Matt, Esquire of hip (one of the first color prints I made--NOT photoshop, not Bartells, and apparently, not in focus on my scanner..)

My top 3 Radio Picks

3. KEXP
2. NPR
1. Tom Shane's awesome new radio commercials!!! You know, the ones where they try to give him a personality, and make him seem more accessible and friendly to the commoner...

"Hey, Tom, I.."

"Ya, mhmm, go ahead"

"Ya, uh, anyways, I want to buy my mom a big fat diamond ring with all the extra cash I made from slingin' rock, so I was..."

"Ya, Tom here, still here, very interesting, go on."

"Ok, so, what should I do? Do you think that's a good idea? To get her a big piece of bling like JLo, for mothers day maybe? Do you guys, like, sell diamonds?"

"Ya, Tom Shane here. Mmhmm, funny you should ask that, my, uh, homee, because we here at Tom Shane Jewelers (here's the part where he actually gets some voice inflection going on) Do sell quality diamonds at a fair price, because there is no middleman, like those other big chains. (Back to normal monotone voice) So, we feel that hooking up your old lady for mothers day is a fabulous idea. So get out of your 'crib' and come see us at the corner of 4th and stewart. Thank you, that is all. I'm Tom Shane."

"ya, wow tom, that's such a great idea, I would have never thought of it myself. Thanks for being so personal and in touch with today's culture. Its like there's no middleman."

But then, instead of feeling sorry for myself...

My roommate, Elaina, ended up coming home, which is rare. And then I proposed going on a lovely Sunday afternoon bike ride, which she accepted with enthusiasm--so off we went on an outing, which is ever rarer.

We rode down to the fruit stand about a mile from our house, and hunted for pumpkins while dreaming of making a garden of our small back porch. We went around sniffing fresh fruit, while she stuffed plump berries in her mouth, encouraging me to do the same. But alas, being the prude I am, I felt so guilty sneaking a grape into my parched little mouth that I resisted further fruit enticements from the Devil (aka-my roommate). I was certain God would strike me down under a mountain of melons--the only fair punishment for as horrendous a crime as 'grape sneakery'.

Of course after all this biking and fruiting, nothing is as appealing as taking advantage of Starbucks' "yes, we'll give you anything you want even if you're totally ripping us off because we have to kiss your ass because were a multimillion dollar corporation who thrives off idiots that do pay us 5$ for a latte". And so we set off for free water, free pastry and frappacino samples, free restrooms, fluffy stuffed chairs and the cool, comfortable breeze of air conditioning. Hooray for capitalism that affords us all these free amenities. Its like stealing from a hotel.

Though we soon tired of this indoor splendor, and opted again for the free amenities of the outdoors. I showed her my secret dock on Lake Boren. We regretted our lack of forethought to bring swimsuits to indulge in the last of the 75 degree weather, and so bid our last swimming chance farewell. I'm sure next August the sun will come back, if were lucky.

We decided to stretch our adventure on, and headed toward the 'wood of abandoned vehicles', to contemplate which version of our made up horror stories could have been responsible for the car graveyard buried deep in the forest.

We continued on to try our hand at mountain biking. We wound down trails, through gravel, rocks, and tree roots to find the mystical "windsong" named by dusty signs pointing onward. We made it a number of miles without too many major disasters, to a great stair. We threw our bikes and packs onto our shoulders and heaved up the steep mountain, climbing each narrow stair with great care while wondering what mystery lay at the top. Finally, when I thought I could no longer climb, we made it to the top to glimpse all the glory of this fabled "Woodsong". And all it was was a crappy white trash neighborhood. All that way for nothing. Oh well, I'm sure our calves are better for it. But now we found ourselves a bit lost, and struggled a few miles to make it back home.

But all in all, it was great fun, all 4 hours of it. I don't think I could stand the next day (or better yet, sit).

Headache Nostalgia

Today I have a headache, and I am lonely because it is Sunday. I often get lonely on Sundays because they are always beautiful and relaxing, and so I feel that I should be doing something to celebrate that--but I don't. Matt always gets the whip cracked at his toes to be the official Sunday crack-caffeine dealer to weary and overly exuberant church goers alike, who find that the best way to spend a Sunday is in a Starbucks. Sitting in the sunshine of a breezy, Sunday afternoon tends to get lonely when you're consistently denied the company of your loved ones. I miss him.

