The Great Pumpkin
I never liked the Charlie Brown special about The Great Pumpkin. In fact, I'm not sure I ever really liked any of the Charlie Brown specials. I watched them. There was an endless futility to that world: the humiliation of the ugly Christmas tree, Charlie Brown falling on his ass every time because Lucy snatched the football back, the Great Pumpkin that never showed up. I'm sure that's not what I was supposed to get out of it, but that's the taste that remains all these 100 years later.

Meanwhile, the weather is fantastic here. We've had crap weather on Halloween every year since I've been here. Bob and I only bought a few bags of candy (only our favorites). I think we need to get more stuff.

When Things Don't Work As They Should Part II

This started out as a story about how a recipe I used didn't work. The Oregonian ran a recipe for "Perfect Apple Pie" which I had to try. I'd give you a link but I don't see it on the archive. You can check here if you want to look yourself.

The recipe calls for 9 cups of apples (about 9 apples) to be sliced and mixed with the sugar and spices up to 12 hours in advance so that they soften and relax and you cram more apple into the pie. The crust part is a vinegar crust that says it makes 3 crusts and you can freeze the rest.

I did the apple part yesterday morning and I didn't measure the apples, I sliced 9 apples, stirred them up and put them aside. Last night I made the crust and first I didn't have enough shortening so I made up the rest with butter. I guess given the measurements I should have figured out that 1 crust equals one top or one bottom but not both a top and a bottom. But it didn't seem logical to me to give a crust recipe for a two crust pie that made three crusts. The problem was apparent when I rolled out a fraction of my dough and had to work it into a paper thin sheet to make it fit in the pie pan.

I learned long ago not to let pie making frighten me so I made it work and then started to pile my vat of sliced apples into the pan. I guess I was supposed to use 9 Hobbit apples. My pie was loaded and I still had tons of apples left. I had figured out that the dough was screwed up and I didn't want to freeze one pie crust and I didn't have enough for two complete pies so I got an idea.

Erin told me a story about making a pie in a situation where not many pie making tools were available. ("So I figured a vodka bottle will work as a rolling pin ...".) She didn't have a pie pan so she used a corningware. I pulled out my smallest dish. Rolled more dough and dumped my remaining apples in there. Made tops for both my pies and voila! Pie and mini-pie.

Now the part that doesn't work is why my pictures always look so crappy on my website. I tried to use my new Photoshop skills and save for the web for faster downloading and use a trick to try to make my pies look magical: I don't think I succeeded:

When Things Don't Work As They Should, Part I
I unclogged my own sink this afternoon.

It's been draining more and more slowly for quite some time. I put one of those enzyme drain openers in a couple weeks ago and bought myself another week but it quickly went back to barely tolerable. I could have called a plumber except we've had a plumber in here in the last 6 months and I hate being helpless at seeminly routine house problems.

I looked online for methods of dealing with clogged drains. Half the sites make it sound like it's a psychosomatic situation. "Try flushing with hot water." If that was going to work, the drain wouldn't be clogged. The environmental people don't want you to use drain cleaners because they're hugely toxic and horrible. In my personal experience, there is no substance you can add to a clogged drain, toxic or not, that will do jack squat.

Regardless, I tried the non-toxic thing because that's what I had in the house: baking soda and boiling water. I dumped in the soda and poured the water and was encouraged to see the fizzing action. Then the drain stopped up completely.

I went and got the plunger which I found two weekends ago when I cleaned out the shed in the backyard (there's a story there too but don't know if I will get to it.) I applied "steady, rhythmic, and forceful downward and upward strokes" until it felt like homeowner porn and my entire upper body got a cramp.

Normally, at this point I would have quit in a furious huff. I was furious and called my sink all kinds of very vicious bad words which I'm sure made it feel very bad but didn't unclog it. I couldn't quit because we have company coming over tomorrow and I can't have a stopped up sink in my bathroom when company comes over. So I went to the next step and got a bucket and put it under the sink and futzed around with that trap or loop or whatever it's called. It wasn't pretty and I don't think I'll ever get the memory of that smell out of my head but I cleared my own effing drain.

