Boom

Finch

As of this moment, it feels like spring. The trees exploded with pinkness a couple days ago, but at the moment there are about a dozen house finches chirp-squawking around in the trees (some guy named Greg Lasley took a photo that's infinitely better than I could hope for; in fact, his work is really cool). Pink flower, red heads: best get the allergy pills out of storage.

Good Morning, Schadenfreude

We live at the top of a series of long hills coming up from downtown. This morning, they are frosty-glazed like an ice doughnut. We also live across the street from a community college, where a large number of students with crappy cars take getting to class very seriously.

Can you see where this is going? There has been a horde of gas-powered bee-sedans buzzing and sliding since 8am. I could watch cars gently coast backwards down the last hill all day--will this one bump the "traffic calming device"? Why is the guy with the cool turban bothering to try again? Oh! He's headed for the free spot at the top of the street! Go, turban guy! All the while: bzzzZZZZ! bzzzZZZ! There's another one right this very minute. bzzzZZZZ!

No accidents thus far. While I enjoy watching frustrated-determined people, I do not actually enjoy live-action car crashes. In fact, aside from my personal appreciation for watching these crazies, I would suggest that life priorities are safety first, free parking somewhere further down the list.

Permafrost

I seem to be having my own personal version of drastic climate change. Last night involved the world's fattest down comforter, a cotton quilt, a silk blanket, two heating pads, a hat, wool sock and cranking the heat. I should move to Greenland, where I could personally stop the rapid melting of the Arctic icecap.

Outside is cold and dismal--has been for days on end. Inside, the kitten's first experience with a christmas tree is providing much ridiculousness. So far, he's wise enough to attack only the bottom row of ornaments, which are giant red satin balls specifically placed to attract cats. There's also Marketable Bear from my former employers; seeing The Most Boring Mascot Ever being gnawed upon has its satisfactions.

Decorating a tree with Sweetie is pretty much my favorite part of this otherwise incomprehensible holiday. I hang out with my brother all the time, and feed him all the time; that covers the whole "family" thing. The religious side of it tedious and puzzling; the commercial side of it is fury-inspiring. That leaves things like "parade of goofy 25-year-old ornaments" and "extra cookies around the house" and "hmm, hot cider or eggnog, hot cider or eggnog".

A few years ago, before Sweetie made an honest woman out of me, my father gave him a number of goat-themed gifts, with the ha-ha intention of trading goats for his daughter. A couple of these goats are ornament-sized stuffed animals with electronic noise makers. One of them in particular has wound down over the years, so currently if you push the button (and Sweetie has never met a button he won't push), the goat buzzes and whines for nearly 10 minutes. More than anything, it sounded like there was a hive of angry bees hidden inside the tree, which, with John Prine's "Christmas in Prison" song playing in the background, gave me the closest to holiday cheer I've felt in ages.

Turkey, and pistols carved out of wood...AAAAHHH, look out, the BEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSS!

Costumes

While at the grocery store this evening, I commented that I'd never seen a "Sexy Fire Marshall" costume; the instant conclusion was that such a thing must exist, I just hadn't seen it. Behold. And this version might be even more ridiculous.

Summertime, and the Living is Noisy

Living with one's windows open in the city is funny. And annoying. With two popular bars within two blocks of our place, there are a lot of late-night giggly whoops, especially just after closing time. We're also right above the front door to the building, and our neighbors sometimes stand out there to smoke and argue with their romantic partners (One of the guys on the HOA board just confessed to sleeping with four other women, while living with a fifth! Thanks to Live-In's hysterical sobbing, shutting the window didn't get anyone any additional privacy.) Starting this morning shortly before 9am, we were introduced to the church's summer camp program, which is named Avalanche Ranch. I'm hoping it's just first-day nervousness, but the process of kid dropping off was this 10-minute exchange between shrieking camp counselors and shrieking moms, with back-up provided by standard kid noises.

Not related to my church-related annoyance, I've started reading Hitchens' God Is Not Great. Even when I read one of his relatively short essays, I hit a point where he gets so avid to make his point it feels like hysteria, not reason. There's a paragraph in the introduction that talks about how much he dislikes being termed "a seeker" by Christians when he's willing to question and discuss their faith; thanks to that paragraph, I'm thus far inclined to like the book. My parents are strongly, rather aggressively atheistic; I'd be more inclined to define myself as an agnostic who is strongly against the existence of organized religion. I'm also relentlessly curious about nearly any topic (excepting most practical math) and faith is something that provides endless fodder for curiosity. I don't get it--either the roots of it or the purpose of it. Again excepting practical math, things I don't get bring out my terrier behavior. Which means that Christians are the rats or weasels in my analogy, which I would say is no worse a comparison than calling yourself a terrier.

