wearing my Pride-and-stars-and-stripes leggings, so I stood out in the sea of black. A video crew interviewed me during my first trip through the line, asking me why I was so brightly dressed. I told them the truth: I wanted to make myself visible to someone I was going to meet later.
And did I see that person? No, but I was in the appointed place and time for that, namely the Sadgoth gathering. The Sadgoths are a large group of goths from Anglosphere countries. The dude running it now is English. I should have hit the Sadgoth Facebook page more to be less lonely, escape the horrible feeling of being that dumb Auslander who doesn't speak any German, and maybe party ridiculously late into the night, but honestly, I just plain forgot to. That, and I didn't really want to punish my body any more than I had already. This trip was... a lot.
At the Ratskeller, i.e. the cellar of the "new" town hall (Neues Rathaus), I had a salad with sorbet & ricotta on top (?!) with a one-liter beer. Fear not: Germans are so old school about their beer that it's usually at most 5% alcohol, so large volumes don't put you under the table. I got some interesting info: there were to be a couple of official pre-funks, one at Felsenkeller.
And what was Felsenkeller like? It has about ten times the capacity of the Mercury and is more of a concert hall than a club, but otherwise it looked and felt familiar. I didn't feel the live act that was playing when I got there, but DJs in the basement, Paradroid and Puppe, really kicked butt! The basement dance floor was about half the size of the Merc's, and the Germans just kept on packing in. It warmed the cockles of my heart to see two girls making out on the dance floor; some things really are universal.
On to Friday! I hit the local equivalent of PCC because it was going to be a long weekend for Pentecost, and I therefore needed to stock my hotel fridge. Hey, I got to try gen-u-wine Müsli, and found it satisfactory.
Sometime on Friday I tried Currywurst. They could do with more curry. In general I found that the Germans could do with more spice and less salt.
I donned the Devil Girl outfit only with comfier boots and bopped over to the Kätz Club for a fetish night. It's a playspace cum dance club into which an awful lot of love, money, and thought has been poured. It's mostly in a basement and is divided into many small rooms. Each of these rooms is set up for a different kind of... activity. I had a couple of Schwarzbiers, watched some impromptu pole dancing, and headed for Ladytron at the largest venue, agra. Yes, lower case.
On the way to the tram I saw a much younger blonde woman who was an absolute vision in a black dress with a hoop skirt. I made the heart sign. After the obligatory "I don't know German", she asked me where I got the Devil Girl corset and I told her. Game recognizes game.
WGT attendees basically swarm the trams, especially line 11, the one between agra and Hauptbahnhof. That passes through a heavily graffiti'd neighborhood called Connewitz. The representative graffito that stuck in my memory is "Yuppies raus."
Agra looks like it used to be a hangar. Half of it was devoted to vendors, and it's a minor miracle that I didn't buy something bananas expensive there. My fave was a sculptor and furniture maker named Lucas Haupt. He welds together arthropod-shaped... things. Spider chairs. Face huggers from Alien. Lamps shaped like spiders perched on pistons. Giant molars with faces. Creatures inspired by Hieronymus Bosch.
I needed to caffeinate because Ladytron wasn't to take the stage until 0100. This was where I first applied my knowledge of the Pfand that I gained at the Ratskeller. And what's a Pfand, you ask? A deposit that bars & cafes charge for the use of their reusable glassware, typically one euro. Much of my caffeine intake on this trip was in the form of Irish coffee at agra.
But on to Ladytron! I'd missed this band in Seattle at least twice, so this was my revenge, and sweet revenge it was. They sounded fabulous, and I felt a bit guilty for not buying their entire catalog and listening to it constantly. They seemed to have changed some of the arrangements to appeal to gothier tastes. Near the end of the show, their drummer burst the head of his kick drum. As the stagehands replaced it, Helen Marnie joked, "That's why they call him the Highland Hammer." When I laughed, I was the only one within earshot who did. Take that, Germans.
How did I get back to my hotel? By tram, of course. At 0233. Not only does Leipzig let WGT attendees use their trams prepaid; it runs the 11 at high frequency late into the night. God bless 'em.
Am I going to write up the wrest of WGT tonight? Hell no. There will be at least one more entry tomorrow, though, and I have pics that I'll put up.
On the 14th, just minutes after my on-call shift ended, I left for Leipzig, Germany for Wave-Gotik Treffen, the goth & industrial music festival to end them all. Basically, a black-clad mass of thirty thousand takes over every venue in greater Leipzip with... music. And outfits, so many outfits. And a (very) little kinky stuff.
So how was the trip over? Nine hours in a coach-class seat, but at least not nearly as bouncy as across the tropical Pacific. I did get to see something interesting as we zipped over the Netherlands and north Germany: hundreds of windmills in rural areas. They're serious about renewables over there.
I never did really adjust to Central European Time, but that's just as well because I was staying up into the wee hours every night to see shows.
Getting my wristband was an adventure. I left my hotel room around noon on Thursday expecting to need to take the tram, which is free if you already have your wristband. But no! I was staying in the beautifully designed Adina Hotel just two blocks from Hauptbahnhof (main train station). Since that's the transpo nexus for the whole city, the WGT ("veh-geh-TEH") organizers wisely put a satellite box office there.
There was one trip through the line to figure out that I needed to get into the short line for ticket buyers, get the paper ticket that they won't mail overseas, then go through the line again to get my wristband. It all seemed a little bit cumbersome; I'm not sure whether that's German or not. They just didn't seem very well set up for people coming from outside Europe. To be fair, such people are a small minority of WGT attendees.