LOST MEALS
Tuesday we had clients meet at the office at 9am so it was critical that I be on time. I left the house at 8:00 – an hour is certainly enough time to drive 11.5 miles except there was an accident on I-5 SB at the I-84 interchange and there was only one lane open so I didn't roll through the door until 9:05am. Tuesday is yoga day so I didn't get home until after 9pm. I ended up skipping breakfast because of the morning snafu and dinner because of class.

Wednesday I got an early start because I took my car in for service and then I skipped dinner again because I did a workshop in the evening. I didn't intend to skip dinner I just forgot to bring extra food with me and I didn't want to stop for food. It's a Pam thing – I don't like fast food and didn't want to deal with working out an alternative. Missing a meal didn't seem like a big tragedy and I found a few carrot sticks leftover from lunch to take the place of an actual meal. I didn't get home until almost 10pm last night.

Two long days in a row and lots of skipped meals. I can't believe I'm now the kind of person who can skip meals. There was a day when I couldn't go two hours without shoving food in my mouth. (Except for the time I was sleeping.)

This used to be an actual issue or could you call it a condition? with me and I used to attend a group with other people with eating issues. Lots of people have problems with eating in the middle of the night. This is one problem I have never had.

It would never occur to me, upon waking in the night, to go and find something to eat. I don't even like to eat very late. Back in my days as a hipster, late-night club crawler (okay, so I was never "hip"). I occasionally hung out with people who wanted to stop at Denny's or this other place downtown that I can't remember the same of: Gorky's? (I'm talking about Los Angeles). I never wanted to eat then.

In the morning I was fine with staggering over to Café 50's (Sherman Oaks) and getting the hangover plate of greasy potatoes, runny eggs and buttery toast. But eating right late at night. Not for me.

After skipping all these meals I've been waiting for the burst of hunger to make up for what I missed and it didn't hit until 11:30am. Now I'm starving for a big plate of everything.

Sometimes the Internet is so aggravating. I haven't read any Raymond Carver in a long time and I recently re-read Cathedral and was curious if there was any sort of discussion on it. I plug my query into my search engine. First I had to weed through a bazillion sites trying to sell me Carver books. Then I had to skip through the half bazillion sites of "free essays" which were not free and isn't it great that cheating is now easier than ever? (sarcasm) Who writes these "free essays" anyway? I grew tired of the search long before I found anything interesting.

You know, sometimes several days go by when I loathe even the sight of my computer. I don't want to sit here even long enough to read the latest email. It's been like that this week. Generally I end up blogging after having a couple of refreshing adult beverages and I haven't been into the adult beverages much since it's cold and beer is less interesting, (not out of the picture by any means, only less interesting) and the bottle of wine I bought this week was total swill and I had only about 1 glass and had a total "I need pizza" hangover the next morning. I'm guessing beverage influence explains why when I read my posts later to see how they sound there's always an incoherent aside or an egregious homonym error or an overall "how many points am I trying to make" loopiness. I am completely sober at this moment.

Here are a few notes about my week: (1) My latest disc of Angel was not premium. That show did lose it in the middle of season 4. Dragging talking head episodes with never-ending fights and Cordy turning into a bad guy. Snore. I still watched it all and the one stingy little extra so far which was a humdrum commentary by a director and producer guy. Meanwhile, Lost keeps getting better and I will admit to watching Desperate Housewives as my guilty pleasure. (2) Yesterday I finally vacuumed - yay. (3) Bob got me into Get Fuzzy. We got a book which I inhaled in about 3 days, even staying up late to read "just a few more pages." I love Bucky. (4) Last night I did a yoga workshop with Angela Farmer and Victor van Kooten which was fantastic. They are amazing teachers. (5) At the moment I'm reading a YA book by Peter Dickinson who is a fantastic writer. I read Eva several years and I still think about it. The one I'm reading now is The Ropemaker.