Humming (bird) With Excitement

I was out on the balcony puttering with the plants and nearly got a hummingbird in my eye: apparently, when a bird wants at a fuschia, a bird will get at the fuschia regardless of the human hands fiddling with it. I ducked back and watched my aggressive little friend for a while, and started hearing this crazy metallic clanking sound that reminded me of an off-balance spin cycle but was coming from the cherry tree. It was hummingbird #2, with its beak open at a weird angle. The two birds sat on a branch and twittered and groomed for a while, which I'd never seen before. One zipped off before I returned with the camera, but the other one hung out for a bit and posed. Gentle reader, I give you my first successful hummingbird photos: 

 

Fry Day

I had an MRI and a large number of x-rays on my back early Wednesday morning. I just learned that the reports are sitting on my (temporary) doctor's desk, and he hasn't had time to call me and tell me what the results were. If you happen to be in Greenwood and in the mood for a little breaking and entering, I'll send you the address. Stupid doctors.

On a far happier, and more interesting, note: the edible book festival has (so far) 35 official entries. Last year, we had more like 20 official entries, and about 40 showed up. I feel vaguely panicky that this means we'll actually have 70 show up this year, but it's a good sort of panic. And even better, we've planned ahead for a couple of places to take the leftover food--last year, we (god forbid) had to throw away cake. What kind of decadent world is it, when one has so much cake, one throws it away? Marie Antoinette's got nothin' on me (and besides, the "cake" she suggested peasants eat was actually soft white bread; her rather innocent suggestion when she was told that the peasants had no firm brown peasant bread to eat.)

I keep meaning to write about food, but since I've actually gotten back to working on my book proposal and tweaking the accompanying sample chapters, I'm not too inspired to write more here. Instead, let me tell you that the aphids are back on my plants. I am killing them softly. So far, they're only attacking plants I don't love, and the 150 bulbs from a year ago are thriving, and the two roses are rosing right along, and the honeysuckle vine is growing like mad, and even Betty, the lovely fuschia that Sweetie gifted me with for our anniversary has popped back from the ugly bundle of sticks it was all winter and is green and cheerful and getting bushier by the minute. The blossoms have dropped off the plum trees and their pretty pink-brown leaves are fluttering about; the cherry tree buds are fatter every morning, and even the house plants are having some sort of growing competition. Humans are always amazed at babies (and adolescents) for how fast they grow, but my god: plants do it every year for their whole lives. I wonder if they have secret temper tantrums, like babies (and adolescents) do when all the growth is just exhausting them. Have you hugged your house plant today? No, neither have I. But in case you haven't seen it, here's an amazing woman who doesn't hug plants, but knits them sweaters. No kidding, (and thanks, Ms. Clement, for pointing me towards her insanity. The tree sweater blog then links to even greater knitted cat pelt madness.)

The Wonders of Our Age

Pigeons are now equipped with GPS systems and blogs. One can purchase an animatronic desktop squirrel which works as a personal assistant. Hamsters are found to suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (please note that a disinclination to slurp sugar water is taken as a sign of depression. I am the happiest girl on earth.)

While the following is not exactly a wonder of our age, I loved it so much I must glue it in here for the world at large to admire. If you know Sweetie you may have already read this. Read it again, or not, as you like, but please do follow his suggestion of bringing florists six-packs. I am absolutely smitten with the image of drunken, happy florists actually enjoying what has to be a fully miserable day at work. Here:

2005, Valentine's Day, [Sweetie]'s office:

Two young women who sat next to me received calls from the receptionist: "You have a package." They excitedly scurry off for their Valentine's Day presents. They both return with ProFlowers boxes. They open them up and both receive a dozen red roses and a box of chocolate. Everything is identical. The product codes match. They make some jokes about receiving the same set, but are disappointed in their boyfriends. In fact, embarrassed in front of their coworkers. It's Valentine's Day and they want to feel loved and unique. Instead they get boyfriend-Valentine-gift-A from the conveyor belt. They do not feel special.

I may have not helped matters.

That was last year. That might have been you last year. You have another opportunity this time. Show some effort. Clicking on a 1-800-Flowers banner and purchasing Valentine-gift-A does not show effort.

My recommendation to you is go to a florist that day. Put down the mouse and do something offline for your valentine. People have done this for hundreds of years. Maybe you will have to wait in line. It's called "effort."

Anyway, be nice to the florist - it's their biggest day of the year. They worked late last night to prepare for today. They will be tired. Have a dollar amount in mind. Tell the florist you want to spend X on a bouquet and "no roses, make it different." This will peak her (or his) interest. She will ask "what about _____?" If you know your valentine has a preference, state it. If not and the suggested flower is not ugly to you, say "sounds perfect." You will end up with an arrangement that may not be big, but it will not match any of your valentine's coworkers' presents. Your valentine will feel loved and special.

