Treasure at Sea

The moral of the following story is: try new things. At least once, possibly twice.

As we were travelling north from Pratola Serra to Florence, we cut across the middle of the country and drove along the Adriatic Coast on Italy's east side. First we stopped in Sulmona, a city so close to my grandparents' village in Abruzzo that I almost felt bad that we didn't go visit (but Kimberly and I are going later in the trip, so I don't feel too bad). We then drove out to the coast to head north to tuscanny.

We were looking to stay on the coast somewhere kind of close to Florence, but read that Rimini was a party town (and we're taking it slow) and Ravenna has a lot of really cool stuff (and we only had one night to spend, not the 2 or 3 Ravenna seemed to require).

We ended up staying in Fano, a small, seaside port. It seems that Fano is a big spot with the Euro crowd (lots of German language pamphlets), but our American guidebook had very little information.

As we wandered the historic center, checking out the old fountains and piazzas, we started getting hungry. Since this was the closest we would get to the ocean on our trip, we decided to have some seafood. Fano had many options, but many seemed to be prohibitively expensive.

When we first walked past the Hosteria 500, we weren't convinced; it was empty and had no prices posted. After some investigation, Kimberly and Sissy saw that the prices were reasonable, so we were decided to give it a try.

At first, it was a quiet time. A little spumanti and fried artichokes, on the house, to start us off. We perused the menu, looking at some pasta with fish options that looked fine. We also were looking for some local wine, but had no idea what was good for the region.

We started by ordering just the pasta plates, with Mom getting convinced by the waiter\cook to have the special - the polenta with frutta di mare (fruits of the sea). Through some difficult Italian-English negotiations, we decided on a bottle of Bianchello del Metauro, as it turns out a lovely white wine. Then we were done ordering. Or so we thought.

The waiter would have none of this 'one course' ordering. He insisted that we must have an antipasti. Although we resisted at first, his Italian charm eventually broke us; I ordered an 'antipasto typico.'

As we sat sipping our wine, he brought the first plate of antipasti - frech anchovies in olive oil. Although we were all a little worried at first (anchovies don't have the best reputation in the states) we figured when would we be able to eat fresh anchovies again, right? And it turns out these little suckers were really tasty.

Well that was a good appetize...what's this? Um, beans are typical of the regi...oh, those aren't beans they're bombolini? What? Oh, bombolini are snails. Ok.

Well, when's the next time we're going to eat snails? A little picking, a little sucking, and down the hatch it goes...and...wow, not so bad. Let's try a couple more.

If you ever get to eat a snail, do it. By the end of the plate, Sissy was basically fighting us over the last few. They were that good.

Alright, antipasti is ove...more? Bruschetta? Fantastic. Beans? Wow. Random white fish with oil and herbs? Divine.

Popolo? Um, that looks like, um, tentacles. Is that, um, Octopus? Um, yes, yes it is.

I have to say, the octopus was fine, but not great. A little chewy. The dressing was very good though.

And finally, the antipasti ended. We were informed that the four of us ate antipasti for two. I'm not sure if that's true, because we could barely eat our main course. Spaghetti with fish sauce, Polenta with frutta di mare, gnocchi with radicchio and porcini in a cream sauce, and pisatelle with a white fish sauce all went half eaten (well, I finished my gnochhi; those were like little pillows of wonderful).

Really, the antipasti was the star of the show. And could've been eaten alone.

We've eaten a lot of good foo on this trip so far, but those little snails will certainly hold a place in my heart for many years to come.

View from my bedroom window (part 3)

Perhaps you're seeing a trend here? This is the view from my bedroom in Fano, on the Adriatic coast. We stopped by on our way to Florence. It was pretty quiet, although the summer looks to be crazy; private beaches, umbrellas, and tourist info in German everywhere.

We were lucky, though and caught Fano before the tourists arrived. We didnàt spend long, as we were on our way north, but it was nice to be on the coast and see some water (it was also significantly cooler than in Pratola Serra...). Iàll let Peter tell the story of our delightful dinner here.

The food in Italy

Ah Italian food. So delightful. I'm far from tired of the different pastas, pizzas, salumi, gelato, and other tasty things we're finding to eat.





However- I had never seen this before.




This is patate e wurst pizza. Aka hotdog and french fry pizza. Isn't that what you think of when you think of Italian food? No? Me neither. I don't think it was Peter's best decision either.

The view from my bedroom window (part 2)

Ah Italy....

This is the view from my bedroom window in Sulmona, Italy. We stayed at Hotel Italia ( a good name if there ever was one) and were awestruck by the beauty of this little town. Sulmona is mostly known for confetti, which are also common at weddings, including ours! We had a beautiful stay in Sulmona, and luckily PEter and I will get to stop by another time as his gradparents village is nearby and weàll stop in to see some more family after Mom and Sissy leave.

This beautiful building was our hotel, and we plan on stopping by again in a few weeks!

Damn Internet Cafes

So I'm trying to type a post in an internet cafe in Florence. Except the computer is slow. And the keyboard is hard, with all these wacky extra letters. And they close in 5 minutes, so they wouldnàt let me get a whole hour and I only got half an hour.

So, my hysterically funny post about eating seafood in Fano will have to wait until another day. This is all you're getting right now. (this letter: à is where the apostrophe is supposed to be. itàs really hard).

I am also trying to upload some photos to Flickr, but the computer is slow. And Iàm probably getting a virus.

Some pictures are up, mostly of food. But I need to go before the computer steals my camera. And my passwords.

We are all having a great time. Driving on the roads here is great, except when you,re in the Cities, then it is terible. I am not looking forward to dropping the car off in Rome. Right in the middle of the city. In the middle of the madness.

Later.

PS The market pictures are from Pratola Serra. The other pictures are from Pompeii

The Problem with Italy

Italy is a beatiful country. The hills are full of huge, old villas and monastaries that stand over well-manicured fields full of great things like grapes and kiwis and figs and tomatoes and olives and lemons and oranges and... The drivers are insane. The relatives are welcoming. The food is amazing. Kimberly and the Krew have been completly overwhelmed by the contained chaos of everything.

Italy also contains some of the most beautiful art in the world, in the form of sculptures, paintings, and architecture, and some of the most friendly people in the world. Well, mostly.

On Saturday, we decided to go visit the Reggia of Caserta, near Pratola Serra. [Caserta is in Southern Italy, close to Napoli, which is an important part for the story.] The guide books call the Reggia the "Versaille of Italy" and sing the praises of the English gardens. Once we got our tickets, we walked over to the bus area to take the 3 km ride to the garden entrance. This is where our story begins.

There was a 20-something guy selling tickets to the train and telling people to line up 'over there.' Two problems: (1) he wasn't so much selling tickets as smoking cigarettes and flirting with the young women in the general vicinity; and (2) Italians, unlike the English or the Americans, do not take well to queuing. The line for the bus wasn't so much a line as it was a horde. The first bus came and went, with our Hero-American-Family standing in the bus' dust, looking completely bewildered and scared. Those little old Italians are not as sweet as they look.

