What's for Lunch?
For some reason, when I make a lunch for the office, I'm paranoid I won't have enough to eat. I always bring a ton of food and end up taking half of it back home.

Today I brought: a non-ass smelling thermos with lentil soup, a half of peanut butter and honey sandwich, a small box of animal crackers, a fruit + nut bar, a cucumber and tomato salad, a diced fresh pear AND a few tidbits of chicken from my dinner plate last night that I'm going to stuff into an espresso cup so I can feel special.

Conquer the Ass
Every article on the front page of today's issue of Dining In (food section, NYT) made me roll my eyes. (Okay, so everything makes me roll my eyes.)

There's an article here letting us know that in the world of catered finger foods, pigs in a blanket (sometimes called franks in jackets) are "back with a vengeance!" (Exclamation point in original.) Yahoo. I'd been mourning the lack of baby hot dogs wrapped in pastry in my life and according to this article, pastry's a good blotter for alcohol. If only I'd known that last Friday. (Sadly, I won't be sharing the story of how drunk I was last weekend. At my age it isn't funny. Just sad.)

Here's another handy article about this woman helping her friend, set the table for a dinner party: "knife, water glass and wineglass on the right; espresso spoon horizontally above the dinner plate; espresso on top of the dinner plate."

Espresso Cup?

I know, that's what the author and I were thinking. But it's not for coffee. It's for the amuse-bouche.

Apparently you can puree an intense amount of something (vegetable, animal, mineral) and dollop it in the cup and your guests will feel special. Just putting some nuts in a dish doesn't cut it these days. You've got to have some delicious bite before the meal. Another idea: arranging "lovely tidbits" of fish or meat on a saucer. This is the time for the chef's artistry.

My next party everyone is going to get a pig in a blanket on an index card with a smiley face on it. Drawn by me.

The third article isn't really so bad. It's about this chef and his wife. Or maybe they're both chefs, I'm not clear, and 1 or both of them is from Australia. I guess I should read the article before I roll my eyes and then write about it. The thing that scared me is something they serve called Moreton Bay bugs and the article says it's some kind of small lobster but it sounds too Fear Factor for me.

And while we're talking about fear factor let me tell you about my thermos yesterday. I like taking my lunch but I've resisted the thermos because it always ends up smelling like ass. And in this case when I say smells-like-ass I mean smells-like-something-died-in-it.

I finally bought one and I wash it immediately after use. I let soapy water stand in it overnight. I make sure it is completely dry before I put it away. And every time I take it back out: ass. So I put a few drops of bleach in it and more hot water, rinse some more and go off. Yesterday I did this routine but I could still smell a whiff of ass as I ate my soup. Not optimal for lunch enjoyment.

My tip of that day is that when I got home I immersed the entire ensemble in warm water and white vinegar. I think I've conquered the ass. At least for now.

SHADOW!
Alright! I got my new card reader and got the photos off the camera. Many more to come.

Effing Goat Trail
A week ago Sunday we went to Dillon Creek for kayaking. Just kidding. Check the link: those pictures blow my mind. I didn't even know you could do stuff like that at Dillon Creek. We were around the campground. Here's a link to the Forest Service website. And could someone help the Forest Service, please? That website could use a little pretty-ing up.

We went to Dillon Creek for Book Club. The book was A Woman in Berlin by Anonymous. Mom must have missed my post about how I didn't want to read any heavy books in August and insisted I read it for book club. Turns out it's fantastic. Hard to put down. Lots of food for thought and discussion. Really excellent not just as a book but as a piece of history.

But that's not what this story is about.

We got there early and we decided to check out this swimming hole we'd heard about. We parked in the day use area and as we pulled in, we ran into Martha who's married to Sonny, who's a cousin. Or something like that. You get the idea.

Martha was also going to the swimming hole and was kind enough to point out the trail to us and off we went. As soon as I took my first step, I was concerned because I was wearing these clodhopper shoes I use for Orleans. This isn't a good link because we weren't there camping, we were at a big family gathering, some visiting like us and many who live there.

(ASIDE: omigod. I just put "Orleans, California" into a search engine so I could give a link to Orleans for the 3 people who might chance by this site and not know what I'm talking about and this was the first link that came up: American Singles. Classic! The second link is a splog that has to do with collection agencies. We need to improve Orleans search rankings.)

I decided not to take the trail but Martha said, "Oh, I'm sure it looks a lot harder than it is." So I pressed on. But not because I believed her, but because she's a relative and I knew if I wussed out that the entire town would know about it before the sun went down and for the next 40 years I would have to hear tales of Pam, the big fat ch-ch-chicken who couldn't do the trail down to the swimming hole at Dillon Creek.

