finished product

 

 

It hasn't been ALL hard work...

 
My friend Abby gave me a haircut that I've been craving for awhile. This pic is it in process... It's a relief. I always feel like I'm faking it when I grow it out long... maybe someday I'll figure out how to pull it off, but for now, aaaaaaah.

Overheard in Ballard (fancy pants bistro edition)

Around 5 pm or so, as I put together YET ANOTHER piece of office furniture, I said to my pal Sharon... "after this, let's go drink beer." After two more hours of back breaking moving madness (no, really, my back got older faster than I did, AND one of the movers quit(not our fault) in the midst of the job) I was really ready for one. We ended up at a fancy hipster former gas station "Station Bistro" for a porter and some warm dinner. It was quite awesome, and I feel silly for not going there for so long.

But this is another installment of "Overheard in Ballard". I'll set the scene: Two young dudes in woolen caps are lighting smokes.

"Hey man."
"'sup Couch! How you doin'... Couch."
(long sigh) "Not bad."
"Hey, Couch... what's your real name? I've just always called you couch."
"Justin. Joo-stun.. actually."
"Justin, that's cool. Why DO people call you Couch anyway? You sleep on a lot of 'em or what?"
(another tortured sigh) "I used to work at this skate park, and one day I brought a couch there."

exhaustedthoughts

I've been working long hours at my job to pack up our school and get ready to move.

It's crazy, man, and I am tired.

I just got an email from my sister (who also works in an early childhood) detailing Schul Sylvester (Or "School New Years") Where Jessy lives, there is an outlawed holiday all about small children getting up at 5 am to celebrate the last day of school before break. Traditionally (it is no longer endorsed by schools or parents) children would ring doorbells at 5pm. Today, while they are not endorsed, kids use fire crackers to explode the doggy-doo receptacles all over town.

As soon as I recieved the email, I called her because this holiday was too good to be true! I talked to Ivo, her husband, who told me that it was much wilder in "his day" and that the police had to start cracking down in the early nineties when it got out of control. He asked me "you remember the corner a block from my parents' house where the grocery is ?" "Of course" I said. "One year some teenagers occupied it and threw chairs at anyone who came near."

My sister lives in a wierd ass country. (Apologies, J & I) We all know stories of Teens gone ape shit that are way more principled or senselessly violent or unprincipled and more harmful. This holiday is at once kinder, gentler and more brutal and independent than any American childhood celebration.

Meanwhile, I spent the week/day packing up a classroom. Think about how hard it is to move with your loved one. It's not as gratifying to move with your coworkers. Although I have to say it is MORE gratifying to move with parent volunteers... these people are showing up until all hours to pack up our stuff.

Now, to bed.
Goodnight.

Holiday plans? ha ha haha hahahaha.
kp

Pronunciation Key

Last night I went to a Karaoke bar to celebrate a friend's birthday. This is a story about the wonder that is spoken and written English. It is relevant that I mention here that I don't believe I've ever had a manicure from a professional. I've got this feeling that MAYBE when I was in my friend's wedding years ago and we all went to a salon together, it could have happened, but perhaps not. In any case, I view manicure culture as foreign, bizarre, and probably quite charming, like the cultures of rugby, or rock collecting.

The bathroom at the Rickshaw is very small and very mirrored. In this way, it reminds me of affordable restaurants in New York City. As I waited for one of the two stalls to become vacant, I read a handmade manicure "menu" on the door. I learned that Nikki would come to my house if I liked, and that there I could partake of services like "Full something or other...Tips... Fill etc." There was something that stopped me in my tracks. (Those of you who ARE familiar with manicure culture, suspend your knowledge for just a moment, and join me in a world where "Polish" means "from Poland".)

One of the items on the menu was "Polish Change".

"Like an oil change? But Polish? What is the implication?" I thought. My temperature began to rise at the perceived indignity. (I, myself, am NOT Polish, but in 8th grade I found a book of "Portuguese jokes" that were Polish jokes with the word "Portuguese" inserted in the appropriate places, and have since felt a kind of soul-fraternity with Polish Americans.) "Why would a manicure be called 'Polish'?" I needed someone who either knew more about manicures or more about the specifics of anti-Polish slurs. Very likely, most people on the planet could therefore have been of service.

At that moment, I heard a flush and before me stood a Karaoke patron who probably fit the bill.

"Do you know anything about manicures?"

"Uh, not really. Kind of...."

