The whitest kids you know.

Hey Snow White, it's gonna be alright, its gonna be alright.

Bonjour, mon amis. Due to Seattle being crippled by 2 inches of snow, my office has declared today a snow day. So naturally, I'm spending this lovely day inside updating my blog and watching hour upon hour of Sports Center. Btw, while we're on sports, if you haven't read this Onion article yet, definitely check it out. Talk about ruining your legacy. In other sports news, the Saints play the worst Cowboys team in decades on Thanksgiving Day. I have a lot to be thankful for this year, but I'm pretty sure that I will be most thankful for the asskicking we will deliver to that multi-pack of douches who call themselves "America's team".

I've made it no secret that I often feel disconcerted by the crazy homogenity of white people in the PacNW, or, as I've been known to call it, "The Great White North". Over the past few months, however, I've found that some of the whiteness has been rubbing off on me. I'd like to share a vignette that display my lack of immunity to the whiteness contagion. I've provided companion links to stuffwhitepeoplelike.com to further show the severity of my condition.

As few weeks ago, I was taking a break from work at my bilingual office and decided to do some reading on the online independent newspaper because I've grown to hate reading CNN and MSNBC news. Wile Perusing The Stranger (Seattle's gay-friendly newspaper), I saw that the Seattle Shakespeare Company was performing an avant-garde production Hamlet that very night. As a former theater-geek, I felt the instant need for a spontaneous date night. Kev and I bundled up(me in my colorful scarf and pea coat and he in his North Face jacket) and had a quick bite to eat (VERY nearly stopping at a Thai-fusion place, but ended up going to get margaritas instead -- what can I say, cheap booze trumps classy any day) before taking the Monorail over to the Seattle Center to see the play. Because noone in Seattle actually rides the Monorail, we got seats in the very front and I felt all the anticipation of a little kid about to ride Space Mountain for the first time. I actually enjoyed the monorail. Even though it's only function is to take people directly between two points in the city with no other stops, you can't beat the view.
This train is bound for glory.

It ended up being a fantastic production, probably the finest version of Hamlet I've ever seen. The actor in the titular role gave a stunning performance, so much so that I would go see a theatrical production of the Aristocrats just to see him perform again.

In other news, Kev's birthday was last week. In celebration, I booked a aurprise weekend getaway to this amazing four-star lodge overlooking Snoqualmie Falls. This place is amazing.
I know what you're thinking: Zombie apocolypse hideout, right? Complete with two fully stocked bars and a hydroelectric plant. Jackpot.


The waterfall throws out a thick mist in all directions. Walking to this overlook gets you soaking wet, but the view is totally worth it.



The standard room comes with a King bed, fully stocked wood-burning fireplace and two-person jetted tub. I must have taken 5 baths in the 24 hours we were there.

Area woman reports fire to be warm, pretty.

And, of course, what's a birthday without a copious amount of booze?
It's a celebration, bitches.

I also booked us a couple's fireside heated river rock massage. Aside from this being his birthday present, it was also my way of convincing him that dating me can have its benefits...sometimes.

The snow began to fall just as we were heading out of the canyon back to the city. On Sunday night. And it didn't stop until just before sunrise this morning. All of the news stations were like: "OMG! Look at the pretty snow!" But no one really said anything about how long it would last, or if anything in the city would be closed. Seattle really does have the worst weather-predicting power of anywhere in the country. Apparently, the city's ability to deal with snow is even worse. A lot of businesses began closing midday (including Kevin's) and a few more begrudgingly let their employees go home a half-hour early (if we "really felt like it was necessary"). I, of course, high-tailed it as soon as I got the green light, only to wait for the bus for about 2 hours. We even decided to go get something to eat and come back, but still had to wait about 45 minutes after dinner before a bus came by to take us home. Arrived home after 9pm, which wasn't that bad considering some of my coworkers didn't get home until 4am because they were trapped on the freeway. So pretty much, we strong-armed our bosses into closing the office today. And you have them to thank for this delightfully perfunctory post. Also: pictures of snow!

Downtown Seattle. Blinged out with ice.



When I was your age, I had to walk home. In the snow. Uphill. Both ways. Selling Matchsticks along the way.



I can do this because I'm wearing my super-white gore-tex outdoorwear waterproof shoes!



Making a snow angel after receiving specific and careful instructions from Kevin on the proper procedure. Also: Birthing a yarny-tentacled beast from my navel.



My snow angel. Or a headless Gumby? You decide.



