- Diabetes: Babbo's A1C fell .10 to 7.1. This is fantastic news and still vindicates the steep learning curve that came with switching to the insulin pump.
- Gastro: Babbo still has GERD (acid reflux), but because he's thriving and growing, he can remain on Prevacid until the sphincters in his esophagus mature and start working.
- Ate pho noodles, 1/2 a slice of Costco pepperoni pizza, dim sum, and chicken curry ramen. We might have died and gone to heaven.
- My mom still has a good sense of humor and is in pretty good health. Same can be said about Auntie Tammy. I am grateful.
- Had beignets and my first real coffee since coming home from the hospital. We dragged my mom to Lamill. I love that the place is pretentious, but that the staff are nice. Clover coffee might be a bit too extracted for me. We had a Kenya peaberry and some Guatamalan.
- Saw Nik Brinkman, from Over the Atlantic, for a rushed espresso. He is recording a record in LA and staying close to Childrens (why don't they use an apostrophe?) Hospital. Matty, Babbo, and I dragged him to Intelligentsia, where he said he had his first Wellington style espresso drink since coming to LA nearly a month ago. It was fun to catch up on what he's doing and some extra New Zealand music news.
- Between Costco and Childrens, walked/zimmered/crutched the length of several football fields and way hey, survived! Prior to this, I think I managed three trips to our mailbox.
- Matty was a star and drove the whole trip. This is not an easy feat considering what a back seat driver I am. Oh, and I have a low tolerance for short breaking distances and am always bracing with my feet and hands. Give that girl a valium (not that I've ever had one).
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Bomber run to "Los Angelesh"* a success
Chinese Ghetto Thanksgiving Stuffing
for my mystery Asian g'friend from years past:
cube and slightly dampen two loaves of cheap supermarket bread
Sautee together, sliced into 1/4" - 1/2" pieces:
chinese mushrooms
heart, gizzards, liver, etc. from the turkey
pack of bacon
sliced onion
whole celery
minced garlic (lots of it)
(you may add things like water chestnuts, chestnuts, etc.)
When all the items are wilted through, add (without draining the fat from the bacon, if you can stand it) the soggy bread and lots of oyster sauce to taste
press mixture into baking pans, place in oven the last 30 minutes of the turkey roast (350F oven)
I didn't use glass noodles, but maybe my dad did one year. It could be a nice addition, especially those fat Korean ones made out of sweet potatoes.
cube and slightly dampen two loaves of cheap supermarket bread
Sautee together, sliced into 1/4" - 1/2" pieces:
chinese mushrooms
heart, gizzards, liver, etc. from the turkey
pack of bacon
sliced onion
whole celery
minced garlic (lots of it)
(you may add things like water chestnuts, chestnuts, etc.)
When all the items are wilted through, add (without draining the fat from the bacon, if you can stand it) the soggy bread and lots of oyster sauce to taste
press mixture into baking pans, place in oven the last 30 minutes of the turkey roast (350F oven)
I didn't use glass noodles, but maybe my dad did one year. It could be a nice addition, especially those fat Korean ones made out of sweet potatoes.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The trouble with referendums
Friends have dropped by. Friday night found us eating around the kitchen table with Marsha, Reed, Devon, Annie, Joe Lane, Stephen, Erik, Dave McGee and Janet. The conversations were everywhere and for the most part, gave us a good laugh - something we all needed.
I did feel sad when we talked about the referendum in Maine that revoked the right for same-sex couples to marry. I was sadder when Stephen said, "I'm just tired of feeling bad all the time."
Civil rights cannot be legislated by referendum. The masses can't be trusted. Less than 40 years ago, my marriage would have been illegal in certain states and Babbo would have been a bastard. There was a Southern judge who recently refused to marry an African American man to a white woman on the grounds that "those" kind of marriages don't work and the children resulting from them are fucked up. Surprise Judge, statistically, that's usually the case no matter the color!
Really, this growing crusade against access to basic civil rights (recap: there is theoretically a separation of church and state, marriage licenses are issued by a representative of the state, all citizens should have equal access to a license) is turning me into an uppity old Chinese woman.
I did feel sad when we talked about the referendum in Maine that revoked the right for same-sex couples to marry. I was sadder when Stephen said, "I'm just tired of feeling bad all the time."
Civil rights cannot be legislated by referendum. The masses can't be trusted. Less than 40 years ago, my marriage would have been illegal in certain states and Babbo would have been a bastard. There was a Southern judge who recently refused to marry an African American man to a white woman on the grounds that "those" kind of marriages don't work and the children resulting from them are fucked up. Surprise Judge, statistically, that's usually the case no matter the color!
Really, this growing crusade against access to basic civil rights (recap: there is theoretically a separation of church and state, marriage licenses are issued by a representative of the state, all citizens should have equal access to a license) is turning me into an uppity old Chinese woman.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Join us, it's bliss
Finished my Oxycontin. Felt sharper pain the subsequent day, but it's all good now. Percocet got swapped out for Norco (a stronger version of Vicodin) because I was throwing up or feeling queasy most of the time. Swiss Kris (a laxative you can find at any health food store) works like a champ - not that anyone really wants to know, but one never knows....)
Have only stepped outside the house twice in 17 days - once for a checkup/stitches removal. I am a fast healer the docs say. I have heretofore been blessed with that ability.
Plowed through William Boyd's The New Confessions, and I still believe that Any Human Heart is his best. Have started on the Mishima tetrology. So far, Spring Snow (which I have read before) is sprawling, and I find myself craving the succinct writing from his short stories in Death in Midsummer.
Reading, surfing the internet, folding laundry, bathing, and hanging out with Babbo or the odd friend - recovery is like being on holiday, really.
Will probably transition from the walker or crutches to cane just in time for Christmas.
Have only stepped outside the house twice in 17 days - once for a checkup/stitches removal. I am a fast healer the docs say. I have heretofore been blessed with that ability.
Plowed through William Boyd's The New Confessions, and I still believe that Any Human Heart is his best. Have started on the Mishima tetrology. So far, Spring Snow (which I have read before) is sprawling, and I find myself craving the succinct writing from his short stories in Death in Midsummer.
Reading, surfing the internet, folding laundry, bathing, and hanging out with Babbo or the odd friend - recovery is like being on holiday, really.
Will probably transition from the walker or crutches to cane just in time for Christmas.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Now with new and improved stitching!
Got home Sunday from a Friday surgery.
I didn't think I was ready for being released from the hospital, but Blue Cross only approved one night's stay. I think I stayed five nights last time. In the end, it all worked out fine. I continue to get stronger by the hour. Matty and Babbo are waiting on me hand and foot. Babbo wants to spend a night in my single hospital bed with me. I don't think so. I do let him pile in after school and watch cartoons before dinner or before bedtime.
I got taut little black nylon stitches this time. I am a bit allergic to the monocryl they sometimes use. They are handsome stitches, and Dr. Perry seems quite pleased with how everything turned out. I got an epidural (first time ever) and there are three wee bites in my lower back to show for it.
In addition to the doctors and their schedulers, I am indebted to the kindness and competence of nurses - as always.
I was shocked, again, at how useless my leg became. In in the first day post-op, it took a lot of focus, sweat, and help to move it even a few inches. Yes, they sawed the bone in half, but the muscles should have theoretically still worked.
Waves of mild nausea and sleepiness come over me several times a day. It's the painkillers, the four hours of anesthesia I was under, and the vitamin supplements. I will forgo the iron supplements - they make me really sick- and just eat like a piggie instead.
I didn't think I was ready for being released from the hospital, but Blue Cross only approved one night's stay. I think I stayed five nights last time. In the end, it all worked out fine. I continue to get stronger by the hour. Matty and Babbo are waiting on me hand and foot. Babbo wants to spend a night in my single hospital bed with me. I don't think so. I do let him pile in after school and watch cartoons before dinner or before bedtime.
I got taut little black nylon stitches this time. I am a bit allergic to the monocryl they sometimes use. They are handsome stitches, and Dr. Perry seems quite pleased with how everything turned out. I got an epidural (first time ever) and there are three wee bites in my lower back to show for it.
In addition to the doctors and their schedulers, I am indebted to the kindness and competence of nurses - as always.
I was shocked, again, at how useless my leg became. In in the first day post-op, it took a lot of focus, sweat, and help to move it even a few inches. Yes, they sawed the bone in half, but the muscles should have theoretically still worked.
Waves of mild nausea and sleepiness come over me several times a day. It's the painkillers, the four hours of anesthesia I was under, and the vitamin supplements. I will forgo the iron supplements - they make me really sick- and just eat like a piggie instead.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Surgery got moved up a week
Have been running around like a headless chicken. Surgery got moved up a week, but Doctors Mast and Perry will be there. I am really still incredibly touched that Dr. Mast will drive down from Reno for this. I am touched, too, that I work in an incredibly flexible workplace. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
It was not a pleasure to wander around the streets of LA in the rain last week. I tried going to a Target in a large mall, but the sensory overload was too much, and I retreated to the peace of my car. My eyes also glazed over at a midsized Whole Foods, too. I'm such a hick.
I did run around Sunset Blvd. very late at night for two nights in a row to see two shows at the Echo. It'd been decades since I did something like that by myself. The adrenaline surge was huge. When I was getting gas at 11:30 at night off some unknown freeway offramp, all I could think was, "What the hell am I doing here?"
In the end, it was a huge pleasure to see Matt Salas' band, the Rhone Occupation. They are a young band, and they've been gigging hard. They have purdy songs and sound like a cross between Radiohead/Elliot Smith/the Phoenix Foundation. Their free set didn't start until after midnight, but they played as if their lives depended on it to a room of about 25 of us. I know Matt from going to the Phoenix Foundation shows in LA in 2006. He was with Sony digital music at the time and tried really hard to help the band out in any way he could.
