End of the Line... for 2010

I don't make New Year's Resolutions. I figure if I'm not hell-bent on changing something in, say, mid-September, why would I bother to do it on January 1st? I wouldn't.

I'm also not one for looking back and reflecting on the past year. I probably did once, when I was a young, fresh-faced lass still imagining that a new calendar meant some sort of tangible change. Now I do no more than make a snap judgment of I suppose the year was pretty good or That totally sucked, and move on.

This year, that snap judgment was just a shrug and Enh, it was the same as every other year. Nothing of note.

Which is clearly not true. Since I love me a good list, I'm going to use a list to shake off the apathy and make some effort at memorializing 2010. So here it is...


Ten Random Things I Did in 2010 that Turned Out to Be Pretty Awesome

1. Joined Twitter, and became addicted to it
2. Drank the Rainbow
3. Traveled to more than 20 cities in 8 countries, including 6 different US States
4. Did almost all of my traveling solo
5. Tried authentic Texas barbecue and discovered that BBQ sauce neutralizes the pure evil of pickles
6. Started this blog, and attracted upwards of 2 readers
7. Continued not joining Facebook
8. Cooked a traditional Thanksgiving turkey dinner for my Seattle family
9. Started watching Jersey Shore
10. Acquired some new besties

I could also do an opposite list: stuff that sucked in 2010, but that's just the kind of thinking that gets me all bitter and negative in the first place. So I'm not going to write those things down... at least not until tomorrow.

Home for the Holidays

It's always an ordeal going to see my family for their gatherings. They're good people, they try to entertain me, and they're even amusing in the weirdest ways. Take this example...

My grandfather has macular degeneration and has lost probably 80% of his eyesight, so everyone does their best to help him still be able to do the things he loves -- albeit blindly. A few weeks ago, my mom showed up to find Grandpa's clothes stained with blood, his hands and arms clumsily wrapped in gauze bandages. When she asked what had happened, he explained that he was fine, he'd just been trying to filet a fish and maybe cut himself once or twice.

My grandmother's response was that he must have sliced his digits because of the poor state of his cutlery. Her solution? She bought him a fancy electric knife for Christmas.

As the entire family started chatting in hushed tones to determine who'd take Grandpa to the emergency room on his first use of this new Finger Removal System, he exclaimed, "Oh! This is great! I'm gonna chop up everything in the countryside!"

Needless to say chop up everything in the countryside became the callback joke of choice for my cousin and I all night, while the cool aunts took over the meals, banning mayonnaise "salads" and allowing mimosas at brunch for the first time. Unfortunately, the weekend was otherwise as usual. The aged told stories of their health problems, and everyone attempted to give me guilt for only showing up once a year and not wanting to take home kitschy family heirlooms that I have nowhere to display or store.

No matter how things change in a family, they're always the same. I may be related to those folks, but I can't relate to them. It makes me appreciate my chosen relations here in Seattle, my logical family (rather than biological), as Armistead Maupin put it. But when it comes down to it, I suppose I'm lucky to have both; not everyone does.

So this year, I am thankful for, and wish all good things to, all of my family members... no matter how I acquired them!

Back in Seattle

After 16 hours of dealing with shuttles, planes, and airports, it's the little things that make me happy. Like landing at Gate A6, which is far and away the best place to pull into SeaTac Airport. When you walk off the plane, the exit is maybe 30 yards directly to your left. It dumps you out right next to a rarely busy set of bathrooms, and the escalators to baggage claim. It's even at the end of the building that allows a quick pop out to the smoking section, if you are so inclined. It seriously limited my hassle factor when arriving back in Seattle last night.

Beyond that, however, I was not thrilled to be back. Seattle seems even more small and empty, more unlike a city, than it already did.

If only I had done more with my last day in New York. I know it's the city that never sleeps, but I'm too old for that shit stuff. Every night we were out late, every morning we got up in the actual am hours, and all day was spent walking blocks and blocks. I just got worn out. In the early part of the day before Steve left, he and I had a great brunch at Smith's, grabbed a shake at the Shake Shack, took a look at Grand Central Station, and wandered through a street market. After he left, I headed up to Morningside Heights to take a look around, planning to head back to down to the Lower East Side afterward and visit Jesse's favorite NY hangout.

With the subway nonsense going on that day, though, it took almost an hour to go the 60 blocks from Rockefeller to Central Park North. I spent a bit of time wandering around the Morningside Heights area -- which reminds me of Seattle, but the things I like about Seattle, such as pretty old buildings and tree-lined streets -- and by the time I was on my way back downtown, it was dinnertime, I was tired, and my knees hurt. All I wanted was a lamb rice and to put my feet up for a minute.

I grabbed my takeaway dinner and stopped in at the hotel, just to take my shoes off and check the football score, promising myself I'd go back out again. I didn't move, and 3 hours later I was in bed for the night.

The next morning left me no time to do anything but catch my airport shuttle, so that was my goodbye to New York. The city may have beaten me with exhaustion this time, but I loved every minute of it. I'll be back...

The Gayborhood... and other points West

For my second full day in New York, we did so many things (again) that it seemed like 2 or 3 days. It's no wonder that now, on my last day, I'm in love with the city, but all I want to do is nap.

Steve had a ticket for another Broadway show at 2pm, so we planned to get up early (despite our late night of drinking) and head to the Upper West Side for a Gray's Papaya hot dog. However, unbeknownst to us, some idiot took a flying leap in front of an A train, closing that track and making all the other lines run in unusual ways. Add to that my less-than-expert ability to read the subway map, and we ended up stuck on an express train heading 50 blocks further north than we wanted to go. Because we had also overslept, we didn't have time to correct the error. Steve headed straight back downtown to the theatre, while I made the trek to Gray's Papaya alone.

After the long ordeal to get there, I only spent 5 minutes at Gray's Papaya. It was cheap. It was a good hot dog. But -- and I believe saying this automatically issues a warrant for my arrest in New York state -- it wasn't go-30-blocks-out-of-my-way good. Since it was really more of a snack than a meal, I decided to take a stroll down Central Park West and stop at whatever little lunch spot caught my fancy. Nothing did, and before I knew it, I was back in Midtown eating a street gyro. I checked out the New York Public Library, Bryant Park, and Rockefeller Center, then met back up with Steve at the hotel to regroup for our Big Gay Night Out.

We were so totally sick of tourists that we decided to wait for dinner until we got the hell out of Times Square, and hopped the 1 down to the Financial District to visit the World Trade Center site. There's not much of anything to see there, and it kind of looks like any other construction site. To me that seems like a good thing, because it means something productive is finally coming out of the rubble, without forgetting the tragedy that happened there. We popped quickly into a store front displaying all of the plans for the memorial, then got on our way down to the West Village.

Sadly, when we emerged on Christopher Street, there wasn't much to eat within our price range, so we settled for a strange (but not terrible) little pizza and pita diner, then headed to the landmark of gay history known as the Stonewall Inn.