Having experienced this before, I decided I needed to act. As we were the last group pushed off the previous bus, we were first in line for the next bus. As the little Neapolitan women started to encroach upon and pass us, I made sure that we inched forward. As the Sicilian women stood in front of us, I politely explained to them (in my poorest Italian) that the line was behind us and we were actually in the front. [I absorbed enough evil eyes that I had an exorcism that evening. No joke.]

When the bus finally arrived, the contained chaos became uncontained. Old Italians were practically running over us and knocking the Krew down to get on the bus first. When the bus finally stopped rolling, it was actually only a few feet in front of me.

Although a few of the little women were too quick and got on before me, I put my plan in action. With one particulary nice woman and her very pleasant husband right behind me, I blocked the door with my rather large frame and arms. I then turned and told the Krew to get on the bus, blocking everyone else. A few jabs in the ribs and screams of indignation later, we were all on the bus, followed quickly by an angry mob. Fortunately, the heat of the bus lulled everyone to sleep and all their anger was directed back at the husbands, just as intended.

[The woman right behind Kimberly is the one who was jabbing me in the back. I wish I had a better picture, but I was afraid if I actually pointed the camera at her, she would spit on me.]

We spent the next few hours touring the 7 km of garden paths, seeing beautiful fountains, fake Roman ruins, tiny frogs, giant fish, and exotic trees, including a Redwood from the West of America and a Doug Fir from the Northwest of America. Just like home.

On the way back, we decided to walk the 3 km down to the palace. Although we will need to face the hordes of old Italian women again at some point, twice in the same day wasn't worth it.

My first morning in Italy

Ah Italy. We arrived last night, were chauffered by Zio Mimmo and Peter's Dad, and welcomed into a bustling house for dinner with Zia Nina and Zia Rita and her family. What a feast! I certainly won't starve in Italy, although I might gain 50 pounds. That could be a problem. Luckily, the towns are set in beautiful countryside, so walking will be a pleasure.

Peter and I woke up this morning to the church bells. The bells ring for each hour and for each quarter hour. This means lots of bells. It's beautiful now, but can you imagine the noise complaints if they tried this in the cities at home?

And, to top it all off, this is the view outside our bedroom window.

It's not so bad.... I can probably get used to this for a while....

Do you think the Middle has views like this?

...Ciao Italia

We have arrived in Pratola Serra, the hometown of my father's family. After a quick drive down the autostrada from Rome, we ate our bodies weight in food last night for dinner.

A few very Italian things that have happened so far:

We saw this on the plane as we were leaving Boston:

Italian Air Traffic Controllers Strike

Someone in Portland was joking that all three times he has come to Italy, some part of the travel sector is on strike. Luckily, this didn't affect us, as it was only for a few hours on Tuesday.

Then we saw:

Garbage a burning issue for Naples

Apparently in Naples, the trash dumps are full. So they are piling the trash on the streets and burning it. I can't wait to go see it.

I can't wait to see what happens next.

In memory

My father Phil

May 3, 1943-May 24 2006

We love you.

Goodbye USA...

Got Snuggles?

So apparently, they're gone. :( I haven't seen them in almost a week. Sorry if I'm a little sad today, but it's hard to type through the tears.

I guess they are on their way to Europe and will come back eventually. I guess I'm spending the next couple of months with my 'friends' Ben and Jerry. Some friends these guys are: the growling and hissing has calmed down, but now they knock over my food because they think it's funny. Ha Ha Ha, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

So sad.

Anyways, since Kimberly isn't here for the snuggling, I had to find someone new to steal snuggles from. I don't know who this guy is, but he seems sufficient for snuggling purposes, even though he is a Mets fan (I hope PEter doesn't get too mad about that).

Boston Adventures Part 2

My Boston trips have always involved eating. Marrying into a large Italian family, that kinda goes without saying. We eat, frequently and a lot.

One of my favorite places in Boston is an area called the North End. This is a very old part of town apparently dating from the 1600s. The buildings are old and brick, the streets run this way and that way, narrow and confusing. The roads are all cobblestone and brick, beautiful to look at and rough on the ankles. So many different groups of immigrants have lived in this neighborhood over the centuries, but it's been an Italian neighborhood for over 100 years.

My mother-in-law and her sisters were all born in the North End. It has family history (and family still live there). Most importantly, it has pizza, the soul food of Italians. As I have been informed by my dear husband, the quality of pizza is a very important consideration (and as he frequently points out, Portland's pizza generally sucks).

Some of our family is somehow related (don't ask me because the family relations are all too confusing for me to sort out, not to even consider remembering) to the family that runs Galleria Umberto, known in the family as Buckwheat's after the owner. Buckwheat makes pizza. You can get your pizza any way you want it, as long as you want it square and with cheese. None of those fancy dancy toppings. Cheese. You can also get panini (which are somehow ham and cheese sandwiches, but on pizza dough- seems to me that they're more like a calzone, but what do I know), pizzette (somehow the same thing with sauce and cheese baked inside), panzarotti (like a potato croquette- mashed potatoes with cheese in the middle, deep fried), arancini (rice balls stuffed with meat and peas and then deep fried), and calzones (you know what those are). Pizza cost $1.10 a slice, although Peter complained about the increase from the old days of 60 cents a slice.

This is simple, artery clogging food.

This is what we got.

You can see most of the food in this picture. We purchased 8 slices of pizza, 3 arancinis, 1 panzarotti, and 2 calzones (one spinach and cheese, and one just spinach). This was for 4 people. We also bought another arancini and 2 more calzones to bring home for my mother-in-law.

We ate almost all of it.

Here is Peter and his aunt exclaiming over the inadequate amount of food.











After this, we wandered around, had some interesting experiences with getting official documents translated into Italian (more later), and walked the streets until the rain got too annoying. And then, because we certainly hadn't eaten enough, we got dessert.

At this place- Modern Pastry














You might not be able to see in these photos, but there are absolutely no signs in this place. No prices, no names of things, no list of what they offer. They have a coffee machine in the corner, which implies that they sell coffee. They do, but nothing to let you know what they make. They even have other varieties of pastries in the back that they sell, but no mention of them in the front. You have to just know.

This time around, we got two cannolis (mmmmmm) and a slice of ricotta pie. (I also highly recommend their lobster tails (the pastry not the fish)). As we left, we discussed where we were going to take our treats. Peter mentioned that his grandfather's brother and wife might still be in town, up the street, so we walked over to their place. We popped in, Auntie Mary made us coffee, and Uncle Giulo peppered us with questions about our trip. They've lived in the same apartment in the North End for 52 years, since they returned from their honeymoon. It turns out that they will be in The Village in Italy about the time we're passing through, so Uncle Giulo has promised us a walk through the countryside and some potatoes.

