news flash

deep throat outed himself. It was some guy I've never heard of. Kind of anti-climatic.

now back to our regularly scheduled navel gazing. . .

Sexy

E and F were in town this weekend. My stomach still aches from all the laughter.

On Saturday morning, E, F, A, and I went out for brunch. Pambiche=delicious, delicious Cuban food. When F and I arrived late, A announced that she had a crush on our server. He was hot and had a lovely accent.

Throughout the meal, he was especially attentive to me. He asked only me if I had questions about the menu. [Maybe I just looked the least worldly.] He crouched down beside me as he took the table's orders. We kept making eye contact.

My dining companions were much amused by this turn of events. They wanted me to leave my number. F wrote it on a slip of paper, along with llamame, call me. After a bit of protest, I was convinced.

I left for the ladies' room. When I returned, the mood at the table had shifted. The bill had come. On it, the server's name was listed as 'Sexy.'

That is not sexy. I did not leave my number.

secrets

The internet works at work again. I am very happy. So many opportunities for timewasting.

This might be my new favorite website.

crash!

I collided with a door today. I was driving a forklift. I survived. The forklift survived. The door: not so much. I nearly hit a truck moments later, but managed to avoid it.

I was worried about the boss's reaction, as the organization is super strapped for cash and wouldn't welcome an emergency door repair bill. It was fine. She told me stories of a man who used to regularly punch holes in walls and frequently tore doors from their frames while forklift driving.

"He's the only person I've ever written up. I even started to think about firing him," She told me.

It is time to be done with working here. Four days left.

apparently, not all boys are dumb

I had a date today. I have no additional rules to add to the list of ways boys should not act on dates.
A is thoughtful and well read and attractive.
Life is good.

the amazing adventures of waterwoman

I'm teaching myself to breathe seawater.

Or at least that's what I tell myself as I squirt 4oz. of homemade saline solution (water+salt+baking soda) up each nostril once a day. It's much easier to bear if I think it might turn me into a superhero. Apparently, the hope of having sinuses that fuction like a normal person's isn't enough.

I went to the allergist on Tuesday. In addition to discovering that the various allergy drugs that my primary care doctor has been prescribing me are "not the good kind of allergy medications - some of these actually make symptoms worse" [don't take Flonase!], I learned that I have mild allergies to a few types of fall pollinating weeds, a soil mold, and a water mold. I am to avoid houseplants, which will benefit all concerned. I usually kill them quickly.

The housemates and I worked out a series of story arcs (submarines in distress, the Chunnel, sunken treasure, off shore oil rigs) for my TV show once I develop my ability to breathe seawater and, subsequently, become a superhero.

Please don't tell my nemesis about the houseplant allergy.
Houseplants are my kryptonite.

two movie sunday

A boy friendster messaged me a few days back. This happens occassionally. Usually their entire message is "hi. how's it going?" and when I click on their profile I discover that they have terrible taste in everything. I don't respond.

This boy was different. His message responded to the things in my profile - specifically my love of crafts and grammar. I clicked on his profile and discovered that his taste is quite good. He likes Guns, Germs and Steel. He likes Memento. He likes Shawshank Redemption. He likes Salman Rushdie. He likes Chocolat. He likes Y tu mama tambien. He likes Lost in Translation, but I'm willing to overlook that. He's an engineer. He's from Delhi. He seems interesting.

So we're going to the movies on Sunday. I'm going to see the new star wars early Sunday afternoon with my Sunday school charges and something else with this fellow later in the day.

I like movies. I will like Sunday.

nearing the end

I gave two weeks' notice today.
Life is good.

Somali DJ

I try to be a good boss. I let the interns I supervise choose the radio station. Usually that results in a dominant person choosing a station and the rest of us suffering through its painfully short playlist for the next few weeks. I never want to hear "Hey Ya" or that redneck woman song ever again.

Right now, the daily DJ is a Somali refugee. She loves music. When the radio isn't on, she sings to herself. She has a lovely voice.

Her radio choices fascinate me. Not being of this culture, she hasn't figured out all that music symbolizes, that young people don't publicly listen to lite rock, black people rarely dance along to country music, etc. etc. She isn't picky - all she wants is music. She switches stations every few hours. This week we've listened to the hiphop station, lite rock, alternative music of the '90s, classic rock, "adult contemporary," country, and classical. It's quite refreshing.

and she teaches me a Somali word each day. Today's word is nanyo, tomato.