We actually quite liked the Stonewall, in spite of the tourists and $7.50 bottled Blue Moons. It was just a laid back divey bar, with a pool table in the middle and sports on TV. We couldn't afford to stay, and our tradition is bar hopping, so we moved down the street to a little place called Pieces. Again, it was very much befitting our preference in public houses, and bottled beers were only $5. Unfortunately, there was a sewage smell permeating the place, which was battling, but not covered up by, the Glade candles set up 3 feet apart all over the bar. We threw back our beers and left.

The rest of our night was happily spent in the upper section of the Duplex. It was busy with midrange prices, relaxed and a lot of fun. Our bartender Poppi reminded me a lot of my friend Julie in Seattle, both in looks and attitude. She gave us a free drink and asked us to come back and see her when she was less busy and could "do some shots with us." Jay joined us briefly, we drank and laughed a lot, and we stayed there until almost 2am (including the extra "fall back" hour).

After a subway ride and a stop at the Halal cart, we were back at the hotel ready for bed. We also spent the last part of our night laying out all of our requirements to move here. Yeah, it was that good.

NYC Tourist Attractions

I didn't have anything planned for my first full day in New York, so I let Steve take the reins and lead me to all the classic NYC tourist locations.

We started off in Central Park, not far from our hotel, which is kind of an amazing place. One of Steve's main reasons for coming here was to photograph the Bethesda Fountain angel, so that was priority number one. After that, he took several more cute snaps of the squirrels in the park, and I marvelled at the feeling of being so far out into nature, while Manhattan was still visible beyond the trees.

After the park, we took the subway down and caught the ferry to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, grabbing a couple of pizza slices along the way. We didn't stay long at either place. The Ellis Island museum was somewhat fascinating, but our exhaustion and aching feet made sitting on a wooden bench more appealing than wandering through all the various exhibits. This was the same reason we came back to the hotel afterward, rather than trying to do more exploring.


Our final big plan for the day was seeing Promises Promises, literally on Broadway. On the way there, we stopped in at the Stage Deli for sandwiches piled high with cured meat, then popped across the street to Lindy's for some thick wedges of their famous cheesecake. I'm not a big fan of musicals, but Steve chose this show knowing that a good performance can suck me in regardless. And it worked. Sean Hayes and Kristin Chenoweth were both amazing, as was the rest of the cast. The show was funny and engaging, and I'm glad I saw it.

We left the theatre looking for a place to have a couple of post-show drinks, but nothing seemed to draw us in. Just before giving up and going to Applebees, we finally spotted an Irish pub (Emmett O'Something's) with a sign indicating pumpkin ale on draught. We started out tired, thinking we'd leave after one or two beers. Instead, the more we drank, the more we perked up, enjoying the live Irish music and spoon-playing of our recently relocated Boston bartender, Sean. After 4 beers, it was 2am. Since we didn't feel a need to take advantage of the 4:00 close time at the bar, a few blocks walk and a quick stop at the Halal cart took us back to the hotel, and bed.

The day was long, but felt even longer. While it was full of famous New York landmarks, it was taxing and still didn't really feel like we saw the true city. Luckily I have 2 more days for that.

New York City

This is my second visit to New York. Last time, I was 14 and on a dance trip. When Steve's NY friend (and my new friend) Jay asked me where I went on my last trip, all I could remember was Times Square and the Statue of Liberty -- where I performed on the brick at Ms Liberty's feet with my tap dance troupe and famously broke a solid metal tap clean in half.

In the 12 hours since then, despite most of them being spent asleep, more memories have started coming back. I remember my dorky friends and I doing a kick line in the middle of Broadway in Times Square, just to say we had danced on Broadway. I know that I skipped the top of the Empire State Building to go shopping in the lobby's Benetton store instead, and although I didn't buy anything at Bloomingdales, I was fascinated by the sheer scale of it. I also remember making friends with a 19 year-old racecar driver at our Jersey hotel and nearly giving my chaperone a heart attack when she found me watching television in his room.

This trip, 20 years later, might be a bit different, although there could be some echoes of the past. We plan to go back to the Statue of Liberty  this morning and to see a show tonight, and I'm already (again) more impressed with the men I saw here in 3 hours than in the last 3 years in Seattle. They seem impressed with me as well, unless their looks weren't "checking me out" as Steve observed, but staring in confusion and horror.

Unfortunately, after more than 12 hours of flying and dealing with other travel hassles yesterday, I didn't have much time or energy. We walked over to Hell's Kitchen in search of dinner, but Jay's first restaurant suggestion was packed, so we continued up the street until we found another Thai place that he could vouch for. I was too exhausted to take note of the name or exact location, so I can't write a proper review here. Steve and I both got "Duck Broth," a sort of rich, slightly sweet, duck pho. It was fantastic, and I would've eaten it for days if my stomach hadn't protested barely halfway through the bowl.

Afterward, we stopped at a bar called (I think) Bamboo 52, which was a decent enough place -- draft beers were only $6, which is actually not bad here -- but just not Steve's or my style. Jay's recommendations seemed too upscale, too trendy decor for us, so we only had one beverage, vowed to find our style of laid-back dive later in the trip, and turned in for the night.

On the walk back to our hotel through Times Square, I looked to the left and said, "I ate at that Sbarro." I specifically remember getting a slice at that that particular large Sbarro on that Broadway corner, not one of the myriad others in Manhattan. It's strange what sticks in the mind and what floats away.

I hope more than the duck broth will be memorable this time. I'm sure it will be.

The Winner's Circle

There's a word for people like me and my friends: Winner.

No, for real. The evidence is overwhelming. We threw together a trivia team and won. Twice. We rushed to build a Family Feud family and won. Twice. We entered the Halloween costume contest at Changes and won. A cash prize.

Steve keeps trying to remind us all to be humble, not to let it get to our heads. To that I quote a Robbie Williams lyric, "It's hard to be humble when you're so fucking big."

Big meaning successful and popular, not gigantic. We're not gigantic. I mean, Marshall's really tall, but... well, ok, fine. How about an alternate line from the same Robbie song that applies just as well: "You can't argue with popularity. Well, you could, but you'd be wrong."

In all truth, we were pretty gracious with our main competition, Katy Perry. We figured she deserved to win as much or more than we did, so we'd be happy either way.

The thing is, we always just aim to have fun and enjoy each others' company, never really count on winning anything. As the Golden Girls, we stayed in character all night, and would have had a blast even if we didn't walk away with money. Being competitive isn't any fun. We lose a lot more often than we win, but do we care? Do we remember the losses? No, we just remember hanging out and having fun. 

And that, my friends, is a success story.

Plus, don't we look awesome as the Golden Girls? Thank you all for being a friend, Girls.

Hallowedding

I spent last night in Portland, because I was invited to the wedding of a girl I was best friends with growing up, but who I hadn't seen in about 15 years.



My camera's memory card died as soon as I showed up, and
this was the best my phone could get. Weird Halloween mojo?



It was a very dark and silly ceremony, but a lot of fun. The theme was Halloween, and everyone was encouraged to show up in costumes. I thought about bringing a "date" with me, but then decided I'd go solo, maybe make friends with some of the other Halloweddingers. Halloweddies? No, Hallowedians. I'm going with Hallowedians.*

I went for the easy costume, dressing up my black Marilyn Monroe dress with some tall platform heels and a sparkled/feathered masquerade mask. I looked totally out of place. Most of my fellow Hallowedians were decked out in serious costumes with crazy makeup, all cliqued up together, and taking this as a usual Saturday night with the gang. Me? Not so much.