Except that the "trail" was a goat path scratched out of a vertical mountainside and covered with poison oak and a few wisps of tree root that you could hang onto for dear life as you slid down the rocks and dirt.

We were about two thirds of the way down when a friendly grey haired guy holding a beer and watching us slide down the mountain said, "That's not the trail."

Well, no shit. What are we going to do at that point? When we finally hit bottom you could see the actual trail, a smooth, clear path back up to the campground.

"A freeway!" Martha exclaimed when she saw it. Then she said she'd never been to that swimming hole before.

I got a scratch of poison oak on one leg and a mosquito sized patch on my foot plus a couple of dots here and there.

Lesson learned: don't let Martha point out the trail.

10 YEARS TODAY, BABY!

Travel Journal Probably around 1979 or 1980

(Original punctuation and spelling kept intact.)

This morning we had a late breakfast and then went on the U-bahn subway to Saint Michel. St. Michel is a church that was destroyed several times. It took about 10 years to build the Church and 10 more years to build the tower. This was in the 1800's. In 1906 the tower was destroyed by fire but it was rebuilt. During World War II, I think, the whole church was destroyed almost completely and it since has been rebuilt. Before it was destroyed the second time my dad was babtised and confirmed there and Oma and Opa were married there. We could visit it now and go up into the tower.

That night we visted Oma's sister, Norma and her son, (dad's cousin), Adolf. They spoke only german but it was a nice evening.

Nobody Rides For Free
I've been having a tough time getting my photos off the memory cards. I thought maybe a card was fried and bought a new one. I took a zillion photos and still couldn't get them off.

While I was at the camera store, I asked about a new cable that goes from the camera to the computer. My old one is frayed and dangerous looking but previous attempts to replace it have failed and since I could make the icky one work, I just kept using it. Until the current problem developed. The person suggested that I get a cardreader which is a USB gadget that you plug the card into instead of the camera. This thing is genius. It's fast and wonderful. One problem solved.

The commute home in summer is ruthless. On Monday is was 1 hr. 10 minutes. I've been doing 2 yoga classes a week to avoid it. Today was usual. Do you like the busy carpool lane? Who thought that was a good idea?

The car behind me was some guy who apparently didn't want one breath of air between his bumper and mine. I tried to get a picture but didn't turn around so you can't see his tense face. He rode my bumper all the way from the Rose Garden to the place where the carpool ends.

I don't think you should be able to ride my ass that long without at least buying me dinner.

It's Just Clothes
This afternoon I was at a department store, trying on a few things.

I've been trying to find something new to wear for yoga which is the topic for a longer post which I'm not in the mood for right now.

Also I've been looking for some light, comfortable things to wear when it's warm.

I tried on a simple black tank top. Probably too light to wear by itself but would be okay under things or perhaps around the house. It wasn't really what I was looking for but the material was so soft and it was so comfortable I hung it back up thinking a definite maybe.

I grabbed the price tag and almost passed out when I saw: $118. For a little tank top.

I quickly smoothed it out, checked to be sure I hadn't accidentally snagged it or hurt it in any way. I wouldn't have even tried it on had I checked the price first.

How could a little tank top be $118? I carefully put it back on the rack. At least I have good taste.

Time Suck
Bob came in my room the other night and said: "This webpage stuff is a major time suck."

Yeah. I know.

Since I had so much success redoing my main pages, this morning I decided to tackle a few fixes on my last 2 xmas newsletters. The 04 version is a major mess.

05 was pretty easy to fix, I figured out how to center a few things and tweak a few others.

Thinking I now understood how it all works, at first I thought I'd just re-engineer the whole 04 layout since I can't figure out what I did in the first place. But then I'd have to redo photos and I didn't want to get that deep into it. That probably would have been faster.

The point being I spent most of my day trying to unravel my page layout and had little success and very little satisfaction. All for a page that no one ever looks at.

Oh well. I am learning a lot. Maybe the 06 version will be a snap.

Dahlias
I might be disappointed in the tomatoes but at least the dahlias look great.

Yesterday I wanted to pay a bill using funds from a savings account. Since I couldn't write a check, I took a wad of cash and then drove to the credit union to pay the bill.

They asked me for ID.

I understand the need for security in banking matters, but I can't imagine why I'd need to show ID to pay a bill with cash. Is there a lot of this going on fraudulently? And if so, is anyone complaining?

Another thing that happened yesterday is Kim called. She couldn't believe she couldn't take a book on a plane. Magazines are apparently okay. "I'm fine with no liquids. I'm fine with no knitting needles. But I can't take a book?" She couldn't bear the thought of killing time flipping through a soul-depleting issue of Vogue or US Weekly or whatever.