(6) I was in bed reading the book several hours ago when I noticed that the sun was out and it seemed foolish to sit indoors on my ass when this might be the sun's last appearance on a weekend day until some bone-chilling ugly day in December so I put on old jeans and ran outside and pulled up the last of the cosmos and dug up a few weeds. I lost my weed fork - they almost always turn up later but it's been several weeks so I can only assume that it went in the garden refuse. I wonder how many garden implements they get because I've lost a number that way. I bought a new, fancy weed fork and it's crap. It's somehow smaller and flimsier and total crap. Remember the olden days when things were more expensive but not so crappy? I also finally dug up two rose bushes. I've been threatening to do it for some time and gave them plenty warning but they did not improve. Their crime: being ugly. They grew giant long skinny branches and in the spring they'd bloom a teeny bit with wispy red flowers that drooped towards the dirt. Then they'd never bloom again, only shooting green scratchy branches. They're gone now. I need to plant some more stuff there right away or I never will and I'll be one of those people with scary yard with 1 or 2 plants and tons of bark dust. ooh: pretty. As I worked I could see black roiling clouds moving my way and heard a few choice cracks of thunder. I hurried. When I felt the first few drops I moved most of my stuff in but I still had a hoe in my hands to do "one more thing." Bob came out to ask me something and the sky broke open and we had to run for it. It went from 0 to 60 in about a half minute.

(7) I bought clothes at Ann Taylor Loft and I think I've finally evolved out of my: black-grey-black theme. I bought brown. I know, personal growth is exciting. I also bought something pink. Seriously. It's not barbie-pink, it's darker. I'm sure there's some fashion type name for it like: blush or conch, I couldn't tell you. But I will be wearing a pink sweater with weird tie-things on it. It's so not me. (I just looked to see if Crayola had a name for my pink and found this website with the history of crayon colors. The Internet has everything.)

(8) Wow, I thought I had nothing to say and look at all this yammering. We're off to see Hero.

A couple of weeks ago I read an article - I think I saw it in the NYT magazine but I'm not sure and way too lazy to look it up for you now. The point was division of labor among the sexes and about how historically and through most cultures the job divisions were more or less the same. The men went out hunting and the women stayed home and tended the fire. The explanation was that women need to keep the kids safe. If you're out hunting seal in your kayak, you can hardly have kids hanging around.

The article went on to talk about more contemporary issues, which I won't go into detail here except for one which caught my eye which was how men don't like to do housework because the women tend to criticize how they do it. Also that men sometimes do a poor job intentionally so that they can get out of doing it in the future. This intentional thing I totally buy into which was why when pretty much the 2nd time I've ever seen my husband pick up the vacuum and 5 seconds later a fuse blew and the vacuum was broken, I suspected foul play. I think it was subconscious foul play, but foul play nonetheless.

I took the vacuum in to get it fixed but warned him that he wasn't finished with vacuuming, but next time could look forward to more supervision. Meanwhile, my house has not been vacuumed in over two weeks and has been driving me nuts. He brought home our freshly fixed vacuum, UNDER WARRANTY! on Saturday because I strongly urged that he should do this and not because he thought of it himself.

Tonight as I was climbing out of the car after work he was bringing in the garbage cans and he had a sly look on his face. I said, "What's up?" and he said he had a surprise for me inside and he thought I would like it. I kid you not I jumped up and down and let out a girlish squeal and said, "Did you vacuum?"

"I haven't been home that long," he said (wearily). Instead he brought home tortilla crowns for our taco salad dinner which was indeed very exciting but nearly as exciting as having my house vacuumed by someone other than me.

I recently read the following quote attributed to Thomas Edison:

"Many of life's failures are experienced by people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up."