Just as I was about to give up and go find the nearest gay bar, a few folks came by and said hello to me. As we chatted, another couple joined and introduced themselves. I had found my gang.

After the ceremony, dinner, drinks, and a reunion with the bride and her mom, I was finished with the scene. As I said goodbye to one of my new pals, he pointed out that it was only 10pm and I shouldn't waste the night by going back to my hotel so early. But what could we do? Well, luckily for us, one of his friends was having a house party that I could accompany him to. 

Half an hour later, I was in a random suburban neighborhood of Vancouver, Washington, standing in the garage, holding a big red cup full of vodka and orange juice. Everyone was perfectly nice, but they were also very typical Vancouver peeps. They reminded me of everyone I knew growing up. They reminded me why I moved away and had no desire to go back.

When all was said and done, I woke up with a headache and a serious case of sleep deprivation, happy to get on the freeway. There are few places that make me long to be back in Seattle, but that was one of them. The wedding was a good time and I'm happy that I went, but now... I'm definitely glad to be home.

*Pronounced Ha-Lo-Wee-Jen

Hibernation

It's that time of year again: Autumn. The time when Seattle's cloud cover rolls in and doesn't leave for six months. The time when the men grow facial hair and the women stop shaving their legs. The time when we all slow down, settle into comfortable couples, and hole up at home for the cold days ahead.

At this time of year, everyone's mood gets slightly darker, our love handles get a bit larger, and we sleep a lot more. Some people call it Seasonal Affective Disorder, but if it happens to everyone, is it a disorder? Or just being human?

Humans are, after all, just animals with skinny jeans and Lady Gaga ringtones. All the other animals slow down, take stock of their necessities, and maybe even hibernate their way through winter. Why shouldn't we?

I'm no Tom Cruise, and I don't begrudge treatment to those with serious depression issues. It is a real disorder. However, I think a lot of people expect themselves to be happy all the time, and think that if their life isn't like a beer commercial, there's something wrong with them.

But there just isn't.

I don't have the energy to go into a long rant about pop culture's fuel behind our unrealistic expectations of happiness (look at all those leaves!), nor will I go off about the pharmaceutical industry encouraging medication for non-problems so they can make money (isn't it cold outside?). But I will say this: It's Fall.  We're all anti-social and lazy. Accept it; it's normal. 

So go ahead, stay in and take that nap. It's what Mother Nature intended.

Austin

Today, on my last day in Austin, I finally made it downtown. There wasn't all that much to see, and it being Monday, there wasn't much local culture to soak up either. Even so, I did my best to capture the spirit of the thing.

I wandered around the downtown core for a while, past offices and all the important buildings for civic-type activities (library, courthouse, city museum, capitol building), and drove by the University of Texas campus. The only place I really felt like spending any real time, though, was Stubbs Barbecue.

Stubbs was delicious, and while it was mostly empty in the afternoon, it's apparently a hot spot for live music at night. I sampled the pulled pork sandwich with a side of mac-n-cheese, which was fabulous. Texas BBQ is traditionally served with onions, pickles, and peppers, so I sampled a little of each. Despite my vehement anti-pickle stance in most situations, I have to say they go very well with barbecue sauce. There really is an exception to every rule.

I spent most of my afternoon at Zilker Park in South Austin. The park is enormous (surprise, it's Texas!), and has a trail along the banks of the Colorado River. I ambled down the path a ways, dodging joggers, cyclists, and dog walkers, rarely seeing any other casual walkers like myself. Despite being out of place, I enjoyed the stroll and took a few pictures of the lovely view.

When I had sufficiently walked away my lunch, I hit the road again, battling traffic out to Driftwood and the Salt Lick.

Like Rudy's, the Salt Lick has opened several barbecue joints modeled after the first one, and also like Rudy's, I made the trek to the original. Speeding down a narrow Ranch Road several miles from Austin, I almost missed the small sign marking the Salt Lick's entrance and had to skid dangerously onto the gravel shoulder. Potential rental car damage aside, it was well worth the trip. Inside the restaurant, you can watch your meat cooked over an open pit, and cut fresh from the grill. The ribs and potato salad were both wonderful, and I could eat just about anything dipped in that sauce.

Now I'm back in the 'burbs, tired from the sun and massive quantities of meat, sad that I have to leave tomorrow. I'm debating heading back downtown again to bond with the locals, since that is the one thing I've missed here. On the other hand, I have to get up in 12 hours and my eyes are already trying to close. I just don't know if I have it in me tonight.

Whether I make it back out or not, the trip is a success. I'm glad I arbitrarily decided to come here. Why Texas? Why the hell not?

San Antonio

I've been in Austin for almost 2 days now and I still haven't seen downtown. I spent all day yesterday in San Antonio.

I can't tell you how long the drive took me, but it was relatively smooth sailing. I've discovered that in some states if you don't have exact directions, you can kind of follow the signs and get where you need to go. Not so in Texas. While their highways are wide and basically free of slow-downs despite a lot of traffic, the whole system is extremely confusing, and most major freeways seem to have more than one name or number to them. When in Texas, google your directions. Luckily I did.

Anyway. The first thing I did after parking in San Antonio was wander off to Market Square. This small shopping center really shows off the Mexican presence in the city, with a mix of Tex-Mex in the food stalls, import shops, and football themed gift stores. I had a fantastic burrito for lunch with a huge Dos Equis -- the beer only came in one size, which I believe was called bigger than an effing bucket.



Belly full, I wandered down historic Houston street, running into several tipsy football fans along the way, until I reached the Alamo. After perusing the entire grounds, I realized that the Alamo is nothing like Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, and everything like I remember from ethnic history class in college. The Texas Revolutionaries got their asses handed to them more than once in their attempts to defend the Alamo. These losses were briefly touched upon in the Alamo museum, but the clear focus is on the single battle where they had success... and a hell of a lot of casualties. To be sure, Remember the Alamo really means Remember the time that we finally won.

Next, I strolled along the river walk, pausing in the shade for a few minutes, and soaked up my last bit of San Antonio culture on the walk back to the car. I only saw part of it, but the town seems vintage, historic, a place for tourists. I'm not good at being a tourist, but I was hungry.

Last stop, Rudy's, "the worst bar-b-q in Texas."

Before I left Seattle, Rio pinged a couple of folks she knows who live and work around Austin and San Antonio, to find me the best BBQ in town. They both mentioned Rudy's.

Rudy's has a few locations spread around the area, but the original is an unassuming red building with a couple of smoke stacks. It is located on the side of a small highway, which runs alongside the main highway. It is very much the pride of a small town called Leon Springs, despite its being just on the San Antonio side of the city limits.

Being from a city that features overwhelmingly terrible barbecue, I was expecting to order some kind of sandwich or meal. No. Rudy's offers meat by the pound and a few slices of white bread on wax paper -- make your own damn sandwich if that's what you like -- along with traditional sides like potato salad and mac-n-cheese.