It was even a bigger pleasure to see Steven Schayer, the Jazz Butcher, Downy Mildew, and the Black Watch the next night. It was a lovely treat to hang out with Marc Horton, Owen Harris (who was on a stopover in LA on his way back to NZ), John Andrew Frederick (the English prof and fellow William Boyd fan behind the Black Watch), and Steven Schayer in a Latino bar in the late afternoon before the show. Steven, Owen, and I met through the Able Tasmans/Humphreys and Keen/Puddle gig that Owen put on in Auckland in February. Marc and I met years ago through the Mutton Birds' listserve. I'd seen Steven's band, the Clay Idols, once when I was a teen. I wasn't prepared for how sad and lovely Steven's songs were and how well he could sing. There is something outgoing and endearing about Steven which reminds me of certain Lew cousins very very much.
Marc and I killed a few moments waiting for the Echo's doors to open by having some of the Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban I brought down. We sat in the heavy rain on Sunset Blvd. and toasted our lovely spouses and small children. Our spouses may not also be huge geeks, but they allow us to be. Bless.
So a group of us have become friends or have become better friends through geeking out over our love of New Zealand music. The friendships have gone from the days of going to the post office and sending blank cds so that somebody could make a compilation to the age of Facebook and Yousendit, where we can cut to the chase and crank the mixtapes out.
Motorcycle Michelle put me up in her fabby apartment in Glendale. I talked her ear off the first night, when I was hmming and huhhhhing about getting ready to leave at 11 pm for a midnight show. I did my best imitation of a a lump on her couch for the next two mornings in a row.
It would appear that boots and tights and skinny jeans are in with the in girls of the Republic of Silver Lake. The porkpie hats on the boys must go, though.
I am glad I got the chance to get out of Bishop for a few nights, glad that I missed Matt and Babbo and Bishop, glad I got to eat ramen twice, and glad I got to do something different before facing being laid up for a long while.
It was not a pleasure to wander around the streets of LA in the rain last week. I tried going to a Target in a large mall, but the sensory overload was too much, and I retreated to the peace of my car. My eyes also glazed over at a midsized Whole Foods, too. I'm such a hick.
I did run around Sunset Blvd. very late at night for two nights in a row to see two shows at the Echo. It'd been decades since I did something like that by myself. The adrenaline surge was huge. When I was getting gas at 11:30 at night off some unknown freeway offramp, all I could think was, "What the hell am I doing here?"
In the end, it was a huge pleasure to see Matt Salas' band, the Rhone Occupation. They are a young band, and they've been gigging hard. They have purdy songs and sound like a cross between Radiohead/Elliot Smith/the Phoenix Foundation. Their free set didn't start until after midnight, but they played as if their lives depended on it to a room of about 25 of us. I know Matt from going to the Phoenix Foundation shows in LA in 2006. He was with Sony digital music at the time and tried really hard to help the band out in any way he could.
It was even a bigger pleasure to see Steven Schayer, the Jazz Butcher, Downy Mildew, and the Black Watch the next night. It was a lovely treat to hang out with Marc Horton, Owen Harris (who was on a stopover in LA on his way back to NZ), John Andrew Frederick (the English prof and fellow William Boyd fan behind the Black Watch), and Steven Schayer in a Latino bar in the late afternoon before the show. Steven, Owen, and I met through the Able Tasmans/Humphreys and Keen/Puddle gig that Owen put on in Auckland in February. Marc and I met years ago through the Mutton Birds' listserve. I'd seen Steven's band, the Clay Idols, once when I was a teen. I wasn't prepared for how sad and lovely Steven's songs were and how well he could sing. There is something outgoing and endearing about Steven which reminds me of certain Lew cousins very very much.
Marc and I killed a few moments waiting for the Echo's doors to open by having some of the Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban I brought down. We sat in the heavy rain on Sunset Blvd. and toasted our lovely spouses and small children. Our spouses may not also be huge geeks, but they allow us to be. Bless.
So a group of us have become friends or have become better friends through geeking out over our love of New Zealand music. The friendships have gone from the days of going to the post office and sending blank cds so that somebody could make a compilation to the age of Facebook and Yousendit, where we can cut to the chase and crank the mixtapes out.
Motorcycle Michelle put me up in her fabby apartment in Glendale. I talked her ear off the first night, when I was hmming and huhhhhing about getting ready to leave at 11 pm for a midnight show. I did my best imitation of a a lump on her couch for the next two mornings in a row.
It would appear that boots and tights and skinny jeans are in with the in girls of the Republic of Silver Lake. The porkpie hats on the boys must go, though.
I am glad I got the chance to get out of Bishop for a few nights, glad that I missed Matt and Babbo and Bishop, glad I got to eat ramen twice, and glad I got to do something different before facing being laid up for a long while.
Undertheradar.co.nz : The Bats Virtual Show
The lovely Ian Henderson - whom I've known through things New Zealand music related - is putting on this show. He's fronted his own cash, and I wish him well!
Undertheradar.co.nz : The Bats Virtual Show
Undertheradar.co.nz : The Bats Virtual Show
Friday, October 09, 2009
Mad neurotic scratchings
- I was not very zen this morning when I tore the house apart looking for my old Moleskine notebook. Yes, I guess I would have been very sad if I'd lost my mad neurotic scratchings from the past few years, but I would have lived. I found it in the very last place I would have looked- well, well, well under the couch. I have started a new notebook. It is sexy and red and unmarked. Clean slates and all that.
- I have temporarily damaged my fingertips from moving around frozen pyrex bowls.
- Going down to Los Angeles to see AT, Karen, part of the New Zealand music mafia.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Date with my orthopedic surgeons
Doctors Perry and Mast will do me the favor of giving me another femoral osteotomy - this time on my right hip. It's hurting like hell in this low pressure system we're having, and I'm ready.
The left hip still has some arthritis, but that was always going to be a given.
The left hip still has some arthritis, but that was always going to be a given.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
I don't remember letting Ian Frazier into my home
> The New Yorker
>
> Shouts & Murmurs
> Easy Cocktails from the Cursing Mommy
> by Ian Frazier September 14, 2009
> Those high-priced bartenders in their red vests and white shirts who your caterers recommended to serve at your last party may know a thing or two, but for entertaining on a smaller scale—for parties of seven people, four, or even just one—a few simple steps to the perfect cocktail are all you’ll ever need. Take, for example, this drink I’m drinking right now. Where the hell did I put it? I just set it down five minutes ago. I had it when I was watching the news, I know that. Now what in hell could I have done with it? O.K.—I found it, thank heavens. I must have set it here on the stairs when I went to throw away the mail. Anyway, as I was saying, making this particular drink, which happens to be a vodka gimlet, is simplicity itself, once you know how.
>
> Plus, it’s so delicious! The tangy tartness of the lime juice combined with the antiseptic astringency of the icy-cold vodka—wonderful. Now, normally in this column the Cursing Mommy does not endorse any company, product, or institution, but just this once I’m going to make an exception, because, what the hell—I use Rose’s Lime Juice. It’s perfect for gimlets, so I always keep a few extra bottles in reserve in case I run out, as in fact I did just a few minutes ago when I mixed the drink I’m finishing now. The backup bottles, which are down here on the bottom shelf of the liquor cabinet—don’t tell me they’re not here. Please don’t fucking tell me the Rose’s Lime Juice is not fucking here.
>
> If Larry took my last spare bottle to use in his fucking Sno-Kone machine, by Christ, I swear I’ll—oh, thank God. Here it is, back behind the Kahlúa and the walnut liqueur. Whew. That was a close one.
>
> Anyway, you take your Rose’s Lime Juice, you take your favorite gimlet glass (which, for me, is the one I was just using), and—fuck. I have lost my drink again. Somebody please tell me I have not lost my stupid goddam fucking drink again! O.K., it has to be close by, because I had it right before I was hunting around on all fours in front of the liquor cabinet. Wait a minute—can this be it? Here on the counter behind the flour cannister? I don’t think this is it. I’ll just take a sip and—Phewww!! Gahhh! Disgusting! This must be the drink I couldn’t find night before last. Fucking ants in it. Drowned ants. Good Christ, what was I thinking?
>
> O.K., we have established that that was definitely not the glass I was looking for. In situations like this, the Cursing Mommy recommends that you take three deep breaths, concentrate inwardly on some attractive and relaxing vacation scene, and scream “Fuck!” at the top of your lungs. There—I feel better. Don’t you?
>
> Usually at about this time of the evening I must begin making dinner. Larry and the kids will be home soon. Fortunately, however, tonight is Make Your Own Goddam Dinner Night, a recently instituted family ritual I shared with you in last week’s column. So basically I don’t have to worry about that. Instead, what I’m going to do is just close my eyes, wait until I regain a sense of calm, and when I open them again my missing gimlet glass is going to be right in front of me.
>
> Oh, fucking hell. Could I possibly have left it down in the basement? Of course not—that’s ridiculous. I haven’t even been down in the basement, not since I vowed I wouldn’t touch another piece of laundry today even if it meant the clothes already in the washer mildewed and rotted away. Regular followers of this column know that at about this point every week the Cursing Mommy flips out due to one problem or another and begins cursing a lot, throwing things, and giving people the finger. Somehow, however, I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to go to those extremes over a problem as minor as a misplaced cocktail glass. Instead, I will begin a systematic search, accompanying myself meanwhile with a sort of general, all-around cursing out of various deserving individuals and things.
>
> For starters, God damn to hell my father’s fucking girlfriend, who expects me to do all the food and the cleanup at his seventy-fifth birthday party, and then she’ll take all the credit for herself, such a fucking jerk. Fuck the township, also, for changing fucking Bulky Waste Day from Monday to Friday and now I have to haul all that shit that I carried down this morning back up from the curb or they’re going to give us a ticket, the fucking bureaucratic red-tape, petty, time-server assholes. And, just in passing, fuck the fucking Bush Administration—I know they’re not in power anymore, but fuck them anyway, because they’re such a bunch of fucks. And on the subject of stupid fucks, fuck the—
>
> FUUUUUUUCK! OW! JESUS CHRIST! FUCKING SHIT! I STUBBED MY FUCKING TOE! OW OW OW! JESUS! FUCKING LARRY LEFT THAT FUCKING BOX OF ADAPTERS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING DINING-ROOM FLOOR, THE FUCKING IDIOT! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT STUPID FUCKING BOX DOING THERE! I TOLD HIM TO PUT THOSE FUCKING ADAPTERS AWAY! FUCK! OW! FUCK!