After we'd visited a bit, I suggested taking a New Yorker. What a great magazine that I never read anymore because, dammit, it comes every week and I want to read more books. She agreed this was a excellent idea and was ready to go off to a good newsstand to see what other treasures she could find.

I just bought a pile of books for my summer trip. I already have a huge stack of books on the shelf that have been passed on to me and they are mostly big heavy book club type books. It's August. I don't feel like reading The Kite Runner or The Known World right now. I got books with magic, witches and time travel.

I still had one more book in my YA pile from the library and I dutifully picked it up. It's called An Acquaintance with Darkness and sounded like it might be spooky. "Abraham Lincoln," I said, after I read the first page. "Who cares?" (Something with a girl in the civil war.) I set it down and picked up one of the new ones. "I want to read about time travel."

My Tomato Farm
Today was my biggest harvest day. This is what I got.

Try not to be underwhelmed. It's almost mid-August. I should be groaning under the weight of my harvest. There are 4 plants out there plus another 4 volunteers.

That's it.

I can eat them as fast as I can pick them. How am I going to make sauce and soup with this pitiful crop?

I'm already tired of the garden and it's barely started to do anything.

My theory is that the heirlooms don't pump out the results like the .69¢ Fred Meyer variety. Normally I buy a few cheapies and a few heirlooms but this year I went all heirloom. One of the plants hasn't even given me one ripe one and the green ones look all tiny and deformed.

This is not what I'd hoped for.

Bad Pizza
As has been documented here, my digestive system is not what it used to be.

I have to be careful about stuff with fat. It's built in portion control.

Last night, I came home late from yoga and was fried and wanted something quick and yummy so I chose this pizza.

Holy moly, digestive system on fire. I ate half of it and it wasn't huge. And sheet-howdy if I didn't taste that freaking thing for a full 24 hours. I can still taste it. It's still burning me. I told Bob how miserable I was and he's afraid of it, too.

The leftovers sit in the fridge. Holding court. We tremble in its shadow. Bad, scary pizza. Bad.

My Bedroom: Senior Year
(Note: we are having major technology problems here at casa pam and bob. I am imbibing massive quantities of cheap Trader Joe's red wine to combat my frustration: always a good idea. We'll see if the problems are sorted out before I throw myself on my pillow in tears or start driving around because dammit: I own this town!)

I was out and about downtown this week and saw some Sbiccas (shoes) in a store window which helped inspire this post. My Sbiccas were one of my fave shoes ever. If they had my shoes in the window, I might have bought them again.

I was a big fan of the Love's phallic-ly packaged fragrance line back in those days. I loved Baby Soft (pink) Didn't it smell like cotton candy? I also wore the Lemon Fresh (yellow) and Rain (blue) and I had the Musk (brown) but it wasn't my favorite.

Frampton Comes Alive was one of my first two albums. The other one was Wings Over America. I think Wings is still in the closet. Frampton was the unfortunate victim of sunlight when I moved my turntable next to my bed and it warped. (The disk with "Show Me The Way")(Why doesn't the radio play old Frampton in place of Billy Idol, once in awhile?) I would love to own it again if I could get it on eMusic. No one has ever looked as cute as Peter Frampton on the inner fold of that double album. (Except Fabio Cannavaro, of course.) For 8-tracks I had a Rod Stewart and Air Supply.

I wish I could remember the story about the clothes hanging over the chair but I'm a total blank on that one. I still use that desk, although in a different configuration which I would love to link to except the technology seems to be hiccuping again. I still use that desk lamp. UPDATE: try this link scroll to the home improvement photos.

Awesome Green Suit
I did a million things today. I'd write a list but you'd be jealous. One thing I did was finish scanning a huge stack of family photographs.

I was tempted to put a bunch of humiliating old photos of my cousins up because they don't read this site and aren't here to defend themselves. But I resisted. (And besides, tomorrow is another day.)

But I had to put this photo up. It's a picture of me and my sister walking into the Pearch Creek Property but the real star of the photo is the unidentified person in this killer green checked suit.

If I had to guess, I'd say it's Aunt Trudy. (My grandfather's sister, if you're joining us late.) What a kick ass outfit to be wearing in Orleans (or ever). I love it.

Publishing this (this being the remodel in case you haven't been by lately) is probably premature since I haven't double-checked anything and the links are going to remain forked up. Also: I still have no idea what I'm doing.

I see that my archives are completely bungled up, too. And I've been doing this all afternoon and am tired. Don't look at the archives. I'll fix soon. UPDATE: Fixed!

Meanwhile, check out the husband link. Bob was domained today.