The brisket was tender, flavorful and juicy, and the turkey was amazing, barely a touch of smoke. All the meats are served dry, allowing the customer to add sauce as they see fit. Apparently the sauce or no sauce debate is still raging in Texas, and Rudy's will not make the decision for you. Me, I'm a sauce girl, although I do also love the meat on its own.

I purchased a large bottle of the Rudy's signature sauce, and am now hoping I can get it home intact. I make a great Jewish-style brisket, but I think this sauce would put it over the top, especially alongside my macaroni and cheese made from scratch. Mmmmm... Wait. Am I Southern?

Today, finally to downtown Austin...

Texas

When I told people I was coming to Texas this weekend, they typically responded with an emotion ranging from confusion to disgust, and some form of the question why?

Why not?

Now that I'm here, the more I see, the less I understand people's reaction. Because I was so exhausted when I arrived yesterday, I spent the evening exploring the suburbs around Austin. I didn't want to go farther, since I seemed to get lost every 5 minutes and didn't want my rental car to run afoul of some big Texas truck when I swerved around the city in my confused and sleep deprived haze.

My first impressions of Texas are that the landscape is flat and featureless, the weather is crazy -- it's 85 in October, and the hotel also gave safety instructions in case of tornado, flood, hurricane, and blizzard -- and everything really is bigger. The stores are bigger, the roads are bigger, and there's so much space that you'll drive for 5 minutes through a green pasture between strip malls. The people are generally friendly, and overwhelmingly obsessed with football, the Longhorns being the local squad here in Austin. Barbecue is plentiful, and seems to be more of a way of life than a type of food; there's even beer made from mesquite smoked malt... which is delicious, by the way.

I haven't seen much yet, but so far I kind of dig it here, which makes me a little annoyed at all the Sourpuss Judgersons who questioned my vacation in the Lone Star state. People are often holier-than-thou about the South, Red States, anyone who thinks hybrid motors are a step backward in technology (ie me), and that's just arrogant. And kind of ignorant, to be really honest. Why wouldn't you want to check out everything the world has to offer? You may still hate it and feel superior, but at least you found out for yourself, instead of judging things based on your own narrow world view.

Which is why I'm finishing up my coffee now and hitting the road for San Antonio, to see it for myself.

But the important question is: will I remember the Alamo?

Julia's Kitchen Nightmare - My Boeuf Bourguignon

It's a beautiful law of randomness that occasionally the same topic pops up from several directions at once, totally unrelated. The latest of these: boeuf bourguignon.

Neal and I both made this simple yet marvelously rich dish on Sunday. We didn't plan to do so, it just happened to come up for both of us at the same time. Neither of us had ever made boeuf bourguignon, or even eaten it before, and it turns out we made it very differently. He created a near stew, including lots of broth to be sopped up by a crust of bread. I produced moist and tender lumps of beef with a minimum of thick and rich sauce.

Even though neither of us had any idea what we were doing, we both made delicious meals, and both thought ours was the right way to do it. With the end product so different, we can't both be correct. But maybe we're not both wrong either. Good food can never be wrong.

I don't really use traditional recipes, kitchen renegade that I am, so I started with 5 or 6 basic steps shared by Tony on No Reservations and went my own way from there. In the interest of sharing (and remembering my method for next time), here's how I did it:

1. Toss beef cubes in salt and pepper
2. Heat some olive oil in a heavy sauce pan over medium heat, and add the beef cubes
3. When beef is about 3/4 of the way browned, drain off all the fat and oil from the pan
4. Return the pan to the heat and finish browning
5. Remove meat from the pan, don't drain the fat (unless it's excessive, there should only be a little)
6. Throw in a couple Tablespoons of butter and a diced white onion, cook on medium until onion is translucent
7. Add a couple of chopped carrots, lightly salt and pepper, and stir a few times
8. Pour in just enough burgundy* to surround the veggies
9. Stir everything together and gently loosen the  browned bits from the bottom of the pan
10. Add beef back to the pan, along with enough burgundy to cover it
11. Bring just to a simmer, reduce to low heat, and walk away
12. Every 20 minutes or so, pay the pan a visit. Stir, and skim off any major oil slicks. Do this while allowing it to cook for the next 90 minutes
13. This is the minimum cooking time, but longer further breaks down the meat and creates deeper flavors.  At the top of each additional hour of cooking time, add in another cup of wine or so, then go back to checking at intervals. 

*Yes, you MUST use burgundy, no substituting random red wine. It's boeuf bourguignon, not boeuf cheap merlot!

The Emotional Morgue

I was strolling down Broadway today, when I saw a man I'm reasonably certain was my ex-husband. We looked at each other and said nothing. I kept walking.

It didn't really affect me, except to remind me of the strangeness of the situation. While things got ugly shortly after the divorce, there's no longer any particular animosity between us; there's just a complete lack of interest. It's odd that people who were once in love and shared their lives for 7 years, now don't even recognize each other on the street. Even weirder is that I have a long list of people like that -- former best friends, exes, random folks I used to hang out with -- who I don't especially dislike, but who I have no desire to see or hear from. Evidently you'll know my emotional life by the trail of dead.

I don't tend to leave human interactions with a lot of drama or fanfare. I don't even leave with closure. I just leave. And stop caring. I'm more likely to walk away and never talk to you again than I am to keep in touch. Based on the reactions of those left behind, I don't think that's normal.

People seem to take that personally, especially since I never have any particular reason for walking away. I just periodically move on. I swear, it's me. I'm the one who's dead inside; you're just dead... to me.

The upside is that I really appreciate the people who I keep in my life, and genuinely want them around. There's no pretending or freinemies, kept in the name of politeness or tradition. Maybe that's weird too, but too bad. It's part of why I'm awesome.

And dead inside. Shrug.

Honolulu - Closure

As I sit at my hotel room desk, drinking coffee on my last morning in Honolulu, I can't help but reflect on how neutral I am about this place.

There's really nothing to dislike about it, once you get past the fact that it's one giant tourist trap. It's beautiful, tropical, and the locals working here are beyond hospitable. It would be a perfect vacation spot for a lot of people, and it clearly is for plenty; I'm just not one of them.

To be honest, the heat has gotten to me. The wind, ranging from a gentle breeze to gusts hard enough to blow my skirt well over my head, has been the only relief from the melt-your-makeup-off-your-face temperatures and humidity. Yesterday I saw a couple of gals effortlessly bouncing past me in jeans and sweaters, as I trudged down the blistering sidewalk, gulping bottled water and wiping the sweat from my face. I wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shout, "Where do you come from? The Sun? It's 87 degrees out here and I'm dying in shorts!"

The fact is, it's not you, Hawaii, it's me. I've never been one for water sports, and I won't go into the ocean above my ankles. "Laying out" is nothing but a ticket to the hospital with a 3rd degree sunburn. My idea of a beach vacation is sitting back in the shade of an umbrella or a palm tree, looking out over the ocean, and letting the world drift away. That simply isn't possible here. The beaches are too small, too crowded, too geared toward swimming and surfing. The few shaded areas are in the midst of hustle and bustle, or alongside the busy street, where you can barely see the water. It's just not what I'm looking for. I could experience heat and overpriced cities in the desert, much closer to home. I came here for the ocean, which I've barely seen.