>
> (Pause.)
>
> People say that when you misplace an object in your home, instead of tearing the place apart looking for it, you should just be patient, and the object you are looking for will eventually turn up. And now we see the accuracy of this saying, because as I sit here on the dining-room floor cursing and massaging my goddam stubbed toe, I notice that over there on the floor, just behind the door to the kitchen, is the stupid fucking cocktail glass I was looking for. And, thanks be to merciful God, there is still a fair amount of drink remaining in it, so I’ll down it now. What a fucking terrible day this has been.
>
> Next week the Cursing Mommy will show you how to put up the decorations for a child’s birthday party all by yourself with no help from your fucking husband. Watch for her column, entitled, “God Damn This Tape Dispenser to Hell: Party Decorating Tips from the Cursing Mommy.” ♦
>
> Shouts & Murmurs
> Easy Cocktails from the Cursing Mommy
> by Ian Frazier September 14, 2009
> Those high-priced bartenders in their red vests and white shirts who your caterers recommended to serve at your last party may know a thing or two, but for entertaining on a smaller scale—for parties of seven people, four, or even just one—a few simple steps to the perfect cocktail are all you’ll ever need. Take, for example, this drink I’m drinking right now. Where the hell did I put it? I just set it down five minutes ago. I had it when I was watching the news, I know that. Now what in hell could I have done with it? O.K.—I found it, thank heavens. I must have set it here on the stairs when I went to throw away the mail. Anyway, as I was saying, making this particular drink, which happens to be a vodka gimlet, is simplicity itself, once you know how.
>
> Plus, it’s so delicious! The tangy tartness of the lime juice combined with the antiseptic astringency of the icy-cold vodka—wonderful. Now, normally in this column the Cursing Mommy does not endorse any company, product, or institution, but just this once I’m going to make an exception, because, what the hell—I use Rose’s Lime Juice. It’s perfect for gimlets, so I always keep a few extra bottles in reserve in case I run out, as in fact I did just a few minutes ago when I mixed the drink I’m finishing now. The backup bottles, which are down here on the bottom shelf of the liquor cabinet—don’t tell me they’re not here. Please don’t fucking tell me the Rose’s Lime Juice is not fucking here.
>
> If Larry took my last spare bottle to use in his fucking Sno-Kone machine, by Christ, I swear I’ll—oh, thank God. Here it is, back behind the Kahlúa and the walnut liqueur. Whew. That was a close one.
>
> Anyway, you take your Rose’s Lime Juice, you take your favorite gimlet glass (which, for me, is the one I was just using), and—fuck. I have lost my drink again. Somebody please tell me I have not lost my stupid goddam fucking drink again! O.K., it has to be close by, because I had it right before I was hunting around on all fours in front of the liquor cabinet. Wait a minute—can this be it? Here on the counter behind the flour cannister? I don’t think this is it. I’ll just take a sip and—Phewww!! Gahhh! Disgusting! This must be the drink I couldn’t find night before last. Fucking ants in it. Drowned ants. Good Christ, what was I thinking?
>
> O.K., we have established that that was definitely not the glass I was looking for. In situations like this, the Cursing Mommy recommends that you take three deep breaths, concentrate inwardly on some attractive and relaxing vacation scene, and scream “Fuck!” at the top of your lungs. There—I feel better. Don’t you?
>
> Usually at about this time of the evening I must begin making dinner. Larry and the kids will be home soon. Fortunately, however, tonight is Make Your Own Goddam Dinner Night, a recently instituted family ritual I shared with you in last week’s column. So basically I don’t have to worry about that. Instead, what I’m going to do is just close my eyes, wait until I regain a sense of calm, and when I open them again my missing gimlet glass is going to be right in front of me.
>
> Oh, fucking hell. Could I possibly have left it down in the basement? Of course not—that’s ridiculous. I haven’t even been down in the basement, not since I vowed I wouldn’t touch another piece of laundry today even if it meant the clothes already in the washer mildewed and rotted away. Regular followers of this column know that at about this point every week the Cursing Mommy flips out due to one problem or another and begins cursing a lot, throwing things, and giving people the finger. Somehow, however, I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to go to those extremes over a problem as minor as a misplaced cocktail glass. Instead, I will begin a systematic search, accompanying myself meanwhile with a sort of general, all-around cursing out of various deserving individuals and things.
>
> For starters, God damn to hell my father’s fucking girlfriend, who expects me to do all the food and the cleanup at his seventy-fifth birthday party, and then she’ll take all the credit for herself, such a fucking jerk. Fuck the township, also, for changing fucking Bulky Waste Day from Monday to Friday and now I have to haul all that shit that I carried down this morning back up from the curb or they’re going to give us a ticket, the fucking bureaucratic red-tape, petty, time-server assholes. And, just in passing, fuck the fucking Bush Administration—I know they’re not in power anymore, but fuck them anyway, because they’re such a bunch of fucks. And on the subject of stupid fucks, fuck the—
>
> FUUUUUUUCK! OW! JESUS CHRIST! FUCKING SHIT! I STUBBED MY FUCKING TOE! OW OW OW! JESUS! FUCKING LARRY LEFT THAT FUCKING BOX OF ADAPTERS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING DINING-ROOM FLOOR, THE FUCKING IDIOT! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT STUPID FUCKING BOX DOING THERE! I TOLD HIM TO PUT THOSE FUCKING ADAPTERS AWAY! FUCK! OW! FUCK!
>
> (Pause.)
>
> People say that when you misplace an object in your home, instead of tearing the place apart looking for it, you should just be patient, and the object you are looking for will eventually turn up. And now we see the accuracy of this saying, because as I sit here on the dining-room floor cursing and massaging my goddam stubbed toe, I notice that over there on the floor, just behind the door to the kitchen, is the stupid fucking cocktail glass I was looking for. And, thanks be to merciful God, there is still a fair amount of drink remaining in it, so I’ll down it now. What a fucking terrible day this has been.
>
> Next week the Cursing Mommy will show you how to put up the decorations for a child’s birthday party all by yourself with no help from your fucking husband. Watch for her column, entitled, “God Damn This Tape Dispenser to Hell: Party Decorating Tips from the Cursing Mommy.” ♦
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
New truths
I have always opposed the death penalty, but I found out over the last few weeks that I do will certain people to fall off the face of the earth.
A fella, who had been peripheral to our lives, tried to kill somebody I love and threatened to kill a group of us in general. With that, he became worth less than dirt to me. Actually, I really value dirt, so how about "he became a worthless piece of shit to me?"
The night this all came to a head, even before he tried or threatened to kill, I wished he would just choke and die on his own Maker's Mark laced vomit. He didn't vomit, and he didn't die. I can't look at Maker's Mark anymore- it's gross anyway.
I guess my own callousness has been a bit of a shock, but I'll live.
A fella, who had been peripheral to our lives, tried to kill somebody I love and threatened to kill a group of us in general. With that, he became worth less than dirt to me. Actually, I really value dirt, so how about "he became a worthless piece of shit to me?"
The night this all came to a head, even before he tried or threatened to kill, I wished he would just choke and die on his own Maker's Mark laced vomit. He didn't vomit, and he didn't die. I can't look at Maker's Mark anymore- it's gross anyway.
I guess my own callousness has been a bit of a shock, but I'll live.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Labretta Suede and the Motel Six in our living room
Yay life and meeting these lovely folks serendipitously! As you can see, WHAT A FUN SHOW!
Exhausted. Babbo fighting impetigo.
Had a Childrens Hospital visit recently. Babbo's A1Cs got down to 7.2 for the last quarter, which vindicated the rather shitty sleeplessness that had been from March through much of June/July.
Still, rather happy about being young enough to boogie.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Whoa, that is summer flying right by
We survived Meatfest '09.
We have been married 10 years. Matt spent the day with Joel, who'd never climbed Mt. Emerson before. I spent the day hunting and gathering at the shops and getting meat ready for Meatfest. Anniversary dinner to happen later in the week.
We had wonderful visit with Karen O's family from Decatur. We talked rock and roll. Our kids played until they nearly vomited from having to part. We drank cocktails. Matty and I played guard one night and slept outside of a canvas tent full of children while the coyotes howled in the nearby fields.
We had a very wonderful visit with Dave and Naomi and Owen. Dave and Naomi are such wonderful parents and Owen, who is now one, is nothing but love and kindness. I am so very happy for them. Naomi walked to the top of Mt. Whitney in a day. Kudos to her and her kind friends Phoebe and Gloria.
The Verniers stopped by for a few days, with Lucie's aunt, uncle, and cousin from Czech Republic in tow. I had forgotten about Lucie's wonderful laugh. They all taught me "Na Zdravie!" the Czech way to cheers.
We are having a very fine and easy visit with Motorcycle Michelle and Jascha, who spend most days conquering peaks.
I refused to run around like a headless chicken at the party, and it was good. I actually caught up with a few friends before I crashed and burned when I put Babbo down to bed. I only had two drinks for the six or so hours, but I was tired. I left the party early, put my greasy face and party clothes self on the bed and just went to sleep. Janet was kind to stay up to play cleaning elf into the wee hours.
But I am exhausted. Wyatt is home from preschol this coming week for teacher break.
We have been married 10 years. Matt spent the day with Joel, who'd never climbed Mt. Emerson before. I spent the day hunting and gathering at the shops and getting meat ready for Meatfest. Anniversary dinner to happen later in the week.
We had wonderful visit with Karen O's family from Decatur. We talked rock and roll. Our kids played until they nearly vomited from having to part. We drank cocktails. Matty and I played guard one night and slept outside of a canvas tent full of children while the coyotes howled in the nearby fields.
We had a very wonderful visit with Dave and Naomi and Owen. Dave and Naomi are such wonderful parents and Owen, who is now one, is nothing but love and kindness. I am so very happy for them. Naomi walked to the top of Mt. Whitney in a day. Kudos to her and her kind friends Phoebe and Gloria.
The Verniers stopped by for a few days, with Lucie's aunt, uncle, and cousin from Czech Republic in tow. I had forgotten about Lucie's wonderful laugh. They all taught me "Na Zdravie!" the Czech way to cheers.
