Old-fashioned Montmorency cherry pie

When we moved here five years ago, one of the charming features of the neighborhood was a huge garden maintained by an elderly Italian neighbor who owns several adjoining properties. Mike grew squash, and tomatoes, and beans, and corn; you'd see him every afternoon in his overalls, toting tools, and heading off to work in the garden.

Sadly, Mike began to suffer from dementia two years ago, and could no longer maintain the garden. Mike's family has since sold some of their property, including the garden lot and an adjoining rental house. The garden's new owners are former neighbors who now live East of the mountains; they've invited a few other neighbors to use the garden. But this year no one is growing much in it, and the lower section has gone to seed.

My friend Nilos and I were out walking Thursday and spotted a small cherry tree in back of the garden, filled with ripe cherries. We asked some of the neighbors about it, and they said we were welcome to pick the cherries. They'd tried them and found them to be rather sour.

Of course they were sour! They're Montmorency cherries, also known as old-fashioned pie cherries, which are available at only one or two Seattle farmers' markets, one or two weeks of the year. They're incredibly fragile, losing their bright red, translucent color and turning to a darker shade just an hour or two after you pick them. They need to be cooked, brandied, or otherwise preserved immediately.

On Friday Nilos and I picked about 9 pounds of them. Then I scurried down to the basement pantry and rummaged in the box marked "kitchen gadgets" until I found the little vintage cherry pitter. Using the pitter, and a narrow-tipped wooden chopstick, Nilos and I pitted the first nine pounds of fruit; she took them to Anita's and today they produced three gorgeous cherry pies. They brought one by for me. (Zorg, having been traumatized in his youth by a seasonal job as a commercial cherry picker, has a permanent aversion to cherries.)

With a ratio of 4 cups cherries to 1 cup sugar, the pie is perfect. Anita tells me that the thickener is the pie filling enhancer from The Baker's Catalog. [CORRECTION: the filling is Signature Secrets] And she did a butter crust, far more delicate than anything I'd have been likely to attempt.

Cherry pie made with old-fashioned pie cherries was my dad's favorite dessert. He and my mom had difficulty finding canned sour cherries when they moved to Florida, so I'd ship them cans of Oregon pie cherries. Since "real cherry" pie is such a family tradition, I called my mom tonight and invited her over to enjoy some pie tomorrow afternoon.

And I'm taking some pie over to Mike and his wife. That cherry tree was the only fruit tree in his garden, so he must have planted it because he liked those particular cherries. I figure that even if he doesn't remember the tree, he'll still enjoy the pie.

[NOTE: We used one of Nilos' professional pie crusts, but here's a link to my "no-fail" recipe -- easy to make and easy to handle.]

The return of the turquoise moth

The turquoise moth I blogged about in July of 2004 was back last night. (Or, more likely, a relative of the original turquoise moth is putting in an appearance.) This year, I managed to get a picture of it.

Unfortunately, the cats were also trying to get it, and they were using claws rather than a camera. So I spent more time urging the moth to relocate than focusing the shot. It eventually moved to a wall over the bathtub -- an excellent choice. I'd just filled the tub with water for a bath, so any flying leap from a cat would have ended with a big splash.

I noted that first turquoise moth sightings were July 5 and 7 of 2004. This year I spotted it July 10. Obviously this is a seasonal visitation.

Can anyone identify this moth? The little guy has a wingspan of about 1 inch.

I've found a few other references to turquoise moths online, but they've all been like mine -- reports from non-moth people who found the moth in their house on a summer night.

Farewell, Lori

Early this morning our friend Lori Richey died.

She'd suffered a heart attack two weeks ago while attending a family reunion in Colorado, going into a coma from which she didn't emerge. Lori's family had her transported back to Seattle by special air taxi; she spent her final days at a nursing facility surrounded by family and friends. (A local Cajun band played music to her from the hospital courtyard).

Lori worked for many years in health research laboratories, but her true love was playing Cajun music (accordion). Back in the day when I was involved in the Seattle Cajun scene and threw some big parties at the old Shady Rest, I recall Lori coming over and bringing her favorite potluck dish, Chinese barbecue pork with dipping sauce and sesame seeds. (Oddly, I was eating that for dinner the night I heard the news about Lori's heart attack.)

Lori was way out ahead of the current crafts trend. She was beading elaborate jackets, crafting clothing, and designing greeting cards more than a dozen years ago. If you knew her, visit the beautiful website her family put up for her (with photos, music, and Lori's gorgeous artwork) and leave a message.

It's hard to believe she's gone.

Greet the heat

I was out soaking the flower beds tonight in preparation for Wednesday's predicted 94-degree heat wave. There's one last soaker hose to activate tomorrow, and then the garden will be as ready as it can be -- unless I buy dozens of beach umbrellas to shade the plants. That would be quite the sight, but not as far-fetched as it would have seemed 10 or 12 years ago.

In those days, my garden had dozens of mid-size terracotta pots. This year, I sold all the mid-size pots, since they dry out way too quickly in the burning hot sun. Now I use immense glazed planters and plastic planters that can hold moisture better, and I line the one or two remaining terracotta pots with plastic to reduce the rate of water loss. But I've also minimized the total number of pots, moving most of the plants into the ground, where they stay damper and cooler. And, finally, on the south and west sides of the house, I've moved away from fragile flowering plants and am planting small hardy shrubs and grasses, sages, lavenders, groundcovers, and succulents that can survive dry periods.

Still, it's alarming to see that the sedum "Autumn Joy" is flowering -- in early July. The pear and apple trees already have sizeable fruit. And, in spite of my tenacious watering, all the hardy geraniums have pretty much flowered themselves out already.

Perhaps we should just go out and get some Saguaro cactii and have done with it.

Fireworks Over Lake Union

Why I may have to vote for Hillary

For "best dressed," that is.

I'm loving the way Hillary Clinton dresses. I realized it today when I saw the Salon.com newsletter photo of her in a red dress and jacket with a chunky red necklace and some cleavage showing. At a political event, mind you. She looks happy, and energetic, and vibrant.

Turns out Hillary's unusual willingness to step away from the stuck-in-the-80's business lady suits favored by most female politicians has been commented on before.

By contrast, Nancy Pelosi has a slightly updated look, but only slightly. Her hair color's dull brown (of course both of these women color over the gray) and the hairstyle is a bit stiff. Her suits are often Armani pantsuits (as a recent MSNBC caption noted), but the colors are bland. As the Washington Post pointed out, all of this is an improvement over the Madeleine Albright look. The Post went on to laud Condolezza Rice for mixing "professorial reserve with a hint of confident sex appeal" in her wardrobe choices.

There's something about the expression on Rice's face that would seem to negate any suggestion of sex appeal, but that's just my opinion. Comments?

Summer at the Mysterious Traveler blog

I'm sitting here damp and exhausted from yoga (tonight was a slow session in a super-heated room) but wanted to write a bit about seasonal blog traffic.

According to StatCounter, this blog got a record 169 hits today. At this time of the year, the most popular pages on the site (after the home page) are the ones with the Waring Ice Cream parlor instructions and the ice cream recipe. The second-most popular pages are the ones with the directions for caulking tubs and showers.

Having already caulked the tub this year, I guess it's time to get out our own Waring Ice Cream Parlor and make something. Perhaps I should start freezing what I harvest from the slowly ripening strawberry crop until there's enough for a batch of strawberry ice cream.

It is frightening how quickly the summer calendar is filling up. Seattle has only 9 or 10 real weeks of summer, and people seem determined to pack all the events into it that they can.

We've been invited to two Fourth of July parties; I'm headed up to La Conner later this week to play tourist with a friend from Bellingham. There are some going-away events for a friend who is moving to Oregon this month, and we've been invited to a preview showing of the new Harry Potter film on the 10th. Zorg and my Mom both celebrate birthdays this month, a gourmet friend is in town for July, and Wayne Hancock will be playing at the Tractor Tavern July 13. My yoga class is on vacation all next week, so I'm going to be trying out three different African dance-based classes for alternative workouts.

Retail done right in upper Fremont

The bad news is that the center of the universe (downtown Fremont) is going the way of Belltown and Ballard: no parking, obnoxious tourists, and the intrusion of Starbucks and Taco del Mar type places that try to look hip while sucking business from the stores owned by locals.

The good news is that just a few blocks north on Fremont Avenue, you can enjoy a vibrant little commercial district.

I was there because one of the lens gurus at Eyes on Fremont is helping me recover from my humiliating glasses disaster (at another optical store). We looked at the problem lenses and frames, played around with some new frames, and he put a pair of frames on me that brought a smile to my face instantly.