Kevin laughing at my snow-awe. What a jackass. Doesn't he know this picture means he's going to get killed by that chick from the Ring?


Lindsey Lohan, Charlie Sheen and that dude from Scarface had a party on our balcony.

Winter Wonderland.


This morning, I took this picture instead of going to work. Productivity level maxed out for the day.

Hello darkness, my old frenemy.

Hey y'all. So I know it's been a ridiculous amount of time since my last post. For both of my loyal readers, I apologize. Things have been kicked into high gear at work lately, and the hours I've been putting in at the office (and the out-of-office hours I've been putting into beating all three God of War games) have made me awful about keeping in touch with my friends and family. In my defense, beating God of War 3 was fucking rad:
Say it with me: ZEEEUUUUUUUSSSSSSS!!!!!

Allow me to give you a brief recap of the last 3 months:
Late August: Last soccer game of the season. Low point: my team was knocked out of post-season contention after a loss to the whiniest bunch of dive-taking asshats I've seen since the Netherlands lost the World Cup. High point: I set up the last goal scored for the season in the last minute of our last game. Booted it down field into the expectant feet of our finest forward. I've got the power; thank god he had finesse.
September 9-13: Trip to New Orleans to visit family & friends. Got to have an evening with the old posse and came very close to quitting job and never returning to Seattle, much to the future chagrin of this blog's stalwart fans. Both of them. Instead, was persuaded to be responsible and return to the PacNW upon promises of many future returns to the Crescent City.
September 19: Turned 25. Presents abound; as does my despair that I am old enough to rent a car. Last cool birthday before feeling old: check.
October 2: Fresh Ale Hop Festival in Yakima, WA. Met Portland-based buddies for day of trinking ales with freshly-picked hops. Aromas were lovely. Hangovers: universally painful.
October 3: Attempt to climb some major mountain trails aborted due to intense fog in Rainier National Forest. Climbed lesser trail, subsequently suffered lesser pain in lower calves.

We can't stop here...this is bat country!


Money shot from alternate hike. CHING.


Descending decently.



Gettin my climb on.

October 16: Both our hearts broken when an awesome house we had just looked at went under contract before we got home and could make an offer. Lingering hatred for the house-hunting process persists to this day.
October 29-November 8: Have to put in such long hours at work that I forget what the sun looks like. Thanks to daylight savings time and the northern latitude, it is now pitch-black even when I leave work at 5. The night-owl in me likes being awake at night, but not when it's dark for 16 hours a day. I feel like I'm living in 30 Days of Night.

If only I could actually watch Josh Hartnett turn to ash in real life.....sigh.

On the bright side, I made friends with a seagull who taps on my window everyday at lunch time so I can feed him a cracker. I named him Seymour. Having flashbacks to reading Jonathan Livingston Seagull as a child, and experiencing few qualms about living vicariously through a winged scavenger. Find the sun, Seymour!
Suddenly Seymour is standing beside me...

That brings us just about up to the present time. All my major court submissions are in and I finally feel like I have cleared enough files off my desk to the point that my cubicle is no longer a fire hazard. At home, we have been cooking pretty regularly and trying new recipes from Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, which is pretty much to Italian food what Julia Child's books are to French food.

Meryl Streep, eat your heart out.

I mentioned it cursorily earlier, but househunting blows. For some reason, even though the rest of the country is in "PLEASE BUY MY HOUSE I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING" mode, the Seattle bubble hasn't seemed to have popped yet; at least not in sellers' minds. Even though all the data is saying the market isn't going to rebound anytime soon, whoever is selling this piece of shit thinks $400,000 is a fair price. While that may be an extreme example, houses up here are almost universally overpriced by like $30 to $50 thousand. It was fun to laugh at when we first started looking for houses, but now we just get depressed by the lack of reasonable options.

I'm going to try to be better about posting...but also staying in touch with everyone in less impersonal ways. Like calling or (MAYBE) visits. I miss you all.