Pendleton Roundup 1925 by Frederic Allen Williams

Hey, did you know about the New York Public Library Digital Gallery? It's amazing. I looked at the pictures of Indians first, but there is tons of other stuff.

NYPL Digital Gallery provides access to over 480,000 images digitized from primary sources and printed rarities in the collections of The New York Public Library, including illuminated manuscripts, historical maps, vintage posters, rare prints and photographs, illustrated books, printed ephemera, and more.

This is the kind of stuff that makes the Internet good.

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Plogic At Its Finest

Several weeks ago I constructed a primo Target list. I compiled from other lists. I cross-checked with my to-do list so that I could grab items for various projects, gift giving and domestic tranquility needs.

It was a beautiful list and I had it in my hands when I got in the car to go to the store. When I arrived at the store it was gone.

I looked in my purse. I looked in my bag in the trunk. I took every single thing out of my purse. I took every single thing out of my bag in the trunk.

Yes, I was frustrated because I couldn't find my list but it wasn't the end of the world. I was more aggravated because how could that even be possible that a list can disappear like that?

I looked in the ashtray and took everything out of the glove compartment. I looked in the cracks in the seats. I looked under the seats, in the backseat and in the little pockets in the door. I could not find that list.

I repeated all the above steps several times just because I knew with 100% certainty that I'd had the list in the car. There was no way the list could have vanished.

At last, I gave up and developed a weak theory that it had blown out the window. It had been open at one point. I was probably so absorbed in driving/climate control/music selection that I didn't notice my beautiful list, flying into the wind.

I bet you know where this story is going. Earlier in the week I saw some scrap paper back behind the passenger seat and last night I picked it up and set it on the front dash so I could put in recycling. When I finally turned it over on my way into the house I saw that: IT WAS MY LIST.

My beautiful list, sitting there mocking me right to my face. How is this even possible that you can tear your car apart looking for a list that isn't there and then it appears?

The only explanation: time travel.

Sorry I Haven't Been Writing But I've Been Cranky
I think to myself, there has got to be something to write about besides complaining about the weather, the traffic or my woes with hair care products. But I have nothing so I avoid this place.

Today I'm going to complain that both FoodDay (Oregonian) AND Dining Out (NYT) sucked mighty cheese this week. The Food section is the best part of the papers. Whenever I'm freaking out about the piles of newspaper in the dining room (generous word for what is essentially a nook between the kitchen and living room) I realize that if we got rid of the papers, I would not have my regular food section fix.

The Oregonian's two main articles this week were on (1) cooking with kids (the kids help you cook, you don't cook the kids) and (2) throwing together a quick meal when you happen to bump into your neighbor at the mailbox and begin visiting and decide to have them over to dinner. (Like that would ever happen to me.)

They sell the whole kids in the kitchen thing as an alternative to watching TV and go on about how the kid can learn math, science and hand-eye coordination. Who wants someone without hand-eye coordination in the kitchen? And they have helpful hints like giving the kids age-appropriate tasks. Really? You mean I shouldn't hand Luis the electric knife and tell him to go to town on the roast chicken? Or toss Josa a blow torch and instruct her to finish off the Crème brûlée?

The "drop by" dinner article is equally educational. Either you can throw together a dinner from what you have on hand or you can't. A recipe like smoked oyster spread is not going to save you (or really make much of a meal). The spread is made with: cream cheese, mayo, garlic, soy sauce, fresh parsley and a can of smoked oysters. There are only 2 ingredients on that list that I have on hand: garlic and soy sauce. That's not going to get me far. Another recipe calls for a pound of bacon, another anchovy fillets. Raise your hand if these are the kinds of items you always have on hand to whip up a quick dinner for company.

Dining Out was equally worthless this week. The Minimalist, which I cut out almost every single week, was talking about some sort of tuna burger. Gross. I hate tuna. I hate how it smells. I hate how it tastes. My spouse has to turn on every fan in the house and eat quickly by the window if he wants tuna -- even if I'm not around.

But the item that really had my head spinning was the article about a personal chef for babies. Yes, you read that correctly. Apparently babies are turning their noses up at those jarred baby foods and their mothers are too busy with their glamorous lives to fix something themselves, so they can get vacuum-packed and/or frozen baby foods from a personal chef. A black and white photo that accompanies the article, shows frozen lumps and tells us that designer baby food includes spices like coriander. yah-fuking-hoo Doesn't this make you fear for the future of America? At least a little bit?

Does anyone else remember reading The Time Machine by H.G. Wells in 7th grade? It's been awhile so my details may be a bit off but as I recall in the future world there was a race of fragile, pampered worthless "people" who floated around doing nothing and another race of big tough "people" who had to do all the work and were pissed off. Doesn't this seem like it could be happening?