It's sometimes bewildering to be surrounded by so much family, coming from a relatively small family like mine. But I wouldn't trade them in for anything.

_________________________
[PEter Edit: A couple quick things: (1) The problem with pizza in Portland is that people are worried about the toppings, rather than the important things, like crust and sauce (for Example A see The Flying Pie). And places with good pizza, like Ken's new pizza place or A Pizza Scholls, with good crust and simple toppings, are ridiculously expensive. Escape From New York (or Manhattan, whatever) on NW 23rd was good too. (2) My family is not related to the people that run Bacqui's (apparently, not Buckwheat, but that's how it's pronounced); my Aunt (not the one pictured) dated Buckwheat when they were young. My Uncle Giulio used to hang out with them too. (3) Kimberly added a link to Galleria Umberto's up there: check out the picture of the storefront. It's hidden in plain view. (4) The Unlce Giulio Kimberly met yesterday is actually Zio Giulio (pronounced Ti-Giulio) on my Grandfather's side, easily distinguishable from the other Uncle Giulio on my Grandmother's side.

Boston Adventures Part 1

Ah, Boston.

I've visited a few times now, and am slowly starting to figure out the parts of town I enjoy, the things I'd rather skip, and a vague sense of where things are. This trip I've already got to experience something new, something exciting, something Peter's been waiting for since we first met.

I went to my first Red Sox game at Fenway.

It was quite the adventure. To fully appreciate this story, you should know that I've never been a big sports fan. Just not my thing. In fact, it was something of a strike against Peter when we first met. But, he turns out to be a fine person even with the whole sports thing. And, when we decided to get married, the only prenuptial-sort-of-thing we had was the one sport rule. We agreed that Peter could pick any sport, any at all, that I would feign interest in. And then, I could openly disparage all other sporting activities.

Anyway, Peter picked baseball and the Red Sox and I've been watching baseball ever since. It's not half bad actually. I have Red Sox gear- a fancy baseball hat. I know players; I know some general rules. Not bad for me.

So... Peter's been searching for tickets ever since we decided to come back here on our way to Europe. Unfortunately, the Red Sox seem to be the hottest thing in town, and tickets are hard to come by. Peter found standing room only for the bargain basement price of $50 each! Eeek!

We were beginning to resign ourselves to no baseball when a friend came through and gave us noon tickets for the rainout make up game on Thursday.

It's crazy there. The banners, the people, the Red Sox gear. Here we are entering the park.







I got my first Fenway sausage. Note the size of this thing. Clearly bigger than my head. And I ate the WHOLE thing.

It stayed dry through the game which was lovely. There was a fabulous lady in front of us, yelling and talking the whole time. When her accent got too thick and we (or me) didn't understand, she slowed down and clearly enunciated, which was great too. The guys behind us had wicked accents that I spent half the game eavesdropping on, such that Peter got concerned he was going to get into a brawl. But, no worries, they were too drunk to notice.

The sun didn't really come out, it's been cold and rainy the entire time we've been here. Apparently a Nor'Easter is coming through (this translates to "really big storm" for those at home).

All in all, it was a fun time. I'll probably even go again sometime, since I'm good luck now as they've won every game since I attended. But, geesh, lower the beer prices already. $8 for a Sam Adams?

An Ode to Banana Man (The 262 Revisited)

After college, I moved into a house with four other guys in Inman Square in Cambridge; we were two guys from Boston and three guys from Connecticut. We were all the same age and starting our working careers. We lived across the street from the The Abbey Lounge, before it was renovated and still had those two seedy windows. We had good parties.

Our art work was pretty standard for a house occupied by five young 20-year olds: some beer posters, things we found on the subway or at yard sales, an Anna Kournikova poster.

One day, Basement Brian brought home Banana Man; he was working at a children’s theater at the time and someone there had given it to him. In the beginning, Banana Man was pretty simple, basically a banana with a face. The Banana Man hung on the wall for a couple years, overlooking the foosball table.

At some point, Rob decided to spice him up and added the hat, hair, bow-tie and tuxedo shirt.

Most importantly, he added those red lips.

After a couple years, the five of us started moving on. I went away for a couple months and subletted my room to Alfay. Then Basement Brian got married and moved out, making Alfay a permanent member of the house. Lew moved home and got married; he rented his room to his brother, Uncle Brian. Rob moved in with his girlfriend, I moved to Portland, Alfay moved out, and some other people moved in. Chad held down the fort for a few more years, being the one constant in the house from start to finish.

Once Basement Brian and Rob moved out and didn’t take Banana Man with them, sentiment turned against Banana Man and he was removed from the wall. When I moved out, I rescued Banana Man from the basement, carrying him across the country to the NorthWest.

Banana Man hung on my wall in Seattle for a year; then he hung in our bathroom in Portland for the last 2+ years, scaring countless small children, disconcerting Kimberly, intriguing others, but always providing a conversation starter.

We decided Banana Man wouldn’t come to the Middle with us; Kimberly isn’t a big fan of the Banana Man and we were running low on space. Last Friday, we had a going away party and gave Banana Man to a friend. She’ll be proudly displaying him in her office cube, until some future time when either I can reclaim him or he can be passed on to someone who appreciates a true piece of art.

Goodbye Banana Man. You’ll be missed.

We Were Overwhelmed There For a While

So ever since Kimberly defended her thesis last Thursday, we've been pretty crazy-busy. Mother's Day with Grandmama was fun. But most importantly, we packed up and moved our 2 bedroom house, moved our cat to a new home, and had an empty-house party. We're now in Boston, getting ready to go on a vacation.

We're about to unload some blog-alanche on you, as we have lots of good stuff built up. So get ready for some reading.

Guess Who's Back...

...It’s the M-I-L, E to the S,
The rockin' Russian Blue who loves you best

Hey there everyone, it’s been a while since I’ve checked in, and boy, have I had some crazy adventures. I’m a little discombobulated these days (how’s that for a big-cat word) (it took me about 30 seconds to type it though, damn paws without opposable thumbs), but we’ll get to that in a second.

So the best place to start is probably a few weeks back. I had been helping Kimberly with her thesis. She may have had all the “ideas” and done all the “typing,” but I basically wrote the thing for her: you know what they say, behind every good woman, is a cat. I’d have to agree whole-heartedly.

Then one day, these two decided to take me for a car ride. I try to tell them over and over again that I don’t want to go in the car: I wail incessantly, I throw up on the rug, I wake them at 5 a.m. They really need to learn Cat-alonian if this whole relationship is going to work out.

Anyways, they think they’re so slick, trying to trick me into getting into the Box, but I know what they’re doing. If there wasn’t two of them, I wouldn’t have gotten in, but they over-powered me. It’s not so much the car that’s the problem, it’s that dam Box, it keeps closing in on me. Once we were in the car, I really turned on the wailing and gave Kimberly the Puss-in-Boots eyes; I really turned it on. She eventually relented, and I was free to burrow under the seats. Ah the safety of darkness.

