We came upon this scene a couple of houses down from Irene's piano lesson. This sled dog team in the making remained conked out for the duration of the half hour lesson, during which time the hippie dude who owns them cheerfully recounted his tale to at least a dozen surprised/enchanted/perplexed passersby. No, they were not the victims of a tragic roadside accident, nor were they for sale. They were just tuckered out from walking in the afternoon heat. Apparently the mother, a mix of many breeds including akita, dingo and pitbull, ran off during the "snow days" (everyone in Portland knows exactly what that means, as there were only the ten of them this year) and was impregnated by what his friend reported as a malemute-husky type. As she was "a good towing dog" and pop was a fortuitous breed, Hippie Dude took it as a sign that he should train them as a dog team (regardless of the fact that he lives in a Volkswagen bus). The plan is to train them to walk in formation, and then as they grow to pull a skateboarder in pairs. At some point he will undoubtedly hook up with the frankenbikers around town to create a dog chariot. So look for that on Hawthorne in the next year. Aside from the generally preposterous display, the funniest thing was that they were petted, scratched and belly-rubbed intermittently for 30 or 40 minutes without ever waking up.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
No Puppies Were Harmed in the Making of This Post
We came upon this scene a couple of houses down from Irene's piano lesson. This sled dog team in the making remained conked out for the duration of the half hour lesson, during which time the hippie dude who owns them cheerfully recounted his tale to at least a dozen surprised/enchanted/perplexed passersby. No, they were not the victims of a tragic roadside accident, nor were they for sale. They were just tuckered out from walking in the afternoon heat. Apparently the mother, a mix of many breeds including akita, dingo and pitbull, ran off during the "snow days" (everyone in Portland knows exactly what that means, as there were only the ten of them this year) and was impregnated by what his friend reported as a malemute-husky type. As she was "a good towing dog" and pop was a fortuitous breed, Hippie Dude took it as a sign that he should train them as a dog team (regardless of the fact that he lives in a Volkswagen bus). The plan is to train them to walk in formation, and then as they grow to pull a skateboarder in pairs. At some point he will undoubtedly hook up with the frankenbikers around town to create a dog chariot. So look for that on Hawthorne in the next year. Aside from the generally preposterous display, the funniest thing was that they were petted, scratched and belly-rubbed intermittently for 30 or 40 minutes without ever waking up.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Yo Mama ('s Day)
I ran across this photo of myself looking surprisingly like Irene and my mom looking like a cool 70's frontier mom. Check out the pant legs! And the cool geometric top. And the lacquered burled posts on that cabin storefront. Kay (who accidentally visited me on mother's day) points out the anachronism that it totally looks like I am texting a friend- in 1975.
Happy Mother's Day cool frontier Mom!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Like Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch with Strawberry Ice Cream
So pop it may give you cavities. Forewarned!
Anxious - The Housemartins
On Wednesdays I work at Dan's house, and before he skulks off to work on mysterious Mining Engineer Stuff in his basement lair we inevitably chat for a while, and it inevitably involves some musical commentary. Like classic middle-agers we've had some fun "soundtrack of high school" conversations (I realized that there might just be a single baseline that signifies my high school experience), and general geekery involving what shows we saw when, or how it was in the good old days pre-net when you found new music accidentally and usually when some dude your friend's brother knew went to Seattle or Portland and brought some records back (we're both small-town kids).
Even so I was surprised when I noticed a copy of The Housemartins on his shelf one day. I have had only one friend who actually enjoyed this band, though many were subjected to it while bumming rides in my car in 1986 (the price you pay... my car, my tapes!) He kindly did not object when I announced that I was taking his Housemartins on my way out the door, and I've been having much fun listening to them on the way to school or work (guess they are just car music?) since last week.
I generally spurn nostalgia (no, really!), but The Housemartins are just irresistible. Plus, how cool is it that I met the third person in the world who likes them?