I was wearing my Pride-and-stars-and-stripes leggings, so I stood out in the sea of black. A video crew interviewed me during my first trip through the line, asking me why I was so brightly dressed. I told them the truth: I wanted to make myself visible to someone I was going to meet later.
And did I see that person? No, but I was in the appointed place and time for that, namely the Sadgoth gathering. The Sadgoths are a large group of goths from Anglosphere countries. The dude running it now is English. I should have hit the Sadgoth Facebook page more to be less lonely, escape the horrible feeling of being that dumb Auslander who doesn't speak any German, and maybe party ridiculously late into the night, but honestly, I just plain forgot to. That, and I didn't really want to punish my body any more than I had already. This trip was... a lot.
At the Ratskeller, i.e. the cellar of the "new" town hall (Neues Rathaus), I had a salad with sorbet & ricotta on top (?!) with a one-liter beer. Fear not: Germans are so old school about their beer that it's usually at most 5% alcohol, so large volumes don't put you under the table. I got some interesting info: there were to be a couple of official pre-funks, one at Felsenkeller.
And what was Felsenkeller like? It has about ten times the capacity of the Mercury and is more of a concert hall than a club, but otherwise it looked and felt familiar. I didn't feel the live act that was playing when I got there, but DJs in the basement, Paradroid and Puppe, really kicked butt! The basement dance floor was about half the size of the Merc's, and the Germans just kept on packing in. It warmed the cockles of my heart to see two girls making out on the dance floor; some things really are universal.
On to Friday! I hit the local equivalent of PCC because it was going to be a long weekend for Pentecost, and I therefore needed to stock my hotel fridge. Hey, I got to try gen-u-wine Müsli, and found it satisfactory.
Sometime on Friday I tried Currywurst. They could do with more curry. In general I found that the Germans could do with more spice and less salt.
I donned the Devil Girl outfit only with comfier boots and bopped over to the Kätz Club for a fetish night. It's a playspace cum dance club into which an awful lot of love, money, and thought has been poured. It's mostly in a basement and is divided into many small rooms. Each of these rooms is set up for a different kind of... activity. I had a couple of Schwarzbiers, watched some impromptu pole dancing, and headed for Ladytron at the largest venue, agra. Yes, lower case.
On the way to the tram I saw a much younger blonde woman who was an absolute vision in a black dress with a hoop skirt. I made the heart sign. After the obligatory "I don't know German", she asked me where I got the Devil Girl corset and I told her. Game recognizes game.
WGT attendees basically swarm the trams, especially line 11, the one between agra and Hauptbahnhof. That passes through a heavily graffiti'd neighborhood called Connewitz. The representative graffito that stuck in my memory is "Yuppies raus."
Agra looks like it used to be a hangar. Half of it was devoted to vendors, and it's a minor miracle that I didn't buy something bananas expensive there. My fave was a sculptor and furniture maker named Lucas Haupt. He welds together arthropod-shaped... things. Spider chairs. Face huggers from Alien. Lamps shaped like spiders perched on pistons. Giant molars with faces. Creatures inspired by Hieronymus Bosch.
I needed to caffeinate because Ladytron wasn't to take the stage until 0100. This was where I first applied my knowledge of the Pfand that I gained at the Ratskeller. And what's a Pfand, you ask? A deposit that bars & cafes charge for the use of their reusable glassware, typically one euro. Much of my caffeine intake on this trip was in the form of Irish coffee at agra.
But on to Ladytron! I'd missed this band in Seattle at least twice, so this was my revenge, and sweet revenge it was. They sounded fabulous, and I felt a bit guilty for not buying their entire catalog and listening to it constantly. They seemed to have changed some of the arrangements to appeal to gothier tastes. Near the end of the show, their drummer burst the head of his kick drum. As the stagehands replaced it, Helen Marnie joked, "That's why they call him the Highland Hammer." When I laughed, I was the only one within earshot who did. Take that, Germans.
How did I get back to my hotel? By tram, of course. At 0233. Not only does Leipzig let WGT attendees use their trams prepaid; it runs the 11 at high frequency late into the night. God bless 'em.
Am I going to write up the wrest of WGT tonight? Hell no. There will be at least one more entry tomorrow, though, and I have pics that I'll put up.
Until yesterday I hadn't been bra shopping since early in 2017. I mentioned this to Dancer, and she said that she'd like to get something nice from that department too. That's much easier for me than for her in general, because she's so much better endowed. So, knowing that it's the high-price spread, I suggested Nordstrom; they have nice stuff, and they definitely know how to fit bras.
I spent more than I wanted to, but I walked away with bras that fit perfectly and, in a couple of cases, may silence the girlfriends who keep telling me to get sexier underwear. (If being a trans woman is a fetish, why did they have to nag me into getting cuter bras, hmm?) Dancer looked, but didn't buy. Moneywise it's a smart move.
Oh: Dancer is a bit of a shutterbug. She took a photo of some of the staff at the makeup counters because one of them looked extra... fabulous. It was done with good grace all around, but it's not something I would have asked for even if I'd wanted it. Retail is a hard enough job as it is.
The downtown Nordie's has excellent people watching — people serving lewks — and a bar on the third floor. Drinks and polenta fries (?!) were had. You know the restaurant ordering scene in "When Harry Met Sally"? Dancer is like Sally. She's of the opinion that you won't get anything that you don't ask for, but whence come these obscure desires? Yeah, I know, I'm hardly one to talk about obscure desires, but the thought of inconveniencing people gratuitously makes me cringe. Southern damage?