I figured we were heading down to that nice old woman’s house; I think they called her Grandmama. She was nice, giving me treats and lots of petting, kind of like a spa treatment. But no, we ended up at some strange house where everything was a little suspicious. There was a weird scent in the air. Once I got in, it was obvious: new friends.

Ben and Jerry seemed like nice enough cats, but they were not happy to see me. Hiss, growl, hiss hiss hiss. That Ben, he needs to chill out. Jerry seemed cool, but Ben was all freaking, so I couldn’t really get to know him.

I figured the best way to avoid showing him who was boss and giving him a swipe to the head was to hide under the couch for a while; I wouldn’t want to embarrass someone in their own house. But we all know I could have. I was happy when Kimberly got me out from the couch and gave me some treats. I was really happy when we left that place and the ominous, terrible smells of Ben and Jerry.

Things were back to normal at home for a while, as I settled back into my cycle of eating, sleeping, and whining. But boxes kept showing up and things slowly started disappearing. Something was up.

My fears were confirmed when they drugged me. Yup, my so-called caretakers gave me tranquilizers, and as far as I can tell, it was all a cruel joke. I almost fell off the window, couldn’t eat, and was constipated for days. Don’t get me wrong, the semi-comatose sleep and melting walls were pretty cool, but the hangover was killer. I still have no idea why they would do that to me. Maybe not enough wailing and whining?

When I finally recovered from my haze, half the house was missing and the boxes had grown and covered half the house. Now something was definitely up.

I tried laying low for a while until I could figure things out. I even cut back on the whining and increased the sleeping and eating. Then out of nowhere, we were back in the car again. They had grabbed my lead and harness, so I figured we were going outside for a nice afternoon of chewing on grass and vomiting on the bed. But they tricked me, again. I’m really gonna get them.

We ended up back at Ben and Jerry’s house – I could tell as soon as I smelled them. When I got inside, though, they were no where to be found. That was cool. I wandered around, checked out the scene, scratched the post for a while. This place wasn’t so bad; lots of space, lots of windows to look out, lots of dark hiding places.

Then out of nowhere was Jerry, all by himself. Cool. Hey buddy. He gave me the old submissive move, rolling onto his back and showing me his belly, sniffing my butt. Like I said, this Jerry is pretty cool. We’ve been getting along pretty well, sleeping and eating like old buddies.

But Ben, he’s one uptight cat. Hiss hiss hiss. Growl growl growl. All day long. I try to walk down the hall and get a little shut-eye – hiss. I need to use the litter box – growl. I understand it’s your place, I’m cool with that. It’s not like I want to live here. I just want to be friends, ok.

Well, Ben isn’t getting the message. I’ve had to slap him around a little bit the last couple days. And I feel bad about it, you know. It’s his house, his brother. But really, if you’re going to keep disrespecting me, I’m going to have to start laying down the law more often and show you how the food chain works. I don’t want it to go down this way – like I said, lets be friends, sniff a little butt together – but if I have to, I will give you a swipe.

I’ve actually been over here for a few days now, claiming my spaces, checking out the lay of the land. Kimberly and Peter were here the past couple nights; I guess we’re all moving to this place. That’s cool. They just left a little while ago, carrying some bags. It looks like they’re still moving some things around.

I can’t wait until they get home from work and we can snuggle. Just like old times.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 9 [Our Aquarium Community]

Tonight, we passed our fish tank community on to their new caretakers, the Southerners.

Although the tank wasn't the same the last few months, what with most of the fish dieing off, both rapidly and of old age, it will be missed. It looks so sad in that picture, but I promise, it was really exciting. Really.

Someday, I think I'd like to get a big 50-gallon tank, maybe with a salt water community. But Kimberly keeps giving me a look. You know the look, you probably got it from your principal or mom once. The "NO" look. I don't think I'm getting the big tank anytime soon. :(

With Kimberly's thesis odyssey coming to an end and me quitting my job, who would have thought that the giving away of our aquarium would be the thing that makes it feel like this whole vacation and move might actually happen.

Done

A quick post here because I'm too sick of typing to write more.



I'm DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The thesis is DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I defended it today. It's over and done. A few short hours of changes and printing and that's it.

I think my whole world will change.

Can I take a nap now?

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 8 [The Couv]

For the last year, I've been driving 20 miles across the Columbia River and heading north to Vancouver, WA for work. My last day was last Friday.

The Couv. Vantucky.

The Couv doesn't have the best reputation: it's the red-necked, meth-addicted stepchild of cool, hipster Portland. In reality, it's mostly a bedroom community for people who want to work the system: no income tax in Washington, no sales tax in Oregon. Me, I worked the system the wrong way.

Don't get me wrong, the Couv seems like a perfectly reasonable place to live. It's just a lot of suburban sprawl compared to Portland's dense city center. It probably gets an unnecessarily bad rap, especially when people perpetuate the stereotypes by calling it Vantucky.

Over the last year, I've resisted learning anything about the Couv, including the names of the streets near my office. I have found some decent eating places that I'll miss, like Patrick's Hawaiian, the Golden Tent Mongolian Grill, and the always popular all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.

Most of all, though, I'll miss my work mates. My job was often insanely crazy; we even invented a new term for those really rough times: a cry-nap. But the crew of people we had was pretty great, often times making my life easier. I don't know if I'll ever go back to the same industry; I'm don't think I'll miss it if I don't. But I will miss the good people I've worked with.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 6.2 [Things in The Forest ]

The plants that are native to Oregon are pretty spectacular. Lots of cool things grow in the forests hear, including tiger-lilies, dogwoods (that's one growing wild up there), and rhododendrons. In fact, there's a whole city named Rhododendron in Oregon.

Rhoddies are kind of the unofficial-official plant of this area (after Roses, which are kind of the official-official plant of the area, represented by this). I imagine it's because they're dormant 11 months of the year, then bloom in the spring to announce the end of the rainy season. Rhoddies are a harbinger of warmer, sunny days.

Usually, they aren't that spectacular: a boring green bush/shrub/tree. But right now, the rhoddies are exploding with their blooms. I imagine the Rhododendron Garden is looking amazing.


Pretty much everything here is blooming right now; the pollen is painful. The streets are covered, the car gets a fresh coat every morning. Although I can barely breath with the stuffed up nose and pounding headache, it is pretty beautiful here right now.

Credit: Dogwood photo from Jerry Greer, which I found randomly with Google Images and is a pretty awesome photo.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 1.2 [Other people love Portland food]

In case you doubted my rave reviews of Portland food- see these links for national reviews of Portland restaurants!!


