lumberjack princess

A letter to Governor Snyder:

2011-12-08T20:52:00.001-08:00

As a woman who self-identifies as queer, but is in a relationship with a man, I am lucky.

As a woman who is generally identified as straight, I am lucky.

As a citizen who enjoys full voting rights, full access to services that our state provides, and who deeply and fully loves our beautiful and great state of Michigan, I am lucky.

I am lucky because no one questions my orientation. I am lucky because no one would question my right to marry the man that I love. I am lucky because I live in the most beautiful place on the planet. I am lucky because I see, beyond the unemployment and the desperation, the richness that our state has to offer. I am lucky because I've had the opportunity to travel; to live all over our Lower Peninsula; and to never, ever be questioned about anything. I am lucky because when I walk down the street holding hands with my partner, no one bats an eyelash. I am lucky.

The fact that I'm in love with a man doesn't make me right: it makes me lucky.

I was recently offered health benefits at my job. I would love to take them. They're expensive, and they'd stretch our budget. I would love to be able to offer benefits to my partner. We may choose to marry or we may not, but that does not take away from our commitment to one another.

Many of my friends are in loving, long-term partnerships--marriages--with a person of their same gender. That doesn't take away from their commitments. Michigan does not recognize same-sex marriages, and frankly, that is wrong. That takes a bit of humanity from people that I love, and it denigrates their relationships. They're effectively considered second-class citizens: they cannot add their partners (husbands and wives) to their insurance policies because their marriages are not allowed and because the current House and Senate bills exclude domestic partnerships from all public benefits.

Nearly fifty years ago, anti-miscegenation laws were struck down by the Supreme Court. Fifty years from now, I want to look back at this era and shake my head and wonder what people were thinking, in the same way we look at the laws in 1966 banning interracial marriage. I want to remember my state as one who stood up, head high, and said, "This is the right thing to do." I want to witness my friends' marriages and have those marriages afforded the same rights and privileges that my own would. I want to be proud of Michigan.

Right now, that doesn't seem likely.

A veto on the recently passed House and Senate bills banning benefits from unrelated adults would go a long way toward restoring my faith in our wonderful, beautiful state.

Long time, no write.

2011-09-30T06:40:00.001-07:00

And I'm sorry about that. But! You can follow my OTHER blog at http://octobervoyage2011.blogspot.com and keep track of our adventures as we journey to, and around, England over the next month.

12/8/10

2010-12-08T20:44:00.000-08:00

Thirty years ago today, the world lost one of its ... what? Voices? Spirits? Inspirations?

There aren't words for what John Lennon means to me. At all. We share a birthday, which okay, one in 365 people do. That's not so unusual. It didn't really even mean that much to me until I was in my teens and started to grasp what he meant--culturally, artistically, everything. I knew about the Ed Sullivan Show; I knew about the Fab Four and the British Invasion; hell, I'd been to a Rolling Stones concert. My parents were hippies, for goodness' sake. I knew. I understood on an intellectual level, but it didn't occur to me until I was about sixteen that he really had an impact.

There's a photo of me in the Munich airport in April 1998. I don't have it scanned, but the general idea is this: I'm laying on my back across a row of airport seats at about 6am, reading The Hunt For Red October in paperback. I'm wearing round glasses, bell bottoms, and a brown corduroy jacket, hair pulled into a ponytail, and resting my head on a backpack. This was back when we had to get photos developed, and I'm sure that if I'd had a preview of the picture I'd have freaked out and made the person who took it delete it immediately. Instead, when the picture came back I did a double take, because there's a very Lennon-esque quality to it.

I realized shortly thereafter that John Lennon died at about the same time that I was conceived, and for some reason--it really affects me, to this day. Hell, when my mother got her '68 Beetle, we named her Yoko. There wasn't any other name she could have. (Say what you will--she made John a happy man, and that's worth a lot to me.)

Today was a rare day; I got to change the radio station at work to NPR and so all day it was conversation about Lennon and McCartney and Yoko and Sean and Julian and frankly, I spent most of the day on the verge of tears. I remembered sitting in Grandville with Brian and Jen listening to music, about this time last year, after dinner and the boys' bedtime, and Brian pulling up a live video of "Hey Jude" and explaining to Jen that there was a really good reason that John looked pissy... remembering the first time I heard "Because" and getting the chills... downloading most of the Beatles' catalog last fall... spending a good chunk of time over the last two years bathing in that music...

Today is a sad day. We lost Elizabeth Edwards yesterday, and that wrenches my heart for her children. Thirty years ago today, we lost a generation's voice to the gun of a crazy man wielding a copy of The Catcher In The Rye.

Someday I want to be at the Dakota Hotel on December 8, to lay a flower and sing "Because" and hold that moment. I want to see Central Park's strawberry fields, stand on a rooftop and hope for the best. I want to lay in bed with a lover and make it matter. I want to create one single thing that has one-tenth the impact that he did.

John Lennon will never stop inspiring me. His art, his voice, his life: he is missed terribly. We did our small part to commemorate him tonight; the Wednesday night karaoke crowd sang a good many of his songs in celebration and remembrance. It wasn't enough. I want to live up to the legacy that I've made for myself from just sharing his birthday and one small photo.

I leave it with this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5qXVODCvC8

Because the world is round

It turns me on

Because the world is round

Because the wind is high

It blows my mind

Because the wind is high

Love is all

Love is new

Love is all

Love is you

Because the sky is blue

It makes me cry

Because the sky is blue

Winter

2010-12-01T09:33:00.001-08:00

This morning I woke up to a perfectly formed memory in my mind. It's one that comes up at least a few times every winter, usually when I'm feeling secure and warm and cozy, when snow starts falling.

When I was six, my parents and I moved from our tiny cottage on Lake Michigan to a normal suburban house outside of Lansing. The only things our new house had in common with the old were ourselves, our things, and our dog. We were on water, but the Grand River, while lovely in its own right, isn't Lake Michigan. I didn't have my friends, or my backyard, or my beach, or my little play area with my own tree stand. I lived in a neighborhood, with people around, instead of in a national park where the loneliness had its own beauty, the history was palpable, and breathing meant smelling cedar trees and sand. Nothing was familiar anymore. My father was home more since he wasn't traveling all over the state supervising a corporate restaurant culture; I couldn't ride with my mom on her home health visits anymore. I lived in a town. I'd had to leave my incredible Montessori school on Old Mission Peninsula and enroll in public school, which I hated because it turned out I needed glasses. Overall, the move hadn't been positive for me. At. All.

One day, I woke up to fresh snow falling. It was dark and cold when I got up for school, and I padded out to the kitchen, sat down at the table and found the warm spot on the floor for my feet, and my mom brought over cinnamon sugar toast and hot cocoa for breakfast.

It was a moment of pure, unadulterated comfort. Suddenly that house, that neighborhood, felt like home. The smell of buttered, cinnamon-y sweet toast and warm, creamy cocoa always makes me feel a little more whole inside. Today, I woke up and made that meal for breakfast. Because I'm home, in that same city, with snow falling, and I've finally found my place.

Edit: to complete today's theme, my dinner consisted of a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. I can't think of a meal more homey and more comforting.

A repost:

2010-09-30T17:02:00.000-07:00

I just read a phenomenal essay by Terry Brock.

I hope you'll all read it, re-post it, take it to heart. Having recently experienced one of the best total-consent moments of my life, and also swimming in ire at the recent absolute catastrophe regarding the Michigan State men's basketball team, I've rarely read something more reassuring and calming.

There are truly men who are men. There are men who treat people, their partners, with respect, with dignity; who appreciate that strength isn't used to harm, but to heal; who understand that their sisters, lovers, friends, aunts, nieces, and lovers are likely one of the one-in-four.

So, here.

Thank you, Terry. And thank you to the men in my life who have been incredible--and to the women. We're all in this together, folks. It will take every single one of us to stop rape. Terry has some great tips on starting conversations and getting people to think about their words. I can't say enough positive things about his words.

A huge thank-you goes to Elizabeth Battiste, who was lucky enough to meet Vice President and Dr. Biden last week in her role as Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence Prevention Program Peer Educator at Michigan State. She's a remarkable woman that I'm lucky to have as my friend.

varying levels.

2010-09-15T13:04:00.000-07:00

Okay folks.

There's stress.

There's stress that's like.... okay, I've got to get the house clean before Mom gets here. And have dinner with my aunt and uncle and they're going to ask the questions that my parents quit asking, like "So, are you seeing anyone special and when are you having babies? AND OH YEAH, ABOUT THAT DEGREE...." It's annoying, but tolerable, and there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Situational stress, if you will. Dinner will end. The house will get clean (enough) in time. Lines will get memorized. The exam will happen. Whatever. The project, the Event, it'll be done and over and then the stressy bit goes away.

Then there's Stress.

This is the kind of Stress that has your day starting with a really sweet automated text from your bank letting you know your balance is low--and knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt that you don't have the ability to fix that any time soon. This Stress includes getting to walk right by your landlord's door without a check. It's ducking phone calls. It's making hard choices, like between cat food and self food. It's sending out what feels like thousands of resumes and cover letters and filling out applications and never getting an interview (because, you know, you're apparently not even able to staple papers in an office, only sling drinks at people. It's a very affirming feeling). It's realizing that you're drinking too much, and it's realizing that that's associated on some level with having to go to a job that you're so burned out at, it's the only way to make it through some days. It's trying to numb yourself. It's feeling excluded and alone all the time. It's feeling on the verge of tears more often than not. It's watching your grandmothers decline and feeling powerless to help anyone.