Splice of life

Well Portland, Oregon and slow gin fizz,
If that ain't love then tell me what is.
-Loretta Lynn

If you can, picture Mardi Gras. Only take away the wanton drinking in the streets. And the shocking, hilarious costumes. And the parades. And the bitching music. And the New Orleans setting. Pretty much, just imagine ridiculous crowds super concentrated in one area, all watching the same thing. You have Seattle's SeaFair. I used to live in Pensacola, FL (home of the Blue Angels) so stunt flying isn't exactly a novelty for me. Also, Kev & I don't know anyone with a boat or $3 million lakefront property, so attending SeaFair this year would have meant squeezing onto about 6 square inches of public waterfront parks with the other million people with the same idea and lack of tangible wealth. So, instead of dealing with massive crowds and the first really rainy weekend since the Fourth of July, we decided to go hang out in Portland for the weekend. It's only about a 2.5 hour drive from Seattle, and both Kev and I have friends living there. Who are also big fans of beer. Beers with friends. Friends with beers. Friends friends friends. Beers beers beers.

While walking around Portland, I realized exactly what I miss so much about New Orleans. I've only lived in Seattle for just over 2 months now, but I've tried to make an effort to check out a lot of neighborhoods and different parts of town. Seattle has a lot going for it. Whether I'm exploring the the Puget Sound waterfront during my lunch break, stuck in traffic for an hour on my way to an evening soccer game or scoping the net for weekend activities, I find myself thinking "Jesus. I live in a big city". But it wasn't until visiting Portland that I figured out what Portland has that Seattle is missing: a homey street cafe culture. There are so many stretches of Portland with neighborhood bars and cafes with patios and outdoor seating, situated in the middle of funky neighborhoods with people walking about on their way to the grocery store or to hang out with friends after work. New Orleans has it in spades. And I really miss it. Seattle is just so big and the streets are so heavily trafficked and wide and noisy that I haven't found a district that's chill and friendly and funky and full of places to just kick back and have a drink with friends on a patio. Maybe I just haven't found the right neighborhood yet in Seattle. I will definitely keep looking, but that relaxed vibe was something you couldn't miss about Portland...and it will certainly keep me heading back that way in the future.

We drove down to Portland on Saturday morning and spent the afternoon and evening wandering around Portland, trying out four or five different watering holes around town. Naturally, I was impressed with the beer selection and quality in all locales. And the company couldn't have been better. Kev had some lawyery friends from law school that met up with us, and they were hilarious. I met a couple of guys while backpacking through Europe about four years ago who I've stayed in surprisingly good touch with over the years, and they both now live in Portland as well. They, being the avid beer connoisseurs and purveyors of lolz that I know them to be, did not disappoint in bringing the fun, even though we didn't get a lot of hang out time because Kev started feeling old or whatever and wanted to turn in just after midnight (love you, hun). I look forward to finishing our debate on the existence of Sasquatch at some point in the near future.

On Sunday, we got up early and began what can only be described as the longest possible route from Portland to Seattle without heading south. But, the circuitous route was justified because we went to the Elephant Garlic Festival in North Plains, Oregon! I don't know if there are two more beautiful, perfect creations of the almighty Big Bang than the elephant and the garlic. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be an elephant-figurine-collecting old lady in 30 years...my obsession is that permanent. and garlic...who couldn't love it? Forget Flava Flav...garlic is the flavor of love. And, unlike apparently every other woman on the planet, I have no desire to either be a vampire nor fuck one, so I have no problem with the pungent smell of garlic.

Anyway, while there were no ACTUAL elephants at the Elephant Garlic Festival (elephant garlic is actually just a species of garlic that grows in bulbs the size of a baby's head), the idea of splicing two of my favorite nouns was too much to pass up.

Heaven.


In the war against the Twilight phenomenon, it's time to pull out the big guns.


The festival featured garlic ice cream, which I REALLY wanted to try, but we saw a couple of people gag while sampling it, so we decided to focus our appetites on more pleasing to the palate, including: elephant garlic caesar salad, elephant ears, garlic parmesan fries, garlic roasted mashed potatoes, garlic butter greenbeans, garlic sesame chicken, and frozen nutty bars.

Before.


After. Man: 1 - Food: 0


This is my best "trumpeting elephant" impression. I've got the ears down, but I think it's more convincing with the accompanying sound.


The festival also had a hay-seated alcohol area which served surprisingly tasty garlic beer, hosted a charming rock-a-billy band, and offered a cautionary tale about the dangers of crack.


Fat and happy, we drove along the Oregon coast up into Washington on our way back to Seattle, stopping briefly in Astoria, Oregon, where Steven Spielberg's finest film was made: The Goonies.

What, like you didn't think Schindler's List was a fucking downer?


Foreground: Astoria. Background: The Bridge of the Gods.