After visiting Eyes on Fremont, I stopped in at Wit's End bookstore (under new management) and browsed their inventory, which includes a lot of very classic science fiction. Just across the street is the sleek Icon coffeehouse. I noticed that Fremont Auto Detail has moved to the west side of the street, and its old space is now occupied by the new (it opened yesterday) Urbanweeds ("florus metropolitus"), a store that appears to be for people furnishing and decorating small patios -- lots of grasses and succulents in large, dramatic planters. Plus black garden furniture made of recycled plastic. And gourmet chocolate.

There are little restaurants all over the place (Persimmon, Paseo, Fremont Pizza) and also a solid core of essential places -- a laundromat, Marketime Foods, a dry cleaner and a video store. What a fabulous little scene. I'd love it if our little crossroads on 32nd Avenue NW developed into something like this.

posted from my iPhone

This is a phone, not a word processor!

iPhone report

After spending 12 hours in a folding chair outside the AT&T Store at the Northgate Mall, I'm not in the best shape to report on my new iPhone. However, it took only 3 minutes to actually buy it, and it activated itself so quickly via iTunes that I was receiving calls from people within 30 minute of getting home. I've explored a few of its features; it found my contacts and Safari bookmarks and synced them. My mom called while I was downloading a movie and it handled the two tasks without a hitch. I've been web browsing, played with the camera, and added some events to my calendar (which the iPhone then synced back to my iMac as soon as I put it into the dock).

Whenever I touch the screen, it automatically manifests exactly the set of controls (volume for the movie, details for a contact name) I was about to look for. How easy is the iPhone to use? If you gave these things to gorillas in the zoo, they'd probably be composing and sending emails in a matter if minutes.

Folk music on the Internet

My friend Roger turned me on to a website on which a Virginia musician, Patrick Costello, and his dad teach a folk song a day. It's banjo and guitar, and lots of advice on playing in a jam situation. Even if you aren't learning folk music, it's an extraordinarily good site for watching a gifted teacher in action.

This is the sort of Internet content that, had it been around when I was a teenager, would have changed my life.

Check out Tangier Sound. And, if you're in the Chesapeake Bay area, the Costellos are hosting a weekend musicians' retreat in Crisfield, Maryland, in late August.

iPhone Friday

I'm planning to spend next Friday in line at a nearby AT&T store to purchase an iPhone. I'm looking for another aspiring iPhone owner who'd like to join me, so we can save each other's places for breaks during the day. Email me if you are interested.

Phones go on sale at 6 p.m. There are rumors that all stores will have very limited supplies of the phones. I'm planning to scope out the situation at the AT&T store I've chosen early in the morning. (Hanging out at an Apple Store might be more fun, but I suspect the lines there will be longer.)

Don't know if I'll manage to get a phone, but I certainly ought to come away with something to blog about.

Uphill battles

The past two weeks have been a real scramble -- moving steadily along, but up hill and over a lot of obstacles.

It started with the realization early last week that our new accountant was really out to lunch. I had to sic Zorg on him, which means I'm at the end of my rope. Zorg, of course, got results. The guy finally did our taxes, and now we're going to switch to a more reliable accountant I've already lined up. But anything that involves the IRS (which had sent us some ominous letters) makes me queasy.

Smokey, our cat who likes to live with elderly neighbors, went in for his annual checkup and turned out to have an abscessed tooth. Smokey is the only one of our cats who had not gone in for expensive tooth cleaning procedures ever other year -- and he's the first one to have a serious dental problem. Well, he'll be going in next week, getting the tooth removed, and getting the cleaning. He currently lives with an elderly woman five blocks north of us; we'll be kidnapping him and keeping him in our basement the night before the surgery to make sure the doesn't eat or drink anything after midnight.

Zorg and I both worked as volunteers at the Fremont Solstice Parade over the weekend. I did "traffic control" at a major intersection, keeping the parade route clear. Have been a spectator in previous years, it had never occured to me that 95 percent of the people at the parade want to see the parade, but the other 5 percent want to barge across the road right through the parade to see if there's something interesting on the other side. I must have body checked one guy ten times ("I'm sorry, sir, please clear the parade route and step back to the sidewalk"). It was discouraging.

(What I immensely enjoyed about volunteering was assisting with the midnight procession that moves the floats from the Powerhouse on Fremont Avenue to the area near Lucca Statuary where the parade begins the following morning. The floats move out into the roadway, we put down flares and stop traffic, music and drumming starts up, and dancers roll the floats through the night. It was beautiful!)

My yoga teacher has been out of town this week, and one of the women in the class has been leading our sessions. I have a whole new set of sore muscles from her new routines!

Another bit of fallout from last week was the new glasses. I ordered some that were supposed to be "just like" a pair I'd admired; they're done, and I don't like them. Oh well, I have my old ones. My expensive attempt to look more fashionable flopped.

Finally, we've been coming to grips with the consequences of firing the lawn service with the noisy, smelly gas-powered mowers and edgers. Zorg is mowing with a push mower, and I'm edging with an electric trimmer. He's discovering that our itty bitty sections of lawn with pavers and benches aren't easy to mow, and I'm discovering that lots of pieces of lawn mean lots and lots of edges! My guess is we'll be hiring a new lawn service (a better one) in September when the rains come and the grass starts growing again.

Hi-ho, Silver!

Me: Tomorrow is the Fremont Solstice Parade.

Friend: With the nu--

Me: Don't say it!

Many years ago Mad magazine had a cartoon of two earnest young kids watching public television, listening to a Leonard Bernstein-type conductor introducing a pops performance of the William Tell overture. The conductor is assuring the children that as mature young people they will be able to listen to the famous piece without thinking of The Lone Ranger TV show.

The symphony begins, the kids scrunch up their shoulders with the effort of connecting to the music sans pop culture references, and then their dad strolls by, beer can in hand, and bellows "Hi-ho, Silver!"

I'm going to be a parade traffic monitor at the Fremont Solstice Parade tomorrow. So do me a favor -- scrunch up your shoulders, think of clowns, belly dancers, mimes, drummers, stilt walkers (whatever it takes) and don't say "with the nude bicyclists!"

Fashion notes from all over (Ballard)

Last year I wrote about American Apparel tees. But fashion is fickle. My new find is Alternative Apparel. Independent designers are decorating Alternative Apparel's plain tees (aka "blanks"), and today I purchased one of the "vintage soft" long-sleeve boatneck tees, decorated with a line drawing of a typewriter, at a vintage-inspired boutique on Ballard Avenue.

The model I got is similar to the longsleeve crewneck shown on the manufacturer's website, but with more of a scoopneck and an unfinished hem. (Probably last year's style.) Very attractive and incredibly soft. I did not try on any of the short sleeve tees, so can't report on the sleeve fit. And I noticed that many of the short-sleeve tees at the boutique had ran long, long, long -- way over hips. Trendy, but not my style. (Sorry not to name the vintage/boutique, but there wasn't even a name on the receipt! Is it, perhaps, 20Twenty? At any rate, it's next door to Elephants Gerald, and across from the Tractor Tavern and Bop Street.)

I also stopped in at Merge, the high-end European clothing store on Ballard Avenue at the intersection of 20th Ave. NW. Absolutely lovely clothes, well-made, mixing classic styles with updated details. Expensive. Having spent some time in the high-end departments at Nordstrom last week, I have to say that I liked the thoughtfully selected offerings at Merge much better.

Over at Re-Soul, they're carrying Mandarina Duck fabric/leather bags from Italy. I had a Mandarina Duck when I lived in Genoa in the 1980s, and it was pretty wonderful. The current model I was admiring is the Reverse (K3TO2), which goes from large messenger bag to mid-size purse with a flip of the fabric. There's apparently also a Reverse backpack, though not at Re-Soul. Hmmm!

A happy blogiversary

The Mysterious Traveler Sets Out is four years old today.

I was wondering how to celebrate, but a web designer from New York took care of that for me. He emailed to say that a MTSO blog entry about my father's beautiful matchbook collection contains one of the few references on the web to a Washington, DC, restaurant owned by his late grandfather in the 1960s. I emailed back a photograph of that specific matchbook.

This is good. This is what it's all about.

Little surprises

The day was full of rather unpleasant little surprises:

• Shopping for a new pair of glasses frames, I found myself at a high-end optician's in which every pair of frames on display looked like something designed to wear as part of a Halloween costume.

• Yelling for the cats on the back porch tonight, I attracted a young raccoon who scampered eagerly up the stairs as if planning to come in for a midnight snack.

• Our dining room was once painted a bright Cheese Puff orange. (Discovered this when I started removing the hardware that had supported the old dining room curtains. Now our off-white walls have bright orange patches above the windows.)

Summer wardrobe

When dressing for summer evenings in Seattle, I need to keep in mind: There is no such thing as "balmy" — only barmy. As in "nuts." Because everyone out here suffers from a communal delusion that because it's "summer" it must be "warm."

You think we'd catch on, when, as the second weekend of June approaches, evening temperatures are still dipping into the high 40s. Women are nevertheless going out at night wearing strappy summer sandals and sleeveless sundresses.