Anxious - The Housemartins
On Wednesdays I work at Dan's house, and before he skulks off to work on mysterious Mining Engineer Stuff in his basement lair we inevitably chat for a while, and it inevitably involves some musical commentary. Like classic middle-agers we've had some fun "soundtrack of high school" conversations (I realized that there might just be a single baseline that signifies my high school experience), and general geekery involving what shows we saw when, or how it was in the good old days pre-net when you found new music accidentally and usually when some dude your friend's brother knew went to Seattle or Portland and brought some records back (we're both small-town kids).
Even so I was surprised when I noticed a copy of The Housemartins on his shelf one day. I have had only one friend who actually enjoyed this band, though many were subjected to it while bumming rides in my car in 1986 (the price you pay... my car, my tapes!) He kindly did not object when I announced that I was taking his Housemartins on my way out the door, and I've been having much fun listening to them on the way to school or work (guess they are just car music?) since last week.
I generally spurn nostalgia (no, really!), but The Housemartins are just irresistible. Plus, how cool is it that I met the third person in the world who likes them?
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Yo! Gurt.
I have yogurt guilt. No, not because of the factory oppressed cows or the agricultural impact of higher-foodchain consumption or even the rural streams choked with commercial dairy run-off (e.g. cowplop). Well, maybe a little now that I spell it all out... But no, the bulk of my yogurt guilt is all about The Plastic.
My breakfast of choice, which after years of Camelot/Indiana Jones level questing is really the only food combo that I'll reliably eat that will not cause a cascade failure of chemical betrayal (sugar, protein, endorphins- it's quite a morass)... is a piece of buttered gluten-free toast and a half cup of greek yogurt with honey. Because I'm thrifty, I eat the Trader Joe's house brand of greek yogurt which is sold only in pint tubs. So, I end up using almost two plastic pint tubs per week. Because I live in Portland, these can be recycled at the curb in a practically effortless process, but still. Recycling plastic is better than chucking it straight into the bin, but unlike paper and metals (don't get me started on glass) there is a limit to how many times it can be reworked. Eventually it becomes unrecycl
able and off it goes to live its silent, brooding half-life in some landfill. Hence the guilt.
I've been meaning to get around to redeeming myself on this point for a while now, and after some halting attempts and a failure or two, I have finally succeeded in Making My Own Yogurt. Not only is it cheaper (roughly half the cost), organic, and all fresh and superior tasting, but most importantly I can buy milk in paper cartons and dispense with Yogurt Plastic Guilt forever! Ta Da!
I was a bit trepidatious about the process, as my last attempt resulted in an overly sour, slippery, ropey concoction which both puzzled and repelled me. Also, I was throwing it together in the midst of an already busy and scattered day, and I didn't have a working thermometer of any kind. Turns out this is exactly the sort of situation that works to my advantage.
First I microwaved 3 1/2 cups of organic milk, hoping to bring it to a boil. When I couldn't tell if it was boiling and became afeared of the rumored "superboiling" effect, I gave up and washed the pot I was trying to avoid washing so that I could finish up on the stovetop like a respectable human being.
Next I let it cool to 115 degrees, except that as previously remarked I did not have an actual thermometer, so naturally rampant googling ensued under the assumption that there were other methods to approximate water temperatures. This site was particularly unhelpful. And need I say that I am always surprised at what I find when googling?
The best I could get out of the so-called "world wide" web was that the appropriate temperature for bathwater is between 99 and 104 degrees. Since I am keen on bath temperatures beyond the tolerance of most other humans I know, I figured that 115 must be somewhere past "Ow, ow, ok I guess it needs some more cold water" but stil
l tolerable to a bare hand. After pouring hot milk over my knuckles a few times, I felt okay moving on to the INCUBATION STAGE!
Which is pretty much pouring your slightly-cooled milk over a couple starter tablespoons of store-bought yogurt and then putting it in a cooler with a quart jar of boiling water to hold the ambient temp at 110 degrees or so (also known as Perfect Bath Water!)
At this point I recommend spending the next 8 hours wrapping a present, preparing a nice salad, and heading off to the 18th birthday dinner of one of your favorite
people to pass the time while your yogurt makes its miraculous transformation.
