APROPOS OF NOTHING

Making Plans For Nigel (a short story)

2010-10-26T16:08:00.000-07:00

The following is a short story I wrote a number of years ago - just after I graduated from the Art Institute, maybe 2003. It was published in Spindrift, Shoreline Community College's Art & Literary Journal. They have it online too, but I've never been happy with how they have it laid out. So here it is. Just because...

Making Plans for Nigel

Once Nigel gets here he wouldn't have to drink by himself anymore, thought Berk. He went into Viento's, the dark Mexican bar on second avenue. He stood near the doorway for a minute until his eyes grew accustomed to the dim. There were bare bulbs hanging down over a third of the tables, the rest just had empty sockets on the end of twisted wire. There were only a handful of people in the bar at that time of night. They looked up at him for a moment, then bent back to their drinks.

Berk went to the bar and ordered two beers. He paid for them with the bald man's money and took them to a table in the back. That was what he did in bars, since Nigel had gone. He always ordered two beers at the bar so that the bartender would think there was someone else joining him. He would walk up to the bar and wait until the bartender came up to him. Then he would glance back at the door and then at the bar clock. He would hesitate and then look up at the bartender with a calm but impatient look and order one beer. Just when the bartender would start to turn away he would look back at the door and change the order to two beers. This way the bartender would know someone would be meeting him shortly, that he wasn't all alone.

He would then take the two beers to a back table and sit down. He would drink three swallows from one beer and place it across the table from him. He would then take a drink of the other beer and roll himself a cigarette. When the cocktail waitress walked by he would flag her down and ask her for some matches. Just as she would start to turn away he would make a noise to get her attention, look towards the bathrooms, and ask her if they could see a menu. That way she would know someone else was with him, that he wasn't all alone. Later on when she would come back to check on him, he would explain that his friend had been called away for an appointment. By this time the beer opposite him would be empty and his would be half gone. The menus would be across the table near the empty beer. He would explain that he wasn't the one who had been hungry and that he would just like another beer. This way she would know that he had been with someone earlier, that he wasn't all alone.

He liked to say that Nigel had been called away for an appointment. He liked the sound of the word appointment. He would never have thought to use that word on his own, but once in a bar somewhere he had heard a man with a tie stand up and say it to a group of people he had been sitting with. The man with the tie stood up and said he had to leave, that he had an appointment to attend to. Sometimes Berk added the "to attend to" at the end, but not always. He was happy the man had said that because he had used it many times. No one could possibly think he was alone. He was happy that now no one would think he was alone and he was happy that he had come up with the idea of the two beers and the appointment. But it was also a lot of work. He did this in bars all across the city. He had to make sure he didn't go back to one too soon so that the bartender and cocktail waitress would not remember him and his friend that had to leave. It was a lot of work for his brain and it made him tired. It wore down his nerves. He would be glad when Nigel came back and he wouldn't have to do that anymore.

The bald man had not wanted to give Berk his money. It was OK, sometimes it was like that. You just had to make them see that they had to give the money. He did this by slamming the heel of his hand into their nose. If the shock didn't convince them, the pain and blood usually did. Berk's nerves were on edge that night. The bald man had been the third person he had tried to get money from after they left the mini-bank machine. The first two had not had any money with them. They must have been putting money into the machine instead of taking it out. It was OK, sometimes it was like that, but he usually didn't have to wait for three people before he got the money. And with Nigel getting out tomorrow his nerves were really shot. The bald man had started crying after he took his money, so he had had to put him in the bushes and make sure he didn't cry anymore. It was his nerves. Normally it didn't end up that way, but sometimes it was like that.

The cocktail waitress came back and asked him if he wanted anything to eat yet. Berk didn't like to eat. He kept away from eating if he could help it. He asked for another beer. He would sure be glad when Nigel got back and he didn't have to drink by himself. It had been three years since Nigel had been sent away, since he had been caught with one of the people from the mini-bank machines. Berk didn't know sometimes how he had made it this long without Nigel. He knew that he was right on the verge sometimes, and that maybe he wouldn't make it. But now Nigel was getting back tomorrow. Berk knew that he wasn't very smart like they tried to teach him in books when he was younger. Nigel was a lot smarter, but Berk knew some things pretty good. He knew which parks you could sleep in without getting beaten by other men or woken up by the cops. He knew which restaurants put their old food out in the alleys without mixing it with the coffee grounds and eggshells and other trash. He didn't like to eat, but sometimes it was necessary. He knew where you could take the whores without getting arrested. And he knew how to get money for beer and whiskey. He didn't know much from books or things like that, but the real stuff, the important stuff he knew pretty good.

Berk saw his life in three parts. The first part was growing up and he didn't like to think about it. He sometimes had dreams with his father in them. His father hitting him with a broken car antenna or slapping his ears and telling him to get a goddamn beer out of the ice box. Sometimes the dreams were of his mother and all her cousins. Her cousins usually came over after his father had gone to work the graveyard shift at the paper mill. He didn't think it strange until later that all his mother's cousins were men and that they always went into her room with her and laughed and laughed. Later, after his father went away, his mother would sometimes get dressed up real pretty. He would get excited thinking they were going to go somewhere. Then she would kiss him on the cheek and leave and lock him in the apartment. Once she had been gone for three weeks. He had finally broken out the window in the back and climbed out on the fire escape to go play. When she got back she beat him for breaking the window. He didn't like to think about the first part of his life and tried to make himself not dream about it, but sometimes it was like that.

The second part of his life started when he met Nigel. He didn't even remember where they met, but his life had been exciting and good for the first time. Sometimes it felt like he had been with Nigel for years and years. Then other times he knew that it could have only been a few months. But what a few months they were. They seemed like a lifetime to Berk. Nigel and he would drink and drink and then go visit the whores. Nigel even knew some of their names and he would talk to them. And the whores would talk back, and sometimes even to Berk. He liked talking to the whores. He hadn't talked once to them, except to say what he wanted, since Nigel had gone. He couldn't wait until Nigel came back and they could laugh and talk to the whores again.

Nigel was the one who showed him how to get the beer money from the mini-bank machines. He had messed up the first time he tried it and the man had got away. Nigel had been mad, but he hadn't said anything. He just looked at Berk and shook his head. He had made sure he did it right the next time. Nigel called it beer and chow money, but Berk didn't like to eat much. They would go to all-night restaurants and Nigel would have two breakfasts and a milkshake. Berk would just have some toast and coffee. Sometimes a ground steak if he felt kind of weak. Nigel would just look at him and shake his head. He felt bad when Nigel shook his head at him. Then Nigel would tell some crazy story and they would laugh. Once Nigel picked up one of the little plastic creamers and held it upside down over the dish. He squeezed it until it burst open and cream shot out across the room onto a little girl at another table. They had laughed and laughed. The man with the girl stood up and began yelling at them. Nigel jumped up and slapped the man across the face. The man fell down and then crawled back to his table. That had been a good night.

Then they went back to their flat and shared a bottle of wine. The flat reminded Berk a little of the apartment where he grew up. The walls were cracked and some of them had mold on them. The bathroom sink didn't work and neither did the stove. Roaches and flies ran in and out. There were always winos getting sick out front and the hallway smelled like piss and the bitch landlady would always nag about the rent. Still, he liked it. He had his own little room with just a mattress on the floor, but that's all he needed. Nigel had a desk and dresser and a big bed in his room and some nights Berk could hear the springs squeaking when the whores would come around. He had lost the flat soon after Nigel had gone. He knew that once Nigel came back they would get another flat, an even better one, and they would have wine again and the whores would come over and he wouldn't even mind the sick winos and the piss-smell hallway and the bitch landlady.

The third part of his life was everything since Nigel had gone. Most days just passed by without him realizing they were going. Sometimes people would talk to him, and he would listen for a while, and then it's like his mind just started thinking about other things or nothing at all and wander off on its own little path and then Berk would walk away. During the summer he would sleep in the safe parks and in the winter he would go to a shelter or break into a car to sleep. Once Nigel came back he wouldn't have to sleep outside ever again.

The next day he was waiting by the Irish bar on fifth when he finally saw Nigel. He was walking up the street a few blocks over. Berk started grinning like a little kid and jumping around, and he began running toward Nigel when he saw him. He ran over to Nigel and began asking him when they were going to get a flat and if he wanted to go get two breakfasts and a milkshake and when could they talk to the whores. Then Nigel just stared at him for a little while. He asked him what he was still doing hanging around here after three years.

Berk said he had been waiting for him, making plans, trying not to think too much. Nigel just shook his head and said he couldn't be held back by a dummy anymore and that he was catching a bus to Phoenix the next morning and getting out of this crappy city and its cold winters. Berk said he'd never been to Phoenix before but if the winters weren't cold then it was alright with him. Nigel shook his head again. He said that Berk didn't understand because he was slow. Nigel said that he didn't want to be around a dummy like Berk anymore, that he was going to Phoenix by himself. He told Berk to get lost. Then he turned around.

Berk just stood there and watched Nigel walk off down the street. His mind went off on its little wandering path and he didn't remember hitting Nigel on the back of the head with the beer bottle. He had then had to put Nigel in the bushes because he didn't want to hear him crying anymore. Or maybe it was Berk who had been crying. He couldn't remember. He walked around for a few hours and then he stopped. His mind came back from its little wandering path. It had begun to get dark and the street lights were flickering on. He saw the streets stretching off in the distance between the tall buildings and the dirty, snow-covered parks. He saw the winos huddled in the alleyways piled with trash. He saw the whores he couldn't talk to, and he saw the rest of his life stretched out in front of him. It wasn't supposed to end up this way.

But sometimes it was like that.

Organics

2010-04-20T08:58:00.001-07:00

We received our first shipment from Eden's Organics on Saturday. We signed up to have a bin of organic fruits and vegetables delivered to our house weekly. Eden's Organics is a local Seattle company that delivers fresh, organic produce weekly or bi-weekly to the area. Eden's tries to use as much local produce as possible, but they also partner with organic farms as far away as California and Mexico. Most of the organic farms are family owned and less than 100 acres.

This week our bin had broccoli, carrots, romaine, tomatoes, garlic, pears, apples, blood oranges, cabbage raab, bananas, kiwis, and strawberries.

I had heard of cabbage raab (or cabbage rabe), but had never cooked it or eaten it. Apparently all parts of it are edible and tasty (stem, roots, flowers, leaves, and seeds). It's the sprouted tops of the cabbage plant after it has gone to seed and sprouted over the winter. Nutrient-rich is how I've seen it described. Many people (myself included, until now) don't realize that once it's flowered it's not only still edible, but also highly nutritious and tasty. I decided to make it for dinner with grilled shrimp and creamy portobello mushroom risotto.

After I marinated the shrimp and set it aside, I cleaned the raab thoroughly, dried it, and chopped it into bite sized pieces. I began making the risotto, as it takes the most time. When it was about half way done, I began sauteing some chopped onions and diced garlic in olive oil. I then dumped the raab into the skillet and turned it until it was wilted, then put the lid on to let it steam/saute for a bit. (I wanted to get the full taste of the raab, so I didn't use bacon or lard, but I probably will next time - just to kick it up one more notch.)

I put the shrimp skewers on the grill and continued with the risotto.

When the raab was tender, the shrimp cooked and the risotto finished off with melted Havarti cheese we were ready for dinner. Delish!

The raab was really good. Very similar to wild greens (mustard or collard) but not as bitter. Stacie thought the stems were a bit too fibrous for her taste, but I loved them. I might par-boil just the stems for a bit before sauteing next time to soften them.

Can't wait to see what's in this week's shipment.

KJT - Seattle (2010)

Anatomy of a Mess

2010-04-12T16:53:00.000-07:00

So the kid likes to feed himself. Although the coordination is coming along, it's not quite there yet. And he's just discovering the joy of dangling food over the edge of the highchair tray, having the dogs get all squirrely, and then dropping it for them to fight over.

Good times!

KJT - Seattle (2010)

Braised Pork Belly

2010-04-05T11:21:00.000-07:00

Took Sennet to his first Farmer's Market this past weekend. There are only a couple that are open year round. We went to the one in the University District, just to see what they had this early in the season.

Ended up picking up some fresh bread, fresh organic greens, farm fresh organic eggs, some herbed goat cheese, and the true find: a nice, thick pork belly.

Pork belly is the cut of meat that bacon comes from. The belly is sold in a block, before being cut, cured, or dried & aged for bacon. Fatty & beautiful.

The pork belly we bought came from Wooly Pigs, a company that pasture-raises Mangalitsa pigs very near Seattle. Mangalitsa are an eastern European breed of pig known particularly for it's good lard. They are directly descended from wild boars. The owner of the company imported a heard of the Mangalitsa, and uses the Austrian techniques for raising and finishing the pigs. They are the only breeder of Mangalitsa in North or South America, and they are a member of the Mangalitsa Pig Breeder's Association of Austria. Wooly Pigs' Mangalitsa have been served in such restaurants as The French Laundry, The Herbfarm, and Michael Mina and The Four Seasons of San Francisco.

I learned all of this over the weekend. But what I really learned was that the Mangalitsa tastes great!

I rubbed some fresh garlic and spices & herbs onto the belly and let it sit in the fridge for a few hours. I then braised it in the oven with some onions & red potatoes for several hours. When it was almost finished I braised the wild greens on the stovetop. Dinner was excellent - the pork belly savory with a lot of beautiful, clean, white fat. Almost had a foie gras flavor & texture. With a couple glasses of wine, it was wonderful.

Praise the Lard!

P.S. Sennet was already asleep when we ate, so didn't get to partake. But he does seem to be an adventurous eater, at least for now (we hear this will change). Over the last few days he's had tilapia, chicken, mac & cheese, scrambled egg, okra, sweet potato, broccoli, kidney beans, avocado, beets, peas, green beans, carrots, cauliflower, apples, peaches, bananas, strawberries, oatmeal w/ blueberries & Greek yogurt, cottage cheese w/ raspberries, and Cheerios. Right now we are trying to make almost all of his food - no little jars. Mostly steaming (if necessary) and then blending and saving in the freezer. Other things we just cut into bite size pieces and he chows them down.

KJT - Seattle (2010)

More Gratuitous Baby Vids

2010-03-10T10:32:00.000-08:00

KJT - Seattle (2010)

Out of Hibernation

2010-03-08T13:30:00.000-08:00

"Nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task."