This is the stress that doesn't stop. There's no light--or if it's even vaguely present, it's immediately followed by a train whistle.

And days like today, even though there is a faint light--one that doesn't have a train whistle attached--it's almost too much to handle.

I know I'll get through this. I know that in a month or two, once I'm caught up and have my LSAT score firmly in hand and am starting work on a show that I love and my birthday's over, things are going to seem a lot sunnier than they do right now.

It's been a rough few weeks here, and I'm trying to keep my chin up. But keeping your chin up is awfully hard when you're barely keeping your head above water.

Comfort

2010-07-31T15:05:00.000-07:00

The smell of Lake Michigan.

The sound of waves on the beach.

The open-airiness of my mother's living room.

The clicking of a gas range.

My dad's blue couch.

Wood smoke.

Bash.

The flannel-lined sleeping bag that I used for bedding my freshman year of college.

Diesel purring on my chest.

The pressure of a cheek resting against my hair.

A Labrador leaning against my leg, and the silkiness of her ears.

Hugging my nieces and nephews.

Cold bedroom, warm blankets.

Waking up to an arm wrapping around me.

Coming into an apartment that just feels perfect....

...in a city that feels like home.

Ten days

2010-06-22T11:36:00.000-07:00

The Grand Rapids experiment is coming to a close. I move in ten days.

It's been a very trying few weeks, and I can't even really think of anything to write, necessarily... I know that eventually I'll need to get it all off my chest, but right now it isn't happening. Nothing's organized in my brain (including moving logistics) and nothing, nothing makes sense today.

I don't get it.

2010-05-08T14:55:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a set of people who are just touchy-feely. And in certain instances, I have no trouble with that--in fact, when I'm around people I know well and like, or feel comfortable with, I am incredibly physical. But to a perfect stranger? No.

When I'm working, I don't want my co-workers touching me. They aren't my friends, and I have no real intention of becoming friends with them. It's not okay to grab my shoulder or touch my face (which happened day before yesterday; a girl I work with stuck her hands in my face in a concerted effort to freak me out) or tug my braid.

Today at work, a woman I'd never set eyes on walked through the door and immediately grabbed my hair. Told me it was beautiful, that it reminded her of her childhood when she had a long braid. Touching. But seriously? How is that okay? How did we lost the knack of respecting personal space? I have a braid--it's long and somewhat resembles a rope, sure; this doesn't give anyone the right to touch it or pull on it or anything. At all. Unless I say it's okay, don't fucking touch me.

stuff.

2010-05-05T07:22:00.000-07:00

Mother's Day is annoying. FoodWoolf sums it up nicely in her post Where (Not) To Eat on Mother's Day. In all honesty, folks, take Mom out to eat the week of Mother's Day if you MUST take her out. But why not just stay home??? *

I'm quitting smoking. Which is really, really, SERIOUSLY hard. I'm down from about 15/day to 3. It's good progress, especially since I've really only been working at it for a few days. Mom and I have been discussing strategy at length, and she's of the opinion that 3 is a good number to hold at for a while. Nicotine is a physical addiction, and going cold turkey can really screw with your body and your mind. Three a day will let me adjust before completely stopping. I'm not going to buy another pack; when this one's gone, I'm done. That being said, I'm going to buy stock in peppermints. Because holy shit, the amount of peppermints I'm going through is absolutely insane. Milestones thus far: one-hour drive completed without a cigarette; drinking coffee; full shift at work; post-eating. These are huge.

I started a new job in Lansing this past weekend, and so far it's pretty cool. I hope it works out. The added funding is crucial right now. Moving is expensive.

Also, it's May. WTF? I'm moving in just over two months.

*I understand that Mother's Day brunch is a big fat tradition and also that my income depends on people going out to eat, but it is so stressful for everyone involved that trust me, my new shoes can wait for a day and you can cook a meal.

On a (much) lighter note...

2010-04-20T21:13:00.000-07:00

One of my friends texted me last week and asked if I'd be interested in playing with some baby bears and a baby lion.

UM. YES PLEASE.

Here goes.

2010-04-18T14:25:00.001-07:00

One night, about four years ago, I was at a bar in my hometown, having a quiet night with a dollar pint and a good friend. The bar was filling up, and since it was holiday break, there were a lot of people back from college. I was starting to see lots of faces that I hadn't seen since summertime. And suddenly, I caught a glimpse of the most unwelcome of them all: I saw the guy who raped me.

I ran outside (having been paying my tab as I went), mildly hyperventilating, and begged my friend for a ride home. I kept repeating, "I can't be in there. He's in there." My friend had no idea what I was talking about, but he could see how upset I was. So he drove me home and let me finish my freakout. I didn't tell him the details, but I did tell him that I'd just seen the one who did it. I was shaking from the cold and from the knowledge that that guy was back in town, that I wouldn't set foot outside my house or job until after the holidays, and that he could still affect me so greatly, four years after he'd taken me on a date, held my hand, driven me home, kissed me, been invited in....and didn't stop when I said, "No."

I started remembering how he pushed my legs apart, pushed my underwear to the side. He didn't hold me down, but I was too drunk to do much except say words. He didn't listen to those words. I'm sure he heard them. I know he did. I remembered the party we'd gone to, playing beer pong, and knowing I couldn't drive myself the three miles home. I started feeling sick again, like I do right now thinking about it. I couldn't say any of this. I could barely get the words out to tell my friend why I needed to leave.

This guy. That guy. The one who was so charming, so trustworthy, so cute, so polite. The one who was best friends with a lifelong friend of mine, that was the son of well-regarded people in our very small town. The guy who didn't drink too much on our first date (being responsible enough to drive home, I thought). The guy who had a nice car, soft hands...

And, I found out later, the guy who'd taken my friend's virginity by fucking her from behind against her will, without using protection. The guy who even the adults in town knew was trouble. The guy that no one ever reported, because he made sure to date a lot and build himself a reputation as a womanizer. The guy who wasn't violent, who never left a mark physically, and who I'm sure did it all on purpose.

That guy. The guy who remains unnamed to the few friends of mine that know the details. The guy who's been the only person to tempt me toward vandalism (I've said that while I wouldn't press charges, I'd be more than happy to spray-paint his parents' cars and house with the words "We raised a rapist"), the one whose home and family business I have to drive past every time I drive from my mother's house into town. The only people who know his identity are my ex-fiance and, oddly, my mom's best friend (her son, who I was raised with, is that guy's best friend). And she only knows because of an oblique conversation that we had years after the fact.

The very few people who know what happened have been incredibly supportive and wonderful. One of them messaged me on Facebook after I wrote my last entry here and said this (T, I hope you don't mind my making this available for the public):

Even tho you didn't have to change my mind about it, because i already agreed with you, I hope that more will soon. rape is one thing I don't joke about ever...and part of the reason for that is from my friendship with you, and knowing how much it affects you. Just wanted you to know that.

That kind of support from the few people I've confided in has been gratifying. It's helped me move from a place of fear to one of... well, acceptance, I guess. I've tried not to let my rape affect me, and luckily I've had some amazing relationships that have helped me remember that not all men are scary, conniving, and able to take advantage without remorse. I've been able to regain control (and I really did lose it for a while).

I'm glad that I don't live in the same town as that guy anymore. I'm glad that the odds of running into him are slim to none. Even though it's been eight years, I don't know what kind of reaction I'd have to him. I don't know whether I'd find myself in another alley in the middle of winter, and I'm not sure whether I'd be with a friend to put his hand on my shoulder and get me home.

But it's equally likely that I'd be able to sit at the bar if he walked in, turn away, and ignore him.

Not too many people read my blog, and that's just fine by me. But for those of you who do, I'd like you to know the inspiration for this post: Solidarity, by Britni. It's been eight years since I was raped, and virtually no one knew.

Until now.

In honor of Sexual Assault Awareness Month, well, I'm making you aware of my sexual assault.

postscript: this has been, hands down, the most difficult piece I've ever written. Thank you so much for reading it, and I want to offer particular thanks to Travis, Britni, and Joe for being so supportive in the process, as well as Jim and Jerry for being amazing friends and listening, comforting, driving, and occasionally offering to find that guy and teach him a lesson ;) I love you all.

Victim....blaming?

2010-04-11T14:43:00.001-07:00

I really would like to write about the dude I ran into last week that told me that women who get raped are to blame for it.... but for some reason, I cannot bring myself to do it. Not in any way that would actually matter, anyway. Because I got so furious at his comment that I couldn't complete a sentence afterward other than to tell him that I had nothing to say to him.

If I wear a short skirt, that's not an invitation.

If I drink a beer, that's not granting permission.

If I kiss you, that's not a cover-all consent.

If I'm on a date with you, it's not a guarantee of sex.

If I dance with you, it doesn't mean I'm going home with you.

If I invite you over, that's not to be taken as granting access to anything except my kitchen. And possibly my bottle of bourbon.

If I tell you to stop, it needs to stop. And if it doesn't, that's rape.

I'm so tired of people assuming that rapes happen at night, in dark alleys; that they're committed by strangers that break into homes or assault you on your way home. That's the stereotype, and it's not accurate. Something like 80% of rapes are committed by acquaintances, and I think that's what ticked me off the most: in discussing this issue with others, the image of rape is almost exclusively tied to the stranger-in-a-dark-alley concept. Date rape, acquaintance rape, so-called "gray rape" isn't even considered. And that's a serious problem.