And for some reason, I always seem to have a headache on Sundays (not hangover, headache--geez). So I can never seem to find the energy to go out on a bike ride or a hike. Ah, woe is me.

So instead, I get out my photographs, again, and go through each one, remembering each phase of life with a sense of lonely nostalgia. So I thought I'd share a few of those back-logged photos. If anyone really knew how often I looked through all my photographs, one might think me a bit of a loser (go get a life, take some advil, and get out and shoot some more!), or perhaps just a narcissist.

Anyhow, this next set is from last year when I worked at the Redmond Boys and Girls Club. These are some of my favorite kids. I'm sure few of them would remember me now, but they had a tremendous impact on me, and I often miss them.

Kyle

Kyle-in his normal state

Collin

Josh

Nick

Michael

Jenna

Jonathan

Jacob

Alana

Pic of the day

The "i need a haircut" pic-o-the-day

Happy Birthday to my favorite sister, Emery (sept. 20)--you're too old, go back.

Painting and Painting and ....

Painting. Weve been painting the house non-stop. I start school today. Just one class. Astronomy. What's your sign? (uh, thats a joke). My baby sister's bday is the 20th. I'll write more when my hands are no longer covered in paint.

On my Summer Vacation, I.... The longest vacation tale you've probably ever chosen not to read....

Warning: This is a really long post, so if you'd rather have an explanation by picture, scroll down to the end of this.

So, I have added a ridiculous amount of photos from our little summer trip, so enjoy. Though, somehow, through the publishing process they decided to go crazy and get all out of order, so they don't make a lot of sense it you are somewhat attempting a chronological view.

We took Matt's carriage (or civic, whatever), down along the coast, along the last of the sunshine. Our first stop was in old Astoria--home to the 'Fighting Fishermen'. Not to mention, the goonies house, kindergarten cop school, and of course who could forget, teenage mutant ninja turtles movies. The houses are old and haunted, that's why they film so many movies there. I once went there when I was 14 to take a tour of a haunted house--in which I found 2 things; a coffee table made from a coffin topped with glass containing a skeleton asleep inside it, and a fainting couch. A fainting couch was something set in the middle landing of a stairway for women to pass out on during their journey to the top of the steps due to the tightness of their suffocating corsets (they required a 16 inch waist--something close to the size of a mans shirt collar). From these two things I made two assessments; the skeleton in the glass coffin must belong to that of a corsetted woman found dead on the fainting couch. And secondly, I wanted that table--or one just like it.

But this time we only went to the top of the Astoria Tower, which is unfortunately not haunted, but does contain 168 steps to the top (which is evil enough). We also discovered one can legally toss little wooden planes from the top without any concern for possibly hitting pedestrians below right in the eye. Thank goodness for privitization of government property--or wait, something like that. Anyhow, we indeed practiced our rights with a fleet of decorated fighter jets.

We then continued on to white trash Seaside, where, as I mentioned below in the photos, the only true values celebrated are drinking, video game arcades, and Lewis and Clark. Though, we did enjoy playing 4$ worth of skee ball in the arcade, and then greedily spending all our tickets won on 4 reeses pieces, a twizzler, and 1 army man--instead of donating them to some poor child. We also spent a fair amount of time seeking out (to Matt's secret chagrin) Sea Foam. Sea Foam is a pure sugar substance that looks like expandable foam from Home Depot, dipped in milk chocolate. It's truly disgusting, but I must indulge my every whim of childhood summer vacation sentimentality ("oh oh, Matt, when I was here as a kid, my Dad ALWAYS got me SEA FOAM! Pleeeeaaase?").

Of course we also spent plenty of time soaking up what's left of the fading summer sun and barely warm weather--until the Northwest clouds decided they'd had enough of the Sun parading about and quickly resumed their usual duties of reigning supreme. But at least we got a day.

In the evening we attempted to find real food, but no matter what we ate, it always tasted like badly cooked fish (which is a very bad thing when it is supposed to be beef).