William James, American philosopher.

Hello? Hello?

Is this thing on?

Got so busy with the kid and work and life that I've had to let the blog go into hibernation. I've posted more stuff on Facebook, so find me there if you want to see more. I'm hoping to get back on top of the blog soon. Especially more essays, travel writings, dreams, etc.

We'll see...

The kid is doing great, as are Stacie and myself. Sennet is almost 9 months old and he's developed a great personality.

He loves to laugh, seems like a happy kid. No teeth as of yet, and no crawling. But I have been taking him to swimming lessons, and we've been walking with him and the dogs, going to the park to swing, etc. Normal kid stuff. He's sleeping through the night for the most part now, so we are all doing much better. Out of the haze of sleep deprivation.

Here are a few pix & vids:

KJT - Seattle (2010)

(Top three photos by Sara Tro, Sennet & Kramer by Stacie, vid by Stacie.)

FOUR MONTHS

2009-10-22T12:50:00.001-07:00

UGH! I having really been slacking on this thing. Two whole months gone by without a single post.

Things have been going great, but very tired most of the time, and therefore a bit uninspired. Going to try to get back into a rhythm soon.

The kid and the family are doing great. Sennet is four months old today. We just had his checkup this morning and he is now 27.14 inches long/tall, and weighs 17.125lbs. Both above the 95% percentile - he's a big kid.

And seems like a really happy kid - loves to laugh and giggle. He just recently learned to turn himself over from his back to front, so that was pretty cool.

We had one night where he slept for a seven-hour unbroken stretch, and that was awesome. Lately though he's been back to waking every 3 or 4 hours and wants to feed. So we're still pretty tired most of the time. Happy and loving it, but a bit delirious too.

More to come... (hopefully)!

KJT - Seattle (2009)

2-month Recap(Huevos Verdes Con Jamón)

2009-08-28T23:14:00.000-07:00

"I couldn't love you more
If time was running out
Couldn't love you more
Oh right now baby"
Sade, "I Couldn't Love You More" (1992)

The kid is now two months old (as of August 22). He's doing great. Sleeping in his own room now, and generally for a lot longer. One night he actually slept from 9pm until 3:30am. Heaven! Lately, however, he's been back on his every-two-hour feeding schedule during the night. Must be a growth spurt. Stacie and I are mighty weary. Especially Stace, as she's got to get up with him every time to feed and/or pump. I generally hold him and rock him to sleep every night. We sit in his room and listen to Sade and discuss current events (he loves Sade - good taste!) I try to take over when he wakes up early (between 5 and 6am) and feed him and try to give Stacie a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before I go to work.

We've also hired a Spanish nanny for a few hours a couple days a week. Gives Stacie a chance to get some work done outside of the house, and keeps Sennet in familiar surroundings. Erika is great, she sings Spanish songs to him and we've bought a few Spanish books for her to read to him. Dr. Seuss in Spanish is a total trip!

Sennet got a great review at his two month checkup. He's now 25-inches long (2-feet, 1-inch tall) and weighs 14 lbs 10 oz (both in the 95th percentile). He's smiling and laughing like crazy nowadays. Very happy bambino. Check out this short video of him cracking up with Stacie, just after a nap in the morning:

All is well.
KJT - Seattle (2009)

11 years on...

2009-08-27T07:19:00.000-07:00

Last year I posted the following blog, about the 10 year anniversary of my father's death. This year makes it eleven, and now that I have a son, it makes me miss him even more. Such a big part of my life he missed: going back to school (at the Art Institute), getting a job with Raleigh bicycles, meeting and marrying Stacie, our two dogs, buying our house, and now the birth of our son. I was still drifting quite a bit when he passed - hadn't figured out what direction I was headed. I wish he was here to see where I've ended up today. Sláinte Dad, I miss you.

(Originally posted 8/27/08)

"The measure of a man's character is what he would do

if he knew he would never be found out."

- Thomas B. Macaulay, British writer/poet/historian/politician (1800-1859)

I wrote the following ten years ago, in November 1998:

-----

The last nine months or so have been a juxtaposition of emotional highs and lows and a fierce test of my intestinal fortitude. I've experienced some of the most intense satori followed by the deepest depression and confusion in my life. In between these monumental peaks and valleys have been periods of happiness and wonder, terror and loneliness. My mental stability and emotional constitution have been stressed farther than I ever dreamt they would be, and I'm not out of the tunnel yet. At least now it appears that I can see a light at the end. Maybe...

On August 27, 1998 my father died of pancreatic cancer. He was not quite 61. It came suddenly and was wholly unexpected. During the first part of April he was running five miles a day and playing handball weekly. He caught what he thought was a flu bug that he couldn't shake. A couple weeks later it was diagnosed and four and a half months after that he was dead. My stress was immense and brutal and I can barely fathom what my mother and sister must be going through.

My father, not surprisingly, was quite Zen about the whole process. He did not want to die, and fought hard, but it was too far gone. I'm thankful that there seemed to be less pain than some cancers that I've read about. The cancer had spread so thoroughly that no surgery or chemotherapy could be attempted. Alternative and holistic methods that he tried seemed to help, or at least slow the advance (even to the degree of surprising his western doctors). Unfortunately it had become too pervasive. One estimate said he possibly could have had it for over a year, and it would not have been detected by a 'normal' course of bloodwork or tests.

He stoically planned the funeral, down to the last detail - even interviewing the morticians to determine which one he liked best. This took much of the burden off my mother and the rest of the family. One of the great things about my mother and father is that they are extreme realists. They understand that you do as much for yourself as you can in life, but some is left to chance and destiny. They accept that and deal with it. That attitude and their incredible strength through the whole bizarre and terrible event helped both my sister and I deal with it as best we could.

I'm still trying to come to terms with it, and I still in many ways don't realize what has happened. Days seems to drift by without me really being connected. It oftentimes feels like everything else is moving just a shade faster than I am and I have to squint and concentrate to catch up. Sleep has become somewhat of a joke and drifting in and out of consciousness throughout the night would be a more accurate description. Depression and insomnia have become unwelcome staples in my diet.

------

And so now, here I am ten years on. The depression and insomnia have finally been left behind like worn out shoes that were no longer needed. The anxiety attacks and agoraphobia have all but ceased. It's been quite some time since I woke up not remembering he was gone, and then having the crashing realization all over again. The ache is still there, but it's now an old wound that I've become familiar with - I worry it and pick at it, but it doesn't hurt the way it once did. I still miss talking to him, especially after I've read a really good book, seen an interesting movie, or just caught a particularly beautiful sunset. I don't discuss it with anyone hardly at all. Not my wife, not my mother or sister, not my friends. I think that's my defense mechanism. Shove it down inside, tamp it down, hide it, cover it up, but keep it there like a precious stone to selfishly polish in the dark of the night. I am sorry I couldn't or didn't talk about it more with my family, I'm sure that didn't help them, but I had to figure out the journey the best way I could. It wasn't, and isn't, easy.

R.I.P. Gene Timmermans, a man of good character, I miss you dad.

(4 September 1937 - 27 August 1998)

KJT - Seattle (2009) (Not sure when the picture was taken, maybe in the early 90's)

Tour de France

2009-07-26T13:19:00.000-07:00

I've been getting up early every day since July 4th to sit and watch the Tour de France with Sennet. I love the Tour, and have since I was lucky enough to be in Paris in 2000, on the Champs-Élysées, to see Lance Armstrong win the second of his seven straight Tours de France.

It's been a fun time, holding my boy, feeding him, rocking him to sleep, and watching the intrigue and madness of the Tour. Today was the last stage, Alberto Contador of Spain won - as he should have (being the strongest rider), Andy Schleck of Luxembourg was second, and Armstrong - after being out of the sport for almost 4 years and breaking his collarbone this past March - came in third.

This was probably a great disappointment to Armstrong, who really wanted to win again, but was a huge accomplishment for someone of his age (37) who had been away from competition for that long. He is the second oldest rider to finish on the podium.

What was most pleasing for me was his statements about this year's race. They are words and thoughts I hope to instill in Sennet as he grows:

"I'm realistic, I did everything I could," Armstrong said before the final stage. "For me, and even more for my kids, it's probably a healthy thing for them to see, because they saw their dad that never lost, and the kids in their class (say) 'your dad never loses,' so it's good for them to see dad get third and still be cool with that and still be happy."

That's a great gift to give to your children. Vive la Tour!

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Armstrong quotes from the Seattle Times, photo by Sirotti.

One Month

2009-07-22T14:43:00.001-07:00

Sennet is now one month old.

He weighs 12lbs 2oz and is 23.5 inches long.

Last night he actually slept from about 10:15pm to 1:30am and then from around 2am to almost 6am! We were very happy about that, as he's been getting up every two hours for the past few weeks... quite exhausting.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Chelsea FC & Link Light Rail

2009-07-18T21:43:00.001-07:00

After getting permission from El Jefe (she had to watch the kid), I joined about 66,000 other people downtown today for the Seattle Sounders FC game against English Premier League powerhouse Chelsea FC. Gorgeous day, in the low 80's and sunny. Chelsea started Frank Lampard, Michael Ballack, Nicolas Anelka and John Terry - pretty fun to watch those stars live in action. I just bought the ticket yesterday, and was lucky to get a seat. I was in the upper deck, but still had a great view of the pitch.

Seattle ended up losing 2-0, which isn't too surprising considering we faced one of the best teams in the world (scores were Sturridge 12', Lampard 35'). Even though Chelsea was hardly in mid-season form (there were a few of their passes which weren't on the money) - they were still a great team. And fast. Chelsea closes FAST. A lot of the Sounders' passes were probably pretty good for the MLS, but against "the Blues" most of them were picked off.

It was a fun game though, and Seattle had a few good looks and a few chances to score, but just couldn't convert.

After the game I walked to Pioneer Square and took Seattle's brand-new, never-before-used Link Light Rail to the Mount Baker station fairly close to our neighborhood. Then caught a bus up to Union and the quick walk home. Today was the grand opening day of the light rail, and I'm very excited about Seattle's newest mass transit option. Having ridden the underground in London, Paris, New York, Hong Kong, Berlin, Vienna, hell even Istanbul and Prague; I have been waiting for this to come to Seattle since I moved here. At 14 miles, it's not a terribly long line right now, but it's a start. It is underground through the length of downtown and then becomes at-grade near the stadiums. It bores through Beacon Hill underground and emerges in the Rainier Valley were it becomes at-grade again until almost Tukwila, the remaining few miles are elevated. And by the end of the year the line will go all the way to the airport. By 2016 it will stretch to the University District, and by 2021 it is supposed to go north to Northgate, south to Federal Way, and east across Lake Washington to Bellevue and Redmond (Microsoft) for a total of 55 miles. I, for one, am very pleased. I'll even be able to use it to go to work occasionally. I can ride my bike down to the Mount Baker station, take the rail to Tukwila and then bike to the office in Kent.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

First Fourth

2009-07-04T15:40:00.000-07:00

"Think what a better world it would be if we all,

the whole world, had cookies and milk

about three o'clock every afternoon

and then lay down on our blankets for a nap."

- Barbara Jordan, American politician (1936-1996)

Well we haven't been getting quite as much sleep as we'd like, but overall I think we're doing pretty good. Sennet seems to be waking up anywhere between 1 and 3 hours for feeding. I'll help change him sometimes, and give him the bottle if he's still hungry after Stacie feeds him. Also trying to give her a few hours each morning where I'll sit and rock him and snooze with him while she tries to sleep. It's all working out pretty well.

I took him for our first walks with the dogs the past two days. First in the stroller and then in a harness. He seemed to enjoy them both.

This morning was the fourth of July, and he was pretty fussy early so I sat up with him for a few hours until he slowly fell back asleep. We listened to John Coltrane's Blue Train. Then I napped with him. After I gave the dogs a quick walk while Stacie fed him, he and I settled in on the couch to watch the first stage of the Tour de France. Kudos to Fabian Cancellara, the big Swiss world champion smoked the field in the individual time trial. Then I put up the American flag and puttered around the house.

We took a bit of a nap later in the afternoon, and soon we'll be grilling burgers and keilbasa on the deck, where we can also see the fireworks show over Lake Union. Nice, lazy holiday with the family.

KJT - Seattle (2009) (Photo of Cancellara by Sirotti)

Bath Time

2009-07-02T08:45:00.000-07:00

“Everything is a miracle.
It is a miracle that one does not dissolve
in one's bath like a lump of sugar.”
- Pablo Picasso, Spanish artist (1881-1973)

I'm seeing what a great mother Stacie is, and is going to be, every day. She is so patient and kind with the little man. He just lights up whenever she holds him.

Lately we think he's been on a growth spurt, he wants to feed all night long - she can hardly keep up with his breast milk needs. In between feedings she is pumping, and I am able to feed him this breast milk from the bottle and help her, as well as hold him more often. We were a little worried that if we introduced a bottle so soon that he wouldn't want to breast feed, but that sure hasn't been a problem - where ever and when ever there is breast milk available, he's up for the task. Hungry little bugger.

We also gave him his first bath at home a couple days ago. He wasn't overly happy about the whole affair, but calmed right down once the trauma was over. Clean and sweet.

To quote a (bad) Loverboy song, we are "Lovin' every minute of it."

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Gently In The Night

2009-06-24T10:56:00.001-07:00

"Don't let your mind get weary and confused

Your will be still, don't try...

Don't let your heart get heavy child,

Inside you there's a strength that lies..."

Ray LaMontagne, "Be Here Now" (2006)

Got up while it was still dark this morning. Sennet was a bit fussy so I took him into the nursery and held him - hoping to give Stacie a few hours of rest. Standing at the window I could see the Cascade Range off in the far distance to the northeast. A pre-dawn light just beginning to illuminate the highest peaks. The sky still a dark slate with a myriad of stars.

I sat in the rocker and gently held my boy in the dark. I remember stories my mother told me about her holding me in those first months. We lived on the Presidio in San Francisco and she would get up in the night and rock me in an upstairs window. On clear nights she said she could see the distant lights out on the Farallon Islands, lonely pinpoints out in the Pacfic. On foggy nights the house was enveloped in a quiet shroud. The haunting fog horns marking their melancholy warnings to the ships plying the waters around the bay.