I looked at my summer party clothes today and tried tell myself that I could wear them to evening events in July and August. You know, when it's really hot.

But after 22 years in Seattle, I should know better. I once attended an evening Fourth of July party in Port Townsend wrapped in an elegant down sleeping bag. Last August I put a pair of shearling-lined Ugg boots in my husband's car so I could thaw out a bit on my way back from an evening event in Bellingham.

But every year, before this reality sinks in, I dress up in a sleeveless sundress and sandals and trot off to dinner at someone's house, where the hosts, too, are in the grips of the annual hallucination. They have set a large festive table out on the deck, and clearly expect us to eat there — all evening. Like something out of Sunset magazine.

Sunset, I'll remind you, is published in California.

Guests sit down, oohing and ahhing over the summery decor. Initially, half of the table is blinded by the glare of the setting sun. When it finally sets, there are sighs of relief, quickly followed by a round of shivers as the 80-degree temperature plummets to 60 degrees in a matter of minutes. And a frigid breeze springs up from the direction of the nearest body of water. Perhaps the Bering Sea?

Someone mutters something about having forgotten her sweater. I realize that I've forgotten mittens, mukluks and a down parka. A dessert of chilled fruit and ice cream gets a noticeably cool reception, though the offer of coffee is greeted with great enthusiasm, and several people crowd inside and into the warm kitchen under the pretense of "helping" to serve it.

At this critical point, you discover the extent of your hosts' delusions: Will they keep everyone shivering out on the deck because "it's summer!," or will they come to their senses and let the guests into the house before frostbite sets in?

The suspense, I'm afraid, is too much for me. My summer wardrobe this year features an immense woven purse. Inside it? Big fuzzy socks, a nice fleece jacket, and a can of windshield defroster for my glasses.

Brrrr.

Meow

I took the "what kind of pet would you be?" quiz and turned out to be...a cat! (Big surprise.)

Well, I'd have been extremely disturbed if I'd turned out to be somebody's pet bunny rabbit. Or a canary.

Summer starts with a cookout

Summer is here, and the weekends are filling up with events.

Last night we enjoyed a spur-of-the-moment neighborhood cookout organized by Zorg and our friend Jeff across the street. The guys dragged our gas grill over to Jeff's driveway and six households contributed grillables ranging from lamb sausages and hot dogs to steak, garden burgers, and corn on the cob. Paper plates, plastic forks, plastic cups, and napkins materialized. There were two tossed salads, potato chips, cheese and crackers, plus a great variety of beers and white wines (and juice for the three little kids), followed by watermelon and ice cream sandwiches and popsicles. Ages of the attendees ranged from 4 (next week!) to 87.

Sunset found us gathered around a picnic table in the driveway, sipping our drinks, and discussing lightning bugs, June bugs, and remodeling contractors while the neighborhood pre-teens played basketball just down the street.

The calendar for the rest of the summer shows a lot of birthday parties, concerts, baseball outings, and dinners -- and even a trip to Vegas -- but I hope we've left room for a few more cookouts with the neighbors.

Sheba is famous

Our deaf white cat, Sheba, is one of the cats of the day at the LOLcat (laugh-out-loud cat) site, I Can Haz Cheesburger?

I wasn't sure they'd be interested in this Mac-oriented photo and caption, but...here's the perma-link:

http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/05/31/maccat/

Many thanks to the folks at Lolcat Buildr, who have a web-based app for quickly creating LOLcat captions and submitting them directly to I Can Haz Cheesburger? (However, be aware that sometimes not all the photos you'lll see at the Lolcat Buildr home page are "workplace safe." Too bad they can't move the one or two questionable thumbnails to a separate area...)

Friday at Folklife

The weather made for a delightful Friday at Folklife. Friday is almost always my favorite day at the festival; the crowds are lighter, everyone is full of opening-day energy, and the merchants have the greatest variety of wares.

What's new this year at Folklife?

• Dancehall shortage. The Exhibition Hall, which in the past has hosted Cajun, Zydeco, Country, Swing, and other non-contra participatory dancing, was claimed by another Seattle Center organization for the weekend. As a result, the Ex Hall participatory dancing events must now share the small Center House dance floor with the participatory ethnic dancing (including salsa and tango) and the large Fisher Pavilion Roadhouse dance hall with the contra dancing, square dancing, English dancing and waltzing. Saturday night there will not be any contra dancing in the Roadhouse until 10 p.m. The contra dancers will find this a unique opportunity to expand their horizons.
• New look. Artis the Spoonman, who performed this afternoon with the perennially indignant protest songwriter Jim Page, has stopped shaving his head! I'd never seen him with hair. It looks very attractive...but you might not recognize him until he whips out his spoons and other percussion devices. (Interesting to note that Page, who pronounces the word "tech" the way most people pronounce the word "shit," has a fine website.)
• New food. There are a few new food booths, including The Taste of Poland on the Key Roadway (Key Arena side of the Fisher Green). I haven't had the opportunity to try them yet; I had a very good, extremely spicy Jambalaya at the Southern Kitchen in the Kobe Bell plaza at the foot of the Fountain Lawn near Founders Court. Oddly, my favorite Folklife food is the superb baba ganouj and hummus at the Mediterranean restaurant in the Center House Food Court.
  
• Crackers. The "freebies" at the festival are always interesting. Last year it was pomegranate juice; this year, Ritz crackers with no trans fats. (Report: They're good, but would be better with some chopped chicken liver on them.)
• Cooked vs. raw. The clothing vendor Hartware (just off the Crafts Walkway by the upper Fountain) has wonderful painted shirts, including one of a jousting asparagus stalk versus a carrot. Trust me -- you have to see this one.
  
• Order in the court. The Northwest Court area has a stage and a beer garden, as usual, but no crafts booths this year. This makes it an even more pleasant venue for simply focusing on the music. I caught the Nudie Suit Stardusters, a new vintage country group, there this evening.
  
• Donation pricing. Suggested per-day donation for Folklife has gone up to $10 per day (but only $20 for a family group). Think $10 is a lot? It's less than a new CD, or a pizza. And a day at Folklife is much, much better than a CD or a pizza. Even a Snoose Junction pizza.

For those of you winding up to post a comment about how Folklife is just too loud and crowded for you, here's my suggestion for a quiet version of Folklife: Take a bus to lower Queen Anne and get off on 1st Avenue North. Enter the Seattle Center grounds from 1st Avenue North at Key Area, turn left and walk up the stairs to the Northwest Court. The outdoor stage, plus the indoor Rainier Room and Olympic Room, have great entertainment and you won't be driven crazy by drummers, food booths, or milling shoppers. Check out the day-by-day schedules for those venues on the festival website.

Webware 100

Be sure to cast your votes for the CNET Webware 100 awards. There are 10 categories, from Audio & Video to Widets and Desktop Enhancements. The Productivity apps category was rough...I had to choose between Craigslist, eBay, Amazon, and PayPal!

Take control of your technology

Own a Mac? Thinking of getting a digital TV? Setting up a wireless network in your home?

The succinct ebooks from Take Control Publishing give you step-by-step tips for dealing with all this technology — and they're all on sale (a whopping 50 percent off the usual $5 - $15 prices) through May 29.

Here's a partial list of Take Control titles, by category:

iPod & iTunes
Take Control of Your iPod: Beyond the Music
Macworld iPod and iTunes Superguide
Television
Macworld Apple TV Superguide
Take Control of Digital TV
Digital Photography
Take Control of Buying a Digital Camera
Macworld Digital Photography Superguide
Lifestyle
Take Control of Booking a Cheap Airline Ticket
Take Control of Thanksgiving Dinner
AirPort & Wi-Fi Networking
Take Control of Your 802.11n AirPort Extreme Network
Take Control of Your AirPort Network
Take Control of Your Wi-Fi Security
Internet
Take Control of Your Domain Names
General Macintosh
Take Control of Mac OS X Backups
Take Control of Maintaining Your Mac
Macworld Mac Basics Superguide
Take Control of Buying a Mac
Take Control of Running Windows on a Mac
Take Control of Podcasting on the Mac
Take Control of Switching to the Mac
Mac OS X 10.4 Tiger
Take Control of Passwords in Mac OS X
Take Control of Syncing in Tiger
Take Control of Fonts in Mac OS X
Take Control of Font Problems in Mac OS X
Take Control of Permissions in Mac OS X
Take Control of Upgrading to Tiger
Take Control of Customizing Tiger
Take Control of Users & Accounts in Tiger
Take Control of Sharing Files in Tiger
Apple Applications
Take Control of iWeb
Take Control of .Mac
iPhoto 6: Visual QuickStart Guide
Take Control of Apple Mail in Tiger
Take Control of Spam with Apple Mail
Take Control of Making Music with GarageBand
Take Control of Recording with GarageBand
Microsoft Office
Take Control of Customizing Microsoft Office
Take Control of What's New in Entourage 2004
Take Control of What's New in Word 2004
Take Control of What's New in Word 2004: Advanced
Other Applications
Take Control of Getting Started with Dreamweaver

Seattle City Council full of Zoo Doo

I read in the Seattle P-I today that the majority of the Seattle City Council members want the Woodland Park Zoo to scrap its plans for a garage because building a garage will encourage zoo patrons to drive those big, bad cars to the zoo.