If I ever decide to get back together with this far off state, I think I'll try a different island, maybe someplace off the beaten path. Or maybe I'll just spend the extra cash for a beach front hotel where I can use their patio to achieve my own ends.

All that being said, I've had a nice relaxing time. I spent enough time sitting out overlooking the canal with a book to get the calm I desired. I escaped the rain and drudgery of Seattle for my last weekend of summer. It was somewhere new, the beer was good. It was worth a 6 hour flight.

The World's Most Famous Beach

I finally went to see Waikiki Beach today. Menh.

The water is gorgeous and refreshing to wade in, but the beach itself is small, covered in sunbathers and hot, brown, grainy sand. There's no shade or seating, save for what's reserved for private use by hotels or purchased from sidewalk vendors on the way down. I didn't stay long.

As a whole, Waikiki is kind of awful. This neighborhood of Honolulu is the most visited by travelers to Hawaii, but it's not really my style. Its lovely pedestrian-friendly streets are lined with shop after shop trying to sell you overpriced crap, and always crawling with tourists.

The best part of my day so far was actually spent on the balcon... erm, lanai of my hotel room, with the view shown to the right. After the sun had moved to the other side of the building, I spent an hour or so sitting with my feet up on the railing, reading a book, a warm tropical wind nipping at the corners of every page.

If I can bear the heat, next I'll take a walk a bit farther out, visiting the parks and the nearby military reservation. As in all hot and humid climates, my skin is angrily pushing buckets of sweat through sunscreen, and I've taken to wearing a bikini under my clothes, instead of conventional undergarments. It's not the most comfortable of arrangements, to say the least, but it's a necessity.

I may be both too fast-paced and too pale-skinned Scandinavian for this Island, but it does have its charms. I just need to stop being distracted by all of the flaws.

An Unfamiliar Island

Apparently I need to relax. I move way too fast for Hawaii.

I've been here for approximately 4 hours, and haven't made it to the beach yet. After my delayed flight and 90 minutes of airport and shuttle madness to get here, all I wanted was a sandwich and a beer, but then I noticed that football was on. Watching the WSU Cougars get trounced by Oklahoma State was so riveting that I took brief nap.

Even after that and a couple of local micros, I still get the sense that I'm in way too much of a hurry.

Throughout my flight, I'd occasionally lift the window shade and take a glance at my surroundings; there was nothing to be seen but clouds and water, every time. I am unquestionably in a far away land. However, looking out at the scenery as the plane landed, the rolling hills and tracts of suburban housing were strangely familiar. It was like flying into...well, Idaho. When I got out of the airport, though, it was very clear how different this place really is. Aside from the palm trees and pit-stain inducing humidity, no one seems to have the ability to move above a speed of 0. They all want to stroll, and chat, and take their time. Even the wi-fi is painfully lackadaisical. I hate it. This one goes to 11!

That being said, I'm going to retire to my balcony (evidently they call it a lanai here, despite it being a standard hotel room balcony with a couple of plastic chairs), and ingest a couple of chill pills. Maybe it will help. Let's just hope I don't overdose and get so slow that I go back in time and erase my own existence...

Everywhere, but Still Here

I haven't written in a while. Where in the world has Girl 2 been?

Around. In Seattle. In Chelan for a weekend. Busy. But mostly, happy.

Recently I've found myself in a most enjoyable triumvirate. Not only did we all click immediately, and discover that we have a great time as a group, we all have the availability and similar schedules required to get together pretty much all the time. So that's where I've been -- out with my boys.

That's right. The photo has not been doctored. It's me, dancing at the Cuff, and drinking a Miller High Life. Fun works in mysterious ways.

However, turns out having a social life cuts into my online time quite a bit. Maybe this weekend when I leave town again, I'll finally catch up.

Which brings me to my next subject: turns out travel is now my thing. I realized a couple of years ago how much I loved gallivanting around, seeing different places and checking out what the world has to offer. I've even been willing to give up all my beloved shopping -- even for shoes -- in order to put every extra dime toward getting out of town.  And it has served me well.

In the past 12 months, I've spent every vacation day from work out of town. That has taken me to more than 20 cities in 10 different countries, including 5 US states. Before the end of 2010, I'll visit 3 more states, and fly thousands of additional miles.

Not only that, but I always have something to talk about at boring parties and family gatherings. It has become my go-to distraction when I'm bored with whatever else I should be doing. And I've turned into the expert, constantly on top of the cheapest ways to go without sacrificing comfort, and the source of travel tips among all my friends and relations.

While I always wanted to be here, I never thought I would be. But I'm glad that I am. Now, like Dolly Parton when she first became rich and famous, I feel like I should give back to those less fortunate. But how can I share this? Maybe I could... Wait, that reminds me: trip to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, needs to go on the list for this year.

Now what was I saying again? Nevermind, Virgin America is having a sale, gotta go. K-loveya-bye!

Stanwood

Every so often, it's nice to be the big fish in a small pond.


Earlier this week, Rio invited me to hang out with a work friend in her back country stomping ground of Arlington and Stanwood. I agreed, despite the fact that I'm certain I'll be eaten by bears if I ever leave my own area code, and decided to approach it as a new cultural experience, just like travelling abroad. We met at Nicole's place in Arlington, an hour north of Seattle, then took off to the Stanwood Hotel & Saloon for karaoke night.

I was a bit apprehensive when some of the locals said, "Awesome! Girls!" as we walked in, and others started eyeballing the table and discussing pickup lines the moment we sat down. I didn't really want to get hit on by the nice Northwestern Washington boys. However, once I got a couple of $5 microbrews in me, I relaxed and chatted with a few of the other singers at the bar.

And actually had a good time.

It turned out they were having a competition for that bar's entry into the Evergreen Idol singing competition. There were 11 finalists who had each won a previous week's contest, and were karaoke-ing their hearts out to get one of the saloon's 2 spots at the big Evergreen State Fair finals. Unfortunately, all three of our group were better singers than most of the competitors, so everyone (including the karaoke hostess) was really impressed and wanted to know where we came from. We were instantly declared the unofficial winners of the contest and lavished with attention.

One guy said I was the winner, even above my "sensational singer" friends, for being the prettiest and the best singer. That would only happen in the middle of nowhere. It's true that hotness is very much relative, and it's better that way. I'm enough of a narcissist as it is, I don't need the people around me encouraging my notion that I'm the most awesomest girl what ever lived on a regular basis.

But for one night, it was kind of nice. It was fun. I don't know if it's worth the hour drive each way to do it more often, but as new cultural experiences go, I'm glad I took the adventure. Once.

Niagara Falls

The trip to Niagara Falls today went much more smoothly than my drive yesterday, and would've been well worth the traffic, had it not.

I can only speak for the Canadian side, but I imagine the US version of Niagara is the same: one giant tourist trap. Everywhere I turned, someone was eager to relieve me of the burden of my cash. Just parking my car cost me an excessively long line-up and $16. But wow, the falls were amazing. The city of Niagara Falls, Ontario? I could've skipped it, but I was hungry, and there was a Tim Horton's. Anyway. The Falls.