I turned on some soft music and rocked. Sennet settled in, content in the crook of my arm. Occasionally he would squeak or coo. He seemed to have an early affinity to the songs of Ray LaMontagne and Elliot Smith.

Slowly the sun rose, but I remained where I was - profoundly happy. Stacie got up and whispered if I wanted a break. Not yet. She brought me a coffee and I held the quiet little man. Kramer wandered in and sniffed the baby - giving him an approving lick on the top of his head. Puppy-flavored kisses. The morning progressed and I felt like I was just where I wanted to be. This moment etched forever in my memory. First morning at home.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Fatherhood

2009-06-22T17:06:00.000-07:00

Sennet Tiernan Timmermans
Born 6/22/09

11:10am Seattle WA

9lbs 12oz.

22˝ long

9 on the APGAR scale

We went in yesterday afternoon around 4pm. Contractions really started around 2am this morning. By 8am Stacie was pushing in earnest. 11:10 our boy was born.

Mom and the kid are doing great. Dad is greatly relieved.

More later, we're both exhausted. (She much more than me, of course...).

(Also, pix of Stacie and the baby together will come later... she made me promise not to post any of her until she gave her approval of them...)

KJT - Seattle (2009)

UPDATE:
Here's a great shot of Stacie & Sennet (and it's Stacie approved!):

Kayaking Lake Union

2009-05-31T10:52:00.001-07:00

“Wherever there is a channel for water,

there is a road for the canoe.”
- Henry David Thoreau, American author, poet, naturalist, philosopher (1817-1862)

Man, have I been slacking on this blog lately. Been pretty busy getting ready for the impending birth. We're less than three weeks out now. Things are going well. Sennet is, to quote Elmore James, "Rollin' & Tumblin'."

Yesterday I took the morning for a little "me time."

Got up early and took the dogs down to Seward Park and ran on the trails through the woods for about 40 minutes. Then we walked down to the shores of Lake Washington and the dogs went swimming while I lounged in the early morning sun.

Once back home I went down to the University District and rented a sea kayak from the Aqua Verde Paddle Club and tooled around Lake Union for a few hours. Great shoulder workout, and a much-needed mind-cleanser. The weather was brilliant, upper 70s, and being out on the water is always a welcome diversion. One of the many reasons I love living in Seattle.

I'll try to get back on here a little more often.

Sláinte!

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Party Cat

2009-05-14T14:48:00.001-07:00

"I like to party."
- Gene James

Do yourself a favor,

and go see the whole series here: Nedroid.com

Absolutely HI-LARIOUS. A friend of mine turned me onto Party Cat, and I must say... I am now a fan!

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Belly Shot

2009-05-06T10:05:00.001-07:00

A couple weeks ago went went to Seward Park and had some pictures professionally taken of the pregnant belly. Here's one of our favorites.

Not long now... 5-1/2 weeks left.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

The Kid, cont.

2009-04-19T12:03:00.000-07:00

“I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life's realities.”
- Dr. Theodor Seuss Geisel (1904-1991)

Stacie went for another ultrasound this week and happily the placenta prævia is completely gone! And Sennet keeps growing, we've got less than 10 weeks to go and he's 16˝ and 5lbs 6oz. Stacie is doing good, but wonders how her belly could get any bigger...

Meanwhile, I've been working on some paintings for the baby's room. With apologies to Dr. Seuss, I'm enlarging two of my favorite childhood stories: The Cat in the Hat and One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. These are painted on board with acrylic, about 2 feet by 3 feet. I'll also be doing four smaller pieces to hang above the dresser, probably 8˝x 10˝. Thinking of the Star-Bellied Sneetches, "Thing 1 and Thing 2" from Cat in the Hat, Green Eggs & Ham, and Horton (from "...Hears A Who" fame). Later on I'll start working on some of my own ideas for some more paintings.

Not much longer now...
KJT - Seattle (2009)

I Dig the Pig

2009-04-14T14:40:00.000-07:00

"...not by the hair on my chinny chin chin."
"The Story of the Three Little Pigs" from English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs (1854-1916)

Been really busy lately and haven't had as much time to write or blog, but I'll get back to it when I can.

Meanwhile, I thought this was great. Wolf chases pig. Very creative.

Via: Sullivan.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Not 'that' Nick Cave

2009-04-04T12:03:00.001-07:00

"And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties?
For Thursday's child is Sunday's clown
For whom none will go mourning."
- Velvet Underground, "All Tomorrow's Parties." (1967)

These 'sound suits' by artist Nick Cave are magical. At first I thought they were produced by the musical artist, whom I greatly admire, but after watching the video interview found out is actually another Nick Cave, an associate professor at the Art Institute of Chicago.

About the sound suits, Cave says, "I believe that the familiar must move towards the fantastic. I want to evoke feelings that are unnamed, that aren’t realized except in dreams." These are truly dream-like works of art. I love 'em.

More pictures: HERE.

Video interview with the artist:

Via Andrew Sullivan.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Seattle to Portland by Bicycle (210 miles)

2009-03-30T21:28:00.000-07:00

"The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man.
Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish.
Only the bicycle remains pure in heart."
- Iris Murdoch, Irish-born British author/philosopher (1919-1999)

July, 2006. Woke up at 3:00 AM in order to stretch, have coffee & eat a light breakfast.

I clicked into my pedals in front of my house at 4:15 in the morning, up the street a few people were just getting home from a Friday night of partying. As I rode past them, they looked at me as if I was insane. It was still full dark.

I rode over to the start line at the University of Washington campus and met up with my co-worker, JJ. It was just the two of us together, as all the rest who had said they were going to ride with our group had dropped out for various reasons. We joined the 9,000 other riders milling about, and we ended up rolling out for the start of the ride just before 4:45 AM. The first 25 miles or so wound along Lake Washington Blvd, past Seward Park and along the route I take when I ride to work...

We stopped at a rest stop near my office in Kent for a couple of minutes to get rid of the early morning coffee and have some energy bars. We got to "the Hill" in Tacoma (as the ride organizers like to call it) before 7:00 AM. It was a fairly steep, mile-long ride - but no different than many of the hills we ride all the time. A few people were walking their bikes up, but not many.

We got to the rest stop at 50 miles and had some bananas and more energy food. As we rolled out, we jumped on a train of about 20 bikers and picked up the pace. We flew over the next 50 miles without stopping and arrived at the half-way point, Centralia, 100 miles into the ride, at 10:50 AM. Our goal had been to be at 100 miles by noon so we beat that by over an hour. It was the easiest hundred miles I had ever ridden - we averaged 19mph for the whole hundred, and that included the hill and the rollers.

JJ's girlfriend was driving support for us along with his dog, and met us in Centralia. Most of the 9,000 riders who participate in the STP ride it in two days, and Centralia is where most of them stop for the night. We were among the (foolish?) minority who had determined to ride it all in one day.

We relaxed in Centralia, rested, had a big spaghetti feast, lots of water, stretched, and then rolled out again just after noon. We had planned on going somewhat easy for the first 10 miles or so after Centralia, but it was clear pretty fast that JJ wasn't feeling good. We stopped at the next rest stop and he laid on the ground, complaining of a stomach-ache. After a bit I convinced him to get back on the bike and continue on. I kept hoping he would ride himself back into form, but he continued to get worse. He said the food was sitting in his stomach like a rock. We stopped in Winlock and he laid in the shade for about 20 minutes.

We mustered on. He would seem to look better and so I would pick up the pace and then look back and find him about a quarter mile behind. It seemed to take us forever just to get to a mini-rest stop at mile 137. Again he laid in the shade for about half an hour. I felt bad for him, but was getting antsy and frustrated at our slow pace. We had been cruising so well for the first 100 miles, but our momentum was now broken. We nursed ourselves to the rest stop at mile 145 and met up with JJ's girlfriend again. We told her she had better stop at every rest stop from now on, just in case.

I wouldn't have pushed him so hard, except that this wasn't the first time he had gotten sick on a ride. We had ridden the Flying Wheels Summer Century a few weeks previous. It was a 100-mile ride around northern King and southern Snohomish counties, with over 3,000 feet of climbing. After the first steep climb, just 8 miles into the ride, JJ had puked. He had had a triple latte and an egg McMuffin before starting (idiot!) and that didn't sit well with the exertion. After throwing up he felt better and was able to continue and finish that ride. With that memory in mind I just assumed he would eventually get better and be OK.

JJ rested again, ate a bit, and laid down. He said he thought we was feeling a little better. This would proof false however, as soon as we started again. He was still feeling pretty bleak & weak, and our slow pacing had really brought my energy level down as well and I began to feel the miles a lot more.

We passed through Longview, Washington and crossed into Oregon at mile 152, over the huge, steep Lewis & Clark bridge across the Columbia River. I paced JJ up and over the bridge and we continued on. The rollers were a little less steep now, but our pace was still well below where I wanted it to be.

Eventually we made it to mile 175 and I told JJ I thought he had better call it a day. He had had the dry heaves for the last few miles and was wobbling on his bike. Since his stomach was so upset he wasn't able to eat and drink enough and so that compounded his problems. He had come to the same conclusion, that he was done, and crawled into the back of his girlfriend's Blazer. I told them I would see them at the finish line.

Extremely tired and sore at this point, I decided to try to ride the rest of the way in as fast as I could. I jumped on the wheel of two really strong riders and drafted behind them at about 24mph for the next 15 miles, then stopped to refill my water bottles for the final push. Riding solo, and basically trying to time-trial home to finish the damn thing as fast as I could, I tried to stay between 18 and 22mph, I finally crossed the bridge into Portland and rolled across the finish line sometime after 8:00 PM.

Even with all the meandering and rest stopping, I still managed to average about 17.5mph for the entire 210-mile ride. Just over 12 hours of actual saddle time.

I met up with JJ and his girlfriend and went immediately to the beer garden. A cold one had never tasted so perfect. JJ was feeling a bit better - he had eaten and napped - but was still not well. After resting a bit with some more beer, we climbed into the car, got some food, and began the long drive back up to Seattle. Got home about 1:00 AM, took a long, hot shower, and fell into bed...

KJT - Seattle to Portland (2006)

Suite - uh, Sweet Game!

2009-03-28T23:19:00.000-07:00

"Looking through the bent backed tulips
to see how the other half lives
looking through a glass onion"
- The Beatles, "Glass Onion" (1968)

One of our (Raleigh's) vendors scored me an extra ticket to tonight's Seattle Sounders FC game. Turns out it was in the club level. Got to see how the "other half" lives.

Apparently they live with cushy chairs, carpeted floors, free beer (which I declined - see previous post), free appetizers (antipasto plate), free prime rib dinner cut & served by our personal chef, free coconut pie (chosen from our personal dessert cart), and a private bathroom. Not a bad effin' way to watch a soccer game.

Seattle beat Real Salt Lake 2-0. The crowd was amazing once again. Another sell-out with almost 30,000 fans in attendance. And that was with very cold weather and constant drizzle - of course, that didn't bother me - being in the club level and all.

Nate Jaqua scored first in the 17th minute, and the wonderkid Fredy Montero scored his third goal in two games in the 77th.

Two games, two wins, two shut-outs, two sell-outs. Not a bad way to start your inaugural season.

Extra special thanks goes out to Dean and the guys at ESP - thanks so much for the ticket, the hospitality, and the great time!

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Liver Worries

2009-03-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

Semi-Teetotaler from here on out.

Just got back from the doctor's office.

At the end of January I had a doctor's appointment during which the doctor mentioned that in 2007 a blood test had noted that I had an elevated liver enzyme, Gamma-glutamyl transferase or GGT. The GGT is the liver enzyme involved in the transfer of amino acids across the cellular membrane (among other things). The normal range for me should have been between 7 - 64 IU/L (International Units per Liter). The 2007 test had the GGT at 90 IU/L. She had said the elevation could have been due to having alcohol a day or two before the test. She suggested then that we retest it, and I agreed. It would be a good time to test since I'd had the flu and hadn't had anything to drink for a few days. I had another blood draw.

The doctor called me at home a couple days later, around the first of February, to tell me the test had shown a GGT level of 201 - extremely elevated!

She also said another liver enzyme, alanine aminotransferase or ALT, was at 101. The normal range for this should have been 10 - 60 (in 2007 it had been 51). She was concerned and suggested we schedule a re-test.

That freaked me out. I looked it up online and discovered that the causes of elevated GGT and ALP levels include scarring of the bile ducts, fatty liver (steatosis), alcoholic liver disease, liver inflammation from medications or certain herbs, liver tumors, and gallstones or gall bladder problems.

I immediately stopped drinking all alcohol, and decided to wait a month before taking the retest. A friend of ours got married on February 14th, and I had one glass of wine to toast the nuptials, but other than that I haven't had a drop of alcohol since January 25th. No Guinness or Jameson on St. Paddy's Day, no beer at the soccer game - nothing. On February 20th I also quit drinking coffee. I started drinking green tea and mint tea. Went through a couple weeks of headaches with the caffeine withdrawl. Also began mixing organic apple cider vinegar with water and drinking that throughout the day. In the mornings, instead of my normal espresso, I'd boil water and squeeze a half a lemon into it, a capful of the apple cider vinegar, and I'd cut up a bit of fresh ginger and steep that in the water.

I also began running a bit more regularly, as in at least 5K five or six days a week. Some days I'd run a 10K, some days I'd run a fast 5K, some days just a mellow jog - but at least 5K everyday. Usually on the treadmill in the weight room at the office before work, since the weather has been shite lately, but also at home outside with the dogs.

I've lost 15lbs since January, and I've got more energy. Last Thursday I went in for a blood draw for a full liver panel and hepatitis panel and this morning I met with the doctor to see the results.

All hepatitis results were negative.

The GGT level was back down to 71. Still a bit higher than the normal range of 7 - 64, but the lowest it's tested since 2007.

The ALT level was 43. Back within the normal range of 10 - 60.

My ALP (alkaline phosphatase) was 46, within the normal

range of 42 - 121.

A bunch of the other tests came back with good results as well: my HDL Cholesterol (the good kind) was 40 (barely within the normal 40 - 59 MG/DL range - this one should be a little higher), and my LDL Cholesterol (the bad kind) was 117 (in the near optimal range). My Cholesterol index was 4.3 (in the average range of 4.0 - 6.7). My Triglyceride was at 82 (normal is anything below 150).