Astoria was quite pretty, but gloomy even by PacNW standards. It was about another 3-4 hours from Astoria to Seattle, making the trip back about 7.5 hours all together. Checking out the coastline was definitely worth it, though. Oregon is a beautiful state...if they'd only get over that weird "you can't pump your own gas" law, it would be a pretty solid state.

This technically isn't a picture from our weekend in Portland, but i wanted to include it anyway because it made me happy. If I can't have sun when I want it, my boo gets me sunflowers.
Last week was our first anniversary ::awwwwwwwwwwww:: and Kev surprised me with a lovely bistro dinner and a gorgeous late-summer bouquet. Be jealous.


Stay tuned next week for a tirade on house-hunting in lovely metropolitan Seattle!

It rubs the lotion on its skin...

Greetings from the bi-polar Pacific Northwest.

I'd like to begin this post by commenting on how interesting it is that the climate change naysayers who were so annoyingly self-important this winter (the phrase "I had to shovel 3 inches of global warming outta my driveway" may have been thrown around at my last family reunion) are notoriously silent now that it's the hottest year on record...ever.

That said, I have no frame of reference for Seattle summers, but this one seems pretty bizarre. I dress for 2-3 seasons every day, accommodating a daily variance of about 30 degrees. Often the morning will open at a cloudy, gloomy 48-55 degrees, only to progress to the clear and sunny mid-80s by 5:00, which is the hottest part of the day up here. And it's freaking early August. I just don't understand it. I'm not complaining about the heat: far from it. But my metabolism is freaking the hell out. And my wardrobe, already thinly-stretched by the persistent cool weather, looks even less impressive when I have to make the transition from morning weather to afternoon weather, which means my 3 cardigans are on a pretty steady rotation. Considering I usually only busted them out in January and February in New Orleans, I'm concerned about their long term durability in this climate.

All the layers I've been wearing have left their mark: literally. I have an interesting sunburn pattern on the regularly exposed portions of my skin. Which pretty much means upper boobs and lower arms. Normally, summer is the time of year I even out the freakish sunburn patterns my pasty skin develops over the winter. This summer: not so much. Hence the title of this post. All I can do is cover myself in aloe vera and cocoa butter, and try to will away the melanoma. Sunscreen? Yeah, maybe I'll think of that someday. Until then...it rubs the lotion on its skin.

Seattle note: a LOT of people read on their Kindles/iPads on the bus commute. I've always liked the smell and feel of old, heavily used books; in fact, my favorite thing to do in a new city is seek out a used book store and pick out something crusty and weather-worn that I've always wanted to read. I think the greatest description of my own pretentious tendencies is when I look for a Latin American literature section, giving a store bonus points if it has any books in the original Spanish. Yes, I'm really, really white sometimes.

Anyway, with my nose stuck in the outdated paperbacks, I feel a little bit like the kid who brought brown bag lunches to school when everyone else had the bitchin power rangers lunchboxes with matching thermoses.


15 years later, and my heart aches with longing for the lunchtime adventures could have been...

As always, I digress. Aside from tales of nursing my scattered sunburns, my objective for this post was to share my opinions of my recent reads, with the hope of getting some feedback on other books I should check out. Jess, thanks for letting me poach your blog idea, even though I didn't ask you if I could. Friendship <3.

1. Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by John Krakauer
To be totally upfront, I'm not a religious person. While I respect the right for people to worship whatever they will, whether it be an omniscient deity or Krispy Kreme donuts, I'm generally cool with it. But I've always been put off by extremism. I think it comes from my time living in Pensacola, Florida, home of the longest running revival on the planet. Street preachers used to tell my mom (with her two young daughters in tow) that she was going straight to hell because she was taking us to McGuires Irish Pub for a burger and a boxty or two. Apparently fundamentalists frown on Guinness? Anyway, Krakauer's history of fundamentalist Mormonism (which he tries, somewhat earnestly, to distinguish from mainstream Mormonism) is told in tandem with the cold-blooded murder of a woman and her child by a pair of fundamentalist brothers. It's an unsettling and well written piece on non-fiction, and if nothing else, I think it pushes the point on how we define the line between rationalism and extremism. I'm paraphrasing Krakauer here, but in his opening chapter he asks something like "If one believes he can speak directly to god, when the voice of reason and the voice of god are at odds, the voice of god will always prevail". Take it or leave it, but I liked it...even though I had nightmares about being kidnapped by polygamists for a few weeks. Grade: B+

