Vaguely Urban

Friday Flotsam VII

1.  It has been brought to my attention that your doctor will double the number of drinks you list as your weekly consumption on your intake form.  This can really screw over people like me, who are honest about their consumption.  I'm feeling so smug by they time I get to the booze question - no drugs, no smoking, etc. - that I'm almost proud to note that I am a good for 3-7 alcoholic beverages a week, on average, leaving out the outlier weeks like trips to Paso Robles and weekends when Melati visits.  Sometimes I drink none drinks in a week!  Swear!  Point is, doctors think people lie.  So when you have that clipboard in your lap, cut your number in half.  That's right, I'm telling you to LIE! (Confidential to my doctor: please revise my file.)

2.  The most overrated herb by far?  Oregano.  Totally skunky, it rudely dominates the flavor in any dish.

3.  Eia brought peanut M&Ms to Paso Robles.  When I went to pour some into my hand, they came out consecutively in the colors of the rainbow!  What are the freaking odds?

The odds are approximate 1 in 7776.  Assuming that each draw is from an even distribution of the 6 colors [which it wasn't], 6x6x6x6x6= 7776.  Did anybody take advanced statistics?  Does anyone have a graphing calculator?  Feel free calculate the odds and share them in the comments.  Show your work.

Magnum, P.R.

A couple weeks ago, Dave and I joined forces with some of our favorite people for a trip to the land of wines that is Paso Robles. 

At first I was a little confused about how wine tasting worked.

Fortunately, our friends were old hands in the ways of the Roble, and told me to stop drinking beer from a boot.

They lost a little cred when they took me to a winery with a lewd fountain.

That boar is anatomically correct!

Kind of.  That hog dong looks a bit spatulate to me.  But then I never claimed to be an animal husbandry expert.

The weekend was utterly perfect - great food, great wineries, great weather, amazing little B&B, big laughs.  And, oh yeah, we bought some wine.

Want to come over for some Rhone blends?

The best part?  Due to a clerical error (they taste too, you know) we got a Free Magnum of cab.  SCORE!

Magnum, Paso Robles!

I Support Animal Testing

Want to know how to make a little Ninja?  You and me both, brother.  People always want to know what kind of dog she is.  She's a little street urchin, so I have no idea. 

But one day soon, I will!  We got a Dog DNA kit last week.  The idea is, you swab some buccal cells from your dog's cheek, mail them in for testing, and get a report with a breakdown of your dog's breed profile.  I think it was developed for proving the racial purity of showdogs.  How very Ary!an Nation.  (Don't Google me, Araya!n Nation) But it can be used on mutts, too.  Yay!

The little lab rat loved the swabbing experience.

Four swabs total, in an envelope, currently on route to the testing center.  Stay tuned for the big results show in the near future. 

Friday Flotsam VI

1.  In honor of my baby brother on the first day of his last year in his 20s:  The summer that my brother was six years old and I was nine, we had a neighborhood bully.  Marty was probably only eight years old himself, but his meanness made him seem much older.  He was the skinny, snively type of bully, terrorizing the neighborhood from the seat of his blue-wheeled dirt bike.

One day, my brother and I were playing in our front yard, waiting for our carpool to take us to camp.  Marty rode down our street and sneered taunts at us, as was his wont.  But this day, my little brother had had Enough.  In a move worthy of a dream sequence, my brother picked up a hard, green apricot from beneath our neighbor's tree and hurled it at Marty with all the might of his six years.  In the time it took my brother to arm himself and haul off, Marty had gotten at least 40 yards away, so it was quite the thrilling surprise when the apricot found its mark square in the middle of Marty's back.  The apricot made a satisfying smack, echoing flatly of Marty's empty, heartless ribcage.  Marty himself emitted a very un-bully-like cry, skidding to a stop and looking back at us from the middle of the street.  He locked eyes with my brother, who squared himself to Marty with a look in his eye that made it clear: no bully would taunt him on his own turf.  Marty crumpled in this face of such strength, and pedaled away slowly.  He never bothered us again.

22 years later, and my little brother is still my hero.  I can still see that green apricot.  Happy Birthday, Bro.  Love, Sispita.

2.  Check out this bitchin succulent:

It was like 2.5 feet in diameter.  Wicked awesome.

3.  I just cooked with tofu for the first time.  Those who know the super hippie dippy pseudo-vegetarian side of me may be surprised to learn this.  I eat tofu all the time, but was a little intimidatde by the thought of cooking it.  It was muy easy. 

Update On The Asshole Calendar

Things were tense in the weeks following the Shocking Expose in which I revealed the abusive nature of my page-a-day calendar. 

Calendar turned passive-aggressive, presenting thinly veiled slights and insults on a regular basis.  For example, throughout the weekend of January 12-13, it hurtfully boasted that it and all of it's mean calendar friends had found spouses, neener neener.

I had to shut that shit down.  I said, "Look, Calendar, you need to straighten up.  Only sweet nothings from now on, OK?"