We are having a very fine and easy visit with Motorcycle Michelle and Jascha, who spend most days conquering peaks.
I refused to run around like a headless chicken at the party, and it was good. I actually caught up with a few friends before I crashed and burned when I put Babbo down to bed. I only had two drinks for the six or so hours, but I was tired. I left the party early, put my greasy face and party clothes self on the bed and just went to sleep. Janet was kind to stay up to play cleaning elf into the wee hours.
But I am exhausted. Wyatt is home from preschol this coming week for teacher break.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
House concert @our house and the sights of Bishop, CA
Bishop, CA, welcomes Disasteradio and A Low Hum! Bless Simon Ward for capturing the fun and making us look like nonscary freaks.
Oooh, could have used a massive spring tidying of the yard! Yes, the Schoberlews, putting the trash in "white trash" since 2000!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Not given lightly
Chris Knox, a "godfather" of New Zealand pop, had a stroke last week. He's a manic genius, and all thoughts are for a strong recovery.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Monday, June 08, 2009
We interrupt this incessant moaning for a bit of good news
Went on two WEE hikes* over the weekend en famille and am happy to report that the $100K of surgimitating on the left hip worked (praise be for insurance)! Glad I don't live in the bad old days when they would have just put the old girl (me) down.
We'll eat our first tomatoes tonight - Black Cherry. All two of them.
*Pine Creek - up to Pratt's Crack and Tyee Lakes Trail - about twice the distance from the Falls. Babbo really did well. Matty and I shared an Alaska IPA traveler on the trail. Everybody happy.
We'll eat our first tomatoes tonight - Black Cherry. All two of them.
*Pine Creek - up to Pratt's Crack and Tyee Lakes Trail - about twice the distance from the Falls. Babbo really did well. Matty and I shared an Alaska IPA traveler on the trail. Everybody happy.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Monsoons!
We have had over a week of afternoon monsoons. Hardly anybody is complaining about it - it's so very exotic for 'round these parts. Rain in the afternoon. Rain in the evening. Rain meaning a very big drop or two of something wet from the sky - so big and so wet that you are sure it's a bird dropping and check. Cycling in it has been wonderful.
We are still getting an appearance of that hot yellow orb in the sky and a large enough dose that many of us are plenty nut brown enough for the season.
Some of the tomato plants are taller than me.
We are still getting an appearance of that hot yellow orb in the sky and a large enough dose that many of us are plenty nut brown enough for the season.
Some of the tomato plants are taller than me.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Bitch runneth over
Tricia to Zach P. after he said "thanks" for hosting card night: I seem to have turned into a caustic bitch. I must apologize to Konrad. Glad you like Tricia v. 2.0 even if nobody else does.
I called Konrad a "pussy" at cards the other night. Folks thought it was funny because I want people to like me so badly that I tend not to say things like that. The sad thing is that my personality has changed a lot over the last half year. Chalk it up to the chain of events - the subpoena on Christmas Eve to testify against the beater next door, the 3+ months of sleeplessness from switching over to the insulin pump, the household bouts of gastroenteritis, the coming down from a great trip to New Zealand....I reckon stuff happens to most everyone. Why the hell can't I grow thicker skin and just get on with it?
Chatted w/ Matt about it, asked for a bit of help, but allowed myself to acknowledge the absolute rage I sometimes feel. I'm feeling better already.
There's no going back to the relentlessly cheerful and unrealistic Tricia v. 1.0. It is probably for the best.
I called Konrad a "pussy" at cards the other night. Folks thought it was funny because I want people to like me so badly that I tend not to say things like that. The sad thing is that my personality has changed a lot over the last half year. Chalk it up to the chain of events - the subpoena on Christmas Eve to testify against the beater next door, the 3+ months of sleeplessness from switching over to the insulin pump, the household bouts of gastroenteritis, the coming down from a great trip to New Zealand....I reckon stuff happens to most everyone. Why the hell can't I grow thicker skin and just get on with it?
Chatted w/ Matt about it, asked for a bit of help, but allowed myself to acknowledge the absolute rage I sometimes feel. I'm feeling better already.
There's no going back to the relentlessly cheerful and unrealistic Tricia v. 1.0. It is probably for the best.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
summer is here
Pimientos de Padron. Calvin Trillin and Peter Keen were right. These are pretty damned good.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Day five post op
and only the sutures hurt a wee bit now.
Wow. There are benefits to being a bit younger and a bit fitter going into surgery!
There is a hummingbird nest building outside the bay window. I am honored and thrilled.
Matty and I are going to eat the first wave of Padron peppers. They set a bit early this year. I am honored and thrilled.
Wow. There are benefits to being a bit younger and a bit fitter going into surgery!
There is a hummingbird nest building outside the bay window. I am honored and thrilled.
Matty and I are going to eat the first wave of Padron peppers. They set a bit early this year. I am honored and thrilled.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Mental holiday
That will be me enjoying the blissed out, if only slightly barfy, morphine induced sleep tonight. Going into Mammoth Hospital to have young, intrepid, ready-for-tv Dr. Perry remove the two drywall screws that I feel when I sit on the loo and the angle plate embedded in my upper femur that aches when the weather turns cold.
All this to get the legs ready for my second femoral osteotomy, hopefully this fall.
All this to get the legs ready for my second femoral osteotomy, hopefully this fall.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Not that I want to think about Babbo's sex life - other than hope he has a happy one
but poor fella will also never really get to experience the pleasure of falling into post-coital sleep.
Diabetics on insulin pumps who disconnect their pumps for intercourse often give themselves terrible overnight highs by falling asleep without plugging back in.
Oh, the things we take for granted!
Diabetics on insulin pumps who disconnect their pumps for intercourse often give themselves terrible overnight highs by falling asleep without plugging back in.
Oh, the things we take for granted!
Earliest year for fruitset that I can remember
The Padron peppers and the tomatoes I set in walls o water over a month ago are setting fruit reliably. We are going to have weather in the high eighties for the next few days. Long hot summer ahead, Kids?
Sunday, May 03, 2009
I felt sad for Babbo tonight
He's had a stomach flu (yes, yes, was worried a bit there that it was H1N1, but the stomach flu is what's going around town and his symptoms fill the slots). He's been all over the map blood glucosewise. His energy levels are so low that I barely recognize him. We haven't done much other than to be close by to check his urine ketones (also all over the map), check his blood glucose, push water, push food, and push or withhold insulin.
Good thing for the Internet. I sit here and surf and post until something else needs doing.
At any rate, today, I was reminded that even with all our interventions, his numbers do sometimes go haywire. As an adult, he'll have to work at not being alone on days like this because his judgment can become impaired and his impairment can kill him. Man, as if the pressure of finding a nice partner, nice friends, etc. isn't hard enough.
Sobering thoughts for the mother of a little kid with this lifelong disease.
It is late, though, and it is close enough to 2 am to see if the mega correction of insulin and the catheter site change I gave him an hour ago worked....
Good thing for the Internet. I sit here and surf and post until something else needs doing.
At any rate, today, I was reminded that even with all our interventions, his numbers do sometimes go haywire. As an adult, he'll have to work at not being alone on days like this because his judgment can become impaired and his impairment can kill him. Man, as if the pressure of finding a nice partner, nice friends, etc. isn't hard enough.
Sobering thoughts for the mother of a little kid with this lifelong disease.
It is late, though, and it is close enough to 2 am to see if the mega correction of insulin and the catheter site change I gave him an hour ago worked....
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Before this becomes habit
Matt and I are getting so close to dialing in those insulin doses. It's not going to be a moment too soon, either. I fear that this insomnia will become a longterm habit (I've been warned it can from a girlfriend who has been there and is still doing that).
Counting the excitement of going to New Zealand, I haven't slept more than a few hours uninterrupted since mid-February.
Did a bomber run down to Childrens for a gastro appointment Monday/Tuesday. Was a bit concerned about the swine flu, but in the end, we just had to go. Wyatt can stay on the Prevacid (proton pump inhibitor) for as long as it takes for him to outgrow this GERD (acid reflux).
Three cheeers!
Counting the excitement of going to New Zealand, I haven't slept more than a few hours uninterrupted since mid-February.
Did a bomber run down to Childrens for a gastro appointment Monday/Tuesday. Was a bit concerned about the swine flu, but in the end, we just had to go. Wyatt can stay on the Prevacid (proton pump inhibitor) for as long as it takes for him to outgrow this GERD (acid reflux).
Three cheeers!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Group hug, Kiwi-style
I have found my calling and it is plying pork products on Kiwi musos.
Disasteradio's show was so much fun. It was hot and sweaty with heaps of enthusiasm, on his part and ours. Black Sheep baristi Elliot and Reed did a great job interpretive dancing with Karen through the set. I danced my ass off, even with a splinter in my bare foot. My unoperated hip hurt like hell for days, but it was worth it.
It was another stone soup production with folks rallying around to help and donate time, gear, gifts, and muscle. Karen, Janet, and I turned the room from living room to dancehall in less than half an hour.
I got a bit nervous as the potluck had already started, and the Disasteradio crew were nowhere in sight. Blink, is a man good to his word, though, and he got everybody to Bishop with plenty of time to spare. They were coming from Vegas and stopped to experience the hottest weather they'd ever experienced. It was all of 100.4 degrees [Note to self, try not to book Kiwi bands in the dead of summer. They will die.].
Luke aka Disasteradio had just married his girlfriend Christina the night before in Vegas. They were giddy. Blink brought his beloved Sally on this tour. Yay! They all brought Simon Ward, a lovely and talented videographer and videomaker (see above). The show was very high energy and was particularly mesmerizing for me because the music meshed with the wee films so very well. Luke is a multitasker and can sing, twiddle with the knobs and dials, run a laptop, and control the disco ball we had with his foot.
The potluck was a hit. The next night, we had carnitas tacos for dinner, and the next morning, we had the local mahogany smoked thick sliced bacon (aka "crack bacon"). I made sure to cook the bacon slowly and not too crisp, like folks outside of the States like it. I was touched that they gave us bottles of Hawkes Bay wine and music pressies when they left. A few days have passed, and I'm still feeling the group hug.