Changing the mental picture of rape is crucial to changing the victim-blaming mindset. If we only consider stranger rape to be rape, that negates the experiences of women (myself included) who have been taken advantage of by their friends, boyfriends, lovers, husbands, and partners. It's becoming more apparent to me that for the most part, the men I know don't consider my rape to actually be rape. Because I'd been on a date; because I'd invited him in; because we'd kissed; because of a thousand things. Fact is, I told him to stop, and he didn't. That's it. I wasn't in a dark alley. There wasn't a knife or a gun. And you know what? It wasn't my fault.

I'm sick of people thinking that it was.

If I can change one person's mind, that's all I ask.

Dreamscape

2010-03-31T08:07:00.001-07:00

Joe and I headed to Chicago to audition for a production of Uncle Vanya that one of the Lansing directors was putting on. The auditions were held in a huge old school building--brick, five stories, lots of lockers and industrial windows. We both read really well, and afterwards decided to head down the street, find a bar, and have a quick drink to celebrate. We stumbled upon a Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, paid $1.30 for the cover, and sat at the bar. It was a strange bar for a couple of reasons: first, it really looked like the back patio area at a local GR brewery converted into a tiki lounge; second, President Obama was sitting at the bar next to us and struck up a conversation. He was waiting for his Secret Service detail to arrive so he could sit down and have a quiet dinner.

I've been dreaming really vividly for the last few months, but this one's stuck in my head. Hmm.

One year.

2010-03-01T10:32:00.000-08:00

Turns out, a lot can happen in a year.

I've moved twice.

I've fallen out of love.

I've changed jobs.... um... three times?

I've experienced unemployment for the first time.

I've reconnected with old friends, made new ones, and lost others.

I've made some positive steps.

I've lost some ground, too.

I've gotten back to my roots.

I've learned a lot about where I came from and where I'm going.

I've auditioned.

I've seen more live theatre than I have.... probably ever.

And I can see good things to come.

March first has been a date of extremes for me in the past. On March 1, 2006, I woke up in a jail cell after being arrested for DUI. On March 1, 2009, I worked my last shift at Zingerman's and moved to Grand Rapids. Today doesn't really show signs of being anything like that exciting, but I'm still starting to pack....because in July, I'm moving again. This time, it'll be to the city that trapped me from 1988 to 2000. It'll be by choice. That city saw my first speeding ticket, my lost innocence, my first group of real friends, my overweight years, my uncle's death, my disordered eating, my parents' divorce... a lot of tragedy, a lot of beauty. It's not the same city it was ten years ago. Back then, it was a GM town--everyone had a job, everyone got paid pretty well, there was a new minor-league baseball team, MSU was winning championships.... it really wasn't so bad, in hindsight.

Now it's a desert. GM is a different kind of company. There are far too many people out of work. It's a drab, post-industrial town with some hidden treasures--and that's what I'm making it my job to rediscover. I've spent the last ten years talking about how much I hate Lansing, and in the last three months, I've already found more to love there than I have in a year in Grand Rapids. Even--dare I say it--more than I found to love in Ann Arbor.

It's not the place, it's the people. The atmosphere of a city can change in a heartbeat. Lansing's a perfect example of that. But the people... that's what really makes a place home. I still feel at home in TC and in Ann Arbor, but I don't think that they're where I need to be right now. I want to be closer to my family. It's becoming more and more evident that my life is in Lansing.

And I'm ready to go. Right now. I'm ready to hang up my apron and do something different with my life. I'm ready to pack the boxes, recruit the help, and just... go. Now. Since New Year's, I've gotten a glimpse of what could await me there, if I can just make it work. And I'm going to.

It's been one hell of a year.

Blog For Choice

2010-01-22T21:10:00.000-08:00

I've never had an abortion.

Hell, I've never had a reason to think one might be necessary. I'm 28 and have had exactly two scares in twelve years of being sexually active. For that, I thank my mother--who, when she found out I was having sex, made me an appointment to go on Depo-Provera (which was sort of like hell, but it kept me non-pregnant, so I guess it's all fine), sat me down and gave me a very long, involved talk on risk and reward, and made me think. A lot. It's stuck with me.

I'm not entirely sure how to put this all into words. Do I want kids? (I think so....?) Do I want kids now? (Definitely not.) How have I made it to 28 and not gotten knocked up? (Um....) What would I do if I got pregnant now? (I have no idea.) My upbringing was pseudo-Catholic; two of my nephews are significantly disabled; there's no logical cause behind the fact that I haven't had a kid already except dumb luck; the scariest moment of my entire life was my doctor telling me that my cervix had pre-cancerous cells that required an operation (what if that means I can't have children? ever??).

I'm more aware of that now than I was at 21, when that conversation (and diagnosis and procedure) happened. It makes me wonder now--really, what if I can't have kids? What if it's going to be so difficult to conceive that IVF becomes my best option? My mom had a hysterectomy at a fairly young age--what if I never have kids? What if I can't? It's so scary, and the idea of creating a life has always been so central to me--if I can't, then what?

But then I stop, and I think: what if it happened now?

There's half of me that believes I'd feel so damn lucky to be pregnant at all, ever, that I'd go through hell and brimstone to have a child. I'd sacrifice my life (such as it is) to do it. Even if I had to go through it alone, part of me is that desirous of a baby that I'd do it. I'd carry that child and I'd raise it properly and I'd be an amazing mother.

And there's the other half that's screaming about how I can barely make rent as it is; that my "career" wouldn't support a pregnancy; that I'm just not ready emotionally; that I've always sworn I'd never be a single mother; that a child should be celebrated and wanted rather than a source of stress. And I consider the options.

Would I have an abortion if I got pregnant right now? I don't know. It's possible.

Would I carry a baby to term, deliver it, raise it with love? It's possible.

Would I go through a pregnancy with the knowledge that at the end of it, I'd give the child I carried to a loving home? That's possible too.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I'm pro-choice.

The options are there. If I opted to terminate a pregnancy, I know I could have a safe, sterile, medical procedure performed. If I opted to raise a baby, Michigan has programs that would help me adjust and deal with the (altogether sudden) life changes--and there are places in Michigan I'd feel happy and comfortable raising a child. And if I wanted to give up a baby for adoption, I could do that too.

Abortion hasn't ever stopped. Ever. Women have been inducing miscarriages for millenia. The Catholic Church hasn't always condemned early-term abortions as excommunicable offenses. The fact is that now, in 2010, if I got pregnant and didn't feel (for whatever reason) I was equipped to deal with a child, I have options. The difference between now and 1910, or even 1970 in many states, is that if I choose to terminate, it can (and will) be done in a sterile, medically safe facility and performed by a doctor. And in the very recent past, that wasn't the case at all. Illegal and unsafe abortions cost the lives of women all over the world. Unplanned and unwanted pregnancies kill thousands of women, and destroy the economic and social standings of thousands more, every day. This isn't an issue of anything except human rights. I have a right to plan my procreation. I have a right to not have children, and if I decide that it's a fantastic option, I have the right to have a child. Millions of women in the world are denied that choice. If her country criminalizes abortion; if she's been raped or the victim of incest; if the pregnancy threatens her life--as a full, actualized, independent (ie, not umbilically attached and dependent on another human for sustenance and existence) human--that woman is faced with a harder choice than I'll hopefully ever look at. That is: an illegal, unsafe, and possibly fatal procedure to terminate a pregnancy--or carrying an unwanted child, delivering it, and all the subsequent consequences.

I'd certainly prefer that everyone have easy, cheap (if not entirely free), and accessible birth control. I'd love if the entire world--every man, woman, and child--was taught that sexuality is part of being human, and that there are ways of preventing pregnancy. I'd be blissfully happy if sex education--real, honest sex education--was mandatory for every person on the planet. The biologies of pregnancy and STDs should be things that we shouldn't have to think about--we should be unconsciously competent at this stuff. Condom usage, medication, NFP, anything--this should be ingrained into us.

But it won't be.

As long as there are people who think it's a duty, rather than a choice, to become a mother, there will be those who oppose legal and safe abortion. I know that they will always exist and that sometimes they will have the power.

However:

My uterus is in me. It's mine. If I carry a child, that child is mine. If I choose to not carry a child, that choice? IS MINE.

I don't know that I'd ever have an abortion. But I know that having the option is ethical. It's humane. It's giving a woman control of her life.

Talk ethics all you want. Talk about murder; talk about anything. I'd honestly prefer that comprehensive and honest sex ed exists, so that abortion becomes a non-issue. But as long as there are people making choices, there will be a demand for abortion. And I'd much rather see it safe, and fair, and not something that happens with a bleach douche or coat hanger or whatever back-alley options exist right now.

I'm pro-choice.

Happy Roe v Wade!

THIS.

2010-01-19T23:05:00.000-08:00

Britni,

thank you.

This is exactly what I've been feeling.

Beautiful.

How I've Spent My Day

2010-01-18T16:09:00.001-08:00

Well... it's not that exciting. Really.

But it sort of is.

I mean, laundry, browsing on craigslist, mlive.com, careerbuilder and monster... that's really not interesting. Updating a resume so it appeals to more than just restaurants? Also, not that interesting. Getting frustrated to the point of throwing things? Meeting someone you follow on Twitter, out of the blue, while you're at a coffee shop and getting more frustrated at their wifi? None of that qualifies as anything but banal, everyday shit.