Serbs can't be all bad, can they?

It's looking more and more likely that I'll be spending the next two years in Serbia or the Serb part of Bosnia working with old ladies who hate war and patriarchy or college students who love trees and rivers.

My primary concern right now is my own prejudices and ignorance. Most of my knowledge of the Serbs comes from decade-old news reports and other accounts of the ethnic conflict during Yugoslavia's disentigration. In all of that, Serbs, especially Bosnian Serbs, are the bad guys. They raped and murdered and pillaged. And I might be living and working with them.

So I'm trying to find a book, movie, etc. that can reassure me that Serbs are not all bad guys. I went to the library in search of such things yesterday and was not too successful. Everything about Serbia is about the war. All of it is about how the Serbs were bad, their collective guilt, etc., etc., etc. I did find a book about how the Serbs really aren't responsible at all for the massacre of Bosnian Muslims. That isn't what I'm after either.

I just need to find something about how Serbs love their mothers and don't kick puppies too often. Something that will reassure me that I can live amongst them, successfully find some friends. I've decided that fiction might be most promising. I put a collection of Serbian short stories on hold.

drugs and booze

A quote from The Alcoholic Republic: An American Tradition, the fascinating book that I'm reading. It's part of a passage about why certain drugs are abused in specific societies, why Americans were drunkards while Chinese were addicted to opium:

The reason seams clear in the light of a 1954 study that contrasted the use of marijuana and distilled spirits in a province in India. There, the priestly caste smoked cannabis, which they praised as a promoter of contemplation, an aid to insight, a stimulant to thought, and a help to attaining inner peace. Spirits they condemned for producing violence and sexual promiscuity. The warrior caste, on the contrary, drank distilled liquor, which they heralded as a reviver of sagging spirits, an invigorator of sexual desire, a stimulant for the brave warrior, and the promoter of a more zealous, active life. Marijuana they condemned for producing apathy and lethargy. In other words, a group's preferences for a particular drug and appreciation of its properties were determined by the group's ideology, values, and psychological set. The caste that valued aggressive behavior drank alcohol.

I find this idea very intriguing. I've often wondered about the absurdity of this country's drug laws. Why is alcohol legal and marijuana banned? Maybe it's because the powers that be value aggression and not contemplation. I think it's too tidy of a theory, but it's compelling. . . until I apply it to myself. I much prefer the alcohol to the marijuana. It doesn't stem from some secret desire for aggression and promiscuity, or maybe one that is too sublimated for me to recognize it. Pot doesn't do anything to me. Maybe I'm already contemplative enough.

So when favored by a society, alcohol denotes valuing aggressiveness, but when favored by an individual it is a sign of one who is already at peace.

I don't think theorizing works like that.

more rules

My regular readership is aware that there are rules that must be followed when one is on a first date if my affections are desired. After a date this evening, an addendum has been created:

18. Do not discuss your mental illness, especially if it is so severe that you are unable to work and are are applying for SSDI.
19. Do not be the ubernerd. I do like my boys nerdy, but a boy may have at most one of the following characteristics:
- a love of physics, so much so that he does physics problems for fun
- a devotion to science fiction and fantasy novels
- a social calendar in which rennaissance festivals and society for creative anarchronism shindigs are among the highlights
- a habit of listening to progrock for at least 3 hours a day
20. Do not talk about cock rings.
21. Have something planned for us to do. Wandering around window shopping and stopping for coffee does not a good date make. There must be activity, such as a movie (cliche, but anything's progress), that will provide a break from conversation for a bit and provide us with a new topic to discuss.

I now feel like I have proof that I can engage anyone in interesting conversation for a few hours. I think that's a great skill.

I handled the end of the date gracefully. I am very proud of myself for that. When he asked to see me again, I told him of how I'm not looking for a relationship right now. I'm leaving Portland in 2 months. It was direct and predominantly true. He was quite understanding. We might hang out as friends. . . or we might not.

free comic book day!