When you return, you'll want to perfect the final product by straining it through a coffee filter (keep the whey, it's good for you) in order to create a thick Greek-style yogurt.
I am really unreasonably happy to have succeeded in this project. It is so easy that I've almost made myself more ashamed of all those plastic tubs that I could've avoided. But mostly happy!
My breakfast of choice, which after years of Camelot/Indiana Jones level questing is really the only food combo that I'll reliably eat that will not cause a cascade failure of chemical betrayal (sugar, protein, endorphins- it's quite a morass)... is a piece of buttered gluten-free toast and a half cup of greek yogurt with honey. Because I'm thrifty, I eat the Trader Joe's house brand of greek yogurt which is sold only in pint tubs. So, I end up using almost two plastic pint tubs per week. Because I live in Portland, these can be recycled at the curb in a practically effortless process, but still. Recycling plastic is better than chucking it straight into the bin, but unlike paper and metals (don't get me started on glass) there is a limit to how many times it can be reworked. Eventually it becomes unrecycl
able and off it goes to live its silent, brooding half-life in some landfill. Hence the guilt.I've been meaning to get around to redeeming myself on this point for a while now, and after some halting attempts and a failure or two, I have finally succeeded in Making My Own Yogurt. Not only is it cheaper (roughly half the cost), organic, and all fresh and superior tasting, but most importantly I can buy milk in paper cartons and dispense with Yogurt Plastic Guilt forever! Ta Da!
I was a bit trepidatious about the process, as my last attempt resulted in an overly sour, slippery, ropey concoction which both puzzled and repelled me. Also, I was throwing it together in the midst of an already busy and scattered day, and I didn't have a working thermometer of any kind. Turns out this is exactly the sort of situation that works to my advantage.
First I microwaved 3 1/2 cups of organic milk, hoping to bring it to a boil. When I couldn't tell if it was boiling and became afeared of the rumored "superboiling" effect, I gave up and washed the pot I was trying to avoid washing so that I could finish up on the stovetop like a respectable human being.
Next I let it cool to 115 degrees, except that as previously remarked I did not have an actual thermometer, so naturally rampant googling ensued under the assumption that there were other methods to approximate water temperatures. This site was particularly unhelpful. And need I say that I am always surprised at what I find when googling?
The best I could get out of the so-called "world wide" web was that the appropriate temperature for bathwater is between 99 and 104 degrees. Since I am keen on bath temperatures beyond the tolerance of most other humans I know, I figured that 115 must be somewhere past "Ow, ow, ok I guess it needs some more cold water" but stil
l tolerable to a bare hand. After pouring hot milk over my knuckles a few times, I felt okay moving on to the INCUBATION STAGE!Which is pretty much pouring your slightly-cooled milk over a couple starter tablespoons of store-bought yogurt and then putting it in a cooler with a quart jar of boiling water to hold the ambient temp at 110 degrees or so (also known as Perfect Bath Water!)
At this point I recommend spending the next 8 hours wrapping a present, preparing a nice salad, and heading off to the 18th birthday dinner of one of your favorite
people to pass the time while your yogurt makes its miraculous transformation.When you return, you'll want to perfect the final product by straining it through a coffee filter (keep the whey, it's good for you) in order to create a thick Greek-style yogurt.
I am really unreasonably happy to have succeeded in this project. It is so easy that I've almost made myself more ashamed of all those plastic tubs that I could've avoided. But mostly happy!
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Reed College is Ever So Clever
From: Paul Marthers Dean of Admission
Date: Fri, May 1, 2009 at 3:44 PM
Subject: Your Reed College Application
To: Sackinger <xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Dear Kay,
About your application to Reed College - we liked it. In fact, it
inspired us to give you a quick glimpse of what's ahead.
http://www.reed.edu/apply/accepted/
Enjoy.
Date: Fri, May 1, 2009 at 3:44 PM
Subject: Your Reed College Application
To: Sackinger <xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Dear Kay,
About your application to Reed College - we liked it. In fact, it
inspired us to give you a quick glimpse of what's ahead.
http://www.reed.edu/apply/accepted/
Enjoy.
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