Except it is.

Travis, you'll hate to hear it yet again, but.... I really want to move.

I miss having a life. I miss having (plural) friends that I can see with any sort of frequency. I want to have the quality of life that I had in early 2006, when I was in rehearsals for Rocky, and what that means is this: getting up in the morning, working a job with normal hours, spending my evening in a theatre, and being able to afford a cocktail afterwards. I want to get back to the me that I used to adore. It's starting.

New Year's was a bloody revelation. The friendships, the connections that I left ten years ago are all still there and still strong; in fact, they're stronger than anything I've built since. Proof is in the pudding: I have a place to live there, with a roommate I adore and have known for 13 years. My surrogate mom is still my surrogate mom. I have family there. My best friend from high school could become my best friend again. I already have more friends--honest, real, true friends--in Lansing than I do in Grand Rapids, and I've been here since March. I met more people in one night that I could really be close to than I have in months.

And so I'm updating my resume again; I'm spending hours haunting all the job search websites again; this time I am not compromising, but waiting until I can find a job that can pay my bills and afford me some kind of life quality. I'm tired of all of this BS.

It's uninteresting, and of no consequence. But I've reached my breaking point in this place. My MO has been to run away, but this time it feels like running to. My gut is telling me that this isn't where I need to be, and when I'm there it feels more right. It's not 100% right--but even Empire isn't anymore, and that's been Home my entire life.

Enough venting. No more. Enough.

enneagram

2010-01-09T06:46:00.000-08:00

I generally don't put a lot of stock in personality typing, though they're often a lot of fun (and, if nothing else, can lead to great conversation). I find that my results vary greatly from day to day on most tests, depending on my mood, my alertness (ie, have I had my coffee yet?), financial and other concerns, etc. Maybe that's the case for everyone. When I'm being completely honest with myself, I tend to answer most of the "always-almost always-sometimes-almost never-never" continuum questions in the dead center, because some days I DO want adventure and thrills and some days I want to curl up and not speak to anyone; some nights I'm the life of the party and others I hide in a corner; sometimes I like neat, orderly spaces and sometimes I don't care if I can't see my bedroom floor. It just depends.

Today, I'm feeling pretty average. I'm excited to go to Lansing, but I didn't get enough sleep (which generally puts me in a downer mood) so I thought my results would come out more or less where they should balance out. I found an enneagram tool through Profligacy's post comments on Britni's blog and thought--well, I've got pirated internet. Why not?

This is pretty much the best way I've seen my personality summed up. I've done all the Myers-Briggs tests (straight down the middle; I can go from INTP to ENFJ in a snap) and while they're accurate, I found that these results just.... summed it up. In terms of a short intro to my personality, this is pretty much it.

Main Type	Overall Self

To give some idea of what I'm talking about when I say "down the center," check out the distribution for my answers:

Enneagram Test Results

Type 1	Perfectionism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Type 2	Helpfulness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Type 3	Image Focus	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Type 4	Hypersensitivity	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Type 5	Detachment	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Type 6	Anxiety	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Type 7	Adventurousness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	38%
Type 8	Aggressiveness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	42%
Type 9	Calmness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	54%

Your main type is 9
Your variant is social

It's funny (at least to me) that the conflict-resolving/avoiding, peacemaker, taking-in-all-views traits also pretty well lines up with Libran traits. I don't read a lot into astrology either, but it's fun.

If I can keep this *wink wink* new Internet connection going, expect to see more from me. I miss writing.

sigh

2009-11-30T08:53:00.000-08:00

I'm not trying to turn this into a gripe session, but I am incredibly frustrated with the world in general, and my life in particular today. It's easy to say "Just make a change. Turn the corner. Keep pushing and eventually success!" but today, it feels like every imaginable roadblock has been put up and I don't know the way around them.

I'm stuck in this fantastically complex maze, and it seems like every other lab rat has figured their way out while I'm just sniffing for a cheese crumb and trying not to implode. This has been an incredibly challenging year on every level. I've been thinking about my stress score lately, and just to check off some of the bigger ones... I moved. (Twice.) Jak and I split up. My income has dropped precipitously. I've only made a couple of good friends since moving (and one of them moved to California! AWESOME), so my social life has undergone a drastic shift--from having a really great circle of friends to basically zero. I've changed jobs a couple of times, and my recreation activities have dried up to basically nothing.

At any rate, I'm about to explode, and there's very little that I feel I can do about it. Yes, I do have some issues with control--nothing new there--so feeling completely out of control is screwing with my head pretty epically. I've been restricting my food intake, cutting myself off from people I love (including skipping Thanksgiving), and stirring up trouble with my friends--one of whom decided to drastically re-evaluate our relationship at the exact wrong time, when I desperately needed one single thing to remain stable. So today I'm writing, and trying incredibly hard not to cry.

I know that my coping mechanisms aren't helping. I know my friends will be there for me in whatever sense they can be and that I'll accept. I know my parents love me, and they're helping as much as they can. What I don't know is how to get out of this maze, back in control, and feeling like myself again.

Tonight

2009-10-17T01:06:00.000-07:00

I realized that while moving into an upper apartment is pesky, it's totally worth the peace of mind. Also, my neighbors suck at being quiet at 4am.

And as unsettled as I can ever feel (even bolted, chained, draped, etc) it always helps to have someone you can call when you're feeling extra-scared. They'll come over and eat chocolate with you, make tea, discuss music or shotguns or whatever to get your mind off your terror. And the best part is that they might not even realize what they're doing...

Bedroom @ 90%

2009-09-18T15:16:00.000-07:00

So!
It's been a challenging week: this beer school is kicking my ass, and I'm working on it now in between sips of Arcadia Hop Rocket; money is super super tight... but to balance that out, my mom came to visit for a night this week on her way to Florida. Last time she came down, we spent half a day shopping and came out with decorations for my apartment (she spent a seriously absurd amount of money on this task, incidentally; but we ended up with curtains, storage units, dust mop, air filtration system, wall hangings, etc etc etc). This trip, we were on a much smaller scale due to financial restraints and, as importantly, time constraints--last time we had a night to drink and bond and then a whole day to shop and decorate, while this time we only had the night due to my work schedule and her flight.

Mom arrived bearing many, many gifts: a mini-convection oven/broiler/toaster/rotisserie, two chairs for my dining nook table, a bed frame and risers, cleaning products, a garden hose....and, best of all, two bedside chests and the promise of a six-foot-long chest of drawers to match. Most of this came from her house, but the bedroom set she found at a resale shop for dirt cheap. (My mother is one hell of a bargain hunter, it turns out.) The night was spent scrubbing my porch and screens, which had been coated in dust from the road construction outside; hanging all my curtains and swags; rearranging furniture; drilling holes into my walls; reorganizing my closets; constructing shoe holders; and finally.....

My bedroom is just missing the chest of drawers to make it complete. I've always been a fan of neutrals for rooms (accent colors make the room at any rate, and having neutral walls and flooring make accents pop and are MUCH cheaper to re-do when you're ready for a change) and this room came all set up: beige walls with creamy white trim. The room itself is probably 10'x14'x11' (it's seriously enormous), so initially, my queen bed was lost in the vast space around it. It's got a 6' bay window in the north wall, so there's a ton of natural light as well. The room echoed, too: it's got original, beautiful hardwood floors and plaster walls, and while I'm a big fan of a spartan bedroom, it needed some softening to get it where I really wanted it. My comforter is light cream flannel; the sheets are vivid marine blue fleece. The curtains we picked out are, oddly enough, the exact same ones that my sister-in-law hung in her house--then my mom fell in love with them and bought them for my room at her house--and after three hours of peering though curtains at three stores, they were still my favorites, so I got a set of side panels myself. The window is now edged in a dusty aqua with cream embroidery, with a creamy-colored swag over the top. The entire effect (creamy swag, aqua side panels, blue sheets, cream swag, beige walls, white trim, dark floors, and white cabinets with light green tops) gave the idea of being stuck inside a cloud, or a Lake Michigan wave with whitecaps, in a canopy bed. The dark floors match the new dark wood furniture perfectly, and the crazy part is that the side curtains exactly match the paint color in my kitchen nook.

Basically.... my bedroom feels like home now:

The picture isn't that great--it came from my phone--but it should give the general idea.

Time to get to work, again....

Ojos tortugitas!

2009-09-15T08:04:00.000-07:00

Tiny. Baby. Turtles. Swimming!

I'm supposed to be working on my presentation for Beer School this weekend, but my attention span is very, VERY short today.

Currently...

2009-08-05T07:50:00.000-07:00

I may not ever get around to writing up those beers, it looks like.

But I did find a new place--in fact, I've been there for three weeks! And it really was the most incredible thing--I'd had my heart set on a fairy-princess upper unit with a tower and balcony, but the day I was told I didn't get it was the day before I was scheduled to move all my things out of the old place. So, I melted down for a bit and then hopped back on craigslist to see what I could find. Luckily, I stumbled across a huge one-bedroom that happened to be offered by the same property management company I'd worked with for Ballard, so I set up an appointment for later that afternoon (Wednesday, 7/15). I walked through the place, filled out an application on the spot, and signed my lease the next morning (Thursday, 7/16), after which... I moved in. It was about the fastest turnaround I've ever heard of.