Voo Doo Donuts was reviewed by Jane and Michael Stern and also aired on the Splendid Table, an NPR radio food show (which you should definitely check out, 6 pm Sundays here in PDX)


The NY Times ran a review about Portland recently- 36 hours in Portland

So, really, when I tell you that there's some good food here- I'm not joking!

"Honey, Stay Away From the Creepy Man"

My eyes, they're kind of messed up. I wear hard pieces of plastic in my eyes, known as scleral lenses; after reading that first wiki entry, this apparently means I have "advanced or very irregular keratoconus." I thought I had a mild case. Crap.

[That first wiki article is actually very interesting, especially in regards to treatment alternatives.]

Anyways, the doctors and contact lens specialist I visit usually put some phosphoresce chemical in my eyes, then shine a cobalt/black light on it and can tell if the lens is sitting on the eye properly. To me, the chemical has always given the room an amber hue.

But today, they wanted to do some extra stuff, so they actually had me fill the lenses with this chemical before putting them on. Apparently, it doesn't dissipate as quickly when applied this way.

When I got in the car, I freaked myself out pretty good.

Disclaimer: No photoshop was used to doctor these images, except for cropping.

Apparently, it will eventually dissipate, but until then, I look forward to messing with people on the street.

I think it would be cool if I could do this whenever I wanted. It looks way creepier in real life.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 7 [Full Service Gas]

Oregon State Law does not allow self-service gas stations. While the intent of this is to create more jobs for the often-depressed economy, a residual benefit is that I don't have to get out of the car in the rain to pump my own gas. Hooray for me being lazy.

A lingering downside to the law is that most people who pump gas, especially in the Portland Metro area, are either 12-years-old and scratch my car or are meth-addicts, with few or no teeth. The funny thing is that gas in Oregon is generally cheaper than across the river in Washington, even though it's self-serve up there. I guess meth-heads work on the cheap.

Not the meth-head who pumps my gas.

[Here's a fun little project: go to Google Images and search meth-head. Look who's picture #1]

This is a Weird Feeling

I've know my wife for about 4 years. We've been married for about 1.5 years.

I got back from my week of work travel last night at about 8 pm.

At approximately 8 pm on Friday, April 28, 2007, I knew my wife for the first time when she wasn't working on her thesis.

The world is a different place. Up is down. Left is right. Black is white. Dogs and cats are playing together in harmony.

Congratulations Kimberly-Wife.

On the Road Again...At Home, Finally

I'm home now. I'm tired. We drove 900 miles over the last 4 days.

I stood on a 100-foot tall fire lookout on a 3500-foot tall mountain in the Coast range. I saw a fire outlook from 1902. I saw a fire outlook that was burned down.

I rode on the steepest, muddiest logging road, where the truck slid sideways. I rode on a road so rutted that the bottom of our truck was scraping against the ground. Multiple times. One of the rocks tore a whole in someone's tire. I drove 30 minutes up locked forest service roads, to the middle of nowhere. I hit my head on the roof of the truck. And my shoulder on the door. A lot.

I saw a Brown Bear, kind of. We had a family of deer running up a mountain next to our truck. We had sheep on the road. Cows on the road. Llamas, alpacas, donkeys, goats. We saw wild turkeys. We saw a whole colony of black lizards (geckos?). Someone caught a snake. Someone caught a lizard. One of us has a tick in his leg, tried to burn it out but couldn't get the head out. We watched a pair of ospreys circle above us: one landed in their nest perched on the top of a tower; the other perched on our antennas and watched us. I watched a red-headed woodpecker peck for bugs in a telephone pole, then hop into his hole-in-the-pole/nest and peck away to make it bigger.

I saw some sort of altar on the side of a dirt road where we're pretty sure a timber truck accident occurred. We had a large dump truck come barreling down a one-lane logging road right at us, with both of us braking and swerving at the last second to avoid one another. We had 2 logging trucks, full of trees, screeching, brakes smoking, as they barreled down the road behind us and we weren't moving fast enough.

I watched the fog roll in from the ocean. Below us. I stood in the shining sun and was cold. I stood in the sun and was hot. I got a tan. One of us got a sunburn.

I saw the Redwoods. But no Ewoks. I saw Myrtlewood trees (I was told that these trees grow in 2 places in the world: the Oregon Coast and the Holy Land). I saw wild rhododendrons. I saw poison oak. I saw white dogwood trees blooming wild in the dark, dense forests, standing out like ghosts. I saw trees so windblown that their tops were gone. Or had branches on only one side. I saw cranberry bogs.

I saw clear cuts. I saw thousands of cut down trees, floating in water, waiting for the saw mill. I saw forests of evergreens that stretched out to the hazy horizon.

I stayed in bland hotels. With really comfortable beds. I stayed in a City that only had a hotel, a truck stop, a casino/hotel, an RV park, and a Burger King. We stayed on the beach, with one the top 5 golf resorts in the world just down the street. We didn't see a Starbucks for days on end.

[Edit: One of us opened the door to his room and found a fat, naked trucker standing there.]

I ate. Alot. Lamb with risotto. Prime rib. Gourmet Mac and Cheese. Wine. Beer. Cheesecake. Crab Nachos. Shrimp Cocktail. Spanikopita. Pizza. Wings. Burgers and fries.

I met good people. Clients laughed. Competitors worked together. Vendors joked. There was 7 to 10 of us, depending on the day. We had 5 to 7 cars.

My camera battery died, but I was able to take some pictures. Then I forgot my camera in someone else's car. Sorry no pictures right now. I'll update later.

Sometimes I hate my job. On trips like this, I really like my job. I don't think a lot of people get to drive past locked Forest Service roads and see what I saw, whether for work or for fun. I also don't think this stuff exists in Iowa; I'm not 100% positive about that, but I'm pretty sure.

On the Road Again

My job is pretty evenly split between being a desk jockey and windshield time. Lately, I've been spending most of my time in front of the computer, but it's a rare week that I don't get out for at least a little bit. Most of my driving is around the City, checking out rooftops, visiting jurisdictions, or going to client meetings.

Then there are weeks like this one. On Monday, I got called into my bosses' office; he was sitting in there with one of our construction managers ("CM"):
The Chief: Can you go down south for the rest of the week?
Me (a little surprised): Um, why?
The Chief: The Esteemed Phone Company ("EPC") we work for has a bunch of walks set up and we need Real Estate representation. You can drive down with CM.
Me: Um, you know I'm leaving next week, right?
The Chief: Yes, but you'll be handing these sites off to your replacement. And I'd rather you hand them off rather than The Dude.
Me: Oh, I understand. I'm in.

So less than 24 hours later, I got picked up and was heading to southern Oregon. I had just recently undertaken a similar trip not more than 3 weeks ago. I was a little worried about the whole ordeal, what with the under 24-hour notice, the 4 days of driving, and the living out of the suit case, but I was excited to see the rolling hills and mountains of southern Oregon again.