Calendar was sullen, offerring only obscure, useless phrases for several days.  So I addressed the situation again, demanding positive-minded phrases and, I admit, shaking my finger in Calendar's face.  Calendar responded by giving me a paper cut.  Things escalated from there, and ultimately I ripped Calendar a new one.  Literally.

Now that's muchas mejor, Calendario.

Who says violence doesn't solve problems?

Friday Flotsam V

1.  Dave would like me to remind everyone that there is no need to qualify the word "unique" with words like 'very' or 'totally.'  Unique, by definition, means that there's nothing else like it.  Something's either unique or it isn't.

2.  Ways in which I am a cliche?  There are too many to name.  But the one that's currently making me feel trite and predictable:  I am 32 years old and I want to have a baby. 

3.  Do you like rice candy?  I got a package of rice candy for our dinner party last weekend, thinking that everyone could have their own individually-wrapped morsel.  But then we were too full to eat any additional morsel and also I forgot to get them out.  So do you want to come over for a piece of rice candy?

4.  Hope everyone has Monday off!  I do, and I'm taking full advantage!

The Persistence of Memory?

Memory is an inconstant thing; alternately crisp, then coy.  Memory is a victim of its own bravado, presenting a much more confident front than perhaps is justifed.  We all think we remember things better than we really do.  And any group of people will make their own contrasting memories out of a shared experience, rendering truth subjective. 

My memory has gotten weaker over the years, less able to make strong memories.  I can't remember the name of book I'm supposed to be reading for book group next month, but I remember the middle name of the boy who sat behind me in European History in 1990.  It was Dunham. I named my retainer case after him.  What, you didn't name your retainer case?  You might have done if your case was shaped like a friendly, squashed turtle.

Anyway, I need to sharpen up my memory.  Mainline the ginkgo biloba, tie string around each finger, whatever it takes.  My first goal: start remembering to grab my reusable grocery bags before heading to the market.

As The Guest Of Honor, Kierkegaard Sat To My Right

Dave and I hosted a little dinner party on Saturday.  We decided to go our standard route of tricked out comfort food.  Also known as "shamelessly ripping off Barefoot Contessa." 

Homemade ravioli in homemade turkey broth, chicken pot pie, apple-pear crumble with homemade ice cream, cheese course, lots of wine.  That's how we roll.

But this time we had a Theme.  Dave called the theme "everybody gets their own individual dish at each course."  I called the theme Existentialism.  We were all together at the dinner alone.

My pot pie.  Dave can fucking COOK.  Too bad I am inherently alienated from him and from all else.

I made sure to work out the theme in the table setting, giving everyone their own individual, unmatched bud vase.  Very isolating.

Over dinner, our absurd conversation drove off the nothingness for a little while.

This morning, I grouped the vases together into a kind of deconstructed bouquet.

En masse, the mini bouquets together were a more gorgeous whole than the sum of their parts.  There's probably a philosphical lesson in that.

Friday Flotsam IV

I recently said goodbye to a lifelong companion. 

I've had that alarm clock since 1985.  More than two-thirds of my life.  It's been tuned to KISSfm, Pirate Radio, KROQ, NPR, and many more.  It's lived with me in every home in which I've ever lived - every house, dorm room, apartment, and condo. It's bicoastal.

 

Look, you can even where I put little stickers that say B-52.  That was in 1989.  I was in the fan club. 

But this year for Christmas I got a new alarm clock, with a docking station for my iPod.  And though it really made me sad, I had to get over my sentimentality and step into the modern era of wake-up technology.  So after one last photo sesh, it was off to Goodwill with my clock.  Sucks.

***
I'm always cold, and never more so than at the grocery store.

***
Happy Birthday, K. Elizabeth!

***
During the Little Ninja's walk last night, a woman passing by asked if she was a puppy.  This is basically the dog equivalent of getting carded.  Ninja turns 5 sometime this year, so I was stoked for her.  Ninja didn't seem to give a shit either way.  Although she did poop later on her walk, so maybe she gave a shit after all.

I'd like it if her youthful looks garnered her a L'Oreal contract.

    

Sassy Two

Years ago, sitting at a bar on the sand in Huntington Beach, some friends and I were enjoying some rinfrescante adult beverages and after awhile I got An Idea. 

My idea was to challenge all my friends to write down and then present their best version of the number 2.  As in "Everybody write "2" on a piece of paper and then we'll vote on the sassiest."

This little game was:
(1) a lot more fun that it sounds, thanks to friends from the top of the Fun Column; but
(2) nevertheless a very dumb idea because I was pitting myself against a professional graphic artist/calligrapher; and
(3) ultimately destined for an upset, wherein my brother, displaying uncanny lateral thinking skills busted out what was undeniably the sassiest 2 of all.

Incidentally, Jack's original rendering was at least as rudimentary as my re-creation above.  We in my family are not artists.

Outclassed and outsassed, we elected Jack The King Of Number 2.

But! Lo these years later, I have a new horse in the race for the sassiest 2.  Why, it's this very website!  Vaguely Urban is a mighty sassy two years old today.  I foresee lots of tantrums in the coming months.  Sassy!