The next day we awoke to find out that one of the thousands of car owners that had taken over the entire town with their jet-plane-engined 50's cars (they were having a car show) seemed to have siphened the coolant out of our car, or something. Maybe they don't like rice rockets (sorry Matt). Whatever the case, we spent the morning trying to fix it. As we were waiting for the over-heated thing to cool, we found a fantastic bagel city, with high ceilings and thickly stacked bagel sandwiches, which calmed our souls and soothed our spirits, as bagels tend to do. When we came back to the car, somehow, miraculously, it had fixed itself (and ran another 275 straight miles for our trip home on just water). strange. I think really it was a sly trick of the bagel people to get us to spend money in their shop--they do it to all the tourists.

Later we made it to Cannon beach. We first went to Ecola State Park and marveled at the beauty of The Northwest Coast line, particularly Oregon's. Everything is sharp and jagged, tall rocks jutting out of the sea floor. Then it is soft and graceful, light colored sand and soft leaves.

We also went into town, to be greeted only with gallery after gallery filled with bad overpriced art. Though we did find a fantastic pub with a nice waiter. The light was soft inside, and it was slightly smoky--just enough to make you want to smoke, but not enough to make you squint your eyes. It was all made of wood, and I love things made of wood. I like the way you can squeeze wood and feel its soft surface give slightly. I liked sitting there looking at Matt, watching his face framed by the dusky beach light, watching him talk with his hands, and then tucking them under his legs and scrunching up his shoulders as he listens to me. I liked trying to make him laugh, but letting him do a much better job of it. And I certainly liked stealing his yummy halibut when he was gazing out the window, sipping his beer.

Later we watched A.I., and then Donnie Brasco, which made us want to cry for the sake of Al Pacino. So cute in his ruffley plaid jacket and mobster glasses.

Then we left to visit the largest Sitka Spruce in the entire country. It was pretty big. We celebrated by running around through the surrounding forest, and wondering what the other trees thought of the King Spruce's size. Are they jealous? Or do they just think he's fat and old?

Finally, we left for Portland, where we actually researched things ahead of time enough to have an agenda. We went first up to the Hawthorne district to people watch and have some mildly tasty, uh, Pan-Asian cuisine in a restaurant with a soothing atmosphere. We also did a bit of exploring around other districts. But mostly we marveled at the old theater that shows old movies while you eat pizza and drink beer.

We've decided Portland is just like Seattle--every district and city having an equivalent, but with the major distinction being that Portland is the softer, gentler, more relaxed version. My roommate says people are not as hip and pretentious, and everyone is friendlier. She says they don't seem to care about how cool their band is, and they don't care to brag about what show they saw that was cooler than the show you saw, like they do in Seattle. Matt thinks that Portland is the older, wisened Seattle. He says Seattle is the young,crazy punk kid who thinks he's hard, and that Portland has already been there, and is now much more mature and just sits, gently shaking her head. I think it's because they are all a bunch of hippies. I think Seattle is the old dirty punk guy that still thinks he's cool, and Portland is the quiet, onlooking younger brother aspiring to to the same thing, but is never quite as cool. Matt and I marveled about how anything must get done in that city where the only inhabitants are a bunch of dirty hippies. Maybe the rich capitalists live under the steel bridge, and only come out to make Portland's strict laws that are inscribed on every sign, window, park bench, and sidewalk. In any case, it is a much more relaxing city than Seattle.

We then visited Powells City of Books. When they say City, they didn't mean "really big bookstore", they really meant CITY. It's the largest bookstore I've ever been in, complete with a cafe full of middle-aged techie hippies writing books about trees and manifestos against Bush on their laptops. The wooden bookshelves in Powells reach up to the tall ceilings and stretch across a city block, it seems. We had a great time perusing the shelves and catching tails of conversations of young hippy kids wooing the likes of other young hippy kids with phrases like "OMG, don't you just loooove Frida? Man, she's just so, so...man,...OMG, Friiida. Amazing." I also enjoyed watching Matt lust over a 2 foot by 4 foot dictionary for 500$ that he wants to keep on a pedestal. I told him i'll never buy him a giant dictionary to keep opened to the word "deciduous" in the middle of his living room. How the hell will I see the TV?