Back to my place to drop off the bras and get Dancer's car, which she then drove like a bat out of hell to get us to Pho Bac. There was another "When Harry Met Sally" moment, but there were also fries with bone marrow gravy (not bad), reg'lar pho (always a hit), and ube cheesecake. Ube is also known as purple yam, and ube cheesecake is a Filipino recipe. It matched my oh-so-purple hair, it was delicious, and I wouldn't know of its existence without Dancer. But Dancer and the Tickler have about got me convinced that I'm some kind of ascetic when it comes to food.
Oh again: while we were driving around, Dancer mentioned that she's going to need a hip replacement in the next couple of years. That's not implausible; she has a lot of joints that just don't work up to spec. She said the reason she's "dating casually" is so she doesn't get dumped while a hip replacement has incapacitated her. I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing. I don't think I would have made that calculation, but I haven't led her life, now have I?
There were cuddles back here at the Devil Girl House, but nothing that I don't write about in unlocked entries. It was a high-calorie, high-content, high-cost date, boy howdy.
I spent more than I wanted to, but I walked away with bras that fit perfectly and, in a couple of cases, may silence the girlfriends who keep telling me to get sexier underwear. (If being a trans woman is a fetish, why did they have to nag me into getting cuter bras, hmm?) Dancer looked, but didn't buy. Moneywise it's a smart move.
Oh: Dancer is a bit of a shutterbug. She took a photo of some of the staff at the makeup counters because one of them looked extra... fabulous. It was done with good grace all around, but it's not something I would have asked for even if I'd wanted it. Retail is a hard enough job as it is.
The downtown Nordie's has excellent people watching — people serving lewks — and a bar on the third floor. Drinks and polenta fries (?!) were had. You know the restaurant ordering scene in "When Harry Met Sally"? Dancer is like Sally. She's of the opinion that you won't get anything that you don't ask for, but whence come these obscure desires? Yeah, I know, I'm hardly one to talk about obscure desires, but the thought of inconveniencing people gratuitously makes me cringe. Southern damage?
Back to my place to drop off the bras and get Dancer's car, which she then drove like a bat out of hell to get us to Pho Bac. There was another "When Harry Met Sally" moment, but there were also fries with bone marrow gravy (not bad), reg'lar pho (always a hit), and ube cheesecake. Ube is also known as purple yam, and ube cheesecake is a Filipino recipe. It matched my oh-so-purple hair, it was delicious, and I wouldn't know of its existence without Dancer. But Dancer and the Tickler have about got me convinced that I'm some kind of ascetic when it comes to food.
Oh again: while we were driving around, Dancer mentioned that she's going to need a hip replacement in the next couple of years. That's not implausible; she has a lot of joints that just don't work up to spec. She said the reason she's "dating casually" is so she doesn't get dumped while a hip replacement has incapacitated her. I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing. I don't think I would have made that calculation, but I haven't led her life, now have I?
There were cuddles back here at the Devil Girl House, but nothing that I don't write about in unlocked entries. It was a high-calorie, high-content, high-cost date, boy howdy.
hanging with Tacoma Girl in her 'hood
Apr. 14th, 2024 04:48 pmThe Kraken, the punk bar in the U District not far from chez Tacoma Girl and indeed her favorite bar in the city (duh — she's a punk in her bones) had shut down a few months ago because the block it was on is about to be redeveloped. Yeah, it's the same story all over town. But in this case it has a happy ending: the old Cafe Racer space just four blocks away was vacant, and the astute punks of the Kraken just waltzed pogo'd on in. Cafe Racer, if you'll recall, has moved to Capitol Hill, which I think suits it better.
Tacoma Girl and I were strategic: we got there a few hours before the bands were scheduled to start. What we didn't count on was that since it was the first show since reopening, the crowd was bAnAnAs, as big as the space could handle. No bar food for you, punk and nun, because it was just too damn crowded.
So we hit Persepolis, where we almost closed the joint and there is no alcohol of any kind. I have now tried saffron ice cream and found it pretty great. The doh — yogurt soda, sort of, with dill, etc. — was fabulous as ever.
I was thinking earlier in the evening that maybe I'd make it to the Merc, but neau, I left the U District at 2330 and went home.
Tacoma Girl and I were strategic: we got there a few hours before the bands were scheduled to start. What we didn't count on was that since it was the first show since reopening, the crowd was bAnAnAs, as big as the space could handle. No bar food for you, punk and nun, because it was just too damn crowded.
So we hit Persepolis, where we almost closed the joint and there is no alcohol of any kind. I have now tried saffron ice cream and found it pretty great. The doh — yogurt soda, sort of, with dill, etc. — was fabulous as ever.
I was thinking earlier in the evening that maybe I'd make it to the Merc, but neau, I left the U District at 2330 and went home.
Physical therapy is working.
Mar. 31st, 2024 11:37 amI'm already feeling less pain in my shoulder when I get stuff off shelves, put a jacket on, etc. I've only been doing my physical therapy for four days if you include my initial appointment on Wednesday. Mind you, I know I have weeks of this before I get (much of?) the range of motion back in my shoulder. Those exercises that torque my upper arm are not yet comfy.
I got a wild hair and bought loose PG Tips, i.e. tea. Good: it seems to be better tea than what you get in bags. Good depending on the situation: it's really easy to make tea strong enough to let you see through time.