Talk about political correctness trumping common sense! (And congrats to the one realist on the City Council, Dave Della, for supporting a garage.) I am willing to bet that the majority of City Council members have two or fewer kids (if any). This, of course, is in marked contrast to most zoo patrons, who, I have observed on my many trips to the zoo, have quite a few kids.

Last week I took care of a friend's energetic 4-year-old grandson. Part of the day involved walking him and his bike with training wheels to a nearby park, along a very busy street. This required keeping a grip on the child and the bike. It was three blocks each way and when we made it home I was ready for a Valium and a trip to the chiropractor.

As I read about the sanctimonious City Council members, I was trying to imagine some mom with two or three kids in tow trying to get them onto a bus, off a bus, onto a connecting bus, off that bus, and into the zoo -- along with a stroller that requires two hands to open and close -- without one of the kids darting away and into traffic. I got exhausted just thinking about it.

The fabulous thing about driving your kids around in the family van and parking in a parking lot or garage is that you can leave one or two of them strapped in the car seat while you arrange the other one in a stroller. You can then move from the relatively controlled environment of the lot or garage onto the zoo property without trying to get everyone across a busy intersection.

Quite frankly, other than a hospital, I can't think of a city institution that has a more rational need for plenty of car parking than the zoo.

But who said anything about rational? This is Seattle. We don't have the sort of sane public transportation systems you find in other major cities (monorails, subways, trains). We just pretend to be green and waggle our fingers at those evil people who want to destroy the environment by driving their cars full of children to the zoo.

Having trouble finding a parking place at the zoo? You can always hop Metro down to the City Council offices. I hear they have one hell of an exhibit full of ostriches.

How to caulk a tub / shower

This is the page where I maintain a periodically updated version of my Secrets of Tub Caulking post. The updated version is straightforward, skipping over the long story of how I became so frustrated with lousy caulk products and the "assume-nothing-ever-goes-wrong" school of instructions that I created and tested my own "how-to." (If you need a good laugh, and are amused by mildew, crumbling grout, and someone trying to answer the phone using their wrists, you should read the original story.)

The Secrets of Tub Caulking - 2007 Update (plus 2011, 2014, 2016 revisions)

What you need:

• A four-day period during which people in your household can use a different shower. (The clock starts when you use the cleaning product on the mildew; you can apply grout and caulk 12 - 24 hours later, and then it needs 72 hours to dry.)
  
• A plastic scraper with a hooked side for peeling off the old caulk — also, either a metal dental pick or a metal shish kebab skewer will work if the plastic scraper doesn't.
  
• A little razor blade with a handle (the type you use to get excess dried paint off windows).
  
• A preparation product called the Good Stuff Tile and Grout Cleaner Restorer. Available from your better tile stores. NOTE: This is no longer true; The Good Stuff has been banned by the state of California and even stores outside California have stopped carrying it. Instead use the following three cleaning products, in that order:
• Dawn dishwashing liquid
• White vinegar
• Oxiclean (not chlorine) bleach or bleach spray. You'll find it in the laundry products section at the store.
• A medium (neither too soft nor too stiff) scrub brush for applying Dawn and using it to scrub the tile and grout.
  
• Rubber gloves and old clothes to protect yourself while you work with the cleaners.
• Painter's masking tape (blue is good) in both wide and narrow versions. Plenty of it.
• Siliconized acryllic latex caulk, in off-white or another shade that coordinates with the existing tile grout in your tub / shower. One tube should be more than sufficient to go around the tub. A good brand is Color Caulk Premium Tile and Fixture Caulk, and a nice off-white is #11 Snow White. Do not get the ghastly "bright white" silicon caulk favored by plumbers who never have to see your bathroom again and choose their products accordingly. (One of the blog's readers noted that he found a sanded silicon caulk in the tile section of his local home improvement store -- and it was so cheap, he bought three tubes in slightly different shades to test out.)
• A caulk gun. They're cheap. Don't even think about trying to apply this type of caulk without one; it requires a fair amount of strength even with one.
• A box of thin, clear, cheap vinyl gloves from your local drugstore. They come 50 to a box, and you'll need about half of that. Be sure the gloves fit your fingertips snugly — loose fingers on the gloves will result in jagged lines when you try to smooth the caulk.
• Three large, sturdy paper grocery bags or paper shopping bags — line all three with plastic garbage bags.

DAY 1: Cleaning and prep steps

• Strip the old, mildewed rope of caulk from around the tub using the plastic scraper and metal pick or skewer. Remove any and all clinging caulk or film of caulk using the razor blade. Be thorough, because your new caulk won't adhere where there's old caulk, and if it won't adhere, then water will get through. And be careful, because the razor blade can gouge the finish on a non-porcelain tub.
• Check the grout that was underneath the old caulk. Remove any extremely loose, crumbling grout from between wall and tub, particularly if it is severely mildewed. [Note that if the space between the tub and the wall, revealed when you remove the old caulk, is much more than 1/8", you may not be able to fill/cover it effectively with the new caulk. If so stop what you are doing, go to the tile shop or tile section of your home improvements store, and get some grout — the plain, non-acryllic stuff that you mix with water is easiest to deal with. Add a half day to your schedule, so after you have finished all the cleaning steps, you can apply the grout and let it dry before you start caulking.]
  
• Dress in old clothes and put on rubber gloves. 
• Use the Good Stuff Dawn dishwashing liquid to clean all mildew from tub walls, tile grout, and any gaping areas between the shower wall and the tub. This takes about 20 minutes, and includes scrubbing with the brush, letting the cleaner set, and rinsing the cleaner off. After this is rinsed, the dark mildew stains should disappear, or at least fade to a pale gray. If this loosens more mildewed old grout, remove that, too.
• If you still have dark stains in the grout, use vinegar. Apply soak wads of paper towels in vinegar and use blue painters tape to tape them to the tile around the grout. Make sure the paper towels stay soaked in vinegar. After 2 hours, remove the paper towels and rinse with water.
• If you still have mildew stains on the grout, use Oxyclean. Repeat the paper towels treatment, this time using Oxiclean (not chlorine) bleach. After 2 hours, remove and rinse area thorough.
• Now, allow the area to be caulked to dry thoroughly. This may involve running the bathroom fan overnight. Drying time depends on your climate conditions, but plan on 12 to 24 hours. If you have pets, lock them out of the bathroom so they won't try to lick tile that has been cleaned using various chemicals.
• [Optional grouting step] If you have gaps in the old grout that need to be filled with new grout, prepare by taping some plastic sheeting over the tub so you won't accidentally get grout on the tub. (Do not skip this step.) Then mix up about two cups of grout, following the manufacturers' directions, to create a thick grout paste. Use a paint spatula or popsicle sticks to pack grout into the gaps and smooth it down until it matches the adjoining grout. It should be slightly recessed below the level of the tile. Clean any grout off the tile or tub with a paper towel soaked in vinegar. Remove the plastic sheeting or other tub protection.

  

  Taped tub

  
  
• While you are waiting for the grout to cure (at least 12 hours), you can tape the area to be caulked, leaving 1/8" of tub rim exposed and 1/8" - 1/4" of the tile wall exposed. I use 1" blue masking tape on the tub and wider blue masking tape on the tile wall. See photo. (Note that I've also taped about six inches up each corner of the tub.)

Caulk gun, loaded

DAY 2: Step-by-step caulking:

• Make sure you have an uninterrupted 30 minutes to do the caulking. Once you start, you can't pause in the middle. If you do stop, the caulk will firm up while unsmoothed and the tub/wall seam will not be adequately sealed against moisture -- and you'll have to strip it off and start all over again.
• Place beside the tub: The box of vinyl gloves, the grocery bag lined with a trash bag, and a small plastic container or very small bucket containing water with a little liquid dish detergent mixed in.
• Apply the caulk bead using the caulk gun. (I found that sitting cross-legged in the tub helped me apply the caulk evenly.)
• Apply the caulk sparingly. I tend to apply too large a bead. Something that reminds you of a clothesline cord is about right. If it starts to look like a rope, it's too much. You may also want to caulk a few inches up the inner corner (or corners) of the shower walls.
• Once the caulk in is place, you are ready to smooth it. 
• Using a series of vinyl gloves and dipping your fingers in soapy water, begin smoothing the caulk bead. Use a light touch. If the glove gets gunky with caulk, put on a new glove. Otherwise, your gunky glove will start sticking to the caulk and you risk pulling caulk away from the tub. Keeping peeling off sticky gloves into grocery bag and using new ones.
  