Because of where I left my car, I got to walk from the top of the Falls around to an area overlooking the bottom. From the top you'd barely know a giant drop is coming. As you get closer, the rapids speed up, then the actual falls create so much mist that even far above them you get damp. Although, considering how hot it was today, I didn't really mind all the spritzing. Finally, at the bottom, the water becomes totally calm again, as if nothing had ever happened.

I may be biased, water-oriented human being that I am, but I thought it was pretty damn awesome. The photos can't do it justice, but I took a ton anyway. It just seemed necessary.

And no, I didn't see any newlyweds. I did see some Amish folks, though. Made me wonder how they got there. (Amish families not pictured)

Niagara-on-the-Lake

Apparently the awesomeness of the city had to be balanced out somehow, because today pretty much completely blows.

I left Toronto in a great mood, ready to drive out to the edge of Canada and see some effing natural wonders. Instead I spent my day as depicted at right. Notice the brakelights. And my safe following distance. Anyway.

My estimated-less-than-90-minutes drive did not quite go that way. Within minutes of starting down Queen Elizabeth Way (the highway I was to take all the way over), I was at a standstill. Around Burlington, they had a big LED sign reading QEW moving slow. Prepare to stop. Had I been in better spirits, I would have chuckled and snapped a picture, since I was stopped in view of it with plenty of time for photos. As it was, having been in traffic for over 2 hours and only getting 30 miles from Toronto, I shouted "Really?! Ya think?! You're FUCKING HILARIOUS!!" It was like that for the entire rest of the trip. All told, I drove for over 5 hours to get here.

In Seattle, I will drive far out of my way on side roads to avoid sitting in highway traffic. In unfamiliar towns, I don't have that option. Traffic is possibly the thing I hate most in the entire world.

My only sanity break was a brief stop off in a strip-mall town along an exit, where I made a burger and bathroom stop at Harvey's. No, HIMYM fans, I did not steal the tray. I'm not like that. Plus, the tray was blue, not orange. Who wants to collect that?

When I finally emerged from the QEW traffic nightmare, my Google directions misled me down a road through a couple of the various villages in Niagara-on-the-Lake. Evidently when they said turn right, then turn left, they meant follow the exit straight ahead for a minute, and it will take you directly into the hotel's parking lot. Oops. Anyway, my little detour wasn't so bad. It was pretty, and there was no traffic. So instead of immediately turning around, I drove for a few miles, seeing nothing but vineyards and farmhouses. I thought, "Fantastic! Wine! I love this place!"

Then I realized there really is nothing here but mile upon mile of wine grapes, with a few Bed and Breakfast inns hidden between. Seriously. I've never seen so many vineyards in one place. With nothing else around them. The few stores in this "town" closed at 5pm, shortly after I arrived. It sucks. I hate this place.

Niagara-on-the-Lake is not my cup of tea. Literally. I can't stand B&Bs or their bloody tea. Oh, am I cranky? All I can say is thank goodness there's a winery every 100 feet. Just as I was about to give up on this trip and run my rental car into the nearest tree, I spotted a tasting room still open at 6pm, at a winery called Pillitteri Estates. I popped in, and managed to pick up a lovely dry Cab-Merlot blend, and a wine key, on the cheap.

Yes, I am drinking it now. And lo, it is good. This day might just be salvageable.

T to the O - Part Deux

I absolutely freakin' LOVE Toronto.

In most of my travels, I have a pretty solid routine that involves some wandering around, punctuated with lots of breaks to laze around my hotel room and see if there's anything else I want to bother going back out for. Not so, this time.

All day, I've just wanted to be out, not really doing much, just being in the city. I finally forced myself back, though, because I was spending too much money. I need to chill for a bit before heading out again. I could stay here forever.



I opted against going up in the CN Tower, but I did go to the entrance. This photo also includes the CBC building, which makes it possibly the most Canadian photo I could have taken. In just a few hours this afternoon, I did some shopping, considered hopping into the Much Music request booth on Queen Street, drank an Ontario craft ale, and even saw a small parade advertising the brilliance of something called Falun Dafa hold up traffic for a few minutes. This place rules.

Of course the best part was the Hockey Hall of Fame. For this atheist, it was a cathedral. I can understand why it's called Le Temple de la Renommee du Hockey in French. And yes, that's the actual ceiling in the trophy room.

The Hall of Fame isn't very big, so I went through and saw everything twice. I bought totally overpriced souvenirs. I took pictures of all kinds of nerdy things like a team Finland Olympic jersey worn by the guy that my cat is named after. I saw both the current and original Stanley Cups. Did you know that Seattle had one of the very first US hockey teams, pre-dating the NHL? Do you care? Well I do. And it was AWESOME.

I'm forcing myself to take a break and not spend any money until dinnertime, when I fully expect to find myself drinking more local beers and paying way too much for pub food. This is the financial district, after all; nothing but tourists and bankers here.

Tomorrow I'll get back in the car and head down to Niagara-on-the-Lake. No idea yet what that part of the province will hold. I'm staying in a Missassauga/Toronto airport hotel Monday, but based on how much I love TO, I can bet I'll be fighting the traffic back downtown for one last fling before I go. If I can afford it.

Man, I love it here. If only they had less a hateful hockey team. Damn Leafs. Canada's Team, my ass!

Downtown Toronto

I didn't do much yesterday, given that I was sleep-deprived enough to have gotten easily lost and confused. However, I did spend the day wandering around downtown Toronto, getting the lay of the land, and checking out what I can get to until I take the rental car back from the valet tomorrow. Based on that, I now know exactly what I want to do today. Unfortunately, the moment I plopped down in front of the TV last night, I crashed out and slept for over 12 hours. So now I'm just caffeinating and trying to run out the door with enough time to see a few things today.

Not much of note from yesterday. I walked by CBC studios and briefly considered hanging around to stalk my boyfriend George Stroumboulopoulos, or trying to create enough havoc outside that they'd make an episode of the The Fifth Estate about me. But then I remembered that getting arrested will kill my chances of moving back to this fine country, so I moved on. I do love that network.

That leads me to my other key thought so far: I miss Canada. I really, really miss Canada. Part of it is that I really prefer living in a big city to a small-time well, it's the biggest one we got around here city. I loved Vancouver, which is roughly 5x the size of Seattle, and while it's kind of the same cultural vibe, it still feels very different. Toronto is the same way: east-coast big city, Canadian style. I'm having trouble getting past the nostalgia to judge this town realistically, if I'm honest. Every time I see a Chapters or Tim Hortons, every time I turn on the TV to find CityTV or TSN, I get a little jump inside. When I lived in Vancouver, my personal life was in a shambles, but I was happy with my surroundings. Now in Seattle, it's the opposite. I guess a girl can never be happy.

My point is, I'm having a blast, even doing nothing. Just because I'm here. And now I need to go enjoy more of it.

O Canada!