And I love the place! It's gorgeous, with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and a breakfast nook--giant bay windows in the bedroom and living room--so far, everything's going well except for the minor trouble of the gigantic road construction happening literally outside my bedroom, which wakes me up at 7am. Every day except Sunday.

So that's my quick update--I'm currently in the Honda dealership waiting for my wheel bearing to get fixed (despite what my friends thought, I was NOT making up the noises my car was making, AND I correctly diagnosed the problem!) and for two new tires to go on the Civic. She'll be all ready for winter this year if it kills me.

Upcoming events: The Who's Tommy at the Augusta Barn Theatre, co-starring one of my friends and choirmates from high school; hopefully getting internet access at the new place....

The short version:

2009-07-10T02:02:00.001-07:00

Jak and I have split up.

I'm moving out as soon as I can find an apartment. In the meantime, I'm staying with some absolutely wonderful friends. there are a few reasons for this, which I may or may not elaborate on in the future.

For the present: it's 5am, and their kids will be up in about two hours (less?). I have tomorrow off, but I have to drive one of my hosts to work in the morning, look at an apartment, drive him back home, and then take his wife out for a girls' night. And today consisted of breakfast/playing (8am), zoo (9:30am), playground (11:30am), lunch, nap, and then working 5-close (so got back to the house around 4:15am). I'm exhausted and stressed about moving--really, finding an apartment, then dealing with the packing/transport/etc etc etc--and thank God I've got some people in my life, from my mom to co-workers to friends both in and out of town, who actually give a shit and are doing far more than is strictly required to ease this transition. IE: I will be calling my mom tomorrow to ask her if she'll still come downstate on her birthday--not to go to the baseball game we'd planned, but to help me organize and pack. She will, without question. And that's the same give that's been startlingly evident over the last week. Whether it's a text making sure I'm okay (I am; this is a really good thing), an offer of a couch to sleep on, help moving, or just company at the bar, after work, before work, or a second set of eyes to look at a new place: that's what a friend is. I'm going to owe a huge karmic debt after this month, but the thing is that I've always taken it on the chin, every time in everything. I'm the one who thinks my emotional health is secondary to the well-being of everyone else in my life, so if someone has to get hurt it's always going to be me. That's the way it goes, and that's more or less the way I've lived. I'd rather go through pain and trauma myself than see anyone I care about go through it. I know my own resilience and not what anyone else can do, so yeah, I'll get through anything.

Over the years, there have been a surprising number of times that I've been the "bad girl" in a dynamic (friends, lovers, etc) but that's because it's what seemed best. I'll take the abuse and the hurt. But at the end of the day, it's weeks like this that made all that pain completely worthwhile. It's the best payoff (but that isn't even the right term!)

however, this was supposed to be the short version and I've been writing for fifteen minutes and the boys will be awake in an hour, so sleep--especially given that I have to meet a potential landlord at 9:45am--seems crucial, so I'll save my exhausted rambling for another night or naptime or whenever the boys decide that I'm not the Coolest Ever. (I don't mind this: hugs from small boys who have tiny tiny English accents are an amazing way to start, middle, and end a day.)

Sleep. yes.

Simon and Garfunkel at 5AM

2009-07-01T01:47:00.000-07:00

A winter's day
In a deep and dark December;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

Obviously, I'm not a rock nor am I an island. I love my life. The joy and the pain... they balance. Experiencing one gives me context for experiencing the other and that is life!

I'm trying not to completely withdraw from my life right now. I'm trying not to shut everything out. But the song is speaking to me on a very basic level right now: the place that I spent most of my teens and half of my twenties in is exactly what's described. It's comforting to think that I could go back there and hide and never let anyone come close. It worked before. I came out of it, and it kept me from pain for ten years or more.

But then I remember the joy and the horror and the life that I've had over the last few years. I realize that I've made friends and had relationships and developed more as a person than I had in that decade of isolation. It took a wake-up call from my best friend to snap me out of it. It worked. And I'm back, baby. Expect more from me.

(Sidenote: I went to my mom's house for an impromptu overnight last night. It was great, except for the part where we went outside at 11:30pm, each a bottle of wine in, and managed to lock ourselves out of the house. Mom lives in a second-home neighborhood, so guess what? No one was home for about a mile in any direction. Our shoes, keys, phones, everything were locked inside. She has a key-safe on the front door and couldn't remember the combination. I couldn't get into my car. And none of her windows are less than ten feet off the ground. So we spent a solid hour beating the front door window with a large rock until both panes of safety glass gave way. My arm is sore as hell and I'm pretty sure there are still tiny pieces of glass under my skin. My shin is scraped and bruised from climbing through the window after it gave way. Adventures? Apparently.)

phew!

2009-06-25T23:44:00.000-07:00

There will be lots and LOTS to come on our vacation (I swear; last time I said that I didn't follow through, but this time it's on). The set-up goes something like this...

A couple of months ago, I was asked by the management at my old job to come back for one event: the wedding of two other former employees. One, the groom-to-be, happens to be a very good friend of mine, so I said I would. That meant asking for time off work, and the wedding happened to coincide with the days Jak and I were planning to take off already for the Cubs-Tigers series in Detroit. This was all well and good; I had the time off; everything according to plan--except when I called up the old job to find out details, they replied by leaving me a message that I wouldn't be needed because they'd figured out staffing. It wouldn't have been a big deal if I hadn't taken a full week off work, but.... eh. I managed to pick up one shift, but the damage was more or less done.

Vacation started, then, Sunday morning with a quick jaunt to Traverse City for Father's Day. I ended up spending as much time with my stepmother and mom as I did with my dad, but that's fine too. The idea was that I'd be back from TC Monday afternoon, Jak and I would start the journey to Southeast Michigan that night and stay in a hotel room, and Tuesday we'd start the baseball extravaganza.

Much to my delight, when I got back home Monday afternoon, Jak suggested that we hold off leaving until the next day, make Monday a date night, and head down to Founders for a couple of pints and some pool. I'm always up for that, and had also been driving three hours already, so that sounded just fine to me. Once we got to Founders and sat down, it occurred to us to check the MBG guide to see exactly how many Michigan breweries we'd been to.

The answer was: frighteningly few. We'd been to most of the GR sites, all of the Ann Arbors. I've hit the Traverse breweries and two Summer Fests, but otherwise... nada. So it occurred to us at that point: if we took a slightly more southerly route to Ann Arbor, we could hit at least three breweries on the way; there were tons around Detroit, to be visited before and after baseball games; there were a couple around Lansing to catch on the way back home.

Suddenly: a plan. Beer and baseball, AKA The American Dream Tour 2009.

Short recap: Cubs got swept. We had fun regardless. Our schedule of nine to ten breweries got diminished and the reality was seven (time constraints and traffic defeated us on three). We got stuck in God-awful traffic twice, didn't actually get lost in downtown Detroit, and I took at least six pages of tasting notes on all the beers. That's going to get rewritten and edited down into the bulk of my next few posts over the next week or so. (So, fair warning: if you're not that into beer, feel free to skip the next several--I'd say up to seven, but more likely four--entries. It's just going to be recaps of breweries, beers, and travel time.)

Starting out Monday night: Founders and The BOB. Stay tuned...

Today's story

2009-06-16T09:55:00.000-07:00

My stepmother was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease about nine years ago. She was in her mid-40s at the time, which is SUPER young for Parkinson's. Needless to say, Michael J Fox is something of a hero in the house.

In the last five years, she's had surgeries (plural) to correct a palate/nasal cavity/jaw abnormality. She never quite regained full nerve function in her jaw, looks completely different (I mean, her face got rebuilt twice!) and since then, the symptoms of her Parkinson's have progressed significantly. She's doing... well, I suppose... but what it comes down to is that her medication load has increased by about 200% in the last five years and it won't ever go down. It's a degenerative disorder, so things will only ever get worse and it's all her doctors can do to keep up. At this point, her meds are organized in a full-sized fishing tackle box, by day, time, and type. She's taking easily thirty pills per day for tremors, speech, pain, dopamine, nausea, fatigue, and God only knows what else.

About a month from now, she'll be going through a process called deep brain stimulation surgery. The basic idea is that an electrode implanted in her brain (sort of like a pacemaker) will block the bad impulses that cause her tremors and speech problems. It's a three-part surgery that will end up taking at least six weeks (likely closer to three months). The hope is that this will get her off at least half of her medication--which, because no one really knows what the meds DO, especially when mixed--will help her fatigue, nausea, night terrors, and other symptoms ease up as well.

At any rate: I spent last night in a wrecked state emotionally; most of this morning was spent waiting to call my dad to make sure everything was okay. And I did. And it is.

It's a beautiful day and my cat just ate a fly.

Back in the saddle

2009-06-02T09:43:00.000-07:00

My appetite has more or less come back. Still not eating as much as I was before mid-May, but definitely more than last week. I think that's a good thing.

New (ish) beers over the past week...
Delirium Tremens (draft at Ashley's 5/30; bottle at HopCat 5/31; draft at Logan's Alley 5/31) Nice, fruity fake-tripel. Tastes a lot like apricot biscuits--the front is stone fruit and light hops, finish is yeast and flour, with some butter for good measure. Very drinkable but I was not blown away. Bottle is much, much better than draft.

Chimay Tripel Cinq-Cent (draft at Ashley's 5/30; bottle at HopCat 5/31) Delicious. Nicely acidic, tart, great example of a well-made tripel. Also much better bottled than on draft--this, I've come to understand, is a characteristic of most Trappist beers. Has to do with the bottle conditioning.