I met Craig Thompson today. He's part of my male harem of imaginary boyfriends (Johnny, Jon, Ira, and Barack, are the other current members). He's the author of one of my favorite books. He lives in Portland and was at the local comic book store for free comic book day. I went to pick up some comics for the brother.

I almost didn't talk to Craig who was seated at a table with a bunch of other comic artists, signing things. So intimidated I was. A was with me. I asked her what to say to him & she recommended, "I really like your book." So that's what I said, simple and effective. I told him that I liked it, that my brother told me to read it. I was a bit tongue-tied and flustered, while he was gracious and conversationally skilled. He asked about my brother, where he lives, why I was picking up free comic books for him. I explained that Grinnell, IA has no comic book stores. He asked if I was from there. He wondered why the brother would leave the metropolis of Seattle for life in a tiny Iowa town.

And we talked about bikes. I explained that my favorite panel of his is from Carnet de Voyage, a travelogue of his journeys through Spain, Morocco, & France. He's in Morocco and he's homesick. He's wandering the street and thinking, 'I wish I was in Portland riding my crappy blue bike.' I can sympathize with such homesickness and I have a crappy blue bike. Is further proof necessary that we are soulmates? Craig no longer has a blue bike. It finally broke. He now has a green bike that works much better.

So Craig is not so imaginary anymore, although he is not my boyfriend. He eyes are much prettier in person than they are when he draws them.

wedding planners

F called me on Tuesday saying she'd be flying into PDX on Thursday. Surprise visit from the best friend- fabulous.

We lay in my bed last night, giggling, and thinking up those ideas that seem brilliant late at night after some alcohol has been consumed. These ideas revolved around weddings. F enjoys thinking up schemes for her no-date-in-sight wedding. I've been exploring ministry as a career. Hence, I could perform her ceremony. And then we talked about theme weddings: Star Wars, Harry Potter, Sesame Street. And then we started writing the ministers' script for such things: as Luke loved Leia, may you love each other, except not in an incestuous sort of way.

maybe you had to be there.


The new fellow has called me 4 times this week, a bit much I think. The most recent call was to let me know that it is expected to rain on Saturday - when we have a date. I suppose that's thoughtful, but I am capable of reading the weather map in the morning newspaper.

and my obstacle is. . .

I spent last night walking through a park, drinking excellent root beer, and playing The Transformation Game with A. The game was really interesting. It's something that I might have written off as too new-agey, but I'm trying to be open to such things. In palying the game, you identify an issue that you're dealing with and as you play the game you are given 'guardian angels,' deal with pain, and progress up maslow's hierarchy to reach spiritual fulfillment (not self-actualization). It gave me some to think about. I kept accumulating 'service' tokens, but didn't get many 'awareness' ones and interesting things came out of my 'unconscious envelope.'

The question that I used was 'how I can I leave PDX and transition gracefully into what comes next over the next few months?'

At the end of the game, you pick a few cards to guide you on your next steps in dealing with the issue. My major obstacle will be my sexuality. Ominous. Most of the obstacles in the game are things like resentment, complaining, jealously, things that are unequivocally bad. I'm not used to thinking about sexuality as a bad thing, an obstacle. Curious. The game also said I will be able to overcome it through initiative.

In possibly related news, when I got home there was a message scribbled on my quarter of the kitchen whiteboard. B had called, which is good. It doesn't look like he left his phone number, which is bad, very bad. I don't have his number. I can't call him back.

Maybe he'll call again. Maybe I'll see him at church on Sunday. Maybe I should take initiative, as is suggested by the game, but I don't see how I can track down a phone number of someone with a supercommon first name, whose last name I don't know, and with whom I share no mutual friends.

not so celibate

T stopped by briefly last night. It was lovely to see her. During our brief, chocolate-covered-raspberry-fueled conversation, we discussed boys. Of course. She spoke of how she's choosing celibacy right now, how boys are too much trouble. I concurred. It sounds like a very sensible plan. I pondered adopting it for myself.

And then I didn't. This morning, B, a man at church that I met a few months back, that I'm vaguely interested in (crush would be too strong a word), asked if I would like to go on a date with him. I said I would like to. He suggested ice cream. He has my phone number. He will call.

Two concerns: he's old (31!). He doesn't know that I'm significantly younger.
And he has the same name as He Who Shall Not Be Named. It's slightly unnerving. I've mocked E for the name of her crush-object (it's B as well). Maybe the name will be redeemed for me.