Far and Away

Well, here I am in Toronto, after flying all night and driving rush hour traffic into the city on 3 hours sleep. Funny, after all the miles I've racked up this year; all the hassles; every irritation, new time zone, and night of no sleep; I still love it. I'm not jaded at all.

Ok, let's be honest. I'm jaded about stupid things like overhead compartments, security lines, and tourist traps. But I watched the sun rise this morning from 30,000 feet, and it filled me with joy. When I walked off the plane, I immediately smiled and thought, Oh Canada, I missed you! Even though I'm so exhausted that I'm barely being held together with caffeine and willpower, I'm thrilled to get out into the new and unfamiliar streets. This makes me happier than anything.

There's another good sign this trip: I've been meeting people. My old friend and former co-dependent meets lots of folks like this on work travel, and calls them single-serving friends. It's a perfect description. These are the strangers you bump into on a plane, in a hotel bar, riding the airport shuttle; you pass the time together for a while, make a brief connection, then go your separate ways.

I've been largely in hermit mode since a couple of last summer's random events knocked me down. Making temporary friends of whoever's nearby is fun, and I haven't been doing much of it lately, so this is a good sign. Sure, I still hate Seattle, and I want to make some changes, but being this social means things are looking up for me.

Now, if I can only choke down the rest of this terrible coffee and resist the urge to curl up in my giant comfy hotel bed, I'm going out to find some single-serving Canadians... and maybe see some of the city too.

The Bottom of my Charred Heart

Last weekend I reconnected with a friend I hadn't chatted with in some time, and he made the comment that he sees more of my humanity in this blog than he's ever gotten from talking to me.

It's an absolutely accurate observation. While I often describe myself as dead inside, the fact is that I'm unemotional, and self-absorbed, and don't openly share a lot of what's going on behind the curtain. I'm better in front of a crowd than I am one on one, and due to shyness as a youth, I'm also more myself in written form than live. Put it all together, and you see the most me in a format like this. While I definitely censor my content for such a wide audience, the words, emotion and thought behind it all are a lot less edited than you get in person.

If my life were a sitcom, though, that comment would've been followed by me going back to my gang of 30-something thin, white, attractive, straight friends, and asking them if I was really lacking in humanity. They would respond with awkward silence, and unconvincing assertions that I'm "a really caring person." This would send me into a bout of soul-searching, which would be resolved (in 22 minutes or less) when some big event would prove my humanity, and wrap up the whole issue with a goofy comment and a few seconds of the laugh track.

We all want to fit that mold of a good person, right? Maybe. Or maybe not. While I don't like some of the elements of my life right now, I'm 100% happy with who I am. I wouldn't want to change it. I'm good enough, smart enough, and doggonnit, people like me!

Cue the Very Special Episode...

Behind the Psychotic Flanker

I love rugby. I really do. I can't wait to find out if I get tickets in the World Cup lottery, so I can start planing my trek to the rugger craziness in New Zealand next year.

Why am I suddenly blogging poetic about the hooligan's sport? I watched Invictus the other night, and I'm so glad that Clint Eastwood made that movie and made it well, because it's my very favorite sports story. Aside from involving rugby, I love how a sport united a nation with such a horribly divided past, and that Nelson Mandela was genius enough to see that it would work. Looking at South Africa now during the FIFA coverage, the racial strife is in the past, thanks to a much better sport than soccer. But even better, Invictus was just a good movie. It was engaging and well made, but didn't take a lot of liberties for dramatic effect; it stayed true to the history, and was awesome.

But I'm not a reviewer. The point is that rugby rules. And that I always cry at sports movies. Ok, I have two points.

I'm not sure what it is about sports, but they can touch my charred heart and bring a tear to my eye faster than any holocaust drama, chick flick, or truckload of game-show winners.* Maybe it's because part of my brain belongs to a stereotypical straight guy. That same part of my brain also requires me to record every episode of The Dudesons, and (no exaggeration) made me fall off my couch from laughing at Jackass Number 2.

I cried all through a documentary about the same South African story on which Invictus is based. I shed more than a few tears watching Wayne Gretzky do a final skate around the ice after his last game. When my brother's high school football team went undefeated in the regular season? Not a dry eye on my face. Despite not being much of a baseball fan and finding Field of Dreams long, boring, and generally stupid, I still got choked up during the ghost father and son game of catch at the end.

I think I'm off the point again. In conclusion, rugby rules, and sports conjure up my otherwise dead emotions, especially in movie form.

Except for The Wrestler. Maybe because pro wrestling isn't a sport. No, I remember, it was because that movie was terrible. Now back to my weeping; wonder if Press Your Luck is on...


*Possibly my girliest feature is that I had to stop watching The Price is Right several years ago, because I burst into tears every time somebody won. I was getting too dehydrated and emotionally wrecked every day to go on viewing the show. Besides, I don't like Drew Carey.

The Last Exit

The subject of death has been popping up a lot lately. Good or bad, it's on my mind for several reasons.

Last August, a close friend of mine died. He was very ill and many miles away for his final days, so the last times I remember him being around and having fun were Pride weekend and 4th of July. He was the first member of my chosen family that I've lost, and I think this time of year will always bring him to mind.

Even worse, a spambot wormed into his old e-mail account a few weeks ago. It's unsettling to receive advertisements from your friend's Yahoo address nearly a year after he went to the grave.

In the midst of all this, a book called The Deathday Letter came out, and I read it immediately. I discovered it because it was written by my Gay Husband's brother (making him my gay-brother-in-law? brother-in-gay? erm, no, let's just skip the title). I don't do reviews, and I'd just sound biased anyway, but I liked it, and you should buy it. In a funny and meaningful way, it deals with the age-old question of What would you do if you knew you had 24 hours to live?

I hate that question, because I don't live in Shaun Hutchinson's fictional world where you get advance notice of your impending death. I'd only ever know I was on my life's last day if I was so fatally ill that I wouldn't have the strength to go sit on the beach, or throw a last hurrah at Wrigley Field. In fact, I bet I won't even have 24 seconds of warning, forget 24 hours.

So lately, with death on my mind, I've been looking at the question differently: If the last 24 hours I just lived were my very last 24 hours, would I be okay with that?

The answer varies. Yesterday, I'd probably say yes. The day before? Not so much. The lesson I'm learning is that if I say no for most of the days of my life, then I'm not doing it right.

Ask yourself the same question every night before bed. It's illuminating, I can assure you.

The Open Road

I just got home and poured a glass of wine, after being away from Seattle for a total of 28.5 hours and 566 miles, and I'm in my best spirits since I boarded the plane to leave Copenhagen. I love me a road trip.

Even though I constantly struggle to understand how my relatives and I all sprang from the same gene pool, I agreed (translation: was coerced and bribed) to go to a family reunion this weekend. That involved driving down to Vancouver, Washington, last night, then continuing another hour South to Woodburn, Oregon, this morning.

After spending about 3 hours making small talk with relatives whose names I can barely remember, and eating various "salads" containing mayonnaise, I set back out on the highway, headed for home. But by the time I hit Portland, I realized something: it was a beautiful day out, I was cranky, and I really didn't want to come back to Seattle.

I thought to myself, I have about 6 hours of remaining daylight, and a full tank of gas... well, let's see what's shakin' in the Gorge!