I got a wild hair and bought loose PG Tips, i.e. tea. Good: it seems to be better tea than what you get in bags. Good depending on the situation: it's really easy to make tea strong enough to let you see through time.
mostly happy
Mar. 16th, 2024 07:56 amMy boss was precipitously let go two days ago. I could tell early on that his reports thought better of him than his peers or higher ups, so I'm sad but not surprised. Luckily, we've got someone very knowledgeable and competent stepping in, at least temporarily. Work has otherwise been meh: dealing with the quirks of a creaky old system gets in the way of the more exciting work of replacement, i.e. business as usual.
But! Happy things abound:
But! Happy things abound:
- The Mighty Orb has returned.
- Tacoma Girl is back from Spain, and she's going to tell me tales while I serve the sake that I picked up from...
- ...Uwajimaya last night. My excuse for going there: I needed spicy beans for ma po tofu. And I note that they have both Huy Fong Sriracha and its new competitor, made by their erstwhile pepper growers. (There was a civil suit that Huy Fong lost.) For the same unit price, Huy Fong's bottle is bigger. Based on that and my knowledge that Huy Fong Sriracha cures the common cold, I stuck with what I know.
- Thence to ladies' night at Greenwood Hardware. I got rosé and popcorn as I picked up food waste bags and a new duster, 20% off. I've never seen so many women, or a higher percentage of women, in a hardware store in my life.
- I got to see the sunset from Phinney Ridge, which hadn't happened since I moved away.
- The Tickler arrives later today, and I'm nearly ready.
- I get to see
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gement this afternoon! Will wonders never cease?
vegetables: a love story
Jan. 5th, 2024 08:01 amOh yeah: the Wendling dropped off a bag of groceries on, if I remember correctly, Tuesday. It was mostly the salad veggies that I told him I was low on.
A little background: I love tomatoes, but my son hates them when raw, so they're never in the salads that I make for him. That means I usually don't have them in the house at all, because at least until my son's most recent schedule turmoil I was nearly always buying salad makings for both of us.
So I was surprised and delighted to find three tomatoes included in the bag that he brought for me. I don't know if they were his idea or Ex's, but still, I recognized them for the symbols of love that they were. I have, of course, eaten them.
A little background: I love tomatoes, but my son hates them when raw, so they're never in the salads that I make for him. That means I usually don't have them in the house at all, because at least until my son's most recent schedule turmoil I was nearly always buying salad makings for both of us.
So I was surprised and delighted to find three tomatoes included in the bag that he brought for me. I don't know if they were his idea or Ex's, but still, I recognized them for the symbols of love that they were. I have, of course, eaten them.
Does garlic give you nightmares?
Aug. 29th, 2023 09:01 amI made chicken adobo last night as I've done so many times. The recipe calls for quite a bit of garlic, which is apparently characteristic of Filipino cuisine; the Filipino diner near Pike Place used to offer garlic fried rice for breakfast.
I. Love. Garlic. But just before 0200 this morning, I awoke from a nightmare. I'm pretty sure this isn't the first time this kind of thing has happened. So:
I. Love. Garlic. But just before 0200 this morning, I awoke from a nightmare. I'm pretty sure this isn't the first time this kind of thing has happened. So:
Poll #29866 Garlic: devil bulbs?
Open to: Registered Users, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 14
Do you believe that garlic gives you nightmare?
wistful and wet, but well-fed
Apr. 10th, 2023 09:27 amI walked thirty blocks – the west side of Phinney Ridge has lots of lovely houses – in the rain to drop off clothes at Goodwill, then powered up the ridge in search of a bus and maybe some eats. At a largish coffee shop on the ridge, I was treated to the sight of a lesbian couple. They were older than I am, one in a pink wig and one with a peacock feather in her hair, and both wearing bright fabrics, as if they were on their way to or from a party. They smooched as they waited for their coffee. It was adorable and I was jealous as all git out.
And speaking of getting rid of things I don't want, I returned the Purdy Persian's copy of Down And Out In Paris And London when I went to her party yesterday afternoon. Her rabbit stew was delicious; she said we were eating the Easter Bunny. I had a terrific time, but we were up on the roof, and the weather didn't cooperate. I'm glad I wore The Coat from Vampire Clothing.
And speaking of vile weather, when it's too wet to ride my bike, my exercise jam is walking eight blocks downhill, buying groceries, and then carrying them back uphill. I'm running out of reasonable things to buy after this weekend.
I'm also out of HVAC filters to clean. Go me. Now that I have a step ladder it occurs to me that I can hang more art on the walls safely. As luck would have it, SEAF is in under two weeks. We shall see.
And speaking of getting rid of things I don't want, I returned the Purdy Persian's copy of Down And Out In Paris And London when I went to her party yesterday afternoon. Her rabbit stew was delicious; she said we were eating the Easter Bunny. I had a terrific time, but we were up on the roof, and the weather didn't cooperate. I'm glad I wore The Coat from Vampire Clothing.
And speaking of vile weather, when it's too wet to ride my bike, my exercise jam is walking eight blocks downhill, buying groceries, and then carrying them back uphill. I'm running out of reasonable things to buy after this weekend.
I'm also out of HVAC filters to clean. Go me. Now that I have a step ladder it occurs to me that I can hang more art on the walls safely. As luck would have it, SEAF is in under two weeks. We shall see.
weirdness in Wallingford
Feb. 25th, 2023 08:13 amI'd heard that COVID boosters last about six months, so since my last one was in September I looked into scheduling another one at my nearest drugstore, Walgreen's in Wallingford. I looked at their web site on Thursday. Not only did they have appointments available late yesterday; they were cool with as little as two months since the previous shot. Groovy! So I made the appointment Thursday and had perfect bus mojo for the trip there yesterday.