She was very pleased with the results, and I was quite relieved as I had been running through worst-case scenarios in my head and in my dreams: liver disease, liver failure, transplant lists, cancer, etc.

She said she didn't think I needed to give up alcohol or coffee for the rest of my life (another fear of mine), but that it would probably be wise to use them in moderation much more than I had in the past. Good enough for me. I'm thinking I'm done with hard liquor, except for maybe very rare occasions and then just one little shot to sip in celebration of something. I was given the green light to have an occasional beer or glass of wine or espresso, and so I will. Rarely. Looks like I'll no longer be going by the nickname "Two Pints", but at least I don't need a liver transplant.

Palpable relief.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Sounders FC

2009-03-19T22:10:00.000-07:00

"The Beautiful Game" comes to Seattle.

View from our seats.

First half action.

Fredy Montero about to score his second goal.

We took Sennet to his first soccer game tonight, though I doubt he'll remember it.

The Seattle Sounders FC opened their inaugural season against the New York Red Bulls in front of a sell-out crowd of almost 34,000. Our good friends (Karen & Greg) have season tickets, but unfortunately (for them) they couldn't go to the home opener. Their bad luck was our good luck. Karen emailed me and asked if Stacie and I wanted to go? Umm, YES!! We jumped at the chance.

It had been raining all week, but as we drove downtown around 5pm the skies were overcast but dry. The temperature cool, but not cold. Perfect game weather.

We found free parking on the street several blocks away and walked to the stadium. Their seats were great, about 15 rows up from the field in the SW corner.

We stayed for the entire game (a slight worry before-hand, with Stacie being 6-months pregnant) and had a blast.

Seattle scored two goals in the first half (Fredy Montero: 12´, Brad Evans: 25´) and another in the second (Fredy Montero, again: 75´). Final score 3 — 0.

The crowd went crazy. Actually they were crazy even before the game, with a rally and march from downtown to the stadium, including the full 53-piece "Sound Wave" band. MLS Commissioner Don Garber later said said he had only seen atmosphere like this at Toronto FC in Canada, but never in the United States until Thursday night.

This won't be the last time we go to a game. We're thinking of buying the half-season package for next year. And later this year we'd love to see the Sounders play the L.A. Galaxy at home May 10th, and an exhibition game against venerable English Premier League team Chelsea FC on July 18th.

Seattle welcomed Major League Soccer with a bang - setting a new standard for soccer and the league in America. Here is more on the story from www.MLS.net.

And much love and thanks to Karen & Greg!

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Big Baby

2009-03-16T09:44:00.001-07:00

Placenta prævia is an obstetric complication in which the placenta is attached to the uterine wall close to or covering the cervix. It can some times occur in the latter part of the first trimester, but usually during the second or third. It is a leading cause of antepartum haemorrhage (vaginal bleeding). It affects approximately 0.5% of all labors.

We just returned from another ultrasound, and the news was all good.

In an earlier ultrasound, we discovered that Stacie had placenta prævia, where the placenta is covering the cervix, potentially making for a complicated birth or a C-section. On today's ultrasound the doctor said the prævia was diminishing on it's own and would probably be gone in a few more weeks. That was the news we were hoping for. We'll have one more ultrasound at about 34 weeks.

We also got a couple more pictures, and learned that Sennet looks like he's going to be a BIG BOY. We're at 26.5 weeks right now and he's already 13 inches and over 3.5lbs. Not overly surprising considering his father (moi) is 6´5˝ and about 230lbs, my father was about 6-foot, Stacie's father is 6´4˝ and I've got two cousins who are over 6´6˝. Big runs in the family.

To date we've had four parenting classes: Infant Safety and CPR, Conscious Fathering, Breast Feeding, and Newborn Care. I now know the proper rhythm for giving CPR to a baby (the same beat as "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees), the correct way to swaddle and sooth a baby, the proper way to 'latch on' to the breast, and how to (try to) have the Happiest Baby on the Block. I think we're ready to move on from the classes and try it for real.

Three months left to go...

KJT - Seattle (2009)

The Clap

2009-03-05T14:45:00.001-08:00

The new U2 album (No Line On The Horizon)

was released (or 'dropped' as the kids say...) yesterday.

I've heard a bit of it, and I imagine I'll check out the rest.

I like quite a few of their albums, particularly "Boy" and "The Joshua Tree."

Which takes me to the point of this blog:
This is surely fiction, but it's a great story. Hilarious.

At a U2 concert in Scotland, Bono asked the audience for total quiet.

Then, in the silence, he started to clap his hands slowly,

once every few seconds. Holding the audience in total silence,

he said into the microphone,

“Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies.”

The crowd was silent as Bono continued the slow clapping.

Finally from the front of the crowd a drunken voice

with a deep Scottish brogue shouted,
“Well, fookin' stop clapping then, ya evil bastard!”

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Mix & Match, or Separate but Equal?

2009-03-03T05:38:00.001-08:00

"Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like

and let the food fight it out inside."
- Mark Twain, American humorist/writer (1835-1910)

I was having lunch the other day at a little Mediterranean cafe on Capitol Hill (falafel, baba ghanoush, hummous & dolmathes). I observed a young woman with her lunch across the restaurant. It looked like she had ordered a gyro sandwich and fries. She ate all the fries on her plate before even unwrapping the gyro. This struck me as profoundly odd. I've never understood people that eat one item at a time on their plates. I usually go around the plate sampling everything, trying to leave a little bit of what I like best as the last bite. I have NEVER eaten just one item at a time for any meal in my life (unless, of course, the meal was just one item - like Phad Thai or something). What makes one do such a thing?

I'm not saying it's a bad thing, or wrong. I just don't understand it. Perhaps I'm the odd one.

How do you eat? A bit of one thing after another until the plate is empty, or just one single item until it is finished, then moving on to the next?

And why? That's the million dollar question. Why do you eat the way you do?

No judgements here, just curiosity...

ADDENDUM:
Got a few comments already...
Red, your tale of bread barriers reminded me of this

fantastic illustration from the hilarious kid's book,

"What Are You So Grumpy About?" by Tom Lichtenheld. Genius!
(Sennet will be introduced to many of this man's great books...)

And CAE, I think we've discussed that before.

A huge, 50lbs bag of Purnia "People Chow" was also mentioned

at the time, if I remember correctly... (which,

now that I remember an earlier post of yours, is not so surprising!)

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Rambleweed, Pt. 1:the Spud Incident

2009-02-27T13:04:00.000-08:00

“My theory on housework is, if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares. Why should you?”
- Erma Bombeck, American humorist writer (1927-1996)

In 1988-89 (my second year of college) I lived in a apartment complex that we all colloquially referred to as Rambleweed. (Strangely, this complex was directly next to my old high school.) It was predominantly students from Colorado State that lived in the complex, so needless to say it was a bit rowdy, noisy, rude.

I shared an apartment with two friends, one being six-foot-seven, and the other six-foot-five, like myself. It was a tall, loud apartment.

Many, many odd, mysterious and highly amusing occurrences took place over that year...

the following is but one such instance:

At one point we all decided that our apartment was beginning to smell a bit, shall we say, ripe. Not terrible, but just... less than fresh. We decided we'd better clean the place up some. We spent the weekend vacuuming, dusting, mopping, and sweeping. We cleaned the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, the hallways and our bedrooms. We were very satisfied to have a nice, fresh clean apartment again.

The next morning we woke up and the 'ripe' smell was still there. We made half-hearted attempts to locate the origin of this smell, to no avail.

A few weeks went by, and the smell lingered, evolving into a decided funk. Our apartment was funky, and not in the good way.

We all blamed each other, looked through the refrigerator and cupboards, hoping to find the offending substance. Again, nada.

Finally one Saturday afternoon, our roommate BS decided he'd had enough. He demanded that we all tear the apartment apart until we found what was causing such a rank, malodorous air.

For a few hours we pulled open every cupboard, every drawer, checked the drains, the trash can, everywhere. Finally as I was fiddling around in my room half-heartedly poking through stuff I heard BS say from the hallway, "Hey did anyone check through the hall closet?" I had thought they had, and they thought I had. BS opened the door and nodded his head, "Yeah, I think it's in here..."

He reached up on a high shelf at the very back of the closet and pulled down a paper grocery bag.

"What's this?" he asked.

Immediately I knew what had been causing our misery. I tried to stop him, but before I could utter a word BS opened the paper bag and stuck his head down deep inside and took a long, deep breath.

His screams echoed off the walls and rattled the windows. He flung himself backwards and dropped the bag, hands clawing at the air and his eyes closed and watering. His face was beet red, his veins were bulging on his neck and he was sweating profusely. He banged into the wall and, with eyes still closed, began running at full speed. He slammed into the closet doors, knocking them off their hinges. Still disoriented and blind he turned slightly and ran full speed into the bathroom, directly into the sliding shower doors, knocking both off their rails and into the tub. Still bellowing, out of his mind and half-blind, he bolted out of the bathroom and down the hall. He flung the door open, flew down the steps and out into the parking lot, taking huge gulps of air and making spastic movements with his arms and legs. It looked like he'd developed a tic. Or that he was having a fit.

Laughing my ass off, I grabbed up the bag and ran after him. I held the bag out at arms-length and opened it and ran toward him. He sprinted into the middle of the street and then stopped and turned around. His eyes blazed and he yelled at full volume,

"IF YOU COME NEAR ME WITH THAT, I... WILL... KILL YOU!!"

I decided that I'd better not mess with an angry, disoriented six-foot-seven, 250-pound behemoth in the throws of a seizure. Still chuckling, I jogged down the street to the garbage bins and threw away the bag of quite rotten, slimy, and horribly moldered potatoes that I had squirreled away in the back of the closet untold weeks ago in order to keep them from going bad too quickly.

Unfortunately, I had promptly forgot all about them. Even the smell in the apartment didn't register. It wasn't until he'd pulled the sack out of the closet that everything had suddenly clicked into place...

Oops.

KJT - Ft. Collins, CO (1988-89)

Khoda

2009-02-20T07:48:00.000-08:00

"I paint objects as I think them, not as I see them."
- Pablo Picasso, Spanish artist (1881-1973)

This is a kickass five mintue video by Scottish artist Reza Dolatabadi. Each frame is a separate PAINTING! Pause anywhere in the video and you are looking at an individual painting. Reminds me of some of the Tool videos...

From the artist, Reza Dolatabadi:
What if you watch a film and whenever you pause it, you face a painting? This idea inspired Reza Dolatabadi to make Khoda. Over 6000 paintings were painstakingly produced during two years to create a five minutes film that would meet high personal standards. Khoda is a psychological thriller; a student project which was seen as a 'mission impossible' by many people but eventually proved possible!

Director and art director: Reza Dolatabadi
Written by Reza Dolatabadi & Mark Szalos Farkas
Animation by Adam Thomson
Music by Hamed Mafakheri
Winner of the Best Animation Canary Wharf Film Festival (London) Aug, 2008
Winner of the Best Student Animation Flip Festival (Birmingham) 2008
Winner of the Best Student Animation, Royal Television Society Award, Scotland (rts) 2009
Official selection for the "Best Short Film Program" at Waterford Film Festival (Ireland) November 2008
Official Selections
16TH FILM FESTIVAL CONTRAVISION (Berlin) Sept 2008
Marbella International Film Festival (Spain) Oct 2008
Encounter Film Festival (Bristol, UK) Nov 2008
Exposures Film Festival (Manchester, UK) Nov 2008
Renderyard Short Film Festival (London)
Flip Animation Festival (Birmingham) Nov, 2008
Animated Dreams (Tallinn) Nov, 2008
Rendezvous with Madness Film Festival (Toronto) Nov, 2008

Tip: Sullivan.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

To Snip, or Not To Snip?

2009-02-18T09:01:00.000-08:00

Male circumcision is the removal of some or all of the foreskin (prepuce) from the penis. The word "circumcision" comes from Latin circum (meaning "around") and cædere (meaning "to cut").

So that's the debate we're having around the house these days. Do we have Sennet circumcised or not? (He's not due till June).

Neither one of us has terribly strong feelings either one way or another, so I thought I'd get some opinions.

Right now I'm probably leaning toward not having it done, since it's natural to have it (the foreskin), so why remove it.

I've done a little bit of research, including speaking with our OB-GYN, and it's no longer considered a medical necessity. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), global estimates are that 30% of males world-wide are circumcised. Seems the prevalence of 'the snip' varies mostly with religion and sometimes with culture. The WHO and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention give evidence that male circumcision significantly reduces the risk of HIV acquisition, but still only provides partial protection and is not a replacement for other disease prevention techniques. Duh.

The American Medical Association states, from 1999: "Virtually all current policy statements from specialty societies and medical organizations do not recommend routine neonatal circumcision, and support the provision of accurate and unbiased information to parents to inform their choice."

So there's my question to you:

Mothers: if you have a son, or have had the discussion, what do you think, yes or no?

Fathers: which decision did you make for your son? Or would if you had a son?

Ladies: have you been with "both kinds"? Any opinions on performance, presentation, grooming, friendliness?

Guys: Do you have strong feelings of your own either way? Why?

Please leave any and all opinions in the comments section, and thanks.

KJT - Seattle (2009) (Picture photoshopped this morning...)

Through Paris, Quickly

2009-02-15T14:37:00.000-08:00

“Secrets travel fast in Paris.”
- Napoléon Bonaparte, military & political leader of France, later Emporer (1769-1821)

From 1988 to 1995 I went to college at Colorado State and eventually graduated with a bachelor's degree in technical journalism (and a history minor). In one of my various electronic field production classes our professor showed us the above movie (along with The Red Balloon). It impressed the hell out of me, but over time I had forgotten it completely.

Recently a blog I follow posted it, and it brought back a flood of memories. It was great to see it again, because when I originally viewed it back in maybe 1992 or 93, I hadn't been to Paris. Now that I've been four times and recognize some of the scenery it is even cooler.

Here is the background behind the movie, from Hollywood Elsewhere:
"On an August morning in 1978," the story goes, "French director Claude Lelouch mounted a gyro-stabilized camera to the bumper of a Ferrari 275 GTB and had a friend, a professional Formula 1 racer, drive at breakneck speed through the heart of Paris.