I got on Hwy 14 eastbound (also known as The Washington Side), which is a narrow winding road with various low speed limits, just because it's pretty. It was a completely arbitrary decision, and I really had no destination. After an hour or two, I stopped in Bingen, and it occurred to me that I had to either turn back or continue east and zig-zag my way back up across Central Washington. I chose the former, crossed the Hood River bridge, headed back west on I-84 (The Oregon Side, because it's a much faster large highway), and rejoined my original path only a few miles from where I had left it.

And now I'm happy. Extremely happy. All I did for most of my day was drive, sing along to various CDs, and look at scenery. On the way east, I stopped off at Beacon Rock State Park to stretch my legs and use the public bathroom; on the way back, it was Multnomah Falls. That was enough.

I really like to drive, and to get away from the usual sights, especially when there's little traffic and the route is beautiful. It's even better when it happens on a whim. Today had all of these elements. I need to do it more often.

Over the Rainbow - Seattle Pride 2010

I've been doing a lot of complaining recently about how I'm not behind what the Pride celebration has become. I love my gay friends and am completely supportive of them and the celebration of being out and proud. But when did Pride weekend go from the ideals of commemorating Stonewall, to the gay version of spring break in Cabo? It seems wrong.

However, in support of my friends, I committed to two Pride events this year, both at Changes: Saturday night just to hang out, and Sunday karaoke. When I got to the bar last night, I was grumpy and disinterested in whatever debauchery might be happening, but then it hit me: I was surrounded by my friends, people I truly loved, and my being cranky and going home early wasn't doing anything for anyone. If a big drunken party was how my friends wanted to celebrate their gay pride, then I was in.

When in Gay Cabo, do as the Spring Breakers do.
And Taste the Rainbow was born.

Marshall was having trouble deciding what to drink, so he had this idea that he'd try one cocktail in each color of the rainbow. He didn't want to do it alone, so I agreed to join him, and later we recruited Kelly and Jordan too. We left it to our cute and capable bartenders to determine what the rainbow of booze would be.


Here's what Ryan and Seth came up with:

Red - Pomegranate press with a splash of cranberry
Orange - Strawberry vodka with orange juice and grenadine
Yellow - Lemon drop
Green - Melon ball
Blue - Pomegranate/Blueberry press with a splash of blue curacao
Purple - Vodka press with a splash of rasperry liqueur

Not only did it make the night much, much more fun than just sipping vodka and chatting, it's a great new Pride tradition. And it's kind of brilliant. Imagine if every bar had a Taste the Rainbow special for Pride Weekend! Marshall and I made a drunken pact to get together every year at Pride to drink the rainbow, no matter where we are in the country. Typically drunken pacts are broken by last call, but maybe this time, just maybe, there's some hope.

There's still one more day of Pride left, so I encourage y'all to go Taste the Rainbow before the weekend is through. Happy Pride!

Atop the Great Big... Lighthouse

Growing up, I spent good chunks of my year following family along the Washington and Oregon coasts while they attempted to wrangle up various forms of sea life. I've never been a fan of seafood (or "shellfood" as I often quote), so I gave up on the  fishing, clamming, crabbing, whatever, when my age was still in single digits. That meant that hanging at the beach, throwing things in the campfire, and visiting the lighthouse were the only fun things to do on these so-called vacations. Since Pacific Northwest 'beaches' are actually windy, cold, piles of rocks, even in mid-August, and there's only so much you can burn without getting into trouble, my hours were mostly wiled away by begging to go up to one of the various lighthouses.

Because of these 'fond' memories, along with my undying need to be near bodies of water, I continue to find myself in the vicinity of lighthouses, even now. I have tens of photos from the edge of a cliff, looking over a big blue sea. Because the candle on the water is often picturesque itself, I've also included it in many of these seascapes. I always figured I enjoyed the lighthouse -- its location, the way it symbolizes solitude -- but now I think maybe I'm just a penis freak.

The other night I watched an old episode of The Riches in which the sex-starved neighbor is sculpting what appears to be a giant cock. When asked, she replies, "It's a lighthouse." Now that the association has been made, I can't get rid of it.

I got to work the next day, looked at the lovely photo on my computer desktop of Malmo, Sweden and saw.. well. Maybe I never liked lighthouses at all. Maybe I've just been subconsciously chasing a big dick all these years. Who's to say?

I really won't make that call. But I can assure you that I did remove the photo from my desktop. I don't need that kind of distraction at work.

Where I Hang My Hat

Well, after 12 days away and 7 days back, I can definitively say that I am NOT happy to be home. I started reading a book of collected letters from Charles Bukowski during my flight back, and I don't think it's a good sign that I'm actually relating to some of them. When you look at one of Buk's drunken, self-destructive, anti-social rants and think this guy makes a lot of sense, you're probably not enjoying your life all that much.

Which is true. One of the main reasons I travel alone is the escape factor. It's not only getting away from work and responsibility, it's just time away from life in general. If I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't. If I don't want to do anything but drink wine or walk along a canal, that's all I do. There's something very freeing, very relaxing about it. There's not really any soul-searching going on, I'm just letting my brain be quiet for once. When I blog things like This beer is tasty, or It sucks that it's raining, those are truly the most meaningful things going through my brain at the time. And that can be glorious.

So, I am continuing the pattern of escape. I've already booked my next trip, leaving in 6 weeks. I have so many places that I want to visit, but not enough vacation time or money to get to them all. I saw a good deal for one of the spots on my list this morning, and I jumped on it!

Where am I off to? I'll give you a hint.

Except I already gave it up on Twitter, so it's not really a mystery anyway. Shrug.

Rainy Rainy Copenhagen

After my last post, I checked the weather. The hour by hour forecast showed 12 little rain clouds in a row, so I decided to just suck it up and go out anyway. And it rained. Nonstop. Sometimes lightly, sometimes heavily, but it just never. stopped. raining.

In general today was kind of a fail. It's not Copenhagen's fault, it seems like a cool enough town, it's just hard to enjoy it when you spend the whole day wet and miserable. Even with an umbrella, I felt like every inch of me was moist, and my dancer's joints ached from the damp. I can't really be blamed for being cranky.

My cough has managed to linger the whole trip (shut up, Ryan!), and I ran out of cough suppressant in Sweden. Most of the time I'm fine, but I have random coughing fits at bad times, like the middle of the night, or when I'm sitting in the silent car of the train. I checked several pharmacies for some more today, but all they have are useless herbal products. How can a culture survive without any drugs at the drugstore?

On the plus side, I saw some cool buildings, visited the shopping district, and had a nice frankfurter with spicy mustard and a hefeweizen. Definitely more of a German than Danish lunch, but it hit the spot regardless. I sucked down that weiner in about 40 seconds. (Shut up, Ryan!)

It still hasn't stopped raining, so I'm taking a break before dinner, then I'll decide if I feel up to braving the weather anymore. I don't leave until tomorrow afternoon, but the morning forecast looks identical to tonight's. I might actually be GLAD to get back to Seattle, where the rain occasionally stops for a minute or two. What an odd turn of events.