[Quick side note: I drove 800 miles in 2-1/2 days 3 weeks ago. I went from Portland to Roseburg to Grants Pass to Crescent City, CA to Gold Beach to Coquille to North Bend to Portland. I had a fantastic time. I was going to post about it, but didn't. Consider this post a 2-for-1.]

So far, we've been to 4 sites, each of which is high on a small mountain top, approximately 2,000 to 3,000 feet tall. All of them are reached by dirt roads, whether they are forest service, logging, or randomly cut, with locked gates. One of them was reached by a dirt road that was so steep and muddy that the 4-wheel drive truck with downhill assist I was in slid sideways on multiple occasions. My neck hurts from the potholes, deep ruts, and general condition of the roads; I'll send my bill to the EPC when I get back to Portland.

But once you get to the top, it's all worth it. A quick rundown of the highlights, in chronological order:

• High above Roseburg: This site wasn't super exciting. The area around Roseburg is very reminiscent of New Zealand: rolling grassy hills, patches of trees, sheep. But Roseburg itself is fairly well forested and is in fact an old tiber community. I met the caravan crew here; a couple people from EPC, some folks from the the Sheep phone company, a few other vendors for Engineering and Architecture, and some people from a competing Real Estate firm. There are 9 people in the caravan in 6 cars; if that's not efficiency, I don't know what is. It was here that the flow of the weekend was established: everyone would be done with their work in 30 minutes, except the architect, who needs 1 - 1.5 hours. So the rest of us will need to kill some time. I wish I had packed a frisbee.
  
• Sleeping in the Canyon: Ever here of Canyonville, OR? Me neither. They have a truck stop and a casino, and that's basically it. We ate dinner at the 7 Feathers Indian Casino. It was their fancy restaurant and cost about $50 a person, but no one was very impressed. I also didn't pay, which made it more tolerable. Then I played some craps, which is a pretty fun game.
• In the Clouds Outside Canyonville: I don't remember much about this site. It was cloudy. My camera battery died. I was bored. But the drive was treacherous. I would say the road was at least 30-40 degrees inclined up a very muddy, very rutted road. The way up, we went fast, because you had to to make it up. On the way down, we were going kind of fast (I'm not sure why) and the car was sliding sideways. I wasn't confident we were making it down that hill without rolling a few times.
  
• The Fire Lookout: The second site of the day may have been the best site I've ever been too. You could literally see for miles, and miles, and miles. This site was so fantastic that people built a fire lookout up there in 1920; the original lookout is still there. It was pretty cool.

• Room with a View: The last site provided the best views. The weather was great: sunny, warm, and dry. We were high above Grants Pass, with views in all directions. That panorama at the top is the City of Grants Pass from on the mountain, with the Rogue River running down the middle. The Rogue runs through those mountains in the distance all the way to the coast and the Pacific Ocean. Again, views were plentiful all around. At this site we killed time by seeing who could kick a big rock down the slope and get it to roll the furthest. I was terrible. The Head Dude of EPC was good at it; I think he has a lot of practice.
  

• Sleeping in Medford: Another night in a boring, cookie-cutter hotel. Just had a prime rib; paid for it this time. Good beer. Good crew. We have a long day tomorrow: some local sites, then a run to the coast via the Redwoods. I think it's bedtime. And this post is all together too long. If anything good happens tomorrow, or I get some good shots, I'll put them up. Although I imagine the Oregon Coast fog will reduce our visibility.

_____________________________________________________________________
On this trip, I've supposedly also had my first encounter with Poison Oak. I don't really know if it was or not, as I didn't get a rash; but I'm magically not allergic to Poison Ivy either, so I might not be a good test case (one time, my whole elementary school class had a picnic in a field of Poison Ivy and everyone in class got a rash except me (that's a good teacher)). Apparently the same cautionary rhyme holds true for both plants: 'Leaves of Three, Let it Be."

I'll let you decide it it's the real thing.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 6 [Things in The Forest]

That there, that's a bunch of trees. They're covered in some moss/lichen stuff that hangs loose and flows in the wind. I really don't know what it is, but it's everywhere in the forests here. And it makes everything look really eerie. It makes the trees look like they have beards.

An Update

If you've noticed, I've been doing most of the posting the past couple of weeks. You may have even asked yourself: "What is this garbage? Where are the good posts, the ones I enjoy reading?" I mean, I ask those questions.

Well, Kimberly has been busy type-type-typing, finishing up her thesis. She's almost there. Hopefully later on in the week she'll be back with us here at Stuck in the Middle; until then I have her locked in the den.

Miles, our other occasional contributor, went on a little field trip on Friday. He got really mad at us and has been ignoring us since. While it's much quieter around the house without his whining, it's also kind of sad. I'm going to see if he wants to post and get some stuff off his chest. Maybe it will help.

And for all of you who think Miles can't type and is using a ghost writer, we have photographic proof that he uses a computer. Here he is helping Kimberly:

No, Kimberly is not typing her paper in the arctic; she is just temperature sensitive.

Things are getting hectic around here, as we're well under 30 days. Let the fun begin.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 5 [The Rain]

The first thing you should realize is that Peter is writing this post, not Kimberly. Kimberly has lived in the rainy pacific northwest for almost all of her known life. Peter moved here just about 4 years ago.

Knowing this, you should be thinking to yourself: What?!?

It is raining or cloudy here in Portland almost 300 days a year. That leaves 65-70 days a year of sun. You would think that is really annoying and possibly very depressing; there are quite a few people who are depressed. But you can thank the weather for Nirvana and Pearl Jam, so it's not that bad.

But really, the rain is pretty cool. Here's a top 9 list of why the rain in Oregon is good.:
1. Because of the cloud cover 9+ months out of the year, in addition to some funky jet streams, it never really gets cold here. In the dead of winter, the temperature doesn't really ever drop below 40. Therefore, it doesn't snow much. You can be outdoorsy here 11+ months.
2. People think it rains here a lot. This keeps people from moving here. That's fine with the people who live here. Hopefully, it will keep housing prices reasonable for when we move back here, since we'll be buying in Ladd's Addition and all.
3. The clouds cling to the trees, which is pretty cool, as seen in the pic (even though this area isn't actually considered a Cloud Forest).
4. The vegetation stays green pretty much all year round.
5. It's easy to curl up with a book/newspaper/movie, with a cup of coffee/cocoa/tea/brunch when it's raining on Sunday morning.
6. The sound of rain when you're trying to sleep.
7. The sound of rain waking you in the morning.
8. The cool rain calls the salmon home. The salmon eventually lands on our plate.
9. Waterfalls. (see Flickr for some pics)

Really, in missing the rain, we will really be missing the weather. Kimberly calls it "Goldilocks Weather."

"Not too hot; Not too cold; Just right."

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 4 [New Seasons]

[I wonder if we'll average one of these posts per day before we leave. I'll certainly do my part to get there.]