2. The Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien
I have been a Tolkien fan since my early teens. I bought this book when I was 17, and I've tried to read it about once or twice a year since then. I've never got further than 50 pages in. This time, I buckled down and got through it. The meticulous, detail-oriented side of me was enthralled. Even after reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy once a year since I was 15, and watching the movies almost every time they come on TNT, not to mention my perverse marathons of the Special Edition films (including all 6 discs of special features - which, to be fair, I only delve into when I'm sick and or insomi-addled)...I was still surprised by how fully I got drawn into the story and how much it reads like an authentic mythology. Edith Hamilton, eat your heart out. The themes are eternal: greed for power, lust for wealth, the hope of redemption by faith, the weakness and strength that humanity can exhibit when grappling with its own mortality...it's pretty intriguing stuff, if you can keep the names and kingdoms straight long enough to get at the heart of it. But therein lies the book's weakness: there's a reason a huge nerd like me took 7 years and as many tries to get through it. It's too much. There are too many names, too many places, too many times is the world (or a particular civilization) destroyed and then rebuilt for the reader to connect deeply with many of the characters or their stories. And at times it feels haphazard in a way that posthumously-published books often can. But still a good read if you're a completist (like me). Overall grade: B-

3. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer
I actually have read this book before. I was a huge fan of Foer's first work, Everything is Illuminated. As his sophomore effort, EL&IC develops Foer's multi-generational narrative style (reminiscent of Zadie Smith), and ties it into a heartbreaking story of a national tragedy felt on a personal level. It's the story of a precocious young boy whose father dies in the attacks on the World Trade Center. It's not told in a campy way that feels like it's capitalizing on tragedy or carries a political subtext of whatever variety. The primary characters seem off-putting at first. But Foer has this ability to develop empathy between the character and the reader through his descriptions of the most seemingly mundane of things, like watching birds fly past a window. I'm always dazzled by Foer's ability to make me care about the story, even when the story itself doesn't seem that exciting at first glance. I'd recommend it if you don't mind taking highway 1/highway 101 up the California coast instead of I-5. If you have ADD and like to blaze through stories to find out the ending as fast as possible, you probably won't like this book. If you like the slow, windy ride and don't mind taking the time to appreciate the little details, this book is probably more your style. Overall grade: A-

Based on my pretentious reviews, if you have any suggestions you'd think I'd like, they would be much appreciated. I'm anxious to try out Third Place bookstore. So holler at me. Hope all is well out there. Until next time,
-A-bear

America: the good, the bad, and the ugly reality tv stars

I realize it's been a while since I last updated my blog. I know my random musings are like sweet, sweet crack to you all, but what can I say? I like being withholding.

So in the last few weeks, there have been a few noticeable highlights. First, K's cousin's wife just had a baby. Surprisingly, it didn't look like a prune-fingered ball of flesh with the face of a seasoned UFC fighter, like most newborns. Baby Alex is a good-looking kid.

I'd include a picture of Kev & I holding him in what looks like an Arkansan senior prom picture here, but all the pictures are on a Kodak gallery and I don't want to pay for using them.

Spare me your "glimpse of the future" jokes, please. Even though he's a cute kid, holding baby Alex was terrifying. It's like I was looking at the manifestation of all the responsibilities I will spend the next 5 years desperately trying to shirk. And he has the tendency to have very loud BMs as soon as he's placed in my barely-capable arms. I am a woman of many hats, and apparently one of them is instant tactile infant laxative.

Secondly, another of K's cousins came into town for the 4th of July to pick up a German Shepherd puppy. I grew up with a German Shepherd, so I'm pretty much a sucker for the breed. I spent a good part of my long weekend gushing over little Dexter in a sick, sick, obsessive way. I am now going through cute puppy withdrawal. This feeling, however, in no way tempers my hatred for the ridiculous blog I haz a hotdog. We've all seen the LOLcats. This website is only slightly more heinous. It's not only that it's a copycat (copydog?) website, but it's just far less witty. Not that lolcats is an unassailable bastion of scathing intellect, but the Dog website features thought-bubbles of text that approach a level of groan-ability previously only reached in Public Service Announcements catering to "jive-talkin' kids from 'da streets". Anyway, enough hatred on that front...

In celebration of America's birth (or at least the signing of a document over a decade before we had an independent functioning government), we had planned on watching the fireworks over the bay. I know, other 49 states, you're going through a terrible heatwave and it's so hot and blah blah blah. But on the 4th of July it was 45 degrees and rainy. I'm used to swimming in the gulf and getting sunburned this time of year, not trembling in a semi-waterproof hoodie. Were it not for the puppy and the good company of Kev's family, I would have had a very mopey Fourth of July indeed.