I was going to write this down on a little card and tape it above my desk except I can't help wondering: how did he know how close to success they were when they gave up?

Excellent lazy day.

This morning I did chores like grocery shopping and laundry and gardening. The rest of the day I played, including getting a massage (I still smell minty-gingery fresh) and saw TWO movies. I decided that this will be a movie binge weekend.

First I went and saw Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. I'm tempted to say, why isn't this movie huge -- except I probably know why. Sure it would appeal to me, because it has this retro, old-fashioned romance thing going along with this futuristic, sci-fi invasion thing. How many people would go for this cross-over?

The funny part was the trailers. You know how the trailers generally seem to be aimed at a target audience -- so if you're seeing an artsy-fartsy movie you see artsy-fartsy trailers and if you see some shoot-em-up action flick then the trailers are big action films?

Well for Sky Captain the trailers were for: the SpongeBob SquarePants movie, The Incredibles (both animated films), The Aviator which is the movie about Howard Hughes, and the Lemony Snicket movie, which looks like the first Tim Burton movie made without Tim Burton.

This evening I went to the Kiggins and saw The Bourne Supremacy which I HIGHLY recommend. But two comments. First, how did dreamy Karl Urban turn into the bad guy? Second, what is up with the seats at the Kiggins? They look padded. There is padding-like material on them -- but it was like sitting in a metal folding chair for 1 hour and 48 minutes. I could feel the outline of my scapula for about 1 hour and 31 minutes. Is this some sort of old lady thing? That I can feel my bones? Sometimes I can feel my sitbones, too. Or do I need to eat more?

Nevermind the Pollacks
Tonight Bob and I went to Powell's Hawthorne to see Neal Pollack.

Last year we got the Never Mind the Pollacks CD in our xmas loot from Steve and Denise. When we drove to Tacoma for Wintergrass Bob brought it and we threw it in the cd player and we laughed our asses off. I think it's safe to say that only a tiny portion of my readers (if any) would share our amusement. This isn't humor for the masses.

On CD Neal comes across cranky and bitter and not especially friendly. Bob and I had to meet at Powells b/c I was coming from downtown and Bob was coming from Vancouver. Bob said if there was a line at the bookstore, he'd wait and get us a seat. This is funny for two reasons because, (a) of course there was no line and (b) Bob never gets there before me.

We ate dinner at this fantastic hole in the wall French place that I don't remember the name of but we've eaten there before and it's out of this world. It's worth driving over there just for that. We didn't get to Powell's until 7:15pm (the reading started at 7:30pm) and there were about 20 chairs set up and about 15 people there.

We sat. Neal was already there. No entourage. Not even a special place to stand before the thing started. More people came and they set up more chairs. I'd like to give you a feel for what sort of audience Neal draws but there was no common denominator other than we were all human and knew where the bookstore was and had heard of Neal.

He's promoting the paperback of this rock and roll novel. The CD and rock band tie in (the Neal Pollack Invasion) were just a gimmick for the book and he didn't recommend following this strategy. He read from the book and then played from his CD and then read some other stuff. He writes for Vanity Fair. He was hilarious. Way funnier and cooler than you'd guess if you'd only heard the CD. Also since it was a small reading, you felt more like you were hanging out with the guy, rather than attending a function. I've had this experience with other writers at Hawthorne Powell's.

After the reading we bought the book and had him sign that and our CD. I told Neal that I had also written a rock and roll novel about 80's hair bands on the Sunset Strip and I think he was a tad impressed. He said he'd neglected that era in his book. Then he asked me if it was published and said: "No, it's in a box in the garage."

He inscribed my book: "For Pamela: This book is also in a box in the garage. Neal Pollack."

Songbook
I am reading Songbook by Nick Hornby. Anyone who has read or seen High Fidelity knows what a music fanatic Hornby is. If you look for the book, see if you can find the McSweeney's edition because it has a cd with some of the songs he talks about.