Westmalle Tripel (bottle at HopCat 5/31). By far my favorite beer from this weekend. Perfect for its class and style. Lovely, crisp, refreshing--fantastic summer beer, if a bit spendy.

Rochefort 6 (bottle at HopCat 5/29-ish?) Malty, sugar, great color and flavor. More of a sipper than a quaffer, and while nothing I've been drinking is really sessionable (everything's well over 8% ABV) this is by far the least likely beer this week to sit down and drink a lot of. Took me well over an hour to finish the (standard-sized) bottle due to its intense fig-cookie-butter-sugar richness. Lovely, but damn.

Golden Cap Saison (sample/draft at Vitale's 5/31) Pretty straightforward: I like it. It's tasty, and it's local. Probably not the best example of a saison I'll have this summer, but honestly? Not bad.

La Chouffe Houblon Dobbelen IPA Tripel (draft at HopCat... nightly? Bottle to-go 5/31 [yes, I drank A LOT on Sunday]). Okay. I have to preface this by saying that before about two weeks ago, I had zero desire to drink Belgians outside of a basic understanding of the tasting notes so I could sell them. In my head, I was thinking about Belgian Wits and overdoses of coriander and orange peel and syrup sweetness or overpowering sourness. I tried Brooklyn Brewery's Flemish Gold about a month ago and really enjoyed it, so when one of the guys at work opened a bottle of the Houblon, I was ready to taste something outside my usual IPA, hop-bomb box.
Lucky me. For real. The bottle isn't cheap by any stretch and we split it evenly. And it is seriously, beautifully, eye-poppingly amazing. The really fun thing, though, is that we have it on draft as well, and the side-by-side tasting was astonishing. Next to the bottle, the draft tasted bad. In the sense of it tasted spoiled, not low-quality--all the tones were there, it just didn't taste right. (Bottle-conditioning Belgians FTW!) Now, La Chouffe has done something interesting with this beer, and to my knowledge it's fairly unique: they made a double IPA (so lots of hops, lots of malt) and brewed it as a traditional tripel. So while it's got the clarity, crispness, and general flavor profile of the tripel, it's also got a shit-ton of hop aroma and maltiness. And it is truly sublime. Favorite beer of the last few months, no question.

I'll probably write about this weekend later--one of my besties got married, so I spent the weekend in Ann Arbor, ate a lot, drank a fair bit, and pretty much just had a blast. Still don't have any of the pictures uploaded, so that's no fun...

I have to work tonight. Last Tuesday was painfully slow (ie, I had $150 in sales at 10:30pm) so hoping this week will be a bit better as I'm scheduled (again) to close. Tomorrow is deep-cleaning day and possibly lunch with Jak's parents, then Mom is coming down Thursday and staying overnight on her way to Lansing. Yay Mom!

Four days and counting

2009-05-20T20:05:00.000-07:00

I can't eat.

It's been days. I keep forcing myself to try. On Sunday, we went to our favorite breakfast joint for eggs benedict, which is pretty much my favorite food, and I got three bites in and couldn't eat anymore. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.... same deal. I get food, stare at it, pick, get a couple of bites down, and stop. It's reassuring on one side, that my body is telling me that I'm too heavy and need to quit, but on the other hand... slightly scary.

New beers:
The Livery Double Paw Imperial IPA
The Livery McGilligan's IPA
Three Floyds Gumballhead
Magic Hat Summer Wacko--AVOID THIS. Trust me. It's brewed with beets, which makes it a lovely pink color, but the taste and smell? BAD.

Going to try to eat again.

Josh Ritter

2009-05-14T10:27:00.000-07:00

This song has been making me happy for a very, very long time. I rediscovered it this morning while working on a sunny-day playlist/CD and ended up just burning everything I have from him onto a disc, even the sadder stuff, because it's amazing, summery music and it makes me fucking happy.

Josh Ritter. Find. Love.

Delicious steak...

2009-05-12T22:40:00.000-07:00

Marinate your steak for however long (I used 4oz top sirloin cuts and marinated for about five hours at room temp, but it's up to you. I'd say at least overnight in the fridge or for more marbled cuts, but these were super super lean and took the marinade quickly) in the following mix:

2 parts soy sauce
1/2-1 part Worcestershire sauce
1/2 part olive oil
Lots and lots of red pepper flakes
Dried minced garlic
Cracked black pepper

Meanwhile, prepare a pasta sauce. I used shitty supermarket stuff and added the following to make it hella sweet:
2T full-fat ricotta (I do not do reduced fat ANYTHING, fyi)
1tsp dried oregano
2 dashes hot sauce
2 dashes Greek seasoning blend
2 shakes garlic powder

Heat your oven to 400--and listen, because this is crucial--heat your steak pan in the oven. I use a deep 12" cast-iron skillet for this, but any oven-safe pan will do. Cast-iron works extremely well for this application.

Once the oven is heated, and the skillet is hot too, pop your steaks in there. They should sizzle when they hit the pan and lots of delicious smells will start happening immediately. Change your oven over to broil, and don't forget about the steak once it's in the oven--they'll only take a couple of minutes per side. The pan's heat will help your steaks develop a nice brown crunch along the sides.

Cook up your pasta (linguine works well because of the weight of the sauce) and once the steaks are out of the oven and resting, pour the rest of the marinade into the steak pan. Reduce by half, then deglaze with red wine (I used Sangiovese tonight and it was incredible). Reduce by half again, then add the cooked marinade to the pasta sauce.

Toss the pasta and sauce, and serve up with your steaks and whatever veggie seems right to you. And the rest of the wine you used to deglaze? Drink it up!

(This "recipe" got high praise from Jak tonight. And all of it happened after midnight. Here's to late-night improvisation!)

I started

2009-05-10T23:56:00.001-07:00

wearing mascara, almost daily, over the last week.

It's weird. M eyes look even bigger (do the math on that, eh?) but after two nights of scrubbing ot off with soap, my eyelashes were noticeably thinner than they'd been previously. So I got eye makeup remover, and that's been fine.

But every time I use it, my skin feels like it does after a good cry. And that really sucks, because my life is pretty great and there's no reason for crying right now.

My skin is telling me I've been crying; my brain tells me that's illogical; my emotional core tells me.... maybe?

I'm skipping it from now on. Hell, no makeup got me this far.

My awesome mix CD

2009-05-10T21:58:00.000-07:00

In no particular order--songs that make me happy or introspective...

Rise--Flobots
46&2--tool
Three Libras--A Perfect Circle
Black Thumb--Kings of Leon
The Abusing of the Rib--Atmosphere
Pushit--tool
Don't Ever Fucking Question That--Atmosphere
None Shall Pass--Aesop Rock
Taper Jean Girl--Kings of Leon
Ruby Soho--Rancid
Ragoo-Kings of Leon
Fall Back Down--Rancid
Pigs--Aesop Rock
Time Bomb--Rancid

This doesn't include any classic rock or even classical or Motown or blues....

or, for that matter, 311.

Input, please.

2009-05-09T09:14:00.000-07:00

Is this a WIN or a FAIL?

Frankly, I'm not sure.

Ducks.

2009-05-04T17:13:00.000-07:00

I started my new job today.

It's at a really great place, and the upshot is that I feel really comfortable there. Everyone's super cool, the beer is fantastic and the food is better than passable, and I'm already super comfortable and doing well. So things are really pretty great.

The trick about today was getting there. Not in the lots-of-traffic sense (it's all surface streets, 25mph, and six lights/two stop signs) or in the sense of running late (because I woke up at 7:30, made coffee, and that was that, for a shift at 10:45). No, it was actually one of those days where something extremely interesting happens that's completely out of the ordinary, and the day has to get adjusted around it.

It starts because I parked one parking lot south of the one I planned to. My depth perception sucks at times and I thought it was the right one. The parking people were dealing with the meter at the time, so I had to stop basically in traffic while they got the maintenance done. No big deal. I paid, parked, got out of my car, and tried to cross the street, but cars were just stopped in the middle of the intersection. Um....? Oh! Baby ducks in the road! And we are talking TINY. They were tiny enough that two or three could fit in my hand. The curbs dwarfed them. They were brand new--not wet, but maybe, maybe a couple of days old.

The family of Mama Mallard and eight (or so) teensy babies crossed the road without incident. They walked along the gutter until Mama found a likely shrubbery to hide her family in. At this point, I was only a few feet away.

See? TINY. The curb dwarfed them. And several of them appeared to have zero chance of climbing up. So, being the altruistic, kind soul that I am, I bent down to pick up the stragglers and lift them to safety in the bushes.*

All hell broke loose.

The mama duck attacked me. Full out. Squawking, flapping, screaming defensive mama IN MY FACE. And it really would have just been funny, without much aftereffect, if Mama Duck hadn't been projectile shitting at the same time.

Splatter. Splat. Funk. Holy. Fucking. God.

I still had a half block to walk to get to work.

By the time I got there, the shit had started to dry on my jeans. And stink past high heaven. This was worse than pig shit, worse than walking through a cow paddock, worse than a dirty horse stall, worse than driving past a landfill or a natural gas burnoff. This was horrid. It was on my hands and my jeans and I cannot make this up. I walked into work on my first day, ten minutes early (after having been told that if I was one minute late or forgot my training folder, I was fired, period), did my best to scrub off the increasingly-stinky duck shit on my legs, then looked at the manager, and told him to please note that I was ten minutes early, but I had to, had to go home and change unless he really wanted me to wait table smelling like a cesspool.