• As soon as the the bead is smoothed and concave, remove the blue tape from the tub side of the caulk line and dump the tape into the grocery bag. There will now be a bit of a raised edge on the caulk where the tape was removed. Get out a glove, dip it in the soap, and start smoothing that border flat. You can use a firm touch, but don't squish the center of the bead that you already smoothed. Then remove the tape from the wall side of the caulk, and smooth that border.
• Get out of the tub, recap your tube of caulk using plastic wrap and tape. Dump the bag of trash.

DAYS 3 AND 4: Drying

To ensure that the caulk cures completely, wait 72 hours before showering or otherwise allowing the caulk to get wet. (I've been known to sneak in a bath during the drying period, but use your own judgment. Washing the dog, for instance, is a bad idea.)

Enjoy. Save these directions for when you need to replace the caulk again — probably about two years from now.

Finished caulking

In search of the perfect cupcake

I can't get that worked up about comparative cupcakes, but Patricia Jane at Metroblogging Seattle can. She did an excellent review of the cupcakes from New York Cupcakes, Cupcake Royale, and Trophy Cupcakes; you get a good objective sense of each product, as well as her opinion.

Patricia Jane noted that the servers at New York Cupcakes smooshed two cupcakes into a box intended for one, despite her protests. This reminded me of the lovely one-cupcake carrying box I saw on Amazon the other day. It preserves the cupcake's frosting even if you turn it upside down!

Zafu. Bless you.

A few months ago I read about Zafu, a website that helps women find the perfect fit in jeans. Though I was initially skeptical, I was impressed when it matched me up with my favorite jeans source, Eddie Bauer. However, Zafu was suggesting a different style of their jeans; I ordered them, and they were perfect!

If you are a fashionista who must have jeans that are both stylish AND suited to your body, this is definitely the site for you. In addition to the jeans analysis tool, the site is full of great articles about jeans...and bodies, including a fit dictionary. Yes, "whale tail" is as bad as it sounds.

Ingenious

Somewhere in here is an idea for the mechanism that will sense the presence of the raccoon near the outdoor fountain and catapult the beast out of the yard. Somewhere...

(Thanks to John Hedtke at Don't Ask Me; I'm Making This Up As I Go Along for pointing this out.)

Car chase scene

It's been a weird week, all the way through. And last night Zorg's PowerMac G5 dropped dead, apparently from a power supply problem. He booked an appointment at the Apple Store for this morning to have it fixed.

Sheba, the deaf white cat, was out in the yard this morning when Zorg was loading the computer into the car. If we're both leaving, we always put her in the house, but I had agreed to take over the supervision of her morning outing when Zorg left.

Sheba saw Zorg's Subaru pull out of the driveway and she began chasing it down the street! Zorg stopped the car, snagged Sheba, and carried her up the stairs and put her in the livingroom. He then drove off, and she rocketed around the first floor for a few minutes like something from the stock car races.

Many years ago, I had an orange cat named Bosco who was as insanely attached to me as Sheba is to Zorg. He went through a phase of chasing my car in the morning when I headed off to work. For a few mornings, I had to just drive off and hope he didn't follow me more than a couple of blocks. Fortunately, he gave up and went home. Sheba has the kind of personality (and physical power) that would allow her to follow a car on residential streets for a mile or so -- not a safe thing for any cat, and definitely not for a deaf one.

I wonder where they think we're going when we drive off?

Pain in the...

For all of my fellow back pain sufferers, a post on Collision Detection on why you have to watch out not merely when lifting, but when pushing and pulling as well.

Misc. notes

I wasn't going to blog about today's rain followed by sun followed by hail followed by bright sun -- until a second hailstorm let loose at 3:30 p.m.

Meanwhile, in a penny-ante version of the San Francisco highway collapse, the south end of the University Bridge has apparently been endangered by a water main break that led to a sinkhole that swallowed up two parked cars. Can you imagine heading back to your car after work and finding it...15 feet underground?

I wanted to note that this week is the kittens' birthday. They are three. Of course, it's not possible to "celebrate" their birthday in any way that would be significant to them because they already get everything they want.

Think so?

Gartner, a technology research firm, predicts that by 2011 80% of active internet users will have a presence in Second Life.

Ekornes Stressless recliner chairs for sale

This will be the weekend of the Craig's List sales.

The antique oak chair and the Pottery Barn side table I listed 10 minutes ago already have takers. Apparently Craig's List has lots of late night shoppers.

No nibbles yet on the Ekornes Stressless chairs, probably because a pair of these, one year old and in superb condition, are $1600 when offered at half price.
[NOTE: They've been sold!]

Email me if you are seriously interested. We're selling them (with the matching side table) because they don't fit in the den now that we've installed a queen-size sleeper sofa. And I already have a lovely Ekornes chair in my office.

The art of the insult

I'm late getting around to reading The New Yorker this week, which is unfortunate because I could have used a good laugh a couple of days ago.

The April 23 issue was, apparently, the Insult Issue. The Talk of the Town section includes an odd recap of the Don Imus flap, written apparently to rate the radio show host's previous most-insulting comments against the racist remarks about the Rutgers women's basketball team that finally cost him his job. Imus' characterization of Bill Clinton as a "fat pantload," I had to admit, had a certain ring to it. But it was nothing close to the revelation in the Talk story about literary hoaxster Clifford Irving that Irving's disgruntled wife always referred to his glamorous Danish mistress, Nina van Pallandt, as "Baroness von Slut."

Oh my. This is The New Yorker?

That shattering sound you just heard? New Yorker mascot Eustace Tilley, dropping his monocle.

More on footwear

Want fashionable new casual shoes at half price? If you are a woman who wears size 7.5 or smaller, check out the Keens and Chacos in the kids department. (More on this strategy at Life Out Here.)

Weird weekend

Errands. I remember running a lot of errands this weekend. And getting into one of those situations in which no matter how many of the errands I accomplished, the un-done ones are still nagging at me.

With the basement plumbing repaired, I did several loads of laundry. We sold the Nordic Track elliptical and now have a large, spacious TV room for a change. But the new sleeper-sofa is coming Tuesday morning, and now I have to turn my attention to selling the pair of Stressless Ekornes chairs.

All these trivialities are a welcome relief from a brush with grimness this morning. I had left my yoga class at the B.F. Day school in Fremont and was standing in the parking lot, chatting with a classmate, as families arrived for a soccer game in the school's upper field. One woman got out of her car with her son, looked around in a very distracted, disoriented way, and then asked us if we knew where the soccer field was. We pointed to the path that several families were already taking to the field -- it seemed fairly obvious. The woman said, apologetically, that she was confused because they had just driven over the Fremont bridge and seen a man jump off it.

We said that of course that would make anyone upset and confused, and hung out with her a bit until she and her son were ready to go up to the field. (The little boy didn't seem to understand what had happened, thankfully.)

Sad to say, jumpers are all too frequent on the bridge -- usually four a year. Some jumpers land in the water, but many land in the Adobe parking lot, where they are discovered by horrified company employees. Zorg and I have a friend who last year moved into a high-end condo facing the bridge; he was shocked by the situation and did quite a bit of writing, calling and organizing. In December 2006, six suicide-prevention call boxes were installed on the bridge; it remains to be seen if they will reduce the number of jumping incidents in 2007.

Put your foot in it

Curiousity got the better of me and I bought a pair of Crocs. Specifically, the Cayman model.

Uglier shoes have probably never existed.

Or more comfortable ones. None of the descriptions I read mentioned what I considered to be the truly unusual, and wonderful, feature of Crocs: they're virtually weightless.

They are like wearing styrofoam orthotics. Mine are wide enough and loose enough that I was sure they'd fall off my feet but instead, they sort of adhere to them. It's almost an electrostatic attraction. So, while I look like I should be clomping around, I'm walking quite naturally. And, according to the manufacturer, this is the perfect fit.

And you don't have to buy them in the popular poison green, hello-kitty pink, or road-sign orange. Mine, of course, are black.

Ceasefire in the laundry room

Today didn't go at all as expected.

I had the plumber scheduled to come fix a leaking outdoor spigot and do something about the banging pipes in the laundry room (a situation that has gotten worse over the past year, to the point that it sounded like insurgents were bombing the basement). My plan was to get the plumber started, then skip out for a relaxing haircut and some errands.

What I hadn't figured into the scenario was that Zorg was working from home today. The plumber arrived (late), began making a ruckus sawing through drywall, and then turned off all the water. I slipped off to run my errands and came back to find that the plumbing job was dragging on and on. And poor Zorg was not enjoying a house without water.

We'd talked about catching the 5:15 show of Blades of Glory, but by the time the plumber finally turned on the water, packed up, and left, we were running a bit late. So I cooked dinner, we ate, and then I rolled up in a ball on the couch and went to sleep -- not at all my usual Friday night.