We've had the book awhile and at first it lived in Bob's stuff but he realized that I must read it and it traveled into my stuff where it's been sitting, waiting to be read, while I amused myself with screenwriting and not reading and that sort of thing. Now that I'm into it, I love this book. The essays are short and thoughtful and he's gotten me interested in songs again.

Once upon a time, I was a music freak. But not so much anymore. Music is something in the background while I do something else. My favorite music is usually fast and thumpy and loud, and as often as not, close to 20 years old. I had to drive Bob's car today (long story omitted) and I had the radio and didn't have my stations on the buttons so I stuck on the classic rock station and made a point to pay attention to the songs. Beatles. Rod Stewart. Springsteen. It was awesome. I'm going through the random sidebar cds that we have stacked around the house and loading them into iTunes (for example, Morcheeba) and finally listening. We have a lot of great stuff around here. And what a gift that Hornby's woken me up to it again.

He writes about my hero Paul Westerberg and a song from Suicaine Gratification (an excellent album, criminally overlooked by the world-at-large). He talks about solos and says this: "... his solo on "Born for Me" is just lovely--maybe because he's the singer-songwriter, and knows what the song should feel like to us. "Born for me" is a Waitsian lonely loser's lyric and an affectively heartsick tune; the solo is basically played with one finger ... . A better pianist would have wrecked the moment, filled in the gaps, failed to recognize how the tune has exerted a spell over the right listener ... I can never listen to the solo without thinking that it's played by a born musician a virtuoso, not even someone who could make a living as pianist in a cocktail lounge, just a man who thinks and feels and loves and speaks in music."

TV Shows
I don't think I told you that I'm renting ANGEL Season 4 on DVD which came out only a short time ago. When I finished Season 3 and then the show ended, I thought I was pretty much done with Angel. Turns out Season 4 was on at the same time as Alias so I missed most of it. When I saw the first disc it was my first time seeing all those episodes. It was like Christmas.

Meanwhile, you must watch Lost. Wednesday, 8pm. Rearrange your schedule if necessary.

Last Meal
On Sunday we were invited to Tom Brown's son's house for BBQ. The house is in a rural area not far from Washington State University, Vancouver.

It was a perfect day. Sunny and warm. The place was beautiful. We had a wonderful spot outside, surrounded by open green space with friendly dogs, big and little horses, cool cars and nice people. Oh, and a giant barbecue stuffed with a generous quantity and variety of meats. We could almost see Mt. St. Helens and I was still hoping we might see some action. The food was incredible. Probably my highest single-day meat consumption, ever. They brought out the brownies and I said, "I'll have more chicken."

I'm trying an online photo service. You can see photos of the BBQ here. I'm still learning how it works but so far I think it's pretty good.

In the NY Times they do these interviews where one of the questions is: "Last meal?" so I've been tossing this out asking people what they would choose for their last meal. Bob paled and asked me not to ask him questions like that anymore. WKB started making a list of every single food he likes (which doesn't answer the question) so he back-tracked and I think settled for some sort of massive Porterhouse steak and mashed potatoes. Erin said she'd pick Rouladen.

My last meal would be Mom's Thanksgiving. And it would have to have all the usual stuff. We always talk about trying new things but it's only one meal a year and I always want the same stuff: oven roasted turkey with sage stuffing, Dad's mashed potatoes with giblet gravy, cranberry sauce from the OceanSpray bag recipe, yam brown betty, broccoli, little plates with olives and celery stuffed with that yummy herbed cream cheese type stuff that I can't remember the name of right now, pecan AND pumpkin pie -- HOMEMADE for dessert. And those Betty Crocker ancient cookbook Parker House rolls. I LOVE those. I keep thinking if I love them so much I should just learn to make them myself but then I could have them anytime and it wouldn't be so special. And Mom uses the other half of the dough to make cinnamon rolls and that's post Thanksgiving breakfast -- which if Thanksgiving was my last meal, I wouldn't get to have.