We live 8 blocks away from New Seasons, a local, Portland only grocery store that we frequent almost daily; we prefer to shop in the European style. Many of our finest meals have started or been enhanced here. And they have fantastic weekly tastings.

Now all of you are probably thinking 'I'm sure it's some super high-end, organic only, straight-from-the-farmer store. When did those 2 turn into such high-end yuppies?' Well, you'd kind of be right.

But the great thing about New Seasons is that not only can you get grass-fed, hand-massaged, don't-walk-too-fast-but-feel-free-to-wander-because-we-love-you beef, but right next to the organic peanut butter is the Jif. Next to the organic locally grown potato chips are the Lays. This place has all the cool stuff of Whole Foods, but cheaper. And all the ease of Fred Meyer (or Johnny's Foodmaster or Stop & Shop), but with less moldy carpets.

I went there earlier tonight, and had this fantastic series of events, all of which are way funnier in my head than on this screen:

I walk in and do my shopping: quesadillas and chips & salsa for dinner, so some tortillas, cheese, and chips & salsa. No problem. So, as my cashier, a 40-something balding guy, is checking me out, this middle-age guy wearing overalls and dust all over his face, walks up with two 30 packs of Pepsi and a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. This was the exchange that followed:

Cashier: That'll be $19.24. On the card...
Me: um, ya...
Overalls (out of nowhere): 'got a call from the kids this afternoon, askin for some pepsi...i said, we gots two 30 packs sittin out back on the deck, drink them. but they said, nope, tweakers got em.
Cashier: Oh, those tweakers. (to me) Sign here.
Overalls: so i went backs there, and wouldn't you know, them tweakers stole them two 30 packs of pepsi. and they got away with 40 yards of copper wire [quick note: why did this guy have a spool of copper wire on his back deck? maybe he was an electrician?] [quick note 2: tweakers steal copper wiring from everywhere out here: roofs, schools, power substations, downspouts. then they sell the metal to the scrap yards for more meth! yay!]. damn tweakers.
Cashier: (with a total blank look, having no idea what this guy is talking about) Oh, those tweakers.
Me: Thanks (running out of the store).

As I was leaving a saw a dog that had dreadlocks. Only in Portland. And maybe Vermont.

Not the dog with dreadlocks I saw.

I'm sure Kimberly will have something to say about New Seasons, since she used to work there and is the one who introduced me to its greatness.

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 1 [Restaurants]

Ok, ok... so Peter's getting a bit ahead of things here with all of his "things I'll miss" posts. Whoa there buster...

Like I was saying... I've been thinking about all the fabulous things I'm going to miss about Portland. There's the family (biological and school families), the comfortable familiarity, the weather... all that stuff. But what I'm really going to miss?


The good places to eat in Portland...

Perhaps some of you from out of town remember the handy list Peter compiled on our wedding webpage. It was our master list of places we like to eat. In comparison, check out this handy list compiled by the good folks at the City of Ames Visitors Bureau. A bit depressing, eh?

In its memory, here is my list of fabulous dining in Portland

1. Cafe Mingo the beautiful gnocchi, the tiny tables... oh such beautiful food...
2. Lauro as Peter mentioned earlier, the restaurant we would have had cater our wedding- if we were millionaires
3. Nuestra Cocina- no burritos here, just beautiful, non-Tex-Mex handmade creations. They make their own tortillas for heaven's sake. (and their drinks are tasty too!) Plus, they were the first place we ate at when we moved to our house. Lucky us!
4. Ken's Pizza- what can I say about Ken's.... a small, limited menu. A line out the door. Deafening volume in the high-ceilinged room. Yes, some downsides. But they make the.best.pizza.in.Portland. No joke.
5. Bombay Cricket Club- this place has a bit of the soup-Nazi to it. Don't have a reservation? The hostess will sigh and ponder the list (even if it's 6 on Wednesday). But they make a fantastic mango lassi and some saag that's SO good.
6. sushi- yes, sushi in general. Somehow I have the sneaking suspicion that there won't be all that much sushi in the middle (what with the lack of water and seas and stuff). Mio Sushi is our standby, reliable, tasty, and ridiculously affordable. We can stuff our faces for less than $15 each.
7. Pok Pok- Northern Thai style street food. No pad thai here, but a wickedly hot green papaya salad and tasty roasted little game hens. yum!
8. Sub Rosa- our local Italian place. We love the proprietress, we love her seasoned nuts on the house salad, we love that it's a 2 block walk from our house.
9. Mother's- breakfast to die for. It's SO worth the incredibly long wait. and wait you will. Their coffee convinced us to abandon the old drip and buy ourselves a fancy french press.


So, this is the list in progress. And keep tuned in for the latest installment of "Things I'll Miss About Oregon"

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 3 [Allergies]

Growing up in New England, I never had allergies. There's not much growing in the Greater Boston Area, especially in the suburban ring where I grew up. In fact, I knew of only one person who had allergies over there, my aunt. Once she convinced me to put my finger in the car cigarette lighter when it was red hot, so I never knew if I should believe her anyways.

Portland is located in the Willamette Valley. This guy I know out here tells me that Willamette means "valley of death" in a local Native American language, referring to the excessive pollen out here and its effects on the locals; I don't think I believe him either, but it is possible considering EVERYONE out here has allergies.

See that sign there - 'Grass Seed Capital of the World' - they're not kidding. If you're re-seeding your lawn this year, there's a good chance you're using seed from just south of Portland. The soil here is Black Gold - the perfect storm of volcanic activity and the Ice-Age Missoula Floods has created some of the best dirt in the world for growing stuff. Add a temperate climate - never too hot, never too cold, like Goldilocks, and northern California - and stuff grows here. Lots of stuff, which creates exponentially large amounts of pollen.

Then with the rainy seasons, mold grows rapidly. It's not even that it's that humid here, its just that there's a nice steady stream of rain from October to June with luke-warm temperatures. And these temperatures are apparently the perfect incubator for mold.

Anyways, I have developed terrible allergies, basically year round. If it's not the pollen in the spring/summer, its the mold in fall/winter. It's really great. Add in the contact lenses, the old house that further incubates mold, and the cat, and life is particularly miserable, especially this time of your.

Willamette Valley Allergies...I'll miss you. But in a good way.

[Edit: I just realized that I made Oregon sound terrible. I guess for allergies, it might be that bad]

Things I'll Miss About Oregon: Volume 2 [License Plates]

All of you out there can't see it, but in the back room of blog-central, Kimberly has a half-finished post titled "Restaurants I'll Miss." Reading it behind her back, I realized there's quite a few things about this place that I'm going to miss. Since we're in the last month or so of our time here, I figured now is a good time to start listing them, because really, who doesn't like a list.

Reason #2: The Oregon License Plate

This may very well be the best license plate in the country:







The Douglas Fir prominently displayed in the middle, with the big mountains in the back. A very nice use and placement of the Oregon elements, without overdoing it.