We meant to go out and do that necessary 20 something bar thing, but decided to watch the Disney movie 'Holes' instead. Good choice, I say.

The next day we went to visit Imago Dei community church. We've been wanting to go there for a long time, and it was wonderful. The building is a beautiful, old, Spanish style church set amid an old neighborhood, hugged by fragrant rose gardens. It was young, hip, and for social justice and all that, but I think our music is better. Our author of the month (Don Miller, Blue like Jazz) goes there, and talks it up quite a bit. So we thought we'd visit. Mostly just because were obsessed with this guy and we wanted to stalk him, and get an autograph, and a picture, and a fan club pin, and, and, and, a warrant for our arrests for stalking this guy, and... But we never did find him, how unlucky.

We then made trek out to a strange 60's strip mall suburb to visit Xenos cafe, to stock up on ideas for our own place. The town seemed a million miles away from a city, and was full of crazy homeless people milling about outside. Though everything was strangely peaceful. The leaves on the trees were just about to turn yellow and orange, and it seemed strangely warm and cool outside, the way an Indian summer might feel. We sat outside under the late sun and light green leaves, and drank mango jet tea. I watched the group of homeless people sit around. They talked, and yelled and cursed, and listened to each others thoughts. They smoked, and rode bikes. Women tugged at their worn dresses like provocative children. They reminded me of adolescent kids, laughing and flirting, learning their bodies and their fears--but with worn faces and haggard hands, and the experience of sex and violence, drink, and the mental anguish of suffered years. They were dirty, they needed to shave. So was I. I wondered, really, what made them so different. I wanted to go over to hang out with them. I wondered if I could really do it, I wondered if I could treat them like regular people. I wondered how they would treat me. I was sad that I couldn't do it, because if you're a woman, you just can't.

We left, sad and happy, and satisfied and longing. Full of each other, and blessed.

going up to the top of the Astoria Tower--the first stop on our trip. This is where I also discovered Romano's Italian Sodas in the gift shop, which is the only thing i will now drink. I purchased a lifetime supply. I highly recommend doing so yourself.

poor jet fighting form

You're allowed to chuck planes from the top. So we took a while to decorate our fighter jets, and then climbed to the top to throw them off and see who's could go the furthest. Mine won by a landslide, obviously--look at that form.

Going up to the top of the Astoria tower--I obviously beat him to the top

This was our second stop--Seaside, Oregon. A little beach town where drinking, video game arcades, and Lewis and Clark are the most celebrated aspects of living. Matt drank out of this, by the way.

My new car. They were having this big car show--which I guess is cool if you're into being awaken from peaceful sleep at 6 am by glass packs and giant engines

This is at Ecola State Park, right between Seaside and Cannon Beach.

YYAY

A little more GQ than the next..this is at Ecola state park

grrr...(more in that I just woke up sorta way, or that 'my name is tom sawyer sorta way)

meow

I'm Lewis and he's Clark (haha, right? This is where Lewis and CLark ended their great Indian scalping trip--in lovely Seaside, Oregon (pronounced "Ore-gun" for my east coast friends who think it's really called "Ore-u-gon"--please quit calling it that--it makes you sound like a redneck tourist from Flar-i-da)

Matt and his imaginary friend Danelle

Dear east coasters, this is a sunset at the beach, not a sunrise. nice.

Not really sure what this is, but Matt suggested (of course after I'd been standing there focusing for a while) that it's probably not a good idea to stand barefoot in the puddle that strage thing is making, because I might mutate and gain better secret powers than him.

Ecola State park

Blondie

Me and my boyfriend

I think these next few are by Matt. This is down at Cannon Beach at Haystack Rock--guess which one it is.

Cannon Beach, where the rich people go

looking good

ME!

CB with normal film

CB with my secret special fun technique that makes it seem more like your gazing out at the ocean while you're seasick.

CB

Needle in the haystack

cb

CB

CB

CB

CB

CB

Last photo of the hottest beach attraction

Matt double-fisting it in a strangely ill-proportioned photo at our super yummy dinner in a Cannon Beach pub. (ok, mine is the girly light colored beer).

Farewell, cold beach

1