I remember my first Thanksgiving away from home they had store bought pies. STORE BOUGHT PIES! Why would anyone buy a pie when they are so easy and yummy to make yourself? I would have made pies had anyone told me they were just buying them.

That would be my last meal. My second to last meal would be Tom Brown's BBQ.

Kelly's Mom Doesn't Want to Be Embarrassed
Kelly and family planned to visit Mom for her birthday. As they loaded the car they got a call that Mom had some sort of episode and was in the hospital. They briefly panicked and wondered if Kelly should fly down or what? They finished loading the car and drove all night to get to California.

When they arrived, Mom was fine. She was shopping at well known grocery chain when her vision blurred. She alerted a fellow Shopper of the problem and the shopper immediately prepared to call 911. "No," said Mom.

"No?" said Kelly. (As she listened to this story.) "No," Mom said, "It would be too embarrassing."

The Shopper got the Store Manager and explained the situation and he suggested calling 911. Mom said, "No." Mom asked Store Manager to phone a friend. He ended up calling several friends but that went nowhere so she convinced him to dig out her insurance card and make an appointment with her doctor.

[At this point I'm telling Kelly, jeez, what was this Store Manager thinking? Surely there would be legal ramifications if something bad happened. Kelly says, "You don't know my Mom."]

But before her appointment, Mom wanted to finish shopping. Recall her vision was blurred and she was basically blind for the moment. They put her in a drivable cart and she couldn't see squat to shop and proceeded to bump into displays and not find what she was looking for.

She wouldn't let anyone give her a ride. They had to get someone to drive her in her car to the Doctor and then get a ride back.

The doctor took one look at her and called 911 to get her admitted to the hospital. Mom was annoyed with the paramedics because, "They didn't know anything" and asked her the same questions. She exacted revenge by peeing in the ambulance. Fortunately, she wasn't embarrassed.

Kelly's Vacation from Hell Part II
Kelly and Dan enjoyed an excellent vacation except the part where their daughter was sick most of the time. Then it was time to go home. When they checked in at the airport they made the sorry discovery that Kelly's driver's license expired during the trip. Oregon is doing some new ID thing starting this month so in Kelly's mind she had until October. Needless to say the airport hadn't the slightest interest in Oregon's new program or the fact that Kelly hadn't substantially changed during the course of the trip other than brutally destroying her diaper bag.

Everything gets stamped: NO ID. Airline personnel offer to escort her through security. Her in-laws have dropped them off before parking. She asks, "Can I just say good-bye?"

The ever understanding Security Lady says, "I can take you now otherwise you can wait for my convenience." Kelly gets ready to go. Just then her Mother-in-law comes in and says, "Oh no, not again." Security Lady visibly flinches. Kelly gets extra special treatment one click this side of a strip search.

When she arrives back in Portland, the car has a flat tire. She needs a vacation from her vacation.

Stay tuned for the last chapter of Kelly's vacation.

Kelly's Vacation from Hell Part I
The horror began when Kelly, Dan and their two adorable children were rushing through airport security to catch a flight to AZ. Security performed its random explosives test on their diaper bag and next thing they knew, lights were flashing, alarms were blasting and the $9/hour, high school educated folks protecting our safety and welfare sprung into action. Kelly took credit for the bag, since someone needed to care for the kids. Security gave Dan the boarding passes and pulled Kelly aside and began pounding her with questions while answering none of hers. Does she work on a farm? Has she ever worked on a farm? Is she sure she's never worked on a farm? The investigation steamed ahead.

Meanwhile, the plane began boarding.

Dan returned to security to consult with Kelly about what to do. They asked if they were almost done. NO! They asked if the plane could be delayed. NO! They asked how long she would be delayed. Security wouldn't say.

They decided Dan would go ahead and take the flight and the children, sans diaper bag, and Kelly would try to get another flight later.