The dude there, who I'm pretty sure was the same one who refused to give me a shot before I bopped over to London, once again refused when I gave him my vax card and told him my last one was a bivalent booster. He said something like, "You don't need another one."
"Until when?"
"They haven't said."
Well. We'll see what Dr. Funnyname has to say about that. As luck would have it, it'll be time for a second shingles shot at the end of next month, if I remember correctly.
I left disgruntled and hungry, so I bopped up the street to Issian*, which is one of my favorite Japanese places in the city. Unfortunately, the whole north end knows it's good: the wait for a bar seat was 45 minutes, so I bailed.
Molly Moon's is next door. I hadn't gotten ice cream there in a while because I'd heard their labor practices weren't so good, but I was intrigued when I saw a help-wanted sign painted on the front window extolling their benefits and working conditions. I ordered a single scoop of Yeti**, and tried to tip the young man behind the counter. No prompt at the register, no jar. I asked him what was up. "We've gone tipless," he said.
Which I'm more than a-OK with as long as that doesn't mean he's getting screwed. "I hope that's working out for you," I said quietly as I looked into his eyes. He gave no indication that it wasn't.
Dare I hope that sanity is breaking out in America?
But my father's voice inside my head said I needed real dinner, so I tried Kozue, the more sedate, old school Japanese place next to Issian. (Yeah, Wallingford has an unusual density of Japanese restaurants.) I'd never been there. Everything tasted... kind of strange: the otokoyama sake, which is my favorite, and the nabeyaki soba, which was a little low on the promised chicken. Yeah, Kozue is OK, but my advice is to make a reservation at Issian.
I bugged out before things could get any weirder. My Metro mojo deserted me on the way home, but luckily Wallingford is adjacent to Fremont and I was dressed warmly enough.
*"Issian" is pronounced ees-SHEE-ahn, but the stress is mobile in Japanese. The owners decided to use the same Romanization scheme that the Japanese government prefers. This is bad marketing, in my view, because even though it mimics the Japanese kana syllabaries, Westerners who haven't studied Japanese will find it misleading. Come to think of it, though, there are always tons of Japanese eating at Issian.
**Sweet cream, granola, chocolate chips. I should have picked a different flavor. The texture was so weird dude had to serve it to me in a cup with the cone on top.
The dude there, who I'm pretty sure was the same one who refused to give me a shot before I bopped over to London, once again refused when I gave him my vax card and told him my last one was a bivalent booster. He said something like, "You don't need another one."
"Until when?"
"They haven't said."
Well. We'll see what Dr. Funnyname has to say about that. As luck would have it, it'll be time for a second shingles shot at the end of next month, if I remember correctly.
I left disgruntled and hungry, so I bopped up the street to Issian*, which is one of my favorite Japanese places in the city. Unfortunately, the whole north end knows it's good: the wait for a bar seat was 45 minutes, so I bailed.
Molly Moon's is next door. I hadn't gotten ice cream there in a while because I'd heard their labor practices weren't so good, but I was intrigued when I saw a help-wanted sign painted on the front window extolling their benefits and working conditions. I ordered a single scoop of Yeti**, and tried to tip the young man behind the counter. No prompt at the register, no jar. I asked him what was up. "We've gone tipless," he said.
Which I'm more than a-OK with as long as that doesn't mean he's getting screwed. "I hope that's working out for you," I said quietly as I looked into his eyes. He gave no indication that it wasn't.
Dare I hope that sanity is breaking out in America?
But my father's voice inside my head said I needed real dinner, so I tried Kozue, the more sedate, old school Japanese place next to Issian. (Yeah, Wallingford has an unusual density of Japanese restaurants.) I'd never been there. Everything tasted... kind of strange: the otokoyama sake, which is my favorite, and the nabeyaki soba, which was a little low on the promised chicken. Yeah, Kozue is OK, but my advice is to make a reservation at Issian.
I bugged out before things could get any weirder. My Metro mojo deserted me on the way home, but luckily Wallingford is adjacent to Fremont and I was dressed warmly enough.
*"Issian" is pronounced ees-SHEE-ahn, but the stress is mobile in Japanese. The owners decided to use the same Romanization scheme that the Japanese government prefers. This is bad marketing, in my view, because even though it mimics the Japanese kana syllabaries, Westerners who haven't studied Japanese will find it misleading. Come to think of it, though, there are always tons of Japanese eating at Issian.
**Sweet cream, granola, chocolate chips. I should have picked a different flavor. The texture was so weird dude had to serve it to me in a cup with the cone on top.
Nun goes on a peregrination.
Nov. 5th, 2022 08:57 amI had no plans last night and I didn't want to spend a lot of money. So I did my default weekend evening thing: go to Capitol Hill.
What I learned on the way there was that blocking the train doors can jam them, at least on the older Japanese trains*. That delayed my train by ten minutes. I've never deliberately blocked a train door, but I've had it done on my behalf by a kind stranger in a hijab once.
Had a beer at the Wildrose and said hi to Martha, the cute owner & bartender. I would have chatted, but it was starting to get busy. I could have sworn it wasn't as busy at that hour two or three months ago; maybe it's the darkness that summons people.
Around the corner for cardamom pistachio "Persian rose" ice cream at Sweet Alchemy. Aw, yeah. Since they're not right on the street – 11th Ave. – they don't get nearly the foot traffic they deserve, much less than far less deserving ice cream joints nearby**. TANJ.