"The film was limited for technical reasons to 10 minutes. The driver barrel-assed all the way from Porte Dauphine (on the city's western edge, adjacent to the Bois de Bologne) to the Basilica Sacre Coeur in Montmartre.

"No streets were closed, for Lelouch was unable to obtain a permit. The driver completed the course in about 9 minutes, reaching nearly 140 mph (or was it kph?) in some stretches. The footage reveals him running real red lights, nearly hitting real pedestrians, and driving the wrong way up several one-way streets.

"Upon showing the film in public for the first time, Lelouch was arrested. He has never revealed the identity of the driver, and the film went underground until a DVD release a few years ago."

That kicks ass.

Tip of the hat to Cajun Boy, I basically stole his post.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Panama Canal, Quickly

2009-02-11T21:11:00.000-08:00

"Scientists investigate that which already is;
Engineers create that which has never been.''
-Albert Einstein, German-born theoretical physicist (1879-1955)

This is a great video showing the time-lapse passage of a cruise ship through the 48-mile long Panama Canal in under two minutes. A typical passage of a cargo ship takes between eight and ten hours. The canal consists of man-made and natural lakes and canals and three sets of locks.

I've never been to the canal, or to Panama, but would love to go sometime. I'm impressed and amazed at the engineering marvel that trimmed the ocean-going trip from San Francisco to New York from 14,000 miles (south around Cape Horn) to just 6,000 through the canal. Mind-boggling feat, which unfortunately cost over 27,000 lives to complete. The canal opened in 1914.

Tolls for the canal are based on the type of vessel, the size, and what it is carrying. The most expensive toll to date was charged to the cruiser liner "Disney Magic" on May 16, 2008: $331,200! The least expensive toll was $0.36 to American adventurer Richard Halliburton, who swam the canal in 1928. The average toll is around $54,000.

Tip for the video from Andrew Sullivan.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

χταπόδι των Κυκλάδων

2009-02-08T07:24:00.001-08:00

"The Greek earth opens before me like the Book of Revelations. I never knew that the earth contains so much; I had walked blindfolded, with faltering steps... The light of Greece opened my eyes, penetrated my pores, expanded my whole being."
- Henry Miller, "The Colossus of Maroussi" (1941)

We took a ferry from the mainland. Deck passage. Threw our bags down in a heap, threw ourselves on top of them and hunkered in for the long, slow voyage. The Cyclades were the island group we were heading for, out of Athens via the commercial port of Piraeus. Our specific destination, the small island of Ios. Only 11 miles long and six miles wide with a population of about 1,500 - a hilly, arid island rising out of the sapphire of the Aegean Sea.

It was a foggy journey, small islands and rock outcroppings appearing suddenly off to the side or almost in front of us. Nervously, we trusted the Greek sailors who had been plying these waters since antiquity to see us through. We sat out on the bow cross-legged and shared a bag of pistachios. The fog muted the sounds and our senses. We napped.

Eventually we pulled into the small harbor on Ios, disembarked, and made our way up the twisting staircases to the main village of Chora - no vehicles here, just stairs, narrow walkways, and donkey paths. We checked into a small room at a cheap, but decent hostel, and set out to explore the village. It was a beautiful town of whitewashed stone houses with bright blue painted doors and windows. We felt like we were walking through a fairy tale - everything clean and bright and perfect.

One evening we stumbled across a small cafe, set at the very top of the village overlooking the houses and the bay. No one was around and we wondered if it was open. We poked around a bit and eventually a wild-haired man with a twisted beard, a tank top, and short short cut-off jeans appeared and asked if we wanted to eat. We asked if the cafe was really open, and he laughed and bade us to sit down. We took a table out on the small deck - the view was spectacular and the sun was just beginning to set. We could see a ferry down below in the harbor.

He had no menus so we asked if he had Greek salad and calamari. His eyes lit up and he explained that he went diving every morning for fish and calamari and he had some that were caught just hours ago. We both ordered a big plate of the calamari and Greek salads to start with. Also a bottle of the fantastic Greek resinated wine, Retsina.

Soon the salads arrived and we were in heaven. Such fresh produce, such thick ornery squares of fresh, handmade feta, locally pressed olive oil. The tomatoes and peppers were ripe to bursting with wholesome flavor and the romaine, onions, and cucumbers had a fresh crunch that was unequalled. The warm homemade pita bread pushed it over the top. Eventually the calamari arrived and we were treated to one of the best meals in my lifetime. We marveled at the juicy texture and light coating on the octopus. We were both fans of calamari, but neither of us had ever experienced anything like this. A squeeze of lemon and we were in heaven.

Crazyman cleared our plates and asked if we needed anything else. We looked at each other and I knew RJ was thinking the same thing as I was - how often would ever find ourselves in a position like this again? The setting, the warm breeze off the bay in the twilight, and the amazing food - we had to do it. We both ordered an exact repeat performance: another two Greek salads and another two orders of calamari. The man laughed and jumped around and ran off to start them. He brought us back some Ouzo and three glasses to which we all splashed a bit of water and lifted our glasses to each others health. The bitter anise-flavored liquor warmed our bellies and was a perfect apéritif to begin our second dinner as the stars began to burn in the night skies.

We stayed on the island almost a week, most days lounging on the beaches, swimming, snorkeling, hiking through the hills, and reading under the shade of the olive trees. The nights were a bit more hedonistic - the island a magnet for young travelers from across the globe. A few nights RJ didn't make it back to the room at all.

So enamored was I of the beauty of the Greek salads, that one day before we left I had one for breakfast, one for lunch, and one for dinner - that was all I ate all day, just Greek salads. It was bliss. Pure bliss.

KJT - Ios, Greece (1998)
(translation: Octopus of the Cyclades)

Burgled

2009-01-24T11:08:00.001-08:00

“Thieves respect property.
They merely wish the property to become their property
that they may more perfectly respect it.”
- G. K. Chesterton, English-born Gabonese Critic, Essayist, Novelist, and Poet (1874-1936)

Unreal.

I went outside Saturday morning, got in my truck, started it up and got quite a surprise. My normally smooth-running pickup now sounded like a motorcycle in need of a tune-up.

I sat there for a minute pondering. I used to have an old Chevy Blazer (1972) that I had bought used. The guy that had it before me had installed glasspacks on the exhaust system - giving it more power, but also making it noisy as hell - and this is what my pickup now reminded me of.

I turned off the engine, got out, and looked under the truck. To my amazement, my exhaust system was in two distinct pieces, with a large gap missing in the middle. I was baffled. I didn't remember running over anything or striking anything. Looking closer, the pipes had a very clean edge to them. Even more confusing.

I went inside and called around to a couple repair shops, explained my situation, and was told that my catalytic converter had been STOLEN!

Yep, last night someone had crawled under my truck, SAWED OFF THE CONVERTER, and absconded with it. I guess it takes these dicks about two minutes with a Sawzall.

I had never heard of this, but apparently it is an epidemic growing across the country - skyrocketing, some are saying. Sometimes the thieves unbolt it, and sometimes they saw it right off. I have now learned that there is platinum inside the converter, which is an expensive metal and greatly valued by thieves meaning to sell it for scrap to dealers willing to turn a blind eye to pesky legal concerns. From what I've read, this is so prevalent now that it's happening in broad daylight in shopping mall parking lots. Bastards!

It's going to run me around $400 to have it replaced, and I'll try to find out if there is anyway to secure it to prevent this from happening again.

Humpf!

UPDATE: I found out that there is a device called a "Cat Clamp" that you can have attached to the catalytic converter that is supposed to deter theft. Looks like it just makes it more difficult so the thieves won't bother, and will try an easier car or truck. But the damn thing costs almost $300, and that's without install...

(grumble, grumble...)

UPDATE 2: Took the truck down to Midas, and they replaced the converter and part of my tailpipe which was rotted off, all for $470. As I was paying, the joker at Midas told me that the new one was good for 5 years or 50,000 miles - and then looked up at me and said with a smile, "That is, unless it gets stolen again..." Funny guy. But they were great, and were able to get me in and fix the truck in one afternoon - on a weekend. I'll be using them again, but hopefully not for the same service. :-(

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Bacon Nirvana!

2009-01-22T15:25:00.001-08:00

"Mmm ... bacon"
- Homer Simpson, Nuclear Safety Inspector, bacon lover

I wasn't sure it could get any better than the BACON ROLL,

but this may be the top of the mountain!

Granted, I haven't tried it yet. But I will... oh, yes... I will!!

Behold, the goodness that is, the BACON EXPLOSION:

Step 1: create the bacon weave; Step 2: season

Step 3: add sausage layer; Step 4: add second, cooked bacon layer w/ BBQ sauce

Step 5: roll sausage tightly; Step 6: roll bacon weave & season, place on grill

Step 7: grill till center is 165° (1 hour/inch thickness); Step 8: slather BBQ sauce

Step 9: enter heaven.

This unbelievable goodness comes from the geniuses at BBQ Addicts,

I'm going to lobby Obama to give them a medal.
(And MUCH thanks to my friend & bacon comrade, BF, for the head's up...)

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Color-Blind?

2009-01-20T09:14:00.000-08:00

“Racism is man's gravest threat to man -
the maximum of hatred for a minimum of reason.”
- Abraham J. Heschel, Jewish theologian and philosopher (1907-1972)

"I have a dream that my four little children
will one day live in a nation where they will
not be judged by the color of their skin
but by the content of their character."
- Martin Luther King, Jr., American minister, activist, civil rights leader (1929-1968)

I feel such a sense of hope and history today.

And I am so, so grateful that my unborn son will grow up in a world where he will think that having a black president is a normal occurrence.

Perhaps we're really on our way to being one United States - looking past someone's race, or beliefs, or persuasion, and just being color blind... accepting one another and embracing our diversity.

I feel the need to re-state my thoughts on the future
(I originally wrote this on October 30th, 2008,
just days before the election).

MY AMERICA:

In My America...
Equality would be a cornerstone and
diversity celebrated as one of our greatest assets.

In My America...
Race would cease to be an issue, bigotry would disappear,
tolerance would spread.

In My America...
My government wouldn't think of using torture.
Even against terrorists.
It would hold itself to a higher moral standard.

In My America...
People wouldn't fear someone who worships a different god than them. Or no god.

In My America...
People would welcome our brothers and sisters from across the border in Mexico. And not just as day-laborers and dishwashers, but as important and respectable members of the community with the ability, intelligence and cultural beauty to be an integral
part of our nation.

In My America...
The president would utilize evidence-based decision making,
instead of being a knee-jerk reactionist.

In My America...
People would value art, music, and literature
more than money, power, and luxury.

In My America...
Everyone would be at least bi-lingual.

In My America...
More people would ride bikes, busses, and trains.

In My America...
Everyone would have a passport. And use it.

In My America...
The government wouldn't usurp the laws.

It would uphold them.

In My America...
We would value diplomacy over force,
consensus over unilateralism,
and multiculturalism over nationalism.

In My America...
People would remember that this country
was founded as a secular state.

In My America...
Common sense would prevail.

In My America...
People would turn off the TV and read to their kids.

In My America...
The government wouldn't spy on it's own citizens.

In My America...
Teachers would be paid the same as doctors.

In My America...
It would be considered patriotic
to question your government.

In My America...
We would spend as much money
fighting poverty as we do fighting crime.

In My America...
People would realize that we're all in this together,
so we'd better start working with one another
instead of against one another.

In My America...
My black friends and my gay friends and my strange friends and my square friends and my Hispanic friends and my French friends and my German friends and my Spanish friends and my elitist friends and my redneck friends and my Jewish friends and my Muslim friends and my Christian friends and my Hindu friends and my Buddhist friends and my agnostic friends and my atheist friends and my Socialist friends and my Communist friends and my Democrat friends and my Republican friends and my liberal friends and my conservative friends and my centrist friends would all respect each other,
and each other's differences.

Do I think Barack Obama is a panacea that will make all of the above come true? Not on your life. He's a POLITICIAN, so I KNOW he's going to eventually DISAPPOINT me at some point. All Politicians do. Unequivocally - it's the nature of the beast. But I do feel such a profound sense of optimism with his candidacy and truly look forward to his historic presidency. Especially after the feeling of utter despair and bewilderment during the last eight years of the WORST PRESIDENT EVER: good riddance to Bush.

Know hope.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

(Image stolen from CNN.com)

A Chance Encounter (or "How I Met My Wife")

2009-01-18T22:00:00.001-08:00

"Please Baby... Let's get it right
I don't think I can take it...one more night.
I know I love you, I love you, I love you as though the stars are mine
So please Baby, show me you are mine."
- Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, "Please Baby" (1998)

In the late 90's I worked as a bartender at the Broadway Grill on Seattle's Capitol Hill. Capitol Hill is an eclectic, sort of arty, bohemian neighborhood - or it tries to be. It's where I lived, and it's also the predominant gay neighborhood in Seattle. The Broadway Grill was one of the main hangouts to see and be seen.

I was good friends with another bartender who worked across the street at a bar called Charlie's. She would come in to the Broadway and drink when she was off work, and I would go to Charlie's and drink when I was off and she was working. At that time she was also dating one of the female servers at the Broadway, and we would hangout for cocktails and whatnot occasionally.

On Valentine's Day of 1998, my bartender friend was sitting at my bar in the late morning. It was a Saturday and she had just had breakfast and was nursing a Bloody Mary. Her girlfriend would stop by and talk to her (and nibble off her plate) while she was working her own section of the restaurant. At one point they asked me what I was doing that night - since it was Valentine's Day. I laughed and told them I had no plans, since I wasn't dating anyone at the time. They invited me to go out with them to the Re-Bar that night. The Re-Bar is a gay (or gay-friendly, at least) bar downtown, just down from Capitol Hill. That night was Lesbians in Love night to celebrate the holiday. I laughed again and asked if they were serious. They both nodded and said that they were just going to hang out and play pool and they wanted me to go along. Since I had no plans, and would be able to hang out with two beautiful women, I decided to do it.

We got there around 9 or 10 pm, got some beers, and retired to the pool room to shoot a few games. After a while I wandered out to the main area, which had a large dance floor and a long bar at the back. I stood off to the side, leaning against the wall and nursed my beer. I watched the dancers and sighed at all the beautiful women who weren't playing for my team. There were a few men there too, in couples or by themselves - so I didn't completely stand out, but was certainly in the minority as a man, and even more so as a straight man. I noticed in particular a redhead dancing by herself at times, and with a few friends at other times. I have a particularly strong attraction to redheads (a compulsion really), and so I watched her with keen interest.