Then Kelly saw someone she knew working security. "I know him. Can he vouch for me?" NO! The man came over to check the problem. He searched the bag and confirmed, nothing bad in there. At some point around this time the inquest lightened. The security hard-ass had nothing. They delayed the plane. They completed their procedure and allowed Kelly and her diaper bag to board.

Upon arriving at their destination the family destroyed the bag without mercy and switched to paper grocery bags (which they highly recommend for carry-on). Moments later, their daughter colorfully notified them that she had the stomach flu.

Stay tuned for more adventures from Kelly's vacation.

CAR LOT FROM HELL
There is no limit to how naive we can be when we want to avoid a unpleasant experience, such as purchasing a vehicle. Bob has been doing homework to replace his 1990 Accord with 160K miles and permanent stale coffee smell for some time and this kicked up a notch last weekend when he saw an ad for Hertz used sales (where I purchased my Camry and we had a no hassle experience). He had his eye on a Mazda 6 but was disappointed with the test drive. When he went to the credit union to get financing the gal there mentioned the credit union's special auto sale this weekend with supposedly special pricing and pre-priced cars so you don't have get into that demoralizing haggling thing.

So this morning we were up bright and early and driving off at 9am to go to a car event and serious about coming home with a new car.

I kid you not: it was worse than a regular car lot. There were freshly showered, smiling dockers/oxford shirt guys, standing at the edge of the lot, ready to talk the minute you set foot on that gravel walkway. The ratio of sales people to shoppers was about 5 to 1. I wandered two cars away from Bob a couple of times and within moments faux-cheery salespeople were making a beeline to meet me. We could hardly browse and check out the inventory because every three steps there was someone bugging us. Our first guy, Yuri, was very nice and about as non-greasy as a car saleman could be. We later found out that he used to be a computer programmer and Bob said every other car saleman he meets was formerly in technology.

Yuri walked with us to the other side of the sale to look at some other cars and apparently crossed over the magic line into another dealer's territory. He was new, his company probably should have prepped him better but there was no excuse for this total THUG to dash over and kick him off with rude words and a hostile sneer, looking as though he could barely keep himself from punching the guy. Yeah: like I'm in the mood to buy a car from Vancouver Mazda now. At this point, (we'd been on the lot less than an hour) we'd already had enough and that little skirmish put a permanent bad taste in our mouths. We checked a couple more models and scooted out of there as fast as we could. (Also the no-haggle thing was partly a myth.)

We went to the new Costco to get a new DVD player (Angel-hooray!) and as we pulled into the parking lot we were still checking out cars: "Oh, there's a Honda ... that Subaru looks nice." And then as we were inside, we were about 6 feet from the Verizon booth and we both physically cringed and dodged the salesguys -- a knee jerk reaction from our experience at the car lot.

We maybe returning to Hertz.

Last night Bob and I went to John's retirement party. Or rather, one of John's retirement parties. This one was at the bar at the Quay. John and Alice were our across the street neighbors until sometime in July when they snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. Their youngest daughter, Olivia, did our watering and stuff when we were on vacation. She started at University of Washington this Fall. I gave them a hard time about moving out so quickly because I remember hearing the moving truck and thinking, "Oh no, John and Alice must be moving today," and it was already the new people moving in. J and A are going to be driving around seeing stuff around the country and having a good time. We're hoping maybe we see them again in the Spring.

After the party we headed up north to find some dinner and hopefully see some of the action at Mt. St. Helens. By that point, the sky was murky and any ash or steam that might have been hanging around had already drifted off. We went to Ridgefield to find some Italian place Bob knew about but of course we couldn't find it (or perhaps it doesn't exist because downtown Ridgefield consists of only 2 or 3 blocks) so we ended up at El Rancho Viejo Your Family Mexican Restaurant which was packed to the rafters except for one table, which we got. And it was super-fantastic. Great menu. Super nice people working there. Excellent meal. I had a seafood soup with shrimp and scallops and had to be rolled out the door and to the car because I was so full.