If you are downtown, I strongly recommend Young Flowers on 3rd Avenue and Spring. A former neighbor works there and she is nice. They are all nice, but this is going to be their worst day. If you are happy with your service perhaps you offer to get her a coffee. Or bring them a six-pack. You can have more than one valentine.

I meant to send this weeks ago. I apologize. You may have already clicked on a ProFlowers banner. Can you cancel it? Yes, it will take effort, but that's what we are talking about.

In The Year 4703

As of yesterday, it is now Year of the Dog. The Chinese eat a lot of fried foods around this time. By now--and they've had close to 5,000 years by their calendar, to sort these things out--there are rather cute reasons about what each food symbolizes and why. New year foods don't deal with minor annoyances like "less cat hair on one's pants" or "a whole year free of paper cuts", and instead promise long life, lots of money and a whole passle of children. Obviously, to someone, a deep fried puff is a fine way to get all those things.

I think the real deal with the fried stuff is that fried foods are both a pain in the ass to make, even with today's easily-controlled stove tops and FryDaddies, and fried food is expensive and thus a cooking style that is saved for celebrations. Imagine having enough cooking oil to waste it as a method of cooking, rather than as an ingredient to add a bit of flavor and nutrition to the normal day's food. Imagine how decadent that feels to someone who lives on large bowls of rice for the rest of the year.

Of course, in our Land O' Plenty, it's actually more difficult to eat non-fried food than to find something doused with a gallon of oil--and bottomless fries would certainly like to be seen as awarding long life and lots of money to those who eat them. Traditions are tricky--do you follow the precise list of recipes, or is it actually more faithful to alter the recipes to reflect their meaning, rather than their ingredients? It makes sense for a feast to be comprised of pain-in-the-ass foods--the recipes that take a lot of time and attention are rarely cooked, and eating them seems like a true celebration. So does eating food that is special and particularly flavorful, or offers something that feels decadent and lucky for the eater.

These days, I think this means that a feast should involve eating at home, at a relaxed time where no one has to rush off to work or a class after the meal. It means that the food should be a true favorite cooked in a special way--the fancy local pasta you don't treat yourself to often enough, the lovely citrus fruits that are so sweet right now, the homemade bread or the 15-ingredient gumbo or the focaccia it's nearly too cold to grill outside, or the surprise "I picked up your very favorite take out from the inconveniently-located restaurant so you don't have to cook tonight" box of goodies, or the "wow, you haven't made that for me since our fourth date" knock-em-dead dessert. Every household has something.

Firecrackers make a fine after-meal activity, plus they ward off evil spirits. Sweetie and I set off rather large amount of fireworks during the non-lunar calendar new year celebrations, and we haven't seen an evil spirit in several years. I apologize for the anecdotal evidence, but googling "firecrackers" and "evil spirit sightings" doesn't turn up anything worth linking.

Take A Deep Breath

Now let it out in a wheezy choke. I'm guessing it's a bad season for mold allergies, as cold vi-ri don't respond to benedryl. I don't quite need my inhaler, but I'm tired of my chest-full-of-cotton-balls sensation. Someone make me some tea.

The holidays were, yet again, the holidays. Xmas Xinner was Xtra good--two turkeys; one roasted, one coated with a rub and barbecued. Turkeys do bring an odd pile of guilt for me that other critters don't--partially because the stats for turkey death are inescapable, but also because raw turkeys have a remarkable size/shape/limpness similarity to a human infant. Picking it up and making it dance a softshoe on the counter only slightly removes the weird sensation of cannibalism. Or "cannizzibalism", which is my favorite word of 06 so far. Still, I feel better about our friendly-farm dead animals that I can about GMO/phytoestrogen tofurkey "nonviolent" solution (the quotes are because I have a hard time defining violence as only something that occurs as a short, physical act. Contamination of plants and sealife is just as violent, if by violence one means "acts that are harmful to life").

Sweetie and I exchanged identical pairs of tongs for the holidays, and he astonished me with a lovely pair of blood diamonds to stick in my ear-holes. (Is it possible to give or recieve anything these days without being aware of the global implications? Is there any gift other than farm animals for poor people that won't inspire self-loathing?) No wonder everyone gets drunk on new year's eve.

I will be collecting my list of best/worst books for 05 shortly, now that I have cleared off my desk and found the liberry receipts with my notes. I actually have two that I'm already saving for this year, because I officially didn't start reading them until the morning of the first.