Brainstorming now with friends on how to get Humphreys and Keen over to the States....
Friday, April 17, 2009
Easter, LA, and beyond
What a beautiful, fun, Easter at Macey's again this year. "The girls" and Marshall came and my dad drove up from Olancha for the day.
Monday, we spent a long, intense day at Childrens Hospital. We learned heaps. For all the high blood glucoses we've been having, we had the lowest A1C of 7.4 ever! The nurses explained that even with the high readings, our quick actions resulted in better overall averages.
Yay!
Our eventual goal is to get an A1C of between 6 and 7.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Got outskied by a 4 year old today
Babbo didn't throw one hissy fit and skied until the Discovery Chair closed.
I only threw one minor hissy fit (about driving around the Mammoth Mountain lot) and skied until the Discovery Chair closed.
Babbo skis the fall line and can stop.
I can't ski the fall line and can stop (because I ski so slowly).
Babbo 1 Mommy Nil.
Oh, he can also do the near splits AND plow the snow with his helmeted head while skiing! Amazing.
I now know that Matty drinks mainly from the well of infinite patience. I, on the otherhand, drink from the well of impending crabbiness. Shit.
I only threw one minor hissy fit (about driving around the Mammoth Mountain lot) and skied until the Discovery Chair closed.
Babbo skis the fall line and can stop.
I can't ski the fall line and can stop (because I ski so slowly).
Babbo 1 Mommy Nil.
Oh, he can also do the near splits AND plow the snow with his helmeted head while skiing! Amazing.
I now know that Matty drinks mainly from the well of infinite patience. I, on the otherhand, drink from the well of impending crabbiness. Shit.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
When the wind comes 'round
It's still for the moment. Huzzah! Spring winds have a habit of making everybody crabby and sniffly and sneezy.
Getting some sleep, thanks to Matty taking Babbo's 3 am blood glucose readings, but life with pump still a bit too full of ups and downs. Apparently, this is very normal in the early days.
Santogold is hot.
The Cold War Kids are not.
The concert demographic was mostly comprised of well to do, dumb, Orange County college kids on spring break. What was I thinking?
A pod of Asian kids went by, called out "Look, Asian!" and highfived me. That was cool.
Had a fun time with girlfriends and Marshall Minobe, drinking wine and eating desert nonetheless!
Getting some sleep, thanks to Matty taking Babbo's 3 am blood glucose readings, but life with pump still a bit too full of ups and downs. Apparently, this is very normal in the early days.
Santogold is hot.
The Cold War Kids are not.
The concert demographic was mostly comprised of well to do, dumb, Orange County college kids on spring break. What was I thinking?
A pod of Asian kids went by, called out "Look, Asian!" and highfived me. That was cool.
Had a fun time with girlfriends and Marshall Minobe, drinking wine and eating desert nonetheless!
Friday, March 27, 2009
My kingdom for a full night's sleep
Wyatt's numbers still all over the place, but we are getting to within striking range now. The nurses at Children's are now letting us skip ahead an increment on overnight insulin dosage, saving us a wasted night each time they do so.
We got ketones (bad) for the first time the other night. Luckily they were small and dealt with with water and insulin.
I am so sleepy that I had no will to go to the Banff Film Fest tonight. It is the alternative mountain crowd event of the year. I just couldn't bear the small talk and the long sad ethnographic film before the intermission.
Matty got a night out.
I hope to see Santogold and the Cold War Kids in Mammoth tomorrow night. Free gig at the Village.
We got ketones (bad) for the first time the other night. Luckily they were small and dealt with with water and insulin.
I am so sleepy that I had no will to go to the Banff Film Fest tonight. It is the alternative mountain crowd event of the year. I just couldn't bear the small talk and the long sad ethnographic film before the intermission.
Matty got a night out.
I hope to see Santogold and the Cold War Kids in Mammoth tomorrow night. Free gig at the Village.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The pump is installed
We are having ups and downs in the process of trying to fine tune Babbo's insulin pump to administer the right doses throughout the day and night.
Matty and I are splitting the night shift. One of us takes the 12 am and the other, the 3 am blood glucose reading.
Three cheers for technology, though. We can dose the boy while he's running and playing and just being a kid. No more waving needles and vials in very public places. It's not like he or we were self-conscious about the needles and vials, but the discretion will allow him some degree of not being so "special" in the future. He looks like a wee baby doctor because the unit looks like a pager on his waistband. He digs the look.
Matty and I are splitting the night shift. One of us takes the 12 am and the other, the 3 am blood glucose reading.
Three cheers for technology, though. We can dose the boy while he's running and playing and just being a kid. No more waving needles and vials in very public places. It's not like he or we were self-conscious about the needles and vials, but the discretion will allow him some degree of not being so "special" in the future. He looks like a wee baby doctor because the unit looks like a pager on his waistband. He digs the look.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Do Crazy Old Chinese Women Dream of Technicolor Lamingtons? (sorry exceedingly long trip report with heaps of errors)
So, my 11 days away from Bishop, my 9 days in New Zealand were an extended dream.
I had the flu. I danced so hard I was crippled. I met so many folks I already knew through years of emails, etc. I scared young boys with my enthusiasm for their bands. I pinched the smooth arms of Peter Keen, a man who sings the angel songs inside my head. I got asthma and went to urgent care. I missed Wyatt and Matt for the first time ever, because I've never really been away from them.
I did not drink nearly enough wine. I subsisted on a diet of Omega plums - my gorgeous, tart, S. Island Omegas were in season- and cappuccinos.
I saw the son of my childhood friend walk home from school on my way through their moderate sized (pop. 30,000) town. I so wanted to jump out of the car to say "hello!", but reckoned that they teach New Zealand kids not to talk to strangers, too.
I scared the little brother of one person I know so badly that he moved seats on the bus we were riding into town together. It's just that I recognized him from the Phoenix Foundation's "Bright Grey" video and family snapshots on blogs and kept looking to double check that it was him. Poor bastard.
I bought a fantastic wee painting of Pohutukawa (NZ Christmas tree) from a fellow Phoenix Foundation fan.
I met the very nice Liam Ryan, the man behind the voice I listen to 4 days a week (He's a DJ on Radio Active). He is a walking encyclopedia of pop/rock/reggae.
I fired my synapses overtime playing, "Who is this New Zealander and why should I know her/him?"
I got good at texting and calling on cellphones. (There isn't a real need for it here in Bishop).
I got to have the New Zealand music conversations I have inside my head out loud....with people to boot!
I saw my dear tomato growing partners Glenn and Jan again and told them that when I met Glenn in 2004, I didn't think he'd live long enough for me to see him again. I told them that I thought they were in much better shape now than five years ago. We swam through the wildness of their glasshouses, parting the ferns, banana trees, taros, everything they have taken up in retirement. On my way out of town, they took me to the park in town, where rainforests stood side by side with manicured cricket lawns. Magic.
The Matthew Bannister/Able Tasmans/Humphreys and Keen/The Puddle gig was such a thing of beauty. I danced in a corner in a terribly inappropriately sheer dress and beige bra combo which had the misfortune of making me look like a reject from a Sears' Plus Size mannequin factory. The punters at the show were so lovely, so welcoming, though. Matthew Bannister and his musical partner Paula Law sang observationally pithy songs with such beautiful voices. I hung onto every note of the Able Tasmans (I am only a recent convert to their oeuvre, to my shame) and Humphreys and Keen sets. Peter Keen and Graeme Humphreys rendered the songs as if singing to a room of old mates, sometimes starting over- having never really perfomed these songs live before- in their quest to do right by them. Bless. I bleated like a baby lamb when their set ended on the last line from their last song on "The Overflow" - "You'll know just enough to break my heart in ev'ry single way." Break it they did. It was neat to see George D. Henderson (and dear fellow Phoenix Foundation fan friend Ian Henderson!) in the Puddle. Looking at George Henderson, you get the feeling that this man has survived a lot and when he sings about love, you get the feeling that he's thought a lot about it. Thank you Owen Harris for organizing the show and for the warm welcome and thank you Steven Schayer for the instant friendship. Thank you Ian Henderson for being just the good guy that you are and have always been.
Over the Atlantic showed that a year of hard touring around the world makes you fine musicians, even in the face of dumb young punters up wayyyy too late in the middle of the night. Nik and Ash and Rhys all play like houses on fire. They are more muscular than ever and the addition of Liz on keys makes their wall of sound even fuller. I love that the year of touring hadn't changed Nik and Ash's loveliness. It was nice to meet Nik's folks and sisters, too. I am suffering a bit of shock because as "purdy" as their second CD -Dimensions- is, it does not prepare you for their sonic live show. Bibi said that it was the second loudest show she'd been to.
Seeing the SJD Band, in the rain in Wellington, was worth the 04:30 wake up call to catch a flight from Auckland to Wellington in a cyclone. I pounded six ibuprofin to get there and to stay upright in the midst of the flu, and it was worth it all. Sean Donnelly is a ringleader of a fine circus of amazing performers. Sandy Mill is even more amazing in person than on record. She sings with great ability and range and plays percussion. Dominic Blaazer on keys is cheeky and his bv are a fine compliment. James Duncan's guitar adds an organic warmth to counter to sometimes two sets of keyboards. I know why lovely Chris O'Connor is a drummer in demand. Paul McLaney was not there and, frankly, it might have been a distraction to have another singer. Sean Donnelly's songs are deeper and more touching than a cursory listen would indicate, and this is really apparent when you are sick in a mud pit. I am going to make a mix tape of the studio versions of all the songs they did. It was that much of a show of joy. I was gobsmacked when Sean dedicated "Beautiful Haze" to me.