Half an hour later, my jeans were in the wash, and I started my day shaken, but still madly laughing. A duck? A duck. What is something that floats in water like a witch? Never more accurate.

*Yes, I know that picking up baby ducks, or any baby animal is a bad idea. And I did not actually touch even one of them befor Mama Mallard went crazy. They were so tiny and pathetic that I could not help my first instinct of help-the-babies. Who's got a biological clock?

Not really a meme, per se

2009-05-04T05:45:00.000-07:00

but I do like the idea of it--thanks, Britni!

Post a picture of yourself looking REALLY, deliriously happy.

I've come up with the following....

From last summer--shared birthday party for two of my friends (one of whom is the gorgeous lady on the left) at Ashley's. Great times, great friends, and great beer.

Next up... this must've been the summer of 2006. There's a great story but it's a little bit embarrassing, so, no. Suffice to say I was full of vodka... enough so that I got up on stage at Union Street and danced with the band.

I've just spent several minutes looking through all my FB albums. According to those pictures, I'm a really, deliriously happy person. I think that actually used to be true. These days, it's.... about half-true. It's no one's fault but my own. Growing up and getting real about life are pesky and cynicism-forming habits, but they're also pretty inevitable. Great pictures from the prior life though, including Halloween '05, Rocky Horror in '06, and several from my 2007 Chicago trip with the crew. I really miss them, and there are some absolutely fantastic shots from the Sox/Mariners game, fado afterwards, brunch the next day, and general hooligan-ness around downtown Chicago. 2008 was a really amazing year, but not well-recorded generally except for the Cubs Extravaganza. I picked this picture not because it's necessarily well-taken or anything, but because it really captures a lot of happiness--Jak, Cubs, weather, vacation, Chicago, probably four beers deep at that point, and about ten minutes from meeting Rich Harden.

Requisite Cubs post

2009-05-01T20:19:00.000-07:00

I've been avoiding it because we've been sucking it up something fierce.

Today, though, the guy I consider the least powerful hitter (and second most error-prone) on the squad did something awesome.

The day went like this:
Didn't sleep. Bad.
Went to work. Not great.
Got home. Cubs DVR. Awesome...
Went outside.
Jak comes to get me with the following statement: "So what are the least likely two things to occur consecutively for the Cubs right now?"
My response: "Aaron Miles hits a grand slam while Heilman throws a shutout."
Jak's response: "Um.... close?"

What actually happened is far less improbable than Heilman throwing a shutout (thanks a LOT, Mets.... you fucks....) but is easily as improbable as, say, running into the girl you met gate-crashing a party who left with a guy who turned out to be a space alien with two heads--and the two-headed guy's cousin is your space-travel tour guide.

So, Alfonso Soriano, the first-pitch-hack hero of a leadoff hitter, took a walk to load the bases. (That's the girl leaving with the two-headed space alien, incidentally.)

Immediately following this, Ryan Theriot hit a grand slam. (This is the two-headed space alien's cousin being your tour guide.) Theriot hasn't hit a home run in over a year. The grand slam won the game. What. The. Fuck.

Today started out shitty. It's ending rather nicely--we had a great meal post-Cubs at San Chez, quick beer at Hopcat, and back home to finish out Arrested Development and eat popcorn.

Winding things up, this is why the Angels (despite their crazy name) are a class organization. Baseball fans, and maybe some others, might remember that Angels rookie starter Nick Adenhart was killed by a drunk driver after his very first start in the majors. It was truly a tragedy, not just for Nick, his family, and the Angels, but for the families and friends of three others who lost their lives in the crash. The Angels' manager released a statement today that gives equally to all of those lost in the crash. It's classy, it's real, and it's heartfelt.

That's what baseball is, at its core, and that's why it's the only sport I've been able to identify with in a decade.

Baseball day!

2009-04-28T13:22:00.000-07:00

Jak and I are headed to our first West Michigan Whitecaps game tonight!

The Whitecaps are a single-A affiliate of the Tigers, and the park is only about fifteen minutes away. Tonight, they're playing the Lansing Lugnuts--the name was cute when the team was first named in the mid-'90s but at this point, after the closing of the Oldsmobile plant up the street and the virtual death of the auto industry in Lansing, it's more just ironic and sad. Incidentally, the Lugnuts started out as a Cubs affiliate, which meant that Jak got to watch Mark Prior do some rehab there after getting hit by a line drive off Brad Hawpe, but they're now associated with the Blue Jays.

It'll be nice to get outside, do something Grand Rapids-y, and hopefully get myself out of the funk that's been in my brain since Sunday.

This is why

2009-04-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

I'm really frustrated with this kind of attitude. As a matter of fact, I'm loathe to even link to the blog because i don't want to provide this person with hits.

Unless, you know, it's God's will that she get her face bashed in. That kind of hits.

A moment of head-desk.

2009-04-23T21:41:00.000-07:00

I'm being a seriously girly-girl right now, except since I don't have girlfriends in Grand Rapids, I just have to do it by myself.

So this is me, right now: drinking a Torpedo IPA, watching really terrible TV on demand, half-watching my phone for Jak texts, and alternately stalking meebo, the 311 bulletin board, and Facebook waiting for something interesting to happen. And doing the Friday New York Times crossword puzzle.

Let's face it: I'm not that great at crosswords. I can usually get through Monday through Wednesday without much trouble. Thursday and Friday give me some trouble, and Saturdays are usually well beyond my ability. But given that when I started doing these, I could barely get through a Tuesday without Googling at least a couple answers, I feel like I'm making some progress.

(A necessary, but seemingly abstract note: For years, people have asked me what my grandmother was doing during World War Two. This is due mostly to two things: she married my grandfather, an immigrant-turned-Army captain, just after the war; and her name happens to be Enola Gay.

That is, she has the same name as the bomber that dropped the atom bomb on Hiroshima.

It's sort of a family joke at this point, but when people find out.... yeah, curiosity. And for damn sure, I don't forget her name.)

Tonight's effort at the Friday puzzle (fyi: puzzles are usually posted at 10pm Eastern for the next day) was just brutal. It took hours. Of staring. Googling. Tearing my brainstem from its metaphorical roots, it seemed, had no effect whatsoever. SUSANDEY. ONTHELAM. UCIRVINE??? EROICA, clued as "It was first publicly performed in Vienna in 1805"???

I got through the NE, mostly, struggling finally with GUANACOS (really? that's a word?) and the exact instant it fell, (and it was the O that held me up! Fucking vowels) I looked at the eight-letter space where that O fell, clued as "Carrier of very destructive cargo," and finally I see the way out of the puzzle:

My grandmother's name. Enola Gay. Eight letters: Carrier of very destructive cargo.

Seriously? Seriously???

I want to go hide now for not seeing this.

Anyway, I'm off for more girly TV, maybe another beer, and eventually yet another night of dealing with spasms and muscle cramping in my back that's kept me on a heating pad in the spare room bed (it's a firmer mattress, which helps) and eating Vicodin and muscle relaxants for the last few days.

(also, I desperately need a haircut... trim, really. It's finally to my waist again, which makes me incredibly happy, but the ends are really dry and frayed. And I keep pulling little grey strands out. roar.)

This is why I love bleedcubbieblue.com

2009-04-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

Yep. All your base are belong to us.

I wish I could say that I watched a great game last night--alas, due to a strong dose of Vicodin and muscle relaxant, I was passed out by 8:30pm. I woke up briefly in the fifth (just long enough to watch us strand yet more runners) but yeah, that was about it. Slept till 10am today. It apparently helped, as my back feels slightly better--ie, I am able to move somewhat normally and may be able to get in and out of my car without looking like I need help. Which is good, because I'm working tonight. Ehn.

Yesterday was fun only because after I took the Vicodin, I had to go to a job interview. It went really well (despite my intense medicinal goofiness), in the short version, and I'm going to meet with the owner on Thursday.

New restaurant opening in Grand Rapids, soon-ish? The Electric Cheetah looks interesting and fun--sort of like the Green Well, where I applied a few months ago and interviewed at the beginning of February (actually the same day we signed our lease for the Friendly Confines). The interview was pretty much an epic fail, but that's sort of irrelevant now. Obviously, Electric Cheetah isn't open yet, but I like the theme behind it: local, organic, scratch, neighborhood-involved, and best of all, in a town where there seemingly aren't any independent restaurants that aren't part of a "group," these guys just have one place and want to do it right. So, even with fruit sushi, they might have a shot. I get the feeling more and more that West-Michiganders are looking for independence in their food. Or maybe I'm just pissed off that there aren't more choices--seems like everywhere we go, we find out it's a Gilmore, or Mission, or Essence.... etc etc etc.

Other news--Founders Brewery, the home of the house favorite Red's RyePA, has a new beer on draft that I'd love to try--Pepper Pale Ale. I can't find anything about it, not even on the Founders site--any help or recommendations welcome!

Hopefully tonight I'll be non-medicated enough to drink the Left Hand Brewing Company Milk Stout that's been in the fridge for a couple days, and to help Jak finish that growler of Red's that we were supposed to drink night before last. Turns out that not eating all day, and then drinking high-alcohol beers all night, isn't a good idea.

One more for today

2009-04-20T12:26:00.000-07:00

Eat local. Eat organic.