And for an alternative plate, this Crater Lake plate is pretty good too.







There's a few others out there that are pretty good (New Mexico for the cool center design (although they apparently have changed to this crap design); Massachusetts for its simplicity (and this one is perfect in every way); Vermont and Virgina also for their simplicity), but it seems most plates are moving towards the new 'too much going on' plates.

The Iowa plates aren't so bad, but there's a lot going on there that you could never make out if you're going 60 mph down the flat, straight highway:







I guess I don't understand why some states put the county name on the plate. What if there is some rivalry between counties, leading me to get pulled over more often when I cross those divisive lines? Who do I complain to then? I guess that's what happens when you grow up in a place where the counties don't matter, to the extent that your county can go bankrupt and no one notices (FYI to help you better visualize: our county will be Story, if we live in Ames, Polk if we live in Des Moines)

I think I'm going to push for this one, to show that I fit in. Something tells me it will have the opposite effect:

It's back!

See that. Up there in the distance, through the blurry picture, past Kimberly's head. That's it, the one, the only, the Portland Saturday Farmers' Market.

This past Saturday, the 7th of April, was opening day of the Farmers' Market season; there's also a Wednesday market and two Thursday markets, but this is the grand-daddy of 'em all. Needless to say, Kimberly and I were excited about the return of the market. Watch how easy the eating inspiration flows as we make our way through the market.

We took only a couple pictures, but I'm putting them all here, as added inspiration (they're also on Flickr, over there ----->, for your continuous viewing pleasure).

To the left we have Kimberly with the mushroom guy - he's in the back, with the pastel green easter tie, stylin'. She's picking out some maitake mushrooms; sometime later this week we'll be cooking these tasty fungi with some butter, cream, and garlic to make a nice little cream sauce to go over our pumpkin-potato gnocchi. Sounds good, huh?

Just to the left are the shiitakes. We got a couple handfuls of those too; those are going to be added to a hot wok - probably with some tofu, some broccoli, some leeks, and a sauce of, I don't know, ginger, soy and sesame oil - for a wonderful stir-fry. Add rice and spring rolls...man, I'm getting hungry.

One of the great things amongst all the wonderful things that is the Farmers' Market is the free samples; not only do you get to snack on wonderful berries and bacon and things, you get to try new things. Here, Kimberly is snacking on some Kale rabe. Apparently, its better raw than cooked; I've never eaten it cooked, but it sure was tasty raw. (Can you see the excitement in Kimberly's eyes - that's what the Market does to you.)

So at the various produce stands, we picked up some potatoes, some onion, and some cauliflower. This was our dinner tonight - a nice cauliflower-potato Indian curry. See how easy dinner planning is when you have inspiration.

Being a poor documentarian, I didn't get any pictures of the pork guy (bacon, brats, chops, easter hams...drool), the flower people (a dozen tulips for $5), or the multitude of other wonderfulness. Maybe in the next few weeks I'll add to the album. Because if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that we'll be back to the Market in the next few weeks.

I'm glad the Farmers' Market is back.

Allow Myself to Introduce...Myself

Hi there. Miles - 'the russian blue with little to do' - signing on.

My owners, Kimberly and PEter (what’s up with that spelling? It’s called spellchecker, use it) (and I like to call them Petme and Feedme, respectively), have asked me to write a 'who I am' post to this little 'blog' thing they’re trying out. A few funny things about that: (1) they think they own me (you have no idea how funny that is – those suckers. Why don’t you feed me some more, or else I might whine all night and keep you up, hahahahahahahahahahaha!); (2) I have no idea what a blog is; and (3) the only thing I’ve ever used a computer for is to look at kitty porn (that’s a terrible joke, but hey, I’m a cat – my brain is the size of an acorn).

So anyways, who is Miles? First of all, I’m a cat, duh. I get freaked out by loud noises. And too much light. And movement.

My favorite things to do are snuggle and sleep – Kimberly and I get along really well. Peter calls us snugglesluts. If you had any idea how traumatic my day-to-day existence is, you’d sleep a lot too. He’s just jealous.

Sometimes I like to lick paper. I don’t know what you humans put in that stuff – cat nip or scent of cat's butt or whatever – but boy does it taste good. I also like to lick moldy walls. And sometimes the floor.

I get my water primarily from licking the condensation on the windows and the dripping faucet in the bathroom. That filtered water they give me in the crystal glass is for snobs. I'm a cat of the people - I’ll take mine moldy or dusty please.

My mortal enemies are the fancy white cat from next door and the grey tiger stripped cat from down the street (I've nicknamed them Snowball and Montecore). I’d mess those cats up…if they let me outside – the outdoors doesn’t agree with me. And I have no claws. My old family really was crap: pulled out my claws, gave me the old ‘snip-snip’ down below, made me crap in a box on the porch (which, if you’ve ever spent a winter in Orygun, isn’t as cool as it sounds). As boring as these two suckers are, at least they don’t lock me in the closet.

But sometimes Kimberly lets me go outside on a lead (it’s the King’s English, alright – my Owner-in-Sister-in-Law taught me that, and I think it sounds refined, thank you very much). That’s fun because I get to eat grass; then as soon as I get inside, I puke on the rug – like I said, these two are suckers. But it’s cool outside – I get to mark my territory and pounce around a little, like a real cat and everything. And those stupid ‘outdoor’ cats don’t mess with me, nope, not with Kimberly watching my back.

I like to chase string – it's so mesmerizing when it flies back and forth. Sometimes I like to chase balls of paper and play fetch. The one thing I won’t chase – mice. Not worth it. Plus, they might have claws or sharp teeth, which could really hurt.

Anyways, Kimberly and Peter keep talking about some changes, and how while they’re away, I’ll have to keep in touch through this blog with the help of Sister-the-Youngest. I’m not sure what exactly they’re talking about (I have noticed a lot of empty wine bottles lately, so I think they’ve been hitting it a little hard lately), but I’m pretty sure we’re not going anywhere. Who would I snuggle with? Major changes might make me whine the entire time (here's a good thought: maybe I'll whine all the time no matter what. Done and done); especially if that stupid car were involved. But even these two suckers aren’t dumb enough to make me get back into that thing.

Well, that's a little about me, Miles. If you need any advice with the ladies, or want to know anything else about how wonderful I am, just leave me a comment down below and I'll see what I can do. I have a feeling Petme and Feedme are going to be jealous of how popular my posts are and not let me do this that often.

Until next time, Keep on Snugglin’!

we're still here... just tired and busy

Just a quick post to let you all (or just you... depending on how many people actually read this thing) that we're still around.

It's been a crazy few weeks, and both Peter and I have lots to blog about shortly.

I had a conference, we had a house guest (our fabulous M who married us), Peter went on a crazy road trip, and now we're slowly recuperating.

So, we're here.... and for your amusement... see this Iowa State University dorm explosion