Tomorrow will be better. I'm actually looking forward to doing a nice, quiet load of laundry first thing in the morning.

Happy campers

You've heard me babble excitedly about all the great experiences I had at Seattle Mind Camp 3.0 this past fall. Well they've just opened registration for Seattle Mind Camp 4.0, to be held at at the Tukwila Community Center Sunday July 1. (It isn't clear, but I think this is the first Mind Camp that's not an overnight.)

The "unconference" works this way: During the first hour or so, campers propose sessions they want to lead; everyone votes on posted session descriptions; and then the organizers quickly assign the sessions to rooms and things start happening. This site, for Seattle Mind Camp 3.0, will give you a sense of it.

Delicious meals and snacks are included in the $29 camp fee. Bring an open mind, and, if possible, an idea for a session.

I collaborated with two other campers to present a yoga session at the last camp. This time I might conserve my energy for the late-night Werewolf session!

Out of steam

Last week I sent off a draft article to a major arts review website. They were interested, but wanted to see it twice as long. That pretty much requires startling from scratch, but I spent some time in denial about the need to do that. So it was a long, frustrating experience and yielded only a B+ piece of work -- when I'd wanted to impress them with something truly inspired.

In the midst of all the writing I spent Saturday taking dance workshops at the World Rhythm Festival at Seattle Center. The workshops started out grueling but got easier as the day went on. The next morning I went off to yoga class and was astonished at how loose I was and how much more I could do. And the I came home, tore out a rosebush, and replanted the side yard.

Of course I'm paying for that now.

This week has been off to a rocky start. A tube of chapstick got loose in the laundry and now I'm removing oily, minty spots from Zorg's trousers. Betaille, our ancient cat, needs to go to the vet for a checkup tomorrow. But she needed a bath badly, so tonight, after yoga class, Zorg and I donned our full-coverage cat-washing outfits and washed her in the tub. She doesn't like it much, but bounced back rapidly and headed right to her food dish when I released her from the bathroom. Now it's back down to the laundry with our soggy cat-washing outfits and a bunch of towels; no chapstick this time, I hope.

Talk softly and carry a big Thesaurus

John Hedtke, over at Don't Ask Me passes along this report of a bumper sticker spotted in, of all places, Iowa:

"Bush is listening. Use big words."

The Easter bunny was here

Seriously. Two Easter bunnies.

Zorg found a Cadbury egg on his keyboard when he got up this morning. This afternoon I got my annual delivery of a bag of Peeps. This year it was green and yellow Peeps, which went well with the blue Peeps Zorg had provided earlier in the week.

Zorg also shared with me a large hollow chocolate egg that had a full-size yellow Peep inside. I keep puzzling over that egg. How did they get a Peep inside an apparently seamless hollow egg?

Here's a nice picture of the egg-with-Peep from Slashfood (they got a pink Peep; I think pink Peeps come in a Rice Krispy chocolate shell and the yellow Peeps are in plain milk chocolate). The Slashfood folks also have a suggestion for how to "hatch" the Peep using a microwave.

Catching up

My "work" self was in charge most of this week as I focused on freelance projects, book reviewing, and preparing a talk I gave Thursday night. The Thursday night event, a Friday lunch meeting, plus a gathering of local writers I attended this evening, were all social outings -- but for my professional persona. It was not the same as having dinner with friends, or spending an evening at a comedy club or the movies.

I've been tired, as a result!

Zorg was home most of the week suffering from back pain that, fortunately, turned out to be muscle spasms rather than a herniated disk. Still painful, but with a better prognosis. He is doing considerably better as of this evening.

Friday I dropped everything I'd been doing to get out and enjoy the extraordinary weather --- 75 degrees! -- in the garden. I conducted the annual digging up of the red tulips (an apparently hopeless attempt to have a garden with only pink tulips) and transitioned them to someone else's garden. Got a new (faux stone) fountain installed on the back patio for the cats. Thus far it has not attracted the raccoons who destroyed the pottery fountain, but, unfortunately, the cats seem wary of it. Perhaps it's a little too "splashy" for them; I'll try adjusting it. The garden is shaping up well this year. My friend Laura gave me some strawberry plants for the herb & vegetable raised bed, and the wisteria appears to be willing to let me shape it into a tree rather than a vine.

Today my errands around town included a visit to Ballard Bookcase to order a custom fir bookcase with adjustable shelves that I'm going to use to store all my shoes. I got sick of the four (four!) small shoe storage devices I current employ, particularly after the cats tipped one of them over and scattered shoes all over the closet.

Next week looks to be busy but is focused on friends and dancing rather than work; Nina is coming to visit me mid-week, and we're going to the Lake City dance to hear L'Orage play Thursday night. Saturday I'll be at the World Rhythm Festival at Seattle Center taking African dance classes.

I hope that this year I don't run into my neighbors at the Festival. I did last year, and the next day their five-year-old yelled out his window when he saw me in the front yard "I saw you shaking your butt!"

Nice kid.

Iris identified

The little iris in the yard is not one of the native irises, but the Iris japonica, which likes a damp, shady environment.

Floral mystery

These shiny green plants have been turning up in my yard for three or four years. This winter I left a few pots with them in a shady corner of the garden. Now they're blooming! Some kind of iris? There are multiple buds per stem, but this is the first flower to open.

Added April 3: One more clue -- these flowers are small, only two inches across. Quite a bit smaller than the usual iris. --MT

You can has cheezburger! Yes you can!

I am addicted to the insanely cute weblog I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER? It's right at the top of my daily blogroll. This post is my current fave.

Why are these strangely spelled and structured captions with cute-cat (and, sometimes, cute-animal) photos so charming? Though some of the photos, like this one, could have been taken in any cat-owning household, the cheerfully fluff-brained attitude of the "webspeak" captions elevate them to perfection.

Bag sighting

A few weeks back I blogged at length about the search for a replacement for my old Ellington backpack (discontinued by the manufacturer). I continued to browse both backpacks and messenger backs, from el-cheapo travel gear to massively overpriced designer bags in sumptuous pebble leather. Without any luck. I'm currently using a cheap but well-organized messenger bag that Zorg squinted at and termed "very '80s." (I think it's the thin leather).

Today, I spotted a great dressy backpack. In leather, no less. It was on the back of a woman at the Anthony's Oyster Festival. Turns out the bag is made by Libaire, a small leather goods company in California that I'd never come across in any of my online or in-store searching.

But, sure enough, there's a Libaire site, with a full catalog, online; the bag comes in a choice of some traditional colors, plus a choice of brass or nickle zipper pulls. I've saved a search for it on eBay, but if a nice one doesn't turn up in a few weeks, I'll probably break down and buy it retail.

Great day

Sunday was a great day: Yoga class, a walk around the neighborhood with Zorg, lots of gardening, and dinner at Snoose Junction Pizza.

I did not observe Shutdown Day Saturday, but I might observe it tomorrow, particularly if it's a nice, sunny day.

LatteWorld

I went to the Starbucks annual meeting this morning and found myself comparing the presentation to an Apple MacWorld keynote. At first, I thought this wasn't fair because Apple has, in addition to MacWorld, a low-key annual meeting. But after Chairman Howard Schultz and CEO Jim Donald trotted out first the President of Rwanda (in person) and then Sir Paul McCartney (by satellite feed from London) I realized the Starbucks annual meeting just rolls the two speeches into one. Let's call it the LatteWorld keynote.

With these comparisons in mind, I came home and logged on to find that the Motley Fool investment site is also comparing the two companies -- from an investment perspective as part of a "March Madness" feature. The result?

I agree with this analysis that Apple wins. But note that while I'm blogging on my Mac I'm sipping a (Starbucks-owned) Tazo tea.

The sun factor

It's hard to have a bad day when the sun is out.

After yoga this morning I worked on the round Pottery Barn coffee table I bought on Craig's List Thursday and have been lugging around in the car. I set it in the driveway and employed pecans and liquid floor wax to fill in the scratches. Some day I'll touch it up with more professional products, but for the moment it fits in fairly well with our eclecticly furnished living room.

My friend Chris and I drove down to see the new Seattle Art Museum Sculpture Park. It's a popular place on a warm spring day -- particularly with photographers. I brought along the Canon Digital Rebel and was pleased with the quality of the pictures. The camera is amazingly easy to use, but bulky to lug around -- not something I can put in my purse "just in case" I want to take a picture.

After dinner I went a final round with our 2006 taxes. That was finished shortly after midnight and I am so relieved it's over. Unfortunately, there's no one around to celebrate with; even the cats are asleep!

Brown rice I can love

My yoga instructor is a huge fan of brown rice. She thinks it should be eaten cold with a sauce of rice wine vinegar and chopped Ume (pickled plum).

That'll clear your sinuses!