Dan Adams' solo opener, under the moniker Colossal Colossus, in the lovely wee community Breaker Bay Hall with himself on loops (recording bits and playing them back in the course of the song to make a fuller sound) made my head spin and my heart soar. His layering of vocals in "Full Fathom Five" still haunts me. He closed the show with a very very special unlooped "Million Dollar View" (with a kind shout out), which made me very happy. It was lovely to meet the extraordinary photographer and extraordinarily kind Robert Catto that night, too. Robert's multitalented wife Delia drummed in headlining Milkthistle. I spent a day with Dan and his beautiful, intelligent, and creative wife Mary and their newborn Nina. We had breakky (poached eggs and lattes of course!) at the atmospheric Maranui Cafe in Lyall Bay. Rodney (my best mate from college and the friend who introduced me to Matty) cycled out to join us. It was a gorgeously sunny and dry day. After brunch, we drve around the wee communities along the water, we dropped Mary and Nina off, and we headed up to Poirurua for Dan's lecture at Whitireia Polytechnic. The lecture was to students in the first third of their studies and discussed vocals. Dan had visual and audio clips for everything he wanted to discuss, voice as instrument, families who sing together, the magic of a good vocal, emotion as a conditioner to vocals, etc. I wish I had more professors who were this passionate about teaching and about their subject. We swung back to Wellington's waterfront for a gelato and some NZ music and National Radio gossip. The he took me to Karori, where the Adamses lived, where two generations of the family were married, where the Adams boys explored the WWII gun turret that inspired the song "Tunnels in the Hill". We finished the day with a wee hike at Makara Beach, where I got to stand on the West Coast again. Gorgeous. Dan's folks, who gave us a lift back from Breaker Bay, are quite remarkable, and Dad is a Mutton Birds' fan, too!
Will Ricketts, percussionist for the Phoenix Foundation, was a joy to be with for the hour we "hung." He was so focused and happy about making his own music. He'd been up to 04:30 recording the night before. He has a new solo CD that will be released soon named "John Dryden" after his famous poet relation. The tracks are quite different from one another but taken together, they make a wonderful, wonderful summer album. It hangs together really well.
One night, we were supposed to either go see Spartacus R and Ragamuffin Children or the Mint Chicks, but ended up seeing Sam Scott, who took us up to where the Phoenix Foundation practice and record. We three sat around and gassed about New Zealand music gossip and the shows we'd seen so far. He recorded Bibi and me clapping on one track for the new album. Sadly, Chinese Americans are not known for their rhythm. For all of Bibi's Southern ability to keep time, I dorked out and won't be surprised if our clapping can't get used. Sorry, Bibi Dude! It was a lovely to see Sam for a bit. I teased that his wedding band ("kept man band") looked good on him, and it does. I feel squishy inside when I see Sam Scott. To my great shame, I was driving up the Kapiti Coast and missed seeing Richie (TPF drummer) Brett (TPF soundman) who were waiting for me at Fidels on Cuba Street.
I am a bit in love with the Cassette band. I like their rangy Americana and the kind of boy meets girl and writes a country song about it approach to tunes. Luke "love me, I'm Polish" Buda was playing around Auckland and Cassette were his band. At Cassette No. 9 (the same young venue with the young punters where we saw Over the Atlantic), Cassette were the headliners on a bill with White Swan/Black Swan, a duo featuring Ben Arch Hill/Suprette Howe and his musical partner Sonya Waters- with their lovely vocal and narrative juxtapositions; an unmemorable kitschy Americana band; and Luke Buda. Luke was excited for us to see Cassette and warned that Tom Watson (a fella I ran up to at the SJD show to say "Hullo, I'm seeing your show in Auckland next week and boy, am I looking forward to it!" To which, rather stunned, he replied, "Hi, I'm Tom.") was quite a guitarist. True that. Craig Terris on drums and excellent backing vocals is a revelation, too. Bibi and I sat with Luke for quite a while. We chatted about sons, Phoenix touring the States, Phoenix touring Europe, the economics of touring, NZ music gossip, swearing in America, American politics, etc. Luke is the man I feel quite related to. Maybe it's because our sons are pretty close in age or maybe it's just because he is often quite honestly disarming, but in a gentle and good natured way. He is blessed with songwriting talent, a wonderful partner, and two sons now. Because Cassette drummer Craig Terris decided to dedicate a song to a heckler in the crowd, Luke ended up dedicating the following "My Imminent Demise" to Bishop, California! Bless.
Bibi was a trooper. I tend to get quite withdrawn towards the end of trips, and she admirably just gave me space. We had a few wee breaks from doing things together during the trip, which was great. It allowed us to form distinct memories and to make the trip our very own. Luckily, she didn't get sick and could drink wine, so had a few winetasting adventures while I hung out with the Adamses and the Parkers. She handled the very very late nights admirably.
Rodney and Carla were troopers and wonderful to us. We invaded their apartment in Newtown, with Bibi and I taking turns in the lounge. I promptly made Rodney sick and it was the week he was starting grad school at night (MBA from Vic Uni). Still, he dragged his ass out to have fish and chips lunch with us. They gave us their phones, showed us how to catch the buses into town, cooked for us, and got us Indian takeaways. One night, we four played grown ups and went to Logan Brown for the fabby and cheap (with the $2 NZD to $1 USD exchange rate, three courses ran about $20) prix fixe meal.
I ditched the harpy for a bit.
I didn't die driving between Welly and New Plymouth.
Mission accomplished.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Sunday is here. Tuesday is coming.
Glenn very very good. His wife Jan says that he tells all the neighbors that his "American girlfriend" is coming. To which I say, "Won't they be surprised when the Chinese mail order bride arrives?" We three had a long ol' chat on the phone the other day, and his brain is just in the process of "resetting." The wee stroke was his wake up call to get his blood pressure under control and to get fit. Not bad goals.
I have been having a hell of a time sleeping. Too much adrenaline. Last night, I stayed awake for four hours AFTER going to bed with an ambien. I did have a scare with Wyatt after I put my head down - his blood sugars were a little low going into the night, and it took ages to try to rouse him for some juice. I got scared then angry. Poor little buggar, all he wanted was sleep.
Every one has been so lovely. My folks don't object to my going. My in-laws are lovely. They gave me a card with some cash and told me to have fun. They said to say "hi" to Mel, the stalker in the Flight of the Conchords show. Funny people.
I have been having a hell of a time sleeping. Too much adrenaline. Last night, I stayed awake for four hours AFTER going to bed with an ambien. I did have a scare with Wyatt after I put my head down - his blood sugars were a little low going into the night, and it took ages to try to rouse him for some juice. I got scared then angry. Poor little buggar, all he wanted was sleep.
Every one has been so lovely. My folks don't object to my going. My in-laws are lovely. They gave me a card with some cash and told me to have fun. They said to say "hi" to Mel, the stalker in the Flight of the Conchords show. Funny people.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
It's 2 in the morning and I was awake anyway
Wyatt: (sound of disturbed sleep) Mommy...Daddy!
Mommy: Hi Wyatt. What's wrong?
Wyatt: (clear as a bell) Nothing. I just wanted to say "hi."
He's been sleeping on a cot at the foot of our bed since his numbers started going haywire. It's comforting to be there for him when he's scared, when he's sick. Makes up for all our crabbiness during the day, when daylight is burning, when there is work to be done, when somebody is being stroppy, when there are the distractions that make you forget where you fit in the grand scheme of things.
Mommy: Hi Wyatt. What's wrong?
Wyatt: (clear as a bell) Nothing. I just wanted to say "hi."
He's been sleeping on a cot at the foot of our bed since his numbers started going haywire. It's comforting to be there for him when he's scared, when he's sick. Makes up for all our crabbiness during the day, when daylight is burning, when there is work to be done, when somebody is being stroppy, when there are the distractions that make you forget where you fit in the grand scheme of things.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
A million thoughts to Glenn Parker
he's my tomato partner in crime in New Plymouth, New Zealand. He has had what his daughter termed a "small" stroke, but I know those Parkers. They tend to sandbag these things. I was supposed to stay with Glenn and his wife Jan around the 4th of March and of course, the note I got tonight said, "Dad and Mum still say you are very welcomed to stay." Just like them.
I have been friends with Glenn and lovely Jan for someodd 8 or so years now. We email eachother so regularly, that I get to feeling that something is amiss in the universe when two weeks goes by without a note. We compare the things falling off our bodies, getting fat, getting fit, politics, what's growing in the garden in general, and of course, tomatoes.
Glenn introduced the Kosovo tomato commercially. It is everyone's favorite - as it should be.
I do hope that it was a small stroke and that he's on his way to recovery.
I have been friends with Glenn and lovely Jan for someodd 8 or so years now. We email eachother so regularly, that I get to feeling that something is amiss in the universe when two weeks goes by without a note. We compare the things falling off our bodies, getting fat, getting fit, politics, what's growing in the garden in general, and of course, tomatoes.
Glenn introduced the Kosovo tomato commercially. It is everyone's favorite - as it should be.
I do hope that it was a small stroke and that he's on his way to recovery.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
The daunting Glucagon
So, when Wyatt had the gastro, his numbers plummeted, and one night, they just wouldn't go back into range. Between 100-200 is optimal for a kid. Below 80 requires active intervention with carbohydrates. He was 54, which was getting dangerous. I pumped him with 45 grams of carbohydrates in the form of juice over 90 minutes. Normally, this would have skyrocketed Wyatt well past 200, but he started to drop even more.
I remembered something Matty read out loud from the big reference book about using glucagon in times of stomach flus and thought we'd better use it, even if Wyatt wasn't passed out. Normally, glucagon is reserved for when diabetics can't swallow and/or are in a hypoglycemic coma.
I woke Matty up to do the conversion math at about 2am. We decided on the minidosing regimen for which there were heaps of abstracts of studies and general instructions online. Trouble was, half the instructions were in volumes by weight and the other half were in units on a syringe. We bickered a bit. It helped to see on the glucagon instructions a box indicating that it was impossible to overadminister it. Bless Matty the Mathlete (yes, he was a high school mathlete), because he sussed it out, and we were able to use the normal small syringe we use for everything and not the large animal issue that comes in the glucagon kit (see above).
With our wee minidose, Wyatt's liver dumped sugars into his bloodstream, and he started to metabolize sugar again. We'd been prepared that glucagon could cause vomiting, so I had the boy sleep on his stomach. Sure enough, he barfed about two hours later. Oh, and he sponteneously crapped, too. After a clean up, we got to bed by 4.