Walked up to Vermillion, the art gallery-cum-bar-and-maybe-performance-space on 11th. I peeked in the window. The lady at the door waved me in. There I saw some arrestingly realistic paintings by Keven [sic] Furiya. And his choice of subject matter was random small streets, buildings, loading docks, etc. around Seattle and maybe nearby cities. Some of the paintings were of SoDo, an area south of downtown for people who need space – light industry, wholesalers, construction- and auto-related businesses, and lately, some artists' workshops and night life that might have been on Capitol Hill or in Pioneer Square thirty years ago.
On the back wall of Vermillion was a painting of a building in SoDo where I know I've been. It's a workspace for artists and craftspeople (Foreshadowing!) that's also played host to Burner parties, a couple of which I've been to. It's right next to freight train tracks, so naturally I've stood out front in my playa finery and waved to trains rolling by around midnight. The crew waved back.
And who was there but K apparently on a queer date? She*** told me that she works in the building in the painting****, and as I stood there she bought the painting. Its price tag was in the low four figures. "I can't afford this," she said. I told her I could relate, thanks to the Devil Girl outfit.
There was some kind of live hip hop going on in the small space behind the art, and there was a crowd with its fair share of sweet young things dressed for a night out. The hip hop fans kept having to walk through the sparser crowd of people like K & me engrossed in the art.
Edited to add: on the bus from the train station back to Fremont, I ran into a lady I've been trying to date. We chatted while waiting for and on the bus. And I'm convinced that I talk way too much and too fast when I'm starved for human contact.
I think all this is Goddess's way of telling me to get out of my house and do stuff. Luckily, that's my natural inclination anyway.
*Seattle has light rail trains made by two manufacturers, Kinkisharyo of Japan and Siemens of Germany. The latter are newer; more squarish on the outside; have a two-tone bell sound; have bigger, multi-colored door blinkies instead of smaller yellow ones; have fewer interior seats; have monitor-like information displays on the inside instead of yellow LED arrays; and have a colored LED array on the front to indicate which line it is. (Seattle only has one operational line so far.) Oh: the boxes above the doors on the Japanese trains stick out more, which means I've hit my head on them while standing up from a seat there. Goddamn short people making trains.
**Salt & Straw, which has the perfect corner space at Pike & Boylston, always has an unreasonably long line and just isn't worth it if you ask me. Frankie & Jo's, right across from the Mercury, is right on and is also vegan if you're into that; they're usually busy but not absurdly so. Molly Moon's on Pine? The ice cream is pretty good, but I hear bad things about their labor practices.
***They? I'm not sure. She used to be high femme, but not so much anymore. She once wore a vinyl catsuit that she made to the Seattle Erotic Art Festival – when she was about six months pregnant. It fit perfectly. I get the impression that she's more... colorful than even I know. Another rad chick (?) out of Alaska, and I know several.
****It took me several hours to remember that she makes BDSM gear.
What I learned on the way there was that blocking the train doors can jam them, at least on the older Japanese trains*. That delayed my train by ten minutes. I've never deliberately blocked a train door, but I've had it done on my behalf by a kind stranger in a hijab once.
Had a beer at the Wildrose and said hi to Martha, the cute owner & bartender. I would have chatted, but it was starting to get busy. I could have sworn it wasn't as busy at that hour two or three months ago; maybe it's the darkness that summons people.
Around the corner for cardamom pistachio "Persian rose" ice cream at Sweet Alchemy. Aw, yeah. Since they're not right on the street – 11th Ave. – they don't get nearly the foot traffic they deserve, much less than far less deserving ice cream joints nearby**. TANJ.
Walked up to Vermillion, the art gallery-cum-bar-and-maybe-performance-space on 11th. I peeked in the window. The lady at the door waved me in. There I saw some arrestingly realistic paintings by Keven [sic] Furiya. And his choice of subject matter was random small streets, buildings, loading docks, etc. around Seattle and maybe nearby cities. Some of the paintings were of SoDo, an area south of downtown for people who need space – light industry, wholesalers, construction- and auto-related businesses, and lately, some artists' workshops and night life that might have been on Capitol Hill or in Pioneer Square thirty years ago.
On the back wall of Vermillion was a painting of a building in SoDo where I know I've been. It's a workspace for artists and craftspeople (Foreshadowing!) that's also played host to Burner parties, a couple of which I've been to. It's right next to freight train tracks, so naturally I've stood out front in my playa finery and waved to trains rolling by around midnight. The crew waved back.
And who was there but K apparently on a queer date? She*** told me that she works in the building in the painting****, and as I stood there she bought the painting. Its price tag was in the low four figures. "I can't afford this," she said. I told her I could relate, thanks to the Devil Girl outfit.
There was some kind of live hip hop going on in the small space behind the art, and there was a crowd with its fair share of sweet young things dressed for a night out. The hip hop fans kept having to walk through the sparser crowd of people like K & me engrossed in the art.
Edited to add: on the bus from the train station back to Fremont, I ran into a lady I've been trying to date. We chatted while waiting for and on the bus. And I'm convinced that I talk way too much and too fast when I'm starved for human contact.
I think all this is Goddess's way of telling me to get out of my house and do stuff. Luckily, that's my natural inclination anyway.
*Seattle has light rail trains made by two manufacturers, Kinkisharyo of Japan and Siemens of Germany. The latter are newer; more squarish on the outside; have a two-tone bell sound; have bigger, multi-colored door blinkies instead of smaller yellow ones; have fewer interior seats; have monitor-like information displays on the inside instead of yellow LED arrays; and have a colored LED array on the front to indicate which line it is. (Seattle only has one operational line so far.) Oh: the boxes above the doors on the Japanese trains stick out more, which means I've hit my head on them while standing up from a seat there. Goddamn short people making trains.