After some time the redhead broke away from her friends and walked directly towards me. She stopped in front of me and said, "Can I ask you something?"

Surprised, I stammered, "Sure."

"Are you gay or are you straight?" she inquired.

I laughed. It was a question I got a lot working at the Broadway. Most everyone assumes you're gay if you work there. But after they'd see me eyeing the female customers or comparing notes with the lesbians (we would give each other a 'head's up' if a particularly striking female would come into the restaurant) - they would often ask me exactly the same question.

"I'm straight," I replied.

"Thank you," she said, and immediately turned around, took a couple steps and yelled to her friends across the bar, "I TOLD you so!"

I stood there stunned and amused as she made her way back to her group of friends. I wasn't sure what to do next. She was beautiful and so I was certainly interested. But I realized with a smile that now I didn't know if SHE was straight or gay. I wandered back into the pool room to discuss the strange happening with my friends. They both demanded that I go talk to her, at the very least to see what persuasion she was. After a couple more beers and some more convincing (I'm a bit shy) I decided that I didn't have anything to lose and that I should at least find out her name and what her forthright question and odd response to my answer was all about.

I made my way back out to the bar area and scanned the crowd. For a moment I was afraid she might have left. Then I spotted her standing near the bar.

I approached her and said, "Can I ask you a question?" She smiled and said, "I'm straight. I'm just here with my friends dancing."

I smiled back and said, "What's your name?"

"Stacie," she replied.

"I'm Kevin, would you like to dance?" It was the only other thing I could think of to say.

It should be pointed out at this time that I do not dance. Or at least, if I do dance, I don't dance well. I would be the visual definition of the stereotypical non-rhythmic white-guy. I'm probably not as bad as Elaine Benes from Seinfeld - but I'm really (really) not a good dancer. But I had nothing else at that moment, so we danced. I do like to dance, if I'm tipsy enough not to feel too self-conscious. So we danced. And it was fun. She had a great smile, and she, at least, could dance. I shuffled and flapped about and watched her move smoothly to the beat of the music.

The night got late and I had to open the bar the next morning - being there at 7 am. Gotta be ready to serve the morning drunks their Bloody Mary's right on time at 8 o'clock. Even had one guy who would be there at opening to have a straight shot of Rye whiskey. I decided to try to play it cool, and so I told her that I had to go. I told her I wanted her number, but that I probably wouldn't call her. I told her that I would love to see her again and that I worked at the Broadway Grill and that if she came in while I was working I would buy her a drink and we could talk. Then I left.

It was a good walk home, as I felt exhilarated and alive. Happy. The cold February chill sent shivers through my body as I smiled and thought of the redhead.

It was a few days later that she came in to the bar. It was a weekday evening and I was tending alone. She came up and sat at the first stool and said, "Hi, do you remember me?"

I said, "Sure, Stacie right?"

She nodded and I held out my hand and said, "Kevin. Nice to see you again."

She stayed there for a few hours and we got to know each other a bit better. I had one ticket to see "Big Bad Voodoo Daddy" that Friday night at the Fenix Underground, a club downtown. I asked her if she wanted to go with me. She said she would and we made a date to meet at the J&M Café in Pioneer Square that night before the show.

Friday night at the J&M, and she was right on time. We had a couple cocktails (Tanqueray & Tonics - it would become our signature drink) and made small talk for a bit. Then we walked over to the Fenix. I had my ticket and had planned on just buying one for her at the door. When we walked up I saw, to my dismay, that the show was sold out. I asked the door guy if there were any tickets left and he shook his head.

At the spur of the moment I surreptitiously slid a twenty dollar bill onto his clipboard and asked him to check and see if she was on the "guest list." (I think I even used air quotes). He stared at me for a moment, probably saw the pleading look in my eyes, looked down at his clipboard again, and said, "Oh yeah, here she is."

I was astounded. It actually worked. It was like a scene out of a movie. A river of relief flooded my veins. He stamped us both and we went inside. The band was rocking and we danced, laughed, and partied through the night. To this day I still crack a smile when I hear Big Bad Voodoo Daddy play "You and Me and the Bottle Make Three Tonight."

And that, my friends, is the story of how I met my future wife.

KJT - Seattle (1998)

Guinness in the Caribbean

2009-01-17T00:31:00.001-08:00

“I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.”
– Susan Sontag, American author, filmmaker, philosopher (1933-2004)

I was in a bar. Nursing a cocktail. Not unusual in and of itself. However, the old real estate adage rang true: location, location, location.

The bar was a too plastic and steel 'fun zone' near the beach in Freeport, the Bahamas. Certainly not my usual watering hole. It was about 1:30 in the afternoon. Certainly not my usual hour of imbibing. I was drinking a rum and coke. Certainly (certainly) not my usual cocktail.

As a general rule, I like just about everything that is brewed, vinted, or distilled. Sambuca? Love it. Pernod? Absinth? I have a bottle of each at home. Fernet? Definitely. And it goes without saying that your gins, vodkas, tequilas, whiskeys (particularly Irish whiskeys), beers in all their various forms, and wine, port, sherry, and cognac are close friends of mine. And then there's rum. Crazy ol' rum. For some reason rum falls to the very bottom rung on the ladder of libation for me. I think it's because it's such a sweet liquor. I'm generally a fan of savory over sweet. Don't put sugar in my espresso (or milk for that matter), and I'll pass up the dessert for the appetizer just about every time. (Unless the dessert is a cheese plate.)

So back to our story. I'm drinking rum. Strange. It's because although it's my last choice of alcohol, that still doesn't mean that I don't like it. I just happen to like, well, just about everything else a little (or a lot) more. But one thing I do love to do, is drink the local drink (and eat the local food) of the particular place that I'm traveling through. So in the islands - it was all about the rum. Good enough for me. And as an aside - I love Mojitos! Give me mint with anything and I'm happy.

Again, I digress...

I was in a bar. Drinking rum. In the Bahamas. Stacie and I had taken a cruise - a first for both of us. Probably something we won't ever do again. It was nice enough, but it was about the exact opposite in every way of how I prefer to travel. I enjoy having a very loose itinerary, and playing most everything by ear. Find a place to stay when you get to where you feel like staying. Stay as long or as short a time as feels right. Move on, or not, at your whim. A cruise is all about structure, schedules, and deadlines. It was relaxing at times, and I enjoyed staring out to sea in the night with the moon out above the dark water - hypnotized. But the schedules, man, they're soul-crushing on a cruise. And if you miss your deadline, it's not like you can catch the next train or bus - your boat is gone jack.

Stacie was getting her hair braided. We both knew it was a rip-off, but it was something she wanted to try. At that time she had long, luxurious red hair that reached almost to her ass. That was a lot of braids. This took an inordinate amount of time. So there I was in a bar in Freeport in the Bahamas drinking rum in the middle of the afternoon by myself. A minor annoyance was that there was not a bar nearby where Stacie was getting her hair braided. I had to walk through a couple different neighborhoods, across a long, empty, souless, weedy parking lot, and then through another neighborhood to get to the nearest bar. But I like to persevere...

So I would have a drink, and then make the long walk to check on the progress. Progress was slow. (Progress was glacial). So I made many trips back and forth, the long walk this way and the long walk that way.

The first time I had crossed the parking lot I had noticed three guys sitting under one of the few random trees in the acres of baking pavement. It so happened that I had to walk directly past them to get to and from the bar. The first time I passed we all gave each other the ubiquitous 'head nod' of acknowledgment. They appeared to be locals, and if I had to guess were roughly my age or a bit younger.

My second pass, one of the three asked the now familiar question that I'm faced with most places I travel. "Smoke?" he inquired. Meaning pot. I must look sketchy. Where ever I travel, I'm always asked in a quiet, under-the-breath way if I'm in need of anything to smoke, snort, or shoot. I realize I'm far from the only person these guys are trying to sell to... but man, it's a constant thing.

"Smoke?"

I just shook my head and kept walking. I used to partake in various and sundry forms of, how shall we say it, mind and spirit altering substances from time to time. But that was back in high school and college. My main bad habits these days were good old alcohol, and perhaps a preponderance of caffeine. So I kept walking.

"Smoke? Blow?"

This was the next time past. Again I just shook my head. I entertained the thought that if these guys were sellers of much quantity of these drugs, then they quite possibly carried some kind of protection. The parking lot was vast. It could have been used for a Super Walmart. You could hardly see the other side and it took me all of fifteen minutes to cross it. And it was truly deserted. If they decided they wanted to see how much money I was carrying, there wouldn't be much I would be able to do about it. Gave one pause.

"Smoke? Blow? Pills?"

This was the third time past and when they saw me approaching they smiled a bit. Maybe more like a smirk. It was like a formality. They knew I would probably refuse, but they were wired to ask everyone that walked past, no matter what. So now it was a bit humorous, to all of us. I smiled and shook my head again, "No thanks..."

"Smoke? Blow? Pills? Cid?"

They had broken out into big grins upon my approach. As did I, knowing what was going to be asked. I laughed. "No thanks, man, I don't do that stuff anymore." They shrugged and smiled.

"Smoke? Blow? Acid?"

Stacie was just over half way through her braiding session, and I had made the walk to and from the bar now half a dozen times. At one end was a drink, at the other was a check on the hair progression. And in between was a goofy, funny ritual between myself and three Bahamian drug dealers. This time I stopped and laughed. Again, I said, "I don't really do that shit anymore, but I'll tell you what... how about I buy some beer and come back and we knock a few back?" Their eyes lit up and they laughed. They said that would be great. It was hot out, and they had been out there for an hour and a half at least, with just the scrubby shade of one lone palm tree. I asked them what kind of beer they liked and the one who always spoke to me immediately blurted, "Guinness!" I laughed and agreed that this too was my favorite beer. Might not normally be my first choice in the hot tropical climes - but I'll drink that dark, rich goodness anywhere, anytime.

I walked back into the town and found a convenience store and bought a six-pack of Guinness in bottles. I returned to the parking lot and sat down on the ground with my new-found comrades. We cracked open the beers, clicked the necks together, and toasted each others health. I asked the main guy what his name was, and he said, "Kevan" pronouncing it with a cool island flair. I almost choked on my beer and laughed. He asked why I laughed, and I told him that my name was Kevin too. He raised his bottle again toasting, and said, "Brothers!"

We drank the beers and talked for about half an hour. I went and checked on Stacie and she said she still had about another hour. I went back to the parking lot and we shared the last beer. Kevan asked me if I wanted to smoke as he pulled a joint out. "Free" he smiled. So we sat under a palm tree in the Bahamas and smoked up, talking of politics, of travel, of books, and of beer. It turned out Kevan was quite intelligent, but I never felt the right place to ask him about his occupation. After a bit he asked if I was getting hungry? Duh? So he told me of a great little place that was close, cheap, and some of the best food on the island. Sounded great to me.

He led us across the parking lot and down a couple alleys and into another deserted parking lot. Pot paranoia made me think just for a moment, "Is this where they take my money at knifepoint?" He stopped at a small, wooden shack. It had a pass-through window in the front and one door in the back. It was only about four feet square and maybe eight feel tall. He explained that the guy who ran the shack dived every day and caught the fish and brought them here alive. His wife made fresh bread every morning. He pointed to a large bucket of water on the floor of the shack. Swimming around in it where brightly colored fish, a little bigger than the size of my palm. Kevan held up two fingers and the guy grabbed two fish out of the bucket. He made a couple slices on each side with a sharp knife, and rubbed a dry spice mix into the cuts - then dropped the fish into the hot oil. While they were cooking he cut huge slices of the fresh bread and scooped a big piece of butter onto each. The fish were done shortly and put on the plates next to the bread. I offered and paid and we sat down under some trees. The skin of the fish peeled back revealing tender, white, succulent meat underneath. The moist hotness and flavor of the spice rub was unreal. I wolfed it down, along with the ambrosia-like bread. I thanked Kevan profusely for this wonderful, unexpected bounty. I knew I had to have Stacie try this fantastic meal.

I walked back to where she was just finishing up her braiding and told her of my adventures. She rolled her eyes and laughed, but was intrigued with the fish. We went back to the shack and we each had another plate of fish and bread. On her first bite her eyes opened wide and she smiled. "This is the best fish I've had since I left Texas over 10 years ago," she gushed. We all laughed. After the meal, and a couple more beers with Kevan we had to head back to the ship (deadlines).

We had some great meals on the cruise, but the fish at that little shack in the corner of a deserted parking lot on the wrong side of Freeport with a couple of drug dealers was by far the best food of the whole trip.

KJT - Freeport, The Bahamas (1999)
(Top picture is myself and Kevan, taken by Stacie;
bottom pic I'm drinking rum from a 'rum pipe' and smoking a Cuban cigar -
and Stacie is showing off her braids)

Local Aesthetic - Belltown Art Walk

2009-01-10T01:27:00.000-08:00

"An artist cannot fail;
it is a success to be one."
- Charles Horton Cooley, American sociologist (1864-1929)

It was a cold, crisp night tonight. Full moon, high clouds. Nice not to have rain after the last week we've had. Stacie and I went downtown to the Belltown Art Walk, specifically to see local artist Troy Gua. The show was called Local Aesthetic and it was at the Suite 100 Gallery on Second Avenue between Bell and Battery. Tonight was the opening, but the work will be up all month and through February 6th. I would highly recommend stopping by and checking it out. (Incidentally, I just found out that over the years Troy has also shown and sold some of his work at one of my fave Seattle bars, the Hideout - which may explain why some of his style seems familiar to me.)

Troy's latest work Hybrid (Face) Series, on display at Suite 100, are bold, graphic images of two iconic pop culture faces superimposed on one another. Working with resin coated enamel and acrylic on canvas, he ties the two images together not just visually, but metaphorically as well. One of my favorites (above - top image) is entitled "The Pope John Paul Stanley." The dual images of the front man from KISS and the former leader of the Catholic church just does something for me. (I also love "The Burt and Ernie" which pairs Burt Reynolds' iconic mug with that lovable goof from Sesame Street.) There is a lot of humor and sarcasm in this work, two things I love, and two things I think we need more of.