I cook a pot of brown rice every week (first toasting the rinsed brown rice in sesame oil) and dutifully explore ways to consume it.

With broccoli, pieces of roasted chicken, and soy sauce is...OK. The brown rice is much better warm, I noticed.

Until this evening, my two best renditions of brown rice were Brown Rice Pancakes (the traditional potato pancake recipe, only with rice instead of grated potatoes -- it requires much less oil to cook the rice ones) and Brown Rice Pudding, with egg, a little maple syrup, skim milk, and a bit of salt and cinnamon.

But tonight I nailed it, though I think the dish is really a breakfast item: Brown Rice Cereal. Sprinkle with cinnamon, raw sugar, a bit of salt, and a few drops of mild olive oil. Mix and microwave. Yum!

Time to be grateful

All my electronic devices (two Macs and a Treo) have come to grips with the new Daylight Savings Time and are able to sync amongst themselves. (Rather amazingly, the little PowerBook acquired the new time without having the new software installed. Hmmm... I'm installing it anyway.)

Tomorrow I'll re-set my car clock to DST and then all we have to do is wait for the atomic clock in the kitchen to figure out what's going on. Usually it's late for a few days, I give up and re-set it, then a day or so later it compensates and I have to re-set it back. One of these years I'll have to give in to Zorg's pleas and buy a normal clock for the kitchen.

The Dude's got the tickets

"The Big Lebowski" is one of my top 10 favorite American films, with a place of pride in my small but carefully chosen DVD collection.

Lebowski Fests take place throughout the country, and this weekend there's one in Seattle. The film will be shown Friday night, and then there's a big costume event and bowling at Kenmore Lanes Saturday.

Had we not been planning to go to Potlatch in Portland, Zorg and I would likely have gotten tickets for the costume/bowling event. When the costume is Hawaiian shirt, surfer pants, and sandals, how can you not want to get "dressed up?"

Checking Craig's list for tickets to the (sold-out) bowling event, I found the following:

2 Tickets to Saturdays Kenmore Lanes Lebowski Fest. Will take a live Marmot for payment Dude. Let me know where the drop is.

Most likely this deal will go down, as the many, many, "tickets wanted" posts were offering as much as $75 a ticket.

Zorg and I will be watching the film at home, sipping my signature White Russians made with vanilla ice cream.

Just a migraine

Whew! My headache turned out to be just a seasonal migraine, not the flu that is making Zorg so miserable. By four p.m. today I was my usual energetic self. Which was fortunate, because at that point Zorg's fever was over 103 and he needed to see a doctor.

Poor Zorg. The doctor gave him Tamiflu anti-viral to reduce the virus' strength. I'm taking a half-strength dosage of Tamiflu to reduce my chances of getting the virus.

We missed out today's beautiful 75-degree weather and now have to cancel our plans to attend the Potlatch SF gathering in Portland this weekend. (We're assuming Zorg will be better by then, but he will have to spend the weekend catching up on work to prepare for a business trip next Monday.)

My plans, assuming I remain flu-free, are to catch up on my yoga classes and attend some evening dance events. Too bad the weather is slated to relapse to its seasonal drizzle.

Bad hair day

They've installed a new phone system at the expensive spa/salon in Ballard where I get my hair cut, and it's right on the cutting edge -- of abysmal customer service experiences.

I called and attempted to book an appointment, was told to push "one" to book, did so, waited (while being bored by a gushy ad for acne relief), was blithered at about how I could go to their website to get a gift certificate that I didn't want, and then was very suddenly told to "push 'pound' to stay on the line."

I quickly pushed "pound"...but was disconnected anyway.

I am sure the new phone system is extremely convenient -- for them. But for their customers it's about as pleasant as a dog-poop facial.

"Thank you for choosing [name of salon]," indeed!

Bitchin' about bags

Two years ago I bought an Ellington black microfiber backpack-style purse at eBags.com. It had received rave reviews from dozens of users who praised its looks and durability -- in particular, the silver linings that make it possible to see what you've put into the three zipper compartments.

The Ellington bag arrived, and it exceeded even its advance publicity. I realized I needed to purchase a duplicate immediately.

But, of course, the highly rated bag was no longer available. I wrote to eBags, and they wrote back, apologizing but noting that the manufacturer had discontinued the model.

I checked and discovered that Ellington now offered a more casual pack-style purse that looked like something you'd lug on a weekend trip, not take to a business meeting. After more than a year of searching in vain for the nicer, original bag at discount sites and on eBay, I gave up and began hunting for a replacement bag. The plan was to get either a similar backpack purse or a shoulder bag with multiple compartments.

In the past few months I've looked at thousands of bags, and have bought (and returned) a couple. My beloved backpack purse is showing increasing signs of wear, and I'm getting a little anxious.

Though I haven't found a bag I like, I now speak fluent "purse." I know that what I want is described as:

• a shoulder bag
• north-south (that means vertical)
• with a platform (that means a flat bottom) - at least 3" deep
• with an extruded exterior zip pocket (you could fit a wallet and Treo into it)
  
• with an exterior slip pocket (no clasp - you can slide a brochure into it)
• with a top zip main compartment (secure, but no flap to fuss with)
• with an interior zip compartment (security in the main compartment)

I have yet to find a bag with all those characteristics. And, beyond that, there are aesthetic issues:

• It should not be a shapeless sack.
• It should not be a rigid box.
• It should not look like an overstuffed couch somebody sat on and squashed in the middle.
• It should not look like part of a cowboy costume.
  
• It should not look like it's been active in the bondage scene.
• It should not remind anyone of a lime green daschund.
  

(I could easily illustrate these points with thumbnail photos of purses with these defects, but I'm afraid of being sued by the designers who dream up these $500 eyesores.)

My problem seems to be that all the bags that meet my criteria are "totes," which by definition have two short handles rather than a long shoulder strap. The bags with the long shoulder straps turn out to be either:

• vast, undivided pits into which your possessions vanish (you know what I mean -- the kind women rummage frantically in while everyone around them rolls their eyes);
• narrow leather envelopes-on-a-strap into which you can slip maybe a couple credit cards and some charge slips (keys would make an unsightly lump); or
  
• sealed with a big, heavy, flap so you need two hands free to get anything into or out of them.

I've now gone back to looking at backpacks and messenger bags. I spotted something I like over at Tom Bihn Bags, but, in spite of it being on the homepage of the site, it's being redesigned and is out of stock until May.

As my dad used to say, "Sheesh!"

The Oyster O------s

The annual fundraiser for Puget Soundkeeper Alliance, held at Anthony's Homeport just down the street from our house, used to be known as Anthony's Oyster Olympics. But the Olympics complained (the U.S. Olympic Committee, not the mountains) so the event will be known, at least this year, as Anthony's Oyster O------s.

It's March 27, 3-8 p.m.; it's $95; it's for a very good cause; and...they're serving oysters! If you think you want to go, act soon -- last year I tried to get tickets in the final week, and all the oysters had been booked solid.

For more info or to reserve, call the Alliance at 206.297.7002.

The pattern of events

I like conventions and festivals and dance camps. Preparing for them is stressful, but when I get there, I know I've brought along most of what I need and I have the ability to easily get anything else that's required. I plan a lot of activities, but realize I'll only get to do about half of them.

What I haven't adjusted to, but hope to eventually, is that two-thirds of the way through any multi-day event, be it for business or fun, I crash.

It's not as dramatic as the word "crash" sounds -- it's not even noticeable to most people around me -- but it's always disturbing.

When I arrive at an event, I start out doing a lot of exploration of the hotel, the neighborhood, and the convention itself. Once I've got enough information to operate in the new environment, I feel comfortable taking some risks. And, as a rule, I've set up some "who knows what could happen" activities -- meeting people I haven't seen in a long time, or tackling a subject area that's new to me. I try to mix those with sure-fire things like spending time with a friend, or going to eat food I particularly enjoy.

I believe what happens to me after the first day or two is that I run out of energy. All I know is that suddenly I'm not hungry (even though I should be), and I can't make decisions about anything. (Frequently that's why I can't eat.) I might experience pain, like the start of a migraine. I experience slight depression, even mild paranoia. At this point, I realize I need to get food, get to a quiet place (like my hotel), take a bath, and go to sleep. But I am so distraught about missing out on everything that's supposed to be happening in the next several hours (dancing, meetings, social events, tours) that it takes an hour or two of wandering around in an increasingly debilitated daze to accept that I must have a time out.

(At this point, my introvert friends are probably thinking "That's what big meetings and gatherings are like for me, from beginning to end!")

Saturday at dinnertime I had to bail out of the Dance Flurry, force myself to eat a real meal (at the hotel, no less), take serious medication, and crawl into bed for the night.

Of course, I woke up this morning perfectly fine, dashed out to breakfast and then went and danced for seven hours straight. All better!