**Salt & Straw, which has the perfect corner space at Pike & Boylston, always has an unreasonably long line and just isn't worth it if you ask me. Frankie & Jo's, right across from the Mercury, is right on and is also vegan if you're into that; they're usually busy but not absurdly so. Molly Moon's on Pine? The ice cream is pretty good, but I hear bad things about their labor practices.
***They? I'm not sure. She used to be high femme, but not so much anymore. She once wore a vinyl catsuit that she made to the Seattle Erotic Art Festival – when she was about six months pregnant. It fit perfectly. I get the impression that she's more... colorful than even I know. Another rad chick (?) out of Alaska, and I know several.
****It took me several hours to remember that she makes BDSM gear.
fetching ingredients, pondering the coven
May. 28th, 2022 09:30 amHit Uwajimaya with namoda yesterday. I'm proud of myself for finally finding Sichuan peppercorns. They were labeled "wild pepper" in English, but the characters matched the ones I found on Wikipedia for Sichuan peppercorns. Soon I shall make proper ma po tofu that makes my tongue go numb.
Back at the Devil Girl House,namoda was talking about her dating travails from the last few months. She was a little apologetic about it. "That's why [Tacoma Girl] and I exist," I said. "You and [Tacoma Girl] exist because I get lonely. And you and I exist to..."
"...get [Tacoma Girl] out of bed," she finished, accurately.
It is to laugh.
namoda yesterday. I'm proud of myself for finally finding Sichuan peppercorns. They were labeled "wild pepper" in English, but the characters matched the ones I found on Wikipedia for Sichuan peppercorns. Soon I shall make proper ma po tofu that makes my tongue go numb.Back at the Devil Girl House,
namoda was talking about her dating travails from the last few months. She was a little apologetic about it. "That's why [Tacoma Girl] and I exist," I said. "You and [Tacoma Girl] exist because I get lonely. And you and I exist to...""...get [Tacoma Girl] out of bed," she finished, accurately.
It is to laugh.
nun in the sun
Apr. 19th, 2021 06:04 amI spent a gorgeous, sunny spring weekend as one ought:
One of the ironies of warmer weather is that now that my baseboard heaters no longer need to run, clothes take much longer to dry on the rack. Le sigh. At least I don't need them to be dry quite as badly as in the cooler months.
- Riding my bike everywhere, namely
- Goodwill for a donation drop and
- circumflatulation supplies,
- walking everywhere, including
- buying tasty hipster beer at Draft Punk, which I was afraid had gone out of business,
- Coyle's Bakeshop,
hypedrecommended by La Fashionista – very tasty, very popular, closes at 1500 hours, - gelato at Nutty Squirrel, natch, and
- the house of my favorite Vampire Witch Queen for much-needed socially distanced socializing.
One of the ironies of warmer weather is that now that my baseboard heaters no longer need to run, clothes take much longer to dry on the rack. Le sigh. At least I don't need them to be dry quite as badly as in the cooler months.
Been workin' hard. Sleeping well every other night. Socializing over the intertubes with the Tickler, La Fashionista, and C. Forgetting how to write in complete sentences.
C appears in this journal often enough that she's earned a moniker. I shall henceforth call her Tacoma Girl, because she surely is. If you're local, you can picture a queer Evergreen alumna from Tacoma, with Tacoma friends and a Tacoma personal history, who struggles with depression and smokes a fair amount of weed. That's Tacoma Girl. And yes, she's almost twenty years younger than I am, so I won't listen to any grief about the "girl" part.
I forgot how much I love sardines. They're kind of a perfect pandemic food. It's time for me to start stockpiling them, which is no mean feat when you do your grocery shopping on foot.
I am determined to acquire more warm socks today. Winter is supposed to arrive in Seattle, finally, early next week. But other than that, I'm free of weekend plans and I have to say I'm OK with that.
C appears in this journal often enough that she's earned a moniker. I shall henceforth call her Tacoma Girl, because she surely is. If you're local, you can picture a queer Evergreen alumna from Tacoma, with Tacoma friends and a Tacoma personal history, who struggles with depression and smokes a fair amount of weed. That's Tacoma Girl. And yes, she's almost twenty years younger than I am, so I won't listen to any grief about the "girl" part.
I forgot how much I love sardines. They're kind of a perfect pandemic food. It's time for me to start stockpiling them, which is no mean feat when you do your grocery shopping on foot.
I am determined to acquire more warm socks today. Winter is supposed to arrive in Seattle, finally, early next week. But other than that, I'm free of weekend plans and I have to say I'm OK with that.
dinner and chill with Funny Lady
Oct. 25th, 2020 10:00 amBut first: I took my car to Sodo for an oil change, etc. yesterday. Since I thought I had an hour and a half to kill (which turned into three hours) I walked around and discovered that:
Oh yeah: what do you call a little pumpkin with plastic spikes, like the ones I saw at Funny Lady's? I call it a punkin. Punk-in. Get it? I'll see myself out.
- There's a Macrina bakery shop on 1st Ave. S. Macrina is my fave local bakery, and I had the munchies & thirst. Perfect!