He also has some fascinating and absorbing paintings and mixed-media work, which you can see on his website, TroyGua.com. I particularly like "Devil's Food" and "Artist as Landscape."

And a thank you to his beautiful wife Catherine, for letting us take up far too much of her time.

Also at the gallery are the works of two other local artists, Ryan Molenkamp and Greg Boudreau, which I found to be quite stimulating. I particularly appreciated Molenkamp's "Place Sketch 1".

Support Independent Art & Artists!
KJT - Seattle (2009)

Do I Make You HORNY, Baby?

2009-01-08T00:25:00.000-08:00

"New Orleans music,

gonna rock all day,

roll all night..."

- Rebirth Brass Band, "New Orleans Music" (2001)

Went to a killer show tonight at the Tractor Tavern in Ballard.

Saw The Rebirth Brass Band from New Orleans.

Killer HORNS: 3 trumpets, 2 trombones, tuba, sax,

snare drum, bass drum...

A. MAZE. ING.

Second time I've seen these guys, and they sure bring it.

They really whip up a tasty musical gumbo of

jazzy/funky/bluesy/second line/dixieland swing.

If you get a chance to see them, do NOT miss out.

This music is good for your soul. Dancing: mandatory.

Here's a brief snippet from tonight's show...

They are playing tomorrow (now tonight - the 8th) in Portland, OR.

Jan. 9th and 10th in San Francisco, and the 11th in Los Angeles.

So Brett, Carey, Paul, and Sharon... there you have it. Get yours.

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Oh Boy!

2009-01-02T13:38:00.000-08:00

"Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable."
- Plato, Classical Greek philosopher, mathematician, writer (428/427 BCE – 348/347 BCE)

Just back from the doctor's... and we are going to have a boy!

Introducing: Sennet Tiernan Timmermans.

Sennet, from the French, meaning wise (pronounced 'senate').

Tiernan, from the Irish, meaning lord, master, regal.

Timmermans, from the Dutch, meaning carpenter.

I'm totally psyched, and truthfully, a bit relieved. I didn't really feel like I was leaning one way or the other in gender preference. But now that we have found out I see that, perhaps subconsciously, I really did want a baby boy. Carry on the family name, and all that hooey...

And from the looks of things, both Stacie and the baby are doing great. Again, another big relief.

The adventure continues...

KJT - Seattle (2009)

Amateur Hour

2008-12-31T14:11:00.000-08:00

"Another New Year's Eve,
lost in obscurity,
lost in melodrama..."
- Wordblender, "Another New Year's Eve" (2003)

I generally loathe New Year's Eve.

But I wasn't always this way. I remember when I was younger I always had such high hopes for New Year's Eve. The barrage of images and stories from TV and movies always had the New Year's Eve Party as the 'be-all, end-all' party. The BIG one. The Ultimate. The party for the ages. In reality, this just never happened. I've been to a few OK New Year's Eve parties, some lousy ones, but never a knock-down, drag-out party like Hollywood led you to believe would materialize. For years I kept trying, to no avail. I slowly began to realize that there are several reasons for this.

The first, as I've explained already, are the unreal expectations foisted upon us (well, at least on me) by Hollywood. Nothing could ever really live up to some of the parties shown in the movies.

Next is the fact that there are way, way too many Amateur Drinkers out on New Year's Eve. My friends and I sort of considered ourselves professional drinkers. We were well-seasoned and practiced. We savored anything vinted, brewed, or distilled. Tipping them back throughout the year. I was always amazed at the amount of lunatic drinkers out on New Year's Eve going absolutely nuts. It seemed as if they waited all year to let loose all at once on one night. Recipe for disaster. Practice makes perfect.

Another factor in the Meh-New-Year's-Eve mix, is that fact that most of the time there were too many options. I remember a few years of flitting from one party to the next all night long (searching for the motherlode). With that many options, it's too difficult to get everyone together in one place, so you end up missing some of your best friends, or only seeing them for a brief moment.

A final nail in the coffin is the driving. You certainly don't want to be drinking and driving ever - but especially on this night. Not only does every police force in the country have increased patrols and checkpoints, but remember all those Amateur Drinkers I was talking about earlier - well invariably a large percentage of these idiots climb behind the wheel after being well into their cups and careen around the city. They're lucky if all they do is get arrested or crash into a lamp post or parked car. Every year far too many people die on the roads on New Year's Eve. It's a busy night for the Reaper.

41 percent of all traffic fatalities during the New Year's period occurred in crashes involving a drunk driver or motorcycle rider. This compares with 31 percent for the year as a whole*. Even if you have a designated driver you still have to watch out for the drunk behind the wheel meeting you at the same intersection at the same time. And taxi cabs? Whew, that's a job in itself on New Year's Eve. I've waiting almost three hours for a cab on New Year's Eve. And if you're trying to get one on the street downtown it's survival of the fittest. Fist-fights are not uncommon.

All this has led me to believe it's better to leave this night to the fools and clowns. A couple of years we've just watched movies at home, stepped out onto the back deck at midnight to watch the fireworks over Capitol Hill, then slip back inside for another glass of wine. One year Stacie and I were in New York City over New Year's Eve. We had plans to go to Times Square and watch the ball drop and ring in the New Year with about a million other people. The city began gating off Times Square early in the morning and people were lining up to get in by 9AM. This meant that you would have to either wait in line or wait inside Times Square for over 15 HOURS before the ball even dropped. We quickly decided we had better things to do in NYC all day long than stand in line. By early evening the lines were over 12 blocks long. Times Square is on 43rd & Broadway. Our hotel was on 56th. By about 8PM we weren't allowed to go back down 56th to our room - the block was closed because the line for Times Square was taking up all the room! We took the subway to the Village, had some pizza, and went to a movie. We rang in the new year in NYC inside a theater. It was one of my favorite New Year's Eves. By the time we got out the madness was much subdued and we hopped into bars and cafes all the way back to our hotel.

Another time or two a good friend of ours had wine and cheese parties at her place on New Year's Eve. A wide selection of artisan cheeses paired with great wine, fresh baked breads & crackers, olives, prosciutto, and other delectable antipasti. These have been great, mellow parties that I very much enjoyed. But again, trying to get a cab home from these parties was a chore.

I'm just not a fan.

KJT - Seattle (2008)
(Martini-Eye painting by artist Rick Klu, from Wordblender's "Tainted Ambrosia" CD, 2003)

That Smell

2008-12-28T21:00:00.000-08:00

"Ooh, ooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell?"
- Lynyrd Skynyrd, "That Smell" (1977)

This is a story relayed to me by my mother...

A little background first...
I grew up on the Front Range in Colorado - in Fort Collins, just north of Denver, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. While growing up many, many family trips were made up and down the I-25 corridor. North to Cheyenne, Wyoming and south to Loveland, Longmont, Greeley, Boulder, and Denver. Greeley is a town out on the plains east of the mountains and it is surrounded by untold numbers of feedlots and a beef processing plant. These produce quite a ghastly stench in Greeley itself at times, and occasionally to the surrounding areas as well. As I grew older I knew that on the rare days that we could smell this all the way in Fort Collins (roughly 30 miles), we would refer to them as "Greeley Days."

On one of our various journeys, we were on our way back home from Denver to Fort Collins. The year was probably 1973 or 1974 so I was quite young. My mother was driving and I was buckled (or not - it was the 70's after all...) into the passenger seat.

We had left Denver some time ago and were making our way up the interstate towards home. We passed the exit for Greeley. Soon my mother noticed that I seemed to be scratching at my nose and rubbing my face. I would scratch my nose and rub it and shake my head. Then I was still for a bit. But soon both hands were working my nose scratching and picking and rubbing at it. This went on for some minutes as my mother watched.

After a while I turned to her with a forlorn expression and said sadly,

"Mom, I think I have B.M. in my nose..."

KJT - Fort Collins (1974)
(Picture of my sister and myself in 1974, taken by my mother)

11 Inches... and counting...

2008-12-23T13:07:00.001-08:00

"Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and earth below,
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet.
Dancing,
Flirting,
Skimming along."
- J.W. (Joseph Warren) Watson, "Beautiful Snow" (1870)

Eleven inches and counting... that's how much snow we have received from the series of storms that began on the 13th of December. The last two days have been clear and cold (hardly any melting), but we are supposed to get another storm starting late tonight that should last through Wednesday. Maybe another 1 to 6 inches in Seattle. Truly bizarre weather. The dogs and I are having a blast. The Seattle D.O.T. less so. (Perhaps they should try plowing, no?)

And then the temperature is supposed to jump a bit and it looks like we'll get rain or freezing rain through and past Christmas. That, combined with all this snow that hasn't gone anywhere yet, brings to mind one word: flooding. If all this accumulation melts in a relatively short period of time it's going to be chaos. Basements will flood, sewers and and storm drains will back up - we'll be swamped. Reminds me of a time from 1996, the year I moved out here, and another big storm we got that Christmas... I'll have to blog about that at a later time... but it's an ugly story - in the sewer sense of the word.

Glad we live at the top of a hill...

KJT - Seattle (2008)

(That last picture was taken by Stacie.)

Sorel Weather

2008-12-20T21:58:00.000-08:00

"I'm looking California,
And feeling Minnesota."
- Soundgarden, "Outshined" (1991)

With apologies to Soundgarden, I'm feeling Colorado. And I love it.

We've been socked with some unusual winter weather the last week or so up here in Seattle. We hardly get but a few dustings of snow each season, but this year has already been exceptional. Two things I brought with me when I moved here from Colorado in 1996 that I haven't had much use for are the 4-wheel drive option in my pickup, and my Sorel boots. Both have been getting a workout lately.

One thing for sure, it's a good thing it doesn't snow much, because the people out here cannot drive in it. Damn flatlanders. Even those people with 4-wheel or all-wheel drive seem to be creeping along at 2 miles an hour. On the flats.

C'mon people, I realize you bought that big 4x4 SUV as a status symbol, and the closest you've come to driving it off-road is up Queen Anne hill in the summer, but please... at least get the hell out of my way.

Other than that minor annoyance - I love this weather. And the dogs love it too. Been taking them on super long walks through the neighborhood and through the wooded trails in Seward Park on Lake Washington - just a few miles from our house. They go crazy. Here's a brief video of them romping through the park a couple days ago...

And we're getting socked with another storm as I type this. Maybe 3 to 8 inches in Seattle tonight. We've already got almost 2 inches of new powder at our house so far and the dogs are going nuts chasing each other around the backyard.

Definitely makes me feel like Colorado - but sure gives me a warm California smile.
KJT - Seattle (2008)

Don Hertzfeldt: Damn Genius

2008-12-17T15:17:00.000-08:00

"For the love of god,

and all that is holy,
MY ANUS IS BLEEDING!"
- (Chicken Nugget? Cloud? Wha?)

Yesterday I posted one of my favorite things

found on the world wide web.
Well today I'm posting my

ABSOLUTE - TOP - #1 - FAVORITE THING:

The cartoons of Don Hertzfeldt.

In my mind, it just doesn't get any better than this.
I had to buy the DVD...
More info on the damn genius here: Don Hertzfeldt: Bitter Films

KJT - Seattle (2008)

Charlie the Unicorn

2008-12-16T16:00:00.001-08:00

"It's a Liopleurodon, Charlie. A magical Liopleurodon.
It's gonna guide our way to Candy Mountain."
- Charlie's companions

This is one of my absolute favorite things that I've ever found on the world wide web, maybe even better than the bacon-cheese roll.

It's so random, so weird, so bizarre that I still can't believe it. I've been annoying my co-workers with it for over two years. For some reason it popped back into my head again today. You'll probably think it's stupid - but it's so stupid it's beautiful. Wait for the end!

I'd like to know what kind of drugs you have to be on to create a masterpiece like this.

Shun the non-believer, shun, shuuuuuuun-nah...
KJT - Seattle (2008)

Simple Pleasures, part 4

2008-12-13T23:49:00.000-08:00

“The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event.”
- Unknown

I guess Andrew Sullivan (link) liked the above picture from my back deck too...

Simple Pleasures haiku:

first snowfall this year

brand new backyard for the dogs

romping and chasing

KJT - Seattle (2008)

Simple Pleasures, part 3

2008-12-13T09:34:00.001-08:00

"If you go to New Orleans,

You oughta go see the Mardi Gras..."

- Professor Longhair "Go to the Mardi Gras" (1959)

Simple pleasures:

A leisurely Saturday morning with a strong,

hot cup of French Press coffee & chicory,

ordered and shipped in directly from

Café du Monde in New Orleans.

The smell and taste take me right back

to time spent in The Big Easy (link).

Playing some Professor Longhair to round out the mood.
The only thing missing are some beignets...

KJT - Seattle (2008)
(Ordered from CajunGrocer.com)

The Rapture

2008-12-12T11:47:00.001-08:00

"Whenever I'm at a brunch buffet and they have that big metal tray filled with the 4000 pieces of bacon, I always think, 'If I was here by myself...I would eat only bacon. I would steal this tray,

go lay down, and eat bacon all day.'"
- Jim Gaffigan, American comedian, bacon-lover (1966 — )

I think I've just died and gone to bacony-bacon heaven.

Behold, the beauty of the BACON-CHEESE ROLL.
Two great tastes, that taste great together!

I think my arteries are hardening just looking at the pictures...

Imagine that thing smothered in SAUSAGE GRAVY!!
That would surely produce the infamous Fat Roll!
The full, glorious story can be found here at: FoodProof.

YUM!!

KJT - Seattle (2008)

Animal Art

2008-12-11T12:44:00.001-08:00

"Every child is an artist.
The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up."
- Pablo Picasso, Spanish artist (1881-1973)

I love these. The work of Swiss artist Geoffrey Cottenceau.
Whimsical; they make me very happy.

They remind me a bit of the simplicity of Picasso's 1943 sculpture,

"Head of a Bull" - made from a bicycle saddle and handlebars.

More work by Cottenceau found here: Geoffrey Cottenceau

and here SuperNaturale.

Tip again from Sullivan at The Daily Dish.

KJT - Seattle (2008)
Picasso image courtesy Musée Picasso, Paris.

Ummm... What?

2008-12-09T16:32:00.001-08:00

“Life isn't weird: it's just the people in it.”
- Unknown

This is, uh, weird.