Food for Thought, an amazing company located in Honor, Michigan (about ten miles south of my mother's house) posted a link today on Facebook to a really fantastic article on the carbon impact of the food we eat, along with some not-always-discussed factors and variables on the subject. For instance, is it better to eat a locally grown hothouse tomato or one that's field-grown a thousand miles away? Somewhat surprisingly, the energy consumed in heating a greenhouse in a northern climate might well exceed the energy consumed in transporting one from a field.

The article is here for your enjoyment and pleasure. Happy reading!

Cubs highlights from the week...

2009-04-20T08:01:00.001-07:00

Reed Johnson's spectacular catch, robbing Prince Fielder of a game-tying grand slam. Jak's words: "I want to touch Reed's johnson." I was watching at home, alone, YELLING.
Aramis Ramirez hitting a game-winning home run in the eleventh inning vs. the Cardinals

Angel Guzman tallying his first win in the big leagues--good man!
Teddy Rose (that's Ted Lilly, for future reference) taking a no-no into the seventh--during the home opener, no less!
Alfonso Soriano's go-ahead two-run shot vs. the Cardinals. He's got five homers and nine RBIs already this season, and, most tellingly, he's already taken eight walks.
Kosuke Fukudome, after a rough second half last year (really, that's putting it mildly) is hitting the shit out of the ball this year. He's slugging .750 and hitting .375 so far in 2009, and is displaying the corkscrew swing much, much less frequently. Thank God.

Cubs posts forthcoming:
*Extravaganza 2009 (look for this in late June/early July, after our bender at Comerica vs. Tigers)
*Why Jak's love for the Cubs rubbing off onto me is sort of like abuse
*Why baseball? Why now?
*Single-A ball: West Michigan vs Peoria

I've posted this video before, but it's so damn funny. If you're a Cubs fan, it's bloody hilarious.

Zero to two

2009-04-20T08:01:00.000-07:00

I have a job interview this week!

My current serving job is, well, not so great. The place is one that I frequented during college--my mom would occasionally drive the 40 minutes to campus and we'd jaunt a couple of miles down the road and get a bite to eat there. At that point, in my recollection, it was a really lovely place--the food and service were always great, and even though there was sometimes a wait (especially in the spring and fall, since it's on a smallish lake and therefore very much a Summer Place) it was always worthwhile.

Right now, I wouldn't necessarily recommend it. It's always busy, true; the food is decent still; and the service is passable. But no one really cares, and it shows.

A lot of the current servers were there in 2000-02, when it was our favorite place, and they've confirmed my impression that it's gone downhill. After two years of working at the Roadhouse, there are certain things that I don't feel the need to cut corners on. One of the big ones, since I'm a carb fiend, is the bread. It's really difficult to bake your own bread at a restaurant (trust me on this; my mother did it for years, mostly by herself, and was also baking for a few other restaurants at the same time. It is BRUTAL) but in almost every town, there are fantastic bakeries putting out really nice, crusty bread. They're not all artisan bakeries, for sure, but there's just got to be a better option than shitty foccacia. The current job switched from a decent proof-and-bake loaf to a really crap one right after I started there, and to quote my old boss and mentor, you really can taste the difference. It's squashy, with zero crust, no flavor beyond yeast and cheap herbs and whatever was in the oven right beforehand. The restaurant made this switch to save about fifty cents per loaf.

Problem is, the old bread was somewhat legendary. People loved it. I got more compliments on the bread than anything else I served there before the switch. Now, I'm bringing more and more of it back to the kitchen. In purely practical terms, too, this new loaf isn't cutting it. It dries out so fast in the warmer that once the loaf is sliced, we have maybe thirty minutes to use the rest of it before it's inedible. And we can't not keep it in the warmer, because once it's cold it's inedible.

If it was just the bread, it maybe wouldn't be so bad. But that's a whole other set of issues. From ticket times to service standards to staffing to management, and not even getting into the kitchen itself--generally speaking, entrees for a table of four will come out over a span of ten to fifteen minutes, so if you start running food as soon as it's up, the first person could easily be done eating by the time the last person gets their plate; or worse yet, the first plate sits under a hot lamp and dries out for x minutes while everything else gets plated (or in some cases, cooked). Bad.

Anyway, getting back to the interview. I claimed, when moving, to really only want a job where I could sling beer and yell at people, and not worry about the service or anything like that. Turns out it isn't true, exactly. It's been so ingrained that cost-cutting for the sake of cost-cutting doesn't always work like you plan out (this bread, for instance; we have the same par for slices-per-person [that is, we would if we had a par for anything] but we're bringing so much back to the kitchen uneaten, compared to the old bread, that I'm sure we aren't really saving any money. Good work, management!) and that taking more tables just to have the potential of making more money doesn't always work out (spending more time with each table tends to up the tip percentage, and that works well at the end of the night--plus it's immensely less stressful), and I've turned out to miss my old job terribly. Weird relationships, scheduling issues and all. I even signed on to work a wedding through them in June, just because I miss it. Who would have thought....

I haven't had coffee yet. Apologies for the rambling.

This coming interview was set up, more or less, by my old bar manager. He used to own a brewery on this side of the state, but quit, and came to work at the Roadhouse. We talked about a beer a lot, and while his management skills weren't my absolute favorite (though they've apparently improved dramatically since I left) we ended on great terms. He gave me a list of places to apply and told me to name-drop at will--he is a fantastic reference over here. One of the better options on the list was Hopcat, a new-ish, up-and-coming beer bar in downtown Grand Rapids. Turns out, while the GM wasn't looking to hire anyone right away, my old manager had sent him a text message or five regarding me, and my old roommate is a server there--so he was interested. I didn't hear back from him for almost a month, and in the meantime, I got the job I have now (with the giant caveat that I'd be picking up a second job ASAP).

Finally, on Saturday morning, my phone rang. It was very early and I was massively hungover, so I didn't get the message immediately, but my interview is set up for 2:30 tomorrow afternoon. And I do think that this place would be a positive change of pace, in contrast to the very negative one I've been dealing with for the last month or so. So, keep your fingers crossed.

What I've been planning is to work two jobs all summer. College is expensive, and rent and the like. Two jobs means all my income from one goes into the savings account, and income from the other goes toward those pesky expenses like rent and food. And beer. Plus I won't have the time, or energy, to go out and spend money. All-around win. Yes, it will be stressful, but I've done the two-jobs-for-the-summer thing kind of a lot. I figured out how to make it work in my favor. Here's hoping both places go for it....

I started a new blog.

2009-04-15T20:11:00.000-07:00

Here it is!

I've been using my Livejournal since... forever, it seems like. The archive tells me that I started writing in it on April 25, 2002. I'll continue to use it, probably, for more personal stuff, but we'll see. I started a Myspace blog back in the day too, and almost quit using LJ for a long, long time while I was writing in that. It's not important and I'm rambling.

I'm calling this a new beginning.

The last few months have been, in perspective, all about leaving the past behind and moving forward. Hell, the last few years have been. I've been leaving the past behind since 2002. The day I decided not to go back for my last year of school was the day I changed my future. I was on the track, you know? THE TRACK. I decided it wasn't what I wanted and it changed. Poof. And then... one thing leads to another, and suddenly I'm in Ann Arbor thinking about wine. Poof. Suddenly I'm thinking that writing about food is what I want to do. Poof. The growth pattern is much more like a bonsai (not stunted--deliberate, and crinkly, and multidirectional) than a straight, lovely oak. That's a good thing. Oaks have their place, but bonsai are so intricate and interesting. Oaks live without interference. I live reacting. Is that a good thing? Time will tell. Bonsai can live an exceptionally long time, with careful tending. Oaks can too. Bonsai need interaction; oaks live alone... Oaks are strong; bonsai are delicate.

My own bonsai led me from the initial straight-and-narrow, college-grad school-professional career path into food.

Right, straight (crookedly) into food.

It would be funny if it wasn't quite so ironic. I vowed early on to never be in this business. It's stressful. The hours are long and--we like to say "flexible" but what that really means is "erratic." Unplannable. No benefits, no paid time off unless you work for a corporation and are in management. Tax screw-overs. Family life, sleep, a "normal" social life involving, for me, things like theater and (sigh of longing) book clubs are out of the question. This is how I make my living. I work nights and weekends. And as much as I banned myself from it in 1999, and as happy as my parents were when I had a normal, 9-to-5 job with health insurance and a 401k, it's what I do and it's what I love.

And then I had a thought--I sort of love words, and sometimes have the ability to put them in order well. And I love food and beer and wine and liquor, so why not put words in order about it? Why not work for Ari and learn how to do it? So I did. And that brings me to now.

This isn't even where I wanted to go with this post. I wanted to talk about something completely different and now this is way, way too long.

The plan was to write about how I just finished reading my first complete graphic novel and I think I'm probably spoiled for life.

WATCHMEN.

I haven't seen the movie. After reading it, I'm not entirely sure I want to.

On that note, I'm going to wrap this up for tonight. I wrote entirely too much. Words occasionally just.... go staright form my subconscious to the keyboard and my brain has little, if anything, to do with it. I fear this is the case today.

Coming in future entries:

Beer, and why Founder's makes some delicious ones
Bread, and why changing your restaurant's bread to save $.50/loaf isn't a good idea
Fermentation, and how it is wildly interesting and relevant
Meat: how we get it and why we eat so damn much of it
Cake: Theories and non-technique
Food as love--I am not Emeril
Brushes with greatness, AKA self-aggrandizing 101.

Good night.