God Bless America. And Germany (thx for the puppy, Deutschland).

Last but not least, we've recently picked up watching several reality tv shows, including America's Got Talent and Top Shot (History Channel). I was initially fascinated by the good, the bad, and the ugly on Talent, but this was the first week in which America actually voted. And wow, what a sorry set of results. By far, the most obvious display of shitty voting en masse was the advancement of Christina and Ally, a pair of sisters with lung disease who sing crossover country tunes served up with a generous helping of background vocals. Call me heartless, but the show isn't "America's Got Cystic Fibrosis" or "America's Got Mediocre Karaoke Performances". If it were, this pair totally should have moved on to the next round. I was dismayed at the results, but dear Kev reminded me that the type of people who watch (and more importantly, vote in) this show are either the same demographic as the pair (13- 16-year old white girls in middle America) or their mothers. For part two in this week's "I Hate Your Blog" series, check out this blog post by one of their devotees.

That's all for now. Keep it real and absorb some mad heat for me!

-A-bear

Washington Wine Country: Better than the $5.00 price tag would lead you to believe

"I want to live where soul meets body/ and let the sun wrap its arms around me/ and bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing/ and feel what it's like to be new"



Just as a heads up, my camera is working again...so be prepared for a photosplosion.

For those of you not meticulously charting the unseasonably cold weather patterns of the Northwest this month (I know your obsessive tendencies, Eva), it's been pretty frakkin cold. And depressing.

A rare moment of sunshine on the Seattle waterfront:



So this weekend, the b/f surprised me with a trip to sunny Yakima in central Washington, which is about 2-3 hours from Seattle and one of Washington's agricultural centers. I was initially prepared to look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were, due to the high probability of a vacation interfering with obsessively watching the World Cup, but once the key enabler in my life conceded that yes, we could spend as much time as I wanted in bars watching matches (including pre- and post-coverage), I was ready for sun and soccer and spirits. You know that scene in Pulp Fiction where John Travolta stabs Uma Thurman in the heart with a shot of adrenaline? This weekend was pretty much my boyfriend stabbing me in the heart...with a shot of Vitamin D! (This is what love looks like.)

The weekend turned out to be quite beautiful. My mood changed immediately upon crossing the mountains and entering the sunny foothills of the Cascades:



After driving in on Friday night and checking into the Cedar Inn & Suites (be sure to check out the prime stock images of tablecloths, grapes and wine of indeterminate quality in the photo gallery), we got some great Mexican food (apparently you can find awesome Mexican food in a town full of migrant workers -- who knew?).

Eating on a patio...unheard of in cold, rainy Seattle throughout the preceding month:



After watching the US national team get spanked by Ghana (like I said...no aggression in the first half), we drowned our deflated patriotism in lovely domestic wines. This vineyard had an excellent Malbec (I'm a total snob for most things Argentine).









We had a wine and fresh cherry picnic outside on the gorgeous grounds, where we met some ducks and a dog that Kevin was totally convinced was in love with him...until he ran out of food.





At the next winery, we may or may not have purchased a case of wine. Don't judge me.

Here's a picture of the Enabler-in-Chief carrying off the weekend's trophy of imbibery. And looking both ways to cross the street. Wouldn't want anyone running over the wine.


Sunday was equally fantastic. We went back to the Mexican restaurant and drank fresh fruit margaritas while watching the Argentina v. Mexico game on Univision with the entire Mexican waitstaff and a more than slightly hammered English dude pissed off about his country's loss to Germany that morning. Considering the limey was probably still carrying a grudge over the Falklands War, I was definitely the only one cheering for Argentina, but tried not to gloat too much when Mexico went down like a sorority girl at a Cinco de Mayo party.

On the way home, we stopped at this place that had captured my eye on our first drive up to Seattle in January. In the winter, the giant sign said "FRUIT ANTIQUES". I guess in the summer, the FRUIT becomes a better selling point.











Yes, we did buy three kinds of honey. In case you want any for your tea.


"No thanks, Turkish. I'm sweet enough."

Product placement of the day: ROGUE SPRUCE GIN You'll love it, or you'll give me whatever you don't finish.

And with that, I'm just about done. We're making, or should I say "Grill Master K" is making, buffalo burgers and a refreshing spruce gin & tonic for dinner. All in all, it's been a good week.