I guess from here on out I'm just going to have to dedicate six hours on my event schedule as "crash and/or retreat." My hat is off to the politicians and other public figures who pursue relentless schedules of meetings and appearances 12 or more hours a day, seven days a week. No idea how they can sustain it.

Rescheduled

Southwest Airlines recommended that I reschedule my flight to Albany, so now I'm flying out Friday morning; if I make the connection in Baltimore, I should be on the floor at the Dance Flurry by 9 p.m. When I called the hotel to rearrange my booking there, the clerk cheerily said they have 3 feet of snow and a wind chill factor of 25 degrees below zero.

I remember why I moved to Seattle.

Meanwhile, the folks at SeriousEats.com have a pair of videos that remind me why I still miss New Haven: Pepe's white clam pizza with fresh clams, oregano and lots of garlic. (Watch the part near the end where they show the semolina underneath the crust.) And Louis Lunch, home of the hamburger. They explain why there's absolutely no ketchup allowed. Just cheese, tomato, and onion, and fresh-ground beef served on toasted bread. (They pronounce it "Louis Lunch" but the locals say it "Louie's Lunch.")

Family tradition

One of the time-honored traditions in my family is the trip cancellation discussion.

It started when I was 15, and had been accepted at a summer program at a New England prep school. It would be hot, my mother warned me. I'd swelter. I wouldn't be popular. The academic work would be too difficult, and I'd be forced to come to grips with my intellectual mediocrity. The beds would be uncomfortable. I wouldn't like the food. I pointed out that two of my cousins had loved the program. "Them!" she said darkly. She offered me $500 if I would drop out of the program and stay home for the summer.

Three days before I was scheduled to depart for the program, and was getting fairly freaked out about the dire warnings at home, a college-age friend from the neighborhood took me aside. "Go," he said. "You'll love it. I'll deal with your mother."

Indeed, I had the time of my life at the summer school, and the following spring I announced my desire to go hear Bill Monroe play at a bluegrass festival in North Carolina on Easter weekend. The plan was for me to drive down to North Carolina with my parents and my friend Mary Anne; there we'd meet up with a friend from summer school and his mom, both bluegrass musicians.

About a week before the trip, my mother went into cancellation mode. It was sure to rain. The festival would be hot. It would be rainy. The place would be full of Southerners! By the time we were packing Thursday night, she had worked herself up to a scenario that included a motel with bedbugs and a lynching conducted by the Ku Klux Klan.

Fortunately, my father wanted to hear Bill Monroe, and we made the trip. The festival was phenomenal.

The trip cancellation discussion usually starts about a week before I'm headed somewhere, although my mother can try to put the kibosh a trip on much shorter notice. Perhaps the fastest she's ever gone into gear was in a train station in Paris, when she become convinced I was getting onto the wrong train to go to the Paris airport. (I was to catch a plane back to Italy, where I was living at the time; my parents were headed back to the States the following day.) My last view of my mother was her being restrained by my father as the train whisked me away to the airport.

The trip cancellation hysteria, annoying as I find it to be, has occasionally played out in my favor. There was the trip I didn't want to make to visit a rather overbearing acquaintance in California. It was a few months post 9.11, and my mother had heard there was a security alert at one of the ports in L.A. The fact that I was supposed to be flying into Burbank, an inland airport, meant nothing to her. She begged me to cancel. And, sanctimoniously referencing her concerns to my would-be hostess, I weaseled out of the trip.

The only time my mother does not invoke the trip cancellation routine is, of course, when the trip I'm making is to visit her. Ironically, this resulted in the most terrifying and dangerous journey of my life. Five years ago, when my dad was still alive, I flew to visit them in Florida. They were not up to driving at night, and I insisted, for the first time ever, that I would rent a car at the airport and drive the half hour to their condo. When my flight arrived in Ft. Myers, I dutifully called on my cell phone, as promised, and let them know I was picking up the rental car and was on my way. As I was walking out of the car rental pavilion the heavens opened. I couldn't see the end of the hood of the car through the driving rain. Had I been on a business trip, I'd have just sat in the car until the storm subsided. But I'd just promised my mother I'd be at their place in 45 minutes. So I drove.

Traffic was inching down the flooded highway at about five miles per hour. I was following a county public works truck, which stopped twice to let towering tornados roar across the road in front of us. Periodically there would be a deafening clap of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that revealed palm trees blown horizontal along the median strip. When I arrived at my parents' condo, water was gushing down the sidewalk at ankle height. My mother was standing at the front door yelling "There are tornados on the TV news!"

Yeah. No kidding.

We're having the trip cancellation discussion again because I'm scheduled to fly to Albany, via Chicago, Thursday morning. I'm trying to explain to my mom that snowstorms Tuesday night at those two airports don't necessarily mean that either of them will be closed when I fly Thursday, when the forecast is for sun.

Stay tuned, as they say. Weather at 11.

What's wrong with this picture?

When we got our little tabby kittens three years ago, we called them "The Stripe Sisters." The Feb. 12 post at Cute Overload features a batch of teeny tabbies where you'll notice one of the kittens has slightly different stripes. And that's not all!

My furry friends

The campaign to get Kaylee (our smallest cat) to stop removing all the pushpins from my office bulletin board seems to be successful. As soon as she saw the squirt gun on the desk, she knew I meant business. Of course, a few days later she tested me. And got drenched.

Now she contents herself with simply putting a paw on my chair and looking at me pathetically when she wants something. Of course, she's still pulling pushpins out of the bulletin board in the hall, since there's no squirt gun out there. Apparently we need to make another trip to Archie McPhee, local source of water-powered weaponry.

Just as I got Kaylee under control, one of the local raccoons got feisty. We often go out to find the little garden fountain filled with dirt, courtesy of the coons. About a month ago, a decorative part of the fountain was smashed. Earlier this week, I found the pump lying on the patio. Today I found the whole fountain in a mess, and the pump had stopped working. Betaille (the cat that likes to drink from fountain stream) was glaring at me as if to say "DO something."

So I ordered a different type of fountain, one with a hidden pump and a water reservoir that we can cover with bird netting to keep out the raccoon.

Yeah, right.

Season of the hype

Living through the run-up to February 14 is like watching a NASCAR race. You just know somebody's going to get hurt.

That's why Zorg and I have agreed to ignore Valentine's Day. It rather drove me nuts to get roses that I knew cost him three times as much as the nicer roses he gave me for our anniversary. It makes us both crazy to go out to dinner on a busy night when service and cooking are likely at their nadir. Fortunately, we have our "first date anniversary" just a few weeks before Valentine's Day, so we celebrate that instead, with a dinner out that traditionally involves mixed drinks. (Don't ask.)

Standing safely on the Valentine's sidelines, I have to admit I enjoy the tackier side of the holiday: the candy. The Candy Blog, which, as you might expect, goes wild this time of year. They've started out with candy rings and heart-shaped Junior Mints and will be moving upscale later in the week. I hope they mention Bittersweets "the Valentine's candy for the rest of us" somewhere along the way.

Pizza nirvana at Snoose Junction

I'm trying to figure out why there aren't people charging through the streets of Ballard waving their arms and screaming "Pizza! Pizza at last!"

Maybe it's hard to scream with your mouth full?

The big news is that Snoose Junction Pizza on Market Street is open. The good news is that the pizza (by the slice or by the pie) is rich, cheesy New York style 'za, all melty and spicy and salty on a puffy, crispy, yeasty crust.

The great news is that Snoose Junction is a genuine neighborhood pizza place, very much like the small Ray's Pizza houses you find in Manhattan. Order a slice, and the server grabs a small aluminum plate, drapes it with a sheet of red-and-white checked paper, and shovels the slice onto it. The drinks include beer, wine, bottled sodas, and fountain sodas (not cans!) and the cola is Coke, not Pepsi. (Does this make a difference to anyone else? It sure does to me.)

Snoose Junction has that "sit down and relax" feeling that turns me into a repeat customer. You can bring the family and take over one of their big booths. (Booths are in and of themselves relaxing things -- probably one of the reasons I frequent the Lockspot Cafe.) Or slip in by your self, sit at the counter, and read the thought-fully provided local newspaper as you devour melted cheese and rich tomato sauce.

Snoose Junction offers 10 type of combo pizzas, most with the usual ingredients though one, a white pizza, has some unusual elements. And you're invited to start with their basic 16-inch cheese pizza ($14) and "build your own" from a long list of ingredients. They also have calzones, panini, and a variety of salads that go well beyond the basic garden and Caesar. Desserts include lemon sorbet and tiramisu (both imported from Italy), spumoni by Snoqualmie Ice Cream, and sfogliatelle (order that one in advance; there's a 15-minute prep time for the ricotta-filled pastry).

I have plenty of nice things to say about the gourmet pizzas at Via Tribunali, Tutta Bella, and Serious Pie. But, frankly, from here on out, you're more likely to find me at Snoose Junction.