I am grateful that Susan, our pharmacist kept giving us glucagon kits to leave around the house because we'd met our deductible and at that point, they were free. I am glad that the kit was not too hard to use in the end (that instruction sheet you see is double sided). The kit also saved us a 911 call or a trip to the emergency room.
Diabetes is the disease that keeps parents on their toes. As soon as the gastro ended, the boy caught a cold and his sugars have been very high.....
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Yet another New Zealand music geek out post, but this time, I'm Aotearoa bound
After much hmming and hahhhing and talking it over with the powers that be, I've decided to go to New Zealand for a week and a half with Bibi. Bibi is my New Zealand music partner in crime. We met over the Mutton Birds. She taught me about the Flying Nun back catalog, and I introduced her to the Phoenix Foundation and SJD.
I owe Matty, my dear friend and boss Diane, and various friends and family heaps of thanks for making this possible. I owe United Mileage Plus for getting me there (I needed 80,000 miles I had just attained the balance of 80,040).
I owe a fella I haven't yet met heaps of thanks for hosting private a Humphreys and Keen gig in Auckland for his birthday. I owe Ian Henderson, a penfriend of several years, heaps of thanks for giving me the heads up that the Puddle, a band he drums for, would be opening for Humphreys and Keen.
So, in the week and a half, I hope to (no particular order):
See Humphreys and Keen, opened by the Puddle, and Matthew Bannister in Auckland
See Over the Atlantic (the wonderful fellas who played our living room last spring) in AKL
See SJD (purveyor of thinking person's dance music and some of my favorite songs) in Wellington, at a beerfestival where I also hope to see past Bar Bodega owner Fraser McInnes
See Dan Adams (a composer and performer we saw at the 2004 NZ Arts Festival. We have kept in touch over the years since) in WLG
See Luke Buda, opened by Black Swan/White Swan, and Cassette in AKL the night before I fly home
Stay with Rodney, my best mate from uni, and his wife Carla in WLG. I will be bearing ungodly amounts of corn tortillas, pickled jalepenos, and green salsa (Carla is Mexican) and DVDs.
Spend the night with Glenn and Jan Parker, my tomato partners in crime in New Plymouth
Say "hi" to Liam Luff, the Radio Active DJ who turned me onto the Phoenix Foundation back in 2002, and who has provided invaluable advice along the way.
Say "hi" to Steve Dean, a penfriend from the Mutton Birds' list and sender of fine packages, in WLG
See Enaj, the girl I grew up with in the Valley, in Wanganui
Drink Ata Rangi Pinot Noir, my fav of all-time, in Martinborough (I have had the 02, 03, 04 vintages)
Meet Walter, a fella who is a friend of Lesley's here in Bishop and an old coworker of Luke Buda's, who does improvisational drama and will have a poster by Mat Hunkin, an artist I quite like, for me.
Buy a wee Pohutukawa painting from a fellow Phoenix Foundation fan.
This will be the first trip in five that I don't go to the South Island. Strange.
I have written the draft of a letter I will leave for Babbo. I am a worrier and wonder what it would be like if I died over there. My writing the letter is my acknowledgment that all things are possible. The letter itself is my acknowledgment that for all my disciplining, I am incredibly proud of Wyatt and quite love his very open personality. I have every intention of coming home on time, ready for loving and parenting. I do need this break, though.
I hope to ditch my humorless harpy somewhere over the Pacific.
In other NZ Music news, I had asked around re: the opening lyrics to the Able Tasmans' song "Angry Martyr" and got around to asking its singer and lyricist Peter Keen. To my surprise, he told me. Apparently, it'd been the subject of many a conjecture over the years, and he'd never got around to telling. I don't know how I feel about being the latecomer to the party, but the first to find out. Honored is one thing, but was I worthy?
I owe Matty, my dear friend and boss Diane, and various friends and family heaps of thanks for making this possible. I owe United Mileage Plus for getting me there (I needed 80,000 miles I had just attained the balance of 80,040).
I owe a fella I haven't yet met heaps of thanks for hosting private a Humphreys and Keen gig in Auckland for his birthday. I owe Ian Henderson, a penfriend of several years, heaps of thanks for giving me the heads up that the Puddle, a band he drums for, would be opening for Humphreys and Keen.
So, in the week and a half, I hope to (no particular order):
See Humphreys and Keen, opened by the Puddle, and Matthew Bannister in Auckland
See Over the Atlantic (the wonderful fellas who played our living room last spring) in AKL
See SJD (purveyor of thinking person's dance music and some of my favorite songs) in Wellington, at a beerfestival where I also hope to see past Bar Bodega owner Fraser McInnes
See Dan Adams (a composer and performer we saw at the 2004 NZ Arts Festival. We have kept in touch over the years since) in WLG
See Luke Buda, opened by Black Swan/White Swan, and Cassette in AKL the night before I fly home
Stay with Rodney, my best mate from uni, and his wife Carla in WLG. I will be bearing ungodly amounts of corn tortillas, pickled jalepenos, and green salsa (Carla is Mexican) and DVDs.
Spend the night with Glenn and Jan Parker, my tomato partners in crime in New Plymouth
Say "hi" to Liam Luff, the Radio Active DJ who turned me onto the Phoenix Foundation back in 2002, and who has provided invaluable advice along the way.
Say "hi" to Steve Dean, a penfriend from the Mutton Birds' list and sender of fine packages, in WLG
See Enaj, the girl I grew up with in the Valley, in Wanganui
Drink Ata Rangi Pinot Noir, my fav of all-time, in Martinborough (I have had the 02, 03, 04 vintages)
Meet Walter, a fella who is a friend of Lesley's here in Bishop and an old coworker of Luke Buda's, who does improvisational drama and will have a poster by Mat Hunkin, an artist I quite like, for me.
Buy a wee Pohutukawa painting from a fellow Phoenix Foundation fan.
This will be the first trip in five that I don't go to the South Island. Strange.
I have written the draft of a letter I will leave for Babbo. I am a worrier and wonder what it would be like if I died over there. My writing the letter is my acknowledgment that all things are possible. The letter itself is my acknowledgment that for all my disciplining, I am incredibly proud of Wyatt and quite love his very open personality. I have every intention of coming home on time, ready for loving and parenting. I do need this break, though.
I hope to ditch my humorless harpy somewhere over the Pacific.
In other NZ Music news, I had asked around re: the opening lyrics to the Able Tasmans' song "Angry Martyr" and got around to asking its singer and lyricist Peter Keen. To my surprise, he told me. Apparently, it'd been the subject of many a conjecture over the years, and he'd never got around to telling. I don't know how I feel about being the latecomer to the party, but the first to find out. Honored is one thing, but was I worthy?
Sunday, February 08, 2009
30 Albums That Changed Your Life
(from a Facebook exercise)
Doing this list, I realized I was more suited to making mixtapes. I'm a singles woman in the end.
Thank you to Karen O' Leary for laying down the gauntlet. It was hard and fun.
There are a few embarrassing things, and many would not be desert island disc candidates now.
I would love to read others' lists.
1) The Lark, Soundtrack to a 1960s Shaw Brothers' film. In Mandarin. Haven't the foggiest idea what they're on about.
2) West Side Story, Soundtrack, Film. Because when you're a jet, you're a jet all the way. Or, maybe it's because the Sharks were hot in the orange face paint?
3)The Carpenters, Singles 1969 -1973. Every whoa oh oh. My first or second LP.
4) The Singing Detective, Soundtrack, Television.
5) Jean Redpath, Song of the Seals. Celtic songs about chicks who ruin their families' honor and get the silver dagger treatment from their pissed off fathers/brothers/mothers floated my boat and formed my opinions on love when I was 16.
6) Shirley Bassey, Love is a Many Splendored Thing.
7) Linda and Richard Thompson, Shoot Out the Lights. A primer on how to have the world's ugliest divorce.
8) Fairport Convention, Unhalfbricking.
9) Squeeze, East Side Story. Pure pop confection.
10) Elvis Costello, Imperial Bedroom.
11) Ella Fitzgerald, Live in Rome. "I Loves You Porgy" has a note in it that Ella bends and makes me shiver.
12) Roberta Flack, First Take. The woman could sing her ass off. This was her first release, and she sings Leonard Cohen's "Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye." When I was 14, a boy I loved said he would probably try drugs, and I spent a whole weekend listening to this damn song and crying like an idiot because he was going to die - DIE I TELLS YA! He didn't die. We are still friends, even if we both have fewer brain cells.
13) Sam Cooke, Night Beat. Horny and sad Sam Cooke. Probably the same one who got himself killed in that fleabag motel.
14) Crowded House, Together Alone. It reminds me of living in Truckee, California under a million feet of snow and among exploding homebrew bottles. Matty and I set up our first house to it.
15) Nat "King" Cole, Nat King Cole Story.
16) Van Morrison, Moondance. The album that heralded my impending adolescence.
17) Humphreys and Keen, The Overflow. My romantic notion for adulthood. The album I keep pimping, I know. Sorry Karen O'.
18) The Phoenix Foundation, Horsepower. God damned, I love these boys so very much.
19) The Phoenix Foundation, Happy Ending. I love them so very much that I am skipping over the Front Lawn and SJD and Paul Kelly to have two of their releases on this list. Sorry Sean (but you would rule my mixtapes).
20) Topless Women Talk About Their Lives, Soundtrack. Quite a few of the mighty Flying Nun stable are well represented.
21) The Mutton Birds, Nature. What precipitated falling off the deep end over New Zealand pop. It's Hong Kong 1995, and I'm sweaty and delirious with the flu, with this on repeat for 14 hours at a time.
22) The Mutton Birds, Envy of Angels.
23) X, Los Angeles. Punk where there was no punk before.
24) Radiohead, The Bends.
25) Aztec Camera, High Land, Hard Rain. I was an impressionable teen and 18 year old Roddy Frame was a genius. This could be interchanged with Prefab Sprout's Steve McQueen/Two Wheels Good. You decide.
26) Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys, Any greatest hits compilation with "Dusty Skies." Reminds me of driving aimlessly and eating too many molten meat pies around New Zealand.
27) Pulp, A Different Class.
28) Aimee Mann, I'm with Stupid. I learned to garden to this.