So say you're shopping in the mall (not that you should ever be in a mall, but for the sake of argument, you're shopping in the mall) and it becomes apparent that you really need to go. And not just numero uno. You need to jettison the horses (probably all the edamame hummus...) but you've got the kid with you. What do you do?

Well, here is the answer to what I can only guess must have been a burning question for parents down through the years (well, at least since malls have been around): The Baby Hanger.

Is this really the kind of stuff I'm going to have to worry about in seven months?!? God help us.

Tip & pic came from Sullivan's blog, linking here to Book of Joe.

KJT - Seattle (2008)

BOOM - A Long Walk...

2008-12-07T00:41:00.000-08:00

"Edamame, 'The Wonder Veggie' is a complete protein containing all nine essential Amino Acids. Edamame is the only vegetable that offers a complete protein profile equal to both meat and eggs in its protein content. Edamame is rich in calcium, iron, zinc, and many of the B vitamins. Edamame is also the richest dietary source of isoflavones, which act as Phytoestrogens that may help protect against cancer, osteoporosis and menopause."

- from the web

Attended two (count 'em, two) movies today. Went to the 1:00pm showing of "Milk" at the Egyptian with Stacie. Amazing film. Great acting, great writing, great movie. Go see it. Gay rights now!

Later in the evening, made plans to meet my German friend GB for the 8:00pm showing of "Quantum of Solace," the new James Bond flick. I had planned on taking the bus, but as soon as I stepped out of my door I saw the #2 glide past and sail down Union. Somewhat annoyed I began walking down the hill, thinking I'd either hail the first cab, or catch the next bus that passed. Well, that wasn't to be and after walking for 45 minutes I turned the corner on Pike and Broadway and caught the #49 down to the Pacific Place Mall. We met at Gordon Biersch Brewery, next to the theater, to toss back a couple before the movie. I'm not a fan of Gordon Biersch beers - they're all too sweet and they don't taste real to me. Unfinished, or ultra-sweetened, or something. Blech. I had to have a Jameson rocks to kill the taste of the beer.

The movie was great (although not as good as 'Casino Royale') and we learned the hard and fast truth about Daniel Craig's James Bond: You Don't Fuck With Bond. He'll kill yah without thinking about it twice. Multi-national criminal master-minds be warned.

After the movie I decided I needed to wash the sweet/nasty taste of the lingering Gordon Biersch blech out of my mouth, and so decided to walk up the hill from downtown to the Satellite Lounge on Capitol Hill. Drank a nice, cheap Pabst to wash the yetch away and then went back outside. Across the street was a relatively new Asian/Thai restaurant/bar called "Boom Noodle." A sign out front said "Happy Hour: 4-7 and 10-Close." Since it was comfortably in between "10" and "Close" I decided to stop in. I bellied up to the bar and perused the Happy Hour menu. I ordered a Sapporo Sake Bomber (a tall glass of Sapporo beer with a sake shooter to dunk into it) and pork gyoza. I then noticed an appetizer that the fellow next to me was eating. I inquired about it, and was informed that it was an edamame puree (which they called a hummus) with taro root chips and marinated cucumbers and Japanese eggplant. This sounded absolutely heavenly to me and I immediately ordered one, along with some hot sake. I was astounded with the complex, yet wholesome flavors. The edamame hummus was like nothing I'd ever tried before, and the fried taro root chips were the perfect accompaniment. I commented on how much I loved the marinated Japanese eggplant, and when I ordered my second helping, the beautiful barkeep made sure I got extra (I think she was fishing for a bigger tip). It was a truly divine appetizer - and is now one of my top favorites in the whole city. I can't wait to go back.

Once settled with the tab, I made my way back up the hill toward home, with the thought of catching the bus at 12th for the journey back up to 32nd. At the bus stop I had to make a brief acquaintance with the bushes to relieve some of the sake. As I turned back around the #2 glided by once again. I couldn't believe it. Cursing I walked the rest of the way up the hill to 19th - once I was at 19th I was determined to walk the rest of the way home because a) I could see our house from the top of this hill, and b) I just had to walk downhill to 28th and then up a few blocks to 32nd and I was home - an easy half hour.

Just as I made it home, the wind picked up and a sputter of rain began. Visions of edamame hummus will lull me to sleep as the rain whips the windows.
KJT - Seattle (2008)

Journey to Verdun, part 2

2008-12-06T01:11:00.000-08:00

"And there went out another horse that was red:

and power was given to him that sat thereon

to take peace from the earth,

and that they should kill one another:

and there was given unto him a great sword."

(Second of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - War) Book of Revelation 6:4

(Click here to read the first part of this story, "Journey to Verdun, Part 1")

After the long journey from Paris, the train finally pulled into the station.

The city of Verdun was built along a shallow valley of the Meuse river, with gradual bluffs climbing up on either side of it. Under the reign of Charlemagne it was part of his Frankish empire. After his death it, and the area now known as Lorraine were given to his grandson Lothair in the Treaty of Verdun in 843. From the 10th to the 11th centuries a series of walls and towers were built which would eventually encircle the whole town. The city and surrounding countryside would change hands many times through the centuries, swapping from Frankish to Prussian control and back. In 1552, the French King Henri II occupied Verdun, Metz and Toul, marking the beginning of majority French rule. From 1624 to 1636 Henri IV's engineers built a fortified 'city' into the high bluff in the center of Verdun: La Citadelle Souterraine (the Underground Citadel).

Two reinforced forts stand on a bluff overlooking the river valley near the city, Fort de Douaumont and Fort de Vaux. These combined with La Citadelle Souterraine made the area one of the strongest in the French line of defense at the start of the Great War in 1914. The German armies wisely skirted these defenses and crossed the Meuse on the left bank in their bid to reach Paris. The Battle of the Marne halted this advance. Throughout 1914-1915 the two countries fought for control of the high ground, and as the front lines stabilized the armies dug underground trenches to try to get some protection from the constant shelling and machine gun fire. In an effort to outflank each other, both armies began to extend their trench lines in each direction, north and south - the race to the sea. Eventually this resulted in a series of trenches stretching from the English Channel in the north, down through Belgium, France, and ending near the border of Switzerland in the far south. Roughly 400 miles...

At daybreak on February 21, 1916 the Germans turned 1,225 guns on Verdun in an attempt to break this stalemate. By February 25th Fort de Douaumont had fallen, and in June Fort de Vaux also fell into German hands. The French still held the high ground of the hills called Mort-Homme (Deadman) and Cote 304, defending the city and preventing the Germans from actually taking Verdun itself. With help from their colonial Moroccan troops, the French retook Douaumont in October. By November 2nd Fort Vaux was back in French hands, and the battle of Verdun ceased - for a time. In 1917 the hills of Mort-Homme and Cote 304 were taken by the Germans, and the city would surly haven fallen but not for the reinforcement of American troops in 1918. On November 11, 1918 an armistice was signed in a railroad car in the Compiègne Forest, ending the actual fighting between nations. Seven months later, in June 1919, The Treaty of Versailles was signed in the Hall of Mirrors in the great French chateaux - formally ending World War I (and unwittingly laying the very seeds for World War II).

With all this swirling around my head, I made my way from Gare de Verdun into the city proper under a cold drizzle. At the Porte de St. Paul I turned right and walked past Rodin's actual bronze statue "La Defense," showing the agony of triumph in bloody battle. I crossed the Meuse and stopped at La Monument aux Enfants de Verdun (Monument to the children of Verdun) - a huge statue of five French soldiers, one from each of the French armies in full military dress, standing shoulder to shoulder - their chests forming an impassable wall.

I made my way into downtown, hoping to pay for a tour of the battlefields and monuments. At the tourist office I was informed that there were "no more English tours." Of course. It was a re-occurring theme that had followed us almost every step of our European journey. Where ever we went, the tours given in English had either been the day before we arrived, the day after we departed, or had been canceled or were non-existent. "Ce n'est pas possible" (It's not possible) - this was another common phrase we heard far too often.

Frustrated, I bought a ticket to get into La Citadelle Souterraine, and took a mildly cheesy, but still respectable tour of the underground city - still laid out as it had been during the Great War. I still longed to walk through the forts and battlefields and decided to try to walk and hitchhike. The forts are about 10km from the city and I began trudging through the mud and rain, fields and ditches. After about half an hour a car pulled up as I held my thumb out. I managed to get my point across that I wanted to go to the battlefields, and the kind old man behind the wheel acquiesced.

He let me off near the Mémorial Ossuarie (the Ossuary), near Fort de Douaumont. The memorial houses the remains of 130,000 unknown French and German soldiers who died during the battle. Small windows open on alcoves containing the bones. A sobering site. The day was now dark grey and windy, as rain slashed sideways. To the north, I walked to Les Tranchées des Baïonnettes (The Trench of Bayonets). On June 12th, 1916 a part of the French 137th Infantry Regiment was caught under heavy bombardment as they huddled in their trench. After the battle cleared it was discovered that the entire trench had been covered in with earth from the explosions and just the tips of the soldier's bayonets could be seen sticking up out of the ground. They had been buried alive, standing, still holding their guns. A concrete memorial now housed this gruesome reminder of the horrors of war.

By now it was pissing rain and the wind was howling and I was soaked and a bit miserable. I caught another ride back to Verdun where I stepped into a small café and shivered to the bar. I asked for an espresso and as the bartender was preparing it he poured me a small glass of cognac. Smiling as the liquor warmed my belly and the coffee perked me back up, I made my way back through the rain to the train station. I would soon be back in Paris. C'est Possible! (It is possible).
KJT - Verdun, France (1998)

Kissing the Ceiling

2008-11-30T21:29:00.001-08:00

"I love strange choices.

I'm always interested in people who depart

from what is expected of them and go into new territory."
- Cate Blanchett, Australian Actress, (1969 — )

Found a website by an Canadian artist that I previously hadn't heard of - but very much like. He has some great photographs and interesting videos. Strange stuff. The above is my favorite, from a collection he calls "Kissing the Ceiling." Artist is Fred Muram, now living here in Seattle.

Check it out: Fred Muram (link)

KJT - Seattle (2008)

Journey to Verdun, part 1

2008-11-27T06:25:00.001-08:00

"Ils ne passeront pas..."

("They shall not pass..." - from the Order of the Day, 23 June 1916)

- Robert Georges Nivelle (1856 - 1924),

French artillery officer and Commander the French Second Army at Verdun

I rolled over and stared at the window. It seemed awfully light out. I could hear cars and trains and people talking on the street below. I grabbed my watch and looked at the time. 7:55am. My heart missed a beat. I was supposed to catch the 8:18 train. I jumped into my clothes, grabbed my backpack and shot out the door. Luckily our hostel was just across the street from the métro stop Barbès-Rochechouart. I could hear the Metro pull into the station as I ran up the steps. I scrambled onto the platform just as the warning buzzer sounded and I leapt on as the doors closed behind me.

Gare de l'Est was only two stops away, and that was made in good time. I ran through the station, dodging people, jumping to the next platforms, scanning the boards for the train I needed heading east. The decidedly 19th-century mechanical "tick-tick-tick" sound of the destination board updating added to my anxiety. I saw my train just as it started to rock, shudder, and move forward. I grabbed a handle and pulled myself aboard as it began to pull away. If I had needed to stop and buy a ticket I would have missed it, but I had my Eurail pass and so I settled back to catch my breath and enjoy the journey. So much for my plans of getting up early, having a nice breakfast with lots of espresso, and then making my way to the train station at a leisurely pace.

We made our way out of the capital, the tracks playing out under the avenues and beneath the ancient buildings, eventually leaving Paris proper and then the suburbs behind. I bought a coffee, a Toblerone, and a baguette from the man with the food cart. After a brief stop to switch trains at Châlons-sur-Marne (today called Châlons-en-Champagne) I was soon headed toward my destination.

The French countryside, between the Marne river and the German border, was rolling hills. Vast fields of deep blue-green grass and endless stretches of bright yellow field-flowers broken up by intermitent waterways and canals that followed beside us, chasing the tracks and crossing under and back. The hills rose to high bluffs and then dropped into low valleys of geometric farmlands. The sky was overcast and a misty rain fell, wetting the grasslands and the windows. To the north were the vestages of the Ardennes forest, and to the south the forest of Argonnes. Some of the deeper valleys were cloaked in a low fog, wisps snaking between the trees, giving the landscape an ethereal, dreamy quality. In the distance an old, stone farmhouse had a light in one window and smoke curling from the chimney.

I had decided to leave RJ in Paris while I made a day-trip to a place that had held morbid fascination to me for years. Being a history buff I was particularly enamored of the period at the end of the 19th century through the two world wars, and especially the World War I era. The battles of the Marne, Ypres, Passchendaele & Flanders Fields, and the Somme had captivated me from reading about them as a young boy through studying them in college. The most terrifying battle of the war could be summed up by one cryptic, chilling word: "Verdun." Known as the 'Mincing Machine of Verdun' or the 'Meuse Mill', the battle of Verdun came to symbolize both the atrocious waste of the strategy of 'war of attrition' and the indescribable horrors of what would become known as The Great War.

Straddling the Meuse river not 50 miles from the German border, Verdun was 139 miles east of Paris and had been a key strategic city for over a thousand years. Attilla the Hun had been foiled at the gates of Verdun in the 5th century as his horde swept through Gaul from the Central Asian steppes. It became part of the Holy Roman Empire under Charlemagne in 843 A.D. In the 1600s it became the possession of the French, and was an important part of their defensive line after the Franco-Prussian War in 1870.

After 1914, once the war had bogged down into the stalemate of trench warfare and both sides dug in for the long haul, Verdun would again play a crucial role. In late February 1916 the Germans began a bombardment at Verdun that was to last through almost to the end December. Just in those short months almost half a million French and German lives would be lost in and around Verdun. The city's forts would be lost and recaptured, and by the end of the battle, as the guns finally fell silent for a time, the front lines had moved little. Because of the system of French troop rotation, nearly 75% of all French soldiers fought at Verdun at some point during the war. Heavy artillery, poison gas, and for the first time flamethrowers were put in use during the battle.

My train was taking me toward a city shrouded in history and steeped in human suffering...

To be continued... Click here to see "Journey to Verdun, Part 2"

KJT - Verdun, France (1998)