- The Lander St. overpass over the many freight train tracks is now complete. Walking through there from Sodo light rail station to the Monkey Loft always kind of spooked me while it was under construction, because the site was poorly lit and full of excellent hiding places. Not that I've had reason to make that walk lately. Le sigh. But I hope someday I will again, and when I do I can enjoy the walk on the overpass like I did yesterday.
- I did not go to Silver Platters, the rekkid store down the street, because I thought I didn't have time. I did, though, and that cheeses me off.
Oh yeah: what do you call a little pumpkin with plastic spikes, like the ones I saw at Funny Lady's? I call it a punkin. Punk-in. Get it? I'll see myself out.
shopping, social, self-injury
Oct. 12th, 2020 08:40 amNo, the self-injury isn't a mental health issue. It's just me making by back hurt by
Shopping? That was Asian Family Market way up Aurora, with La Fashionista and C. I'd never even noticed it before, despite passing it on the bus on my way to pho in Everett. It's got the best produce section I've seen in the city. Yes, it beats Uwajimaya, at least the Seattle store of recent years. They have fresh durian! And two varieties of mango! In fact, that whole store was a riot of selection. Most of the inventory and most of the customers hailed from China and its diaspora, not elsewhere in the Far East. Two thumbs up. I am set for Asian spicy items.
They might be a little understaffed, though: they moved me to a checkout right behind a couple of ladies who had a $270 order. All normal Asian stuff, just a lot of it. Grocery shopping for the People's Liberation Army?
And then fabulous socializing with La F & C at chez C. I provided the snobby sake, natch. I really needed that.
- carrying my full sharps disposal container to the transfer station on foot because of threatening rain, and
- biking to the Agora with about 20 lbs. on my back for circumflatulation purposes.
Shopping? That was Asian Family Market way up Aurora, with La Fashionista and C. I'd never even noticed it before, despite passing it on the bus on my way to pho in Everett. It's got the best produce section I've seen in the city. Yes, it beats Uwajimaya, at least the Seattle store of recent years. They have fresh durian! And two varieties of mango! In fact, that whole store was a riot of selection. Most of the inventory and most of the customers hailed from China and its diaspora, not elsewhere in the Far East. Two thumbs up. I am set for Asian spicy items.
They might be a little understaffed, though: they moved me to a checkout right behind a couple of ladies who had a $270 order. All normal Asian stuff, just a lot of it. Grocery shopping for the People's Liberation Army?
And then fabulous socializing with La F & C at chez C. I provided the snobby sake, natch. I really needed that.
I went over to chez Funny Lady yesterday. Remember her? If you don't, suffice it to say that she's made of charm, she dumped me in the nicest way I've ever been dumped, she basically hooked me up to the queer-poly-women community in Seattle, and she's tons of fun.
In addition to all that, quarantine has turned her into a domestic goddess. She's learned to bake her own bread and grow her own veggies & herbs, which is of course what we ate. Fabulous! OK, she didn't make the cheese in the Caprese salad, but as I told her, she'll get some cows in there yet.
And I wouldn't have thought that she'd have enough room to grow much living in an old house on Capitol Hill, but she and her neighbors have been basically made their two yards communal. I have to say, sitting out there with Funny Land and the sun filtering through the grape vines growing on the upper-story back deck was enough to make me forget the parlous state of the world for a couple of hours. I hadn't seen her this year, I think, and she Doesn't Do Video Calls.
One... alarming thing we heard while in the front yard was the police dealing with someone who was having a mental health emergency a few doors up. FL says there are a few halfway houses in the area. My hostess peeked over the fence, and we were both relieved to learn that the subject of police attention was white.
As lovely as it mostly was, I can't help but remember the parties I've been to at that house. FL has serious ADHD and therefore a penchant for throwing soirées at short notice. They usually involve hot queer makeouts, fearing for your life, or both. When she calls, I come. May her parties return soon.
In addition to all that, quarantine has turned her into a domestic goddess. She's learned to bake her own bread and grow her own veggies & herbs, which is of course what we ate. Fabulous! OK, she didn't make the cheese in the Caprese salad, but as I told her, she'll get some cows in there yet.
And I wouldn't have thought that she'd have enough room to grow much living in an old house on Capitol Hill, but she and her neighbors have been basically made their two yards communal. I have to say, sitting out there with Funny Land and the sun filtering through the grape vines growing on the upper-story back deck was enough to make me forget the parlous state of the world for a couple of hours. I hadn't seen her this year, I think, and she Doesn't Do Video Calls.
One... alarming thing we heard while in the front yard was the police dealing with someone who was having a mental health emergency a few doors up. FL says there are a few halfway houses in the area. My hostess peeked over the fence, and we were both relieved to learn that the subject of police attention was white.
As lovely as it mostly was, I can't help but remember the parties I've been to at that house. FL has serious ADHD and therefore a penchant for throwing soirées at short notice. They usually involve hot queer makeouts, fearing for your life, or both. When she calls, I come. May her parties return soon.
yin and yang, plague edition
Apr. 17th, 2020 12:24 pmBad: In the pre-COVID-19 alternate universe, I'd planned to be going to the Torture Garden event in London about half an hour from when I type this.
Good: My last mass transit trip, comprising rides on two buses and two trains, was thirteen days ago. I'm a-OK, so that's one bullet dodged.
OK: My Ex likes to give me food, especially packaged food. I found a bag of truffle & porcini polenta mix. It's not bad.
Good: My last mass transit trip, comprising rides on two buses and two trains, was thirteen days ago. I'm a-OK, so that's one bullet dodged.
OK: My Ex likes to give me food, especially packaged food. I found a bag of truffle & porcini polenta mix. It's not bad.