29) Glenn Gould, The Goldberg Variations, the later one when he's all humming all the time.
30) Beatles, Hard Day's Night Soundtrack
Doing this list, I realized I was more suited to making mixtapes. I'm a singles woman in the end.
Thank you to Karen O' Leary for laying down the gauntlet. It was hard and fun.
There are a few embarrassing things, and many would not be desert island disc candidates now.
I would love to read others' lists.
1) The Lark, Soundtrack to a 1960s Shaw Brothers' film. In Mandarin. Haven't the foggiest idea what they're on about.
2) West Side Story, Soundtrack, Film. Because when you're a jet, you're a jet all the way. Or, maybe it's because the Sharks were hot in the orange face paint?
3)The Carpenters, Singles 1969 -1973. Every whoa oh oh. My first or second LP.
4) The Singing Detective, Soundtrack, Television.
5) Jean Redpath, Song of the Seals. Celtic songs about chicks who ruin their families' honor and get the silver dagger treatment from their pissed off fathers/brothers/mothers floated my boat and formed my opinions on love when I was 16.
6) Shirley Bassey, Love is a Many Splendored Thing.
7) Linda and Richard Thompson, Shoot Out the Lights. A primer on how to have the world's ugliest divorce.
8) Fairport Convention, Unhalfbricking.
9) Squeeze, East Side Story. Pure pop confection.
10) Elvis Costello, Imperial Bedroom.
11) Ella Fitzgerald, Live in Rome. "I Loves You Porgy" has a note in it that Ella bends and makes me shiver.
12) Roberta Flack, First Take. The woman could sing her ass off. This was her first release, and she sings Leonard Cohen's "Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye." When I was 14, a boy I loved said he would probably try drugs, and I spent a whole weekend listening to this damn song and crying like an idiot because he was going to die - DIE I TELLS YA! He didn't die. We are still friends, even if we both have fewer brain cells.
13) Sam Cooke, Night Beat. Horny and sad Sam Cooke. Probably the same one who got himself killed in that fleabag motel.
14) Crowded House, Together Alone. It reminds me of living in Truckee, California under a million feet of snow and among exploding homebrew bottles. Matty and I set up our first house to it.
15) Nat "King" Cole, Nat King Cole Story.
16) Van Morrison, Moondance. The album that heralded my impending adolescence.
17) Humphreys and Keen, The Overflow. My romantic notion for adulthood. The album I keep pimping, I know. Sorry Karen O'.
18) The Phoenix Foundation, Horsepower. God damned, I love these boys so very much.
19) The Phoenix Foundation, Happy Ending. I love them so very much that I am skipping over the Front Lawn and SJD and Paul Kelly to have two of their releases on this list. Sorry Sean (but you would rule my mixtapes).
20) Topless Women Talk About Their Lives, Soundtrack. Quite a few of the mighty Flying Nun stable are well represented.
21) The Mutton Birds, Nature. What precipitated falling off the deep end over New Zealand pop. It's Hong Kong 1995, and I'm sweaty and delirious with the flu, with this on repeat for 14 hours at a time.
22) The Mutton Birds, Envy of Angels.
23) X, Los Angeles. Punk where there was no punk before.
24) Radiohead, The Bends.
25) Aztec Camera, High Land, Hard Rain. I was an impressionable teen and 18 year old Roddy Frame was a genius. This could be interchanged with Prefab Sprout's Steve McQueen/Two Wheels Good. You decide.
26) Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys, Any greatest hits compilation with "Dusty Skies." Reminds me of driving aimlessly and eating too many molten meat pies around New Zealand.
27) Pulp, A Different Class.
28) Aimee Mann, I'm with Stupid. I learned to garden to this.
29) Glenn Gould, The Goldberg Variations, the later one when he's all humming all the time.
30) Beatles, Hard Day's Night Soundtrack
Saturday, February 07, 2009
poker and potluck babies and pies
NB: the tin of Missouri Spudmaster chips the size of Matt and Zach's heads.
New fathers
Getting to the last of the Pinos Pies :(
Babbo holding Wayland and super psyched about it.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Houston, we have germination and other slow news day reports
The 2009 growing season is off! First sets of true leaves are coming in on the Japanese Black Trifele and the Grandeur (F1) tomatoes. The Pimientos de Padron peppers are up and will have their true leaves in about a week. The combination of the old propane stove coupled with the new wee grow light (a Christmas pressie from my mother in law) is pretty good for getting seedlings started.
My mother in law came down for an impromptu visit, and no tears were shed over the course of the weekend, no Xanax consumed. This was a pretty fine victory. I am heartened. She did ask if Matt and I were alcoholics and if we were going to church. I, to my own detriment, said something to the effect, "I REALLY love the idea of alcohol, but just can't drink very much of it." I am the daughter of an alcoholic, so I am aware of the devastation it can cause. But I am 40. You would think I would know by now if I was headed down that road. My one to two drinks a night, a few times a week does not convince me it's going to happen. She asked if we were going to church because there is a light up Jesus picture Matt found at the dump in our bathroom and a Jesus air freshener on our fridge.
I am obsessed with an Able Tasmans' song called "Angry Martyr" and cannot for the life of me figure out the first line or the bit sounds like a round. It's about a girl and god, near as I can tell.
Wyatt had a quick bout of gastroenteritis and it made his blood sugars plummet. That was a first. Viruses usually mean that they surge. Diabetes, the disease that keeps everyone on their toes.
Parties, pork products, and playdates. Life is full of those at the mo'. I made a bacon explosion because the blog link was sent to me by no less than two different fellas on the same day and because the article about it was the top story over at the New York Times. Two pounds of bacon and two pounds of Italian sausage, barbecue sauce, and heated smoke. Pictures to follow.
My mother in law came down for an impromptu visit, and no tears were shed over the course of the weekend, no Xanax consumed. This was a pretty fine victory. I am heartened. She did ask if Matt and I were alcoholics and if we were going to church. I, to my own detriment, said something to the effect, "I REALLY love the idea of alcohol, but just can't drink very much of it." I am the daughter of an alcoholic, so I am aware of the devastation it can cause. But I am 40. You would think I would know by now if I was headed down that road. My one to two drinks a night, a few times a week does not convince me it's going to happen. She asked if we were going to church because there is a light up Jesus picture Matt found at the dump in our bathroom and a Jesus air freshener on our fridge.
I am obsessed with an Able Tasmans' song called "Angry Martyr" and cannot for the life of me figure out the first line or the bit sounds like a round. It's about a girl and god, near as I can tell.
Wyatt had a quick bout of gastroenteritis and it made his blood sugars plummet. That was a first. Viruses usually mean that they surge. Diabetes, the disease that keeps everyone on their toes.
Parties, pork products, and playdates. Life is full of those at the mo'. I made a bacon explosion because the blog link was sent to me by no less than two different fellas on the same day and because the article about it was the top story over at the New York Times. Two pounds of bacon and two pounds of Italian sausage, barbecue sauce, and heated smoke. Pictures to follow.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
It is done
Goodbye and good riddance to the Bush Administration.
Greetings and a huge measure of good luck to the new Obama Administration.
Greetings and a huge measure of good luck to the new Obama Administration.
A thought to Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come"
I was born by the river in a little tent
And just like the river, I've been running ever since
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come
- It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die
- I don't know what's up there beyond the sky
- It's been a long time coming
- But I know a change is gonna come
- I go to the movie, and I go downtown
- Somebody keep telling me "Don't hang around"
- It's been a long time coming
- But I know a change is gonna come
- Then I go to my brother and I say, "Brother, help me please"
- But he winds up knocking me back down on my knees
- There've been times that I've thought I couldn't last for long
- But now I think I'm able to carry on
- It's been a long time coming
- But I know a change is gonna come
Monday, January 19, 2009
Hosteling international
Matt and Bev from Otley, England, have been here since after Christmas. They are working on their bouldering projects/problems. Matt is the healthiest I've ever seen him, and that's a good thing. They are easy to be with, and Matt still makes lovely curries and Beef and Guinness stews.
Masa and Chris from Vancouver came by for two nights. Masa got shite weather here in Bishop last year, so our endless days of "bluebird" have been a lovely treat.
Matty took all of them shooting - killing clay pigeons with a shotgun and killing tin cans with my wee 22 rifle.
Janet came back from the Bay Area.
It's been a crowded house of sorts, but February will come and all will go quiet again.
Rode my bike to Round Valley and back the last two weekends. A round trip is 35 miles. It's been awesome.
Masa and Chris from Vancouver came by for two nights. Masa got shite weather here in Bishop last year, so our endless days of "bluebird" have been a lovely treat.
Matty took all of them shooting - killing clay pigeons with a shotgun and killing tin cans with my wee 22 rifle.
Janet came back from the Bay Area.
It's been a crowded house of sorts, but February will come and all will go quiet again.
Rode my bike to Round Valley and back the last two weekends. A round trip is 35 miles. It's been awesome.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Schoberlew's miscellany
- We had a pity party last night, where those interested could send bad news up in flames. It's been hard to get a clean slate with a bit of psychic goo residue left over from last year.
- I send deep and sincere positive thoughts to one of my dearest friends ever.
- Wyatt's GERD is back. Ugh. Oh well. He vomited in our bed the last few mornings. At least we know the Prevacid works and we have the insurance to cover the $3.25 a day it costs for prescriptions.
- I got subpoenaed by a county sheriff today. I had been expecting it. I was cheerful. He was shocked.
- Peter Keen (see post below) gave me some lovely cooking tips for a tapas pepper called Pimientos de Padron. I am still floating.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The world according to Peter Keen
Thank you SC for sending this along.
Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, the song that still sends shivers up my spine after nearly three years of endless play. Peter Keen, the singer and lyricist, works aboard the research vessel the Discovery for about SIX months a year. Graeme Humphreys, the composer, is a shock jock on New Zealand radio.
You can hear songs and find out more on their Myspace page.
Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, the song that still sends shivers up my spine after nearly three years of endless play. Peter Keen, the singer and lyricist, works aboard the research vessel the Discovery for about SIX months a year. Graeme Humphreys, the composer, is a shock jock on New Zealand radio.
You can hear songs and find out more on their Myspace page.
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