Or maybe not.

menu

I'm having my birthday party tomorrow evening. A few folks will be coming over for dessert & pinata smashing. It should be fun.

I've put more time than is necessary into making the desserts. The aspiring cooking show host in me really came out.

Much of this afternoon was devoted to making a double recipe of:

Raspberry Truffles
(recipe from WS, a man who went to the church I grew up in)

1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
6 T butter, cut into chunks
1/2 cup berry preserves
2 T brandy (I used port)
16 oz. raspberries
1/2 cup cocoa

Melt chocolate, preserves, and butter in the microwave oven. Stir in the brandy. Plop a berry into the batter, submerge it, then fish it out and place it on a cookie sheet covered in wax paper.
As the raspberries are dipped into the batter, occasionally zap the batter with microwaves to keep it a thick liquid. Let the coated berries harden in the freezer or refrigerator, then coat them with cocoa. Store frozen until one or two hours before serving, then refrigerate right up to serving time.

the other item on the menu is:

Soft Ginger Cake with Mascarpone Mousse
(from Aquavit by Marcus Samuelsson)

for the mascarpone mousse:
1/2 tsp. powdered gelatin (not wanting to eat horse, I'm using pectin)
2 T cold espresso
2 large egg yolks
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 vanilla bean split lengthwise in half (after seeing how spendy vanilla beans are, I'm using flavoring)
1/4 lb. mascarpone cheese
3/4 cup heavy cream

for the ginger cake:
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1/4 tsp. salt
1 stick unsalted butter
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup maple syrup
1 1/2 tsp. finely chopped peeled ginger
1 tsp. grated lemon zest
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 cup cold espresso

1/4 cup espresso
2 tsp. Kahlua
1 tsp. Bailey's Irish Cream
1/4 cup sugar

1. Prepare the mousse: sprinkle the gelatin over the espresso in a small cup. Let stand for 5 minutes to soften the gelatin.
2. Combine the egg yolks and sugar in the top of a double boiler or a heatproof bowl. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean and add the seeds to the egg yolks. Set the pan or bowl over simmering water and whist until the mixture is very light and fluffy. Add the gelatin mixture and whisk until the gelatin is dissolved. Transfer to a medium nown and fold in the mascarpone. Let cool completely.
3. Beat the heavy cream in a medium bowl until it forms soft peaks. Fold into the mascarpone mixture. Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve.
4. Prepare the cake: preheat over to 350 degrees. Butter an 8-inch square baking pan. Line the bottom with a square of parchment and butter the parchment.
5. Whisk the flour, baking powder, cinnamon, cloves, and salt together in a large bowl.
6. Heat the butter, brown sugar, and maple syrup in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally until the butter has melted and the sugar is dissolved. Add the ginger and lemon zest and cook, stirring for one minute. Remove from the heat and add to the flour mixture, stirring to mix well. Stir in the egg, then stir in the espresso.
7. Scrape the batter into the baking pan and smooth the top with a spatula. Bake for 18-20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool in the pan on a wire rack for 5 minutes.
8. While the cake is cooling, combine the espresso, Kahlua, Bailey's, and sugar in a small saucepan and bring to a simmer over low heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Remove from the heat and brush the warm cake generously with the syrup. Invert it onto a rack, peel off the paper, and brush generously with the syrup. Invert onto a serving plate.
9. To serve, cute the cake into squares or rectangles. Transfer to dessert plates and top each slice with a large dollop of the mascarpone mousse. Pass remaining mousse at table.

and that is how I will spent my tomorrow afternoon.

hot, hot gay lovin'

I have a soft spot for Queer as Folk. I would say it's a guilty pleasure, but I hate that phrase. Pleasure isn't something to feel guilty about. QaF's not particularly well acted or well written, but watching boys kiss is fun. Former housemates E and F shared my enjoyment of the show. R, the resident boy, did not. He mocked it and us, especially E [who has much love for all things gay], for liking it.

It has recently come to my knowledge that R rented disc one of the new season. He likes it. He really likes it.

And now I have visions of R and E collaborating on Queer as Folk fanfic slashfic. Beautiful.