"What do you think this is?" (I pointed.)

"Um, I guess it's like, when they change the polish... take it off and put a new one on I guess?"

(As she spoke the word "polish" (rhymes with 'smallish')my face displayed my sudden enlightenment. I know because there were mirrors everywhere... it looked pretty silly, all that realization right there in a humid, cramped bathroom. "Aha! Polish, not Polish!" (rhymes with "trollish") I thought.

I am the kind of person who wears her heart (and sometimes her interior monologue) on her sleeve. I also prefer not to see my fellow humans in the dark any longer than necessary, so as the woman trailed off quizzically at the end of her answer I explained my mistake. Happily for me, she is the sort of person who laughs when illiterate strangers detail their personal shortcomings at her in the ladies room.

Obama quips

Of COURSE he's funny...

About a year ago I read Audacity of Hope and became very excited about Obama. I joined a listserve and was invited to Bowlathons WAY too early in the campaigning for my taste. Now, though I am ready to represent at my caucus... in two months.

Politics of the future

What does this mean! What will be next?!

You may notice...

That this blog seems a lot more populated than it used to be.

No, I didn't just retroactively pen my memories of days past, I just moved blog entries over from my Myspace blog that I've had for awhile now. So, if you're bored, you can read further back in my life.

Socks on Zoks

 

There it is, ladies and gentlemen. A sock. My first, after 3 or 4 years of knitting. I was very intimidated by socks when I started. The first thing I made that I was very impressed with was a pair of gloves for Z. He was working then in an office at the Evil Empire in a server room. In order to keep the machines cool, there was an air conditioner attempting to keep the room around 60 F... right over Z's head. The dude "next" to him (4 feet away) wore short sleeves and shorts because he was practically getting a sunburn from the machines beside him, but Z wore a fleece and a hat everyday. When he told me that he sometimes went to the bathroom just to run his hands under the hot water to warm them up, I decided I had to make him some gloves.

Those of you who know Z, know that he can be rather particular. I was concerned that I might make gloves only to have them discarded if they weren't efficient enough, so the design of these "hobo gloves" (half-fingers) was a collaborative effort, but the knitting and engineering were all me. I am proud to report that Z wears the gloves to this day. (Literally today.... it's wicked cold here right now.)

Always, though, Z asked for socks, and always, I told him I wasn't ready, like a martial artist deferring her fight against the master for years despite the montage displaying her hours of devoted practice. (Have I mentioned that I watch Kung Fu movies at the Sunset Tavern once a month? Does it show?)

Then Z quit smoking. I quit smoking too, but I've had way more practice, having quit an average of once a year over the last 12 years. Z didn't practice much, he just up and did it... and I couldn't possibly protest about making socks anymore. The day that he'd been quit for a month, I picked out a pattern and some yarn. Admittedly, I was slowed down by the s mittens (did I mention that, too?) but here I am, half way through sock #2, and I've still got a week till Z officially has 60 days smober. I think I can do it, don't you?

winter storm warning...

It snowed on Saturday and then rained all day today. I helped paint our new building this morning and then took off to go to the farmer's market. The farmer's market has become such a big part of how we eat, that I've learned that I have a rough time making food all week when I can't get there, so I went even thought I signed up to help paint. (I took an extra long time, though and when I got back... they were all done! I've got to say I was happy about that.)

It was raining HARD by the time I made it, and all the vendors were huddled in he center of their awnings or tents. Everyone had the cleanest carrots and parnsips ever, because they'd been rained on all the way to Ballard! (I went to a farmer I didn't recognize, and just as he handed me my bag of food, he grabbed a parsnip off of the pile, and tossed it in, then gave me a meaningful look that I found very difficult to interpret through his beard and rain gear. I gave him a meaningful look back that was meant to communicate "Gee, thanks! What a treat!" and headed back into the rain.

I walked past the fisherman and sighed. There are these great guys who sell wild, troll caught salmon and halibut and cod and other things. I stopped eating animals, though, including fish, and I wondered if they'd notice that I haven't been buying from them in months. I walked by and one of the fishermen's friends who was standing beneath a big green umbrella remarked "There goes a real northwesterner; no umbrella or hat!" The fisherman (they all are Italian, and therefore remind me of home. They smile and are charming and have big fat fingers. I wish they sold seaweed or something!) said "where" and the friends said "She just walked on by."

I smiled, and asserted to myself that I'm a real NorthEASTerner, but at this point who can tell.