An extra day

Odd to have a Friday holiday.

Zorg mowed the lawn; I trimmed plants, cleaned my office closet, ran some errands, and made chocolate-dipped cherries for a 4th of July party in Fremont. At the party, there was much grim conversation about the political climate and the economy. Several people felt that McCain's new staff is part of his alignment with the sector of the Republican party that was involved in the voting-machine rigging in Ohio and Florida in 2004.

Walked part of the way home, and then Zorg picked me up on the Fremont/Ballard border. We checked on our vacationing neighbors' cats and mice -- no fish this time. The cats, which get kibble as a rule, look forward to our visits because we bring small offerings of wet food.

Both of us remarked on how much quieter this Fourth seems than previous ones. Is it the economy?

The thunderstorms last night took care of watering the garden for a few days -- that's a real holiday for me.

Cats out for summer

Warm weather arrives, and the cats respond to the call of the wild.

Our neighbor's cat, Bee, spent five days trapped on someone's balcony until the woman across the street asked about the "new cat" and the homeowners noticed her. (You have to wonder if they were hard of hearing.)

Our big tabby, Zoe, has gotten trapped twice in the past few days. The first time, I opened the attic door to reach inside for a straw hat; Zoe slipped in, and spent the next few hours in the hot attic until I heard her yowling.

She failed utterly to learn her lesson. This morning I went into the garden shed for a pair of clippers. Zoe slipped in, and then spent the entire day in the shed. I noticed her missing this afternoon, called her name, and heard yowling again. When I opened the door, she shot out and dashed across the lawn, stopping on the patio to give me a hurt look.

Now I've resolved to conduct a "whisker count" every few hours to make sure I know where all three cats are.

It could certainly be worse. John Hedtke reports on the adventures of their cat Silas, which began with a tumble from a second floor balcony. John and his wife captured the injured cat and put him into a cardboard carrier, which promptly opened from the bottom, dumping the now-berserk cat onto the floor. And that was only the beginning...

How tall would you like your condos?

Seattle Metblogs reports the first sighting of "impeach greg nickels" bumper stickers. (Or I guess you could put them on your briefcase if you're riding the bus.)

Don't blame me, I voted for Sidran.

Fremont Parade picture

There's a funny story along with this photo Jeff Carlson got of me.

Two sides of the Fremont Solstice Parade

I danced in the Fremont Solstice Parade today for the first time; last year I was a crowd monitor, and Zorg has been a crowd monitor for several years.

Being in the parade was amazing. The crowd along the route is only about five rows deep; you see every face, and I saw dozens of friends and was able to wave to them as we danced by. I was in Delilah's Visionary Dance Studio belly dance troup. Here's a picture from the Seattle PI of Dahlia Moon, one of the teachers, leading her Gawazi (Egyptian) troup. Dahlia's group wore striped jackets; we wore more traditional "cabaret-style" costumes, all in hot pink.

While the parade (performers and audience) is very much Fremont artists, hippies and yuppies, the crowd that turns out to party at the growing number of bars and nightclubs in Fremont, and listen to bands on the Fremont Fair stages, is something else -- younger, more commercially oriented, and louder. The parties along N 34th as I walked back to the car at 4 p.m. looked more like grad school spring break than the Fremont Solstice Festival; the insiders had gathered down at Gas Works Park, where there was a strong scent of ganja and naked people were taking pictures of costumed ones.

Both crowds seemed to be having great fun.

Parade pictures were already flooding onto Flickr.com at 5 p.m. Here are some of my group:

Peace bra.

Lineup of belly dancers.

Following Delilah.

Henna tattoos.

Dress rehearsal

My bellydance costume is ready for tonight's dress rehearsal for the Fremont Solstice Parade, but I'm not.

I'm frazzled, freaked, and my hands (and other parts of me) looked like I was attacked by a porcupine with St. Vitus Dance.

There are whole books written on making the tops for bellydance costumes. I bought one of them, read it, and concluded its detailed content would be useful if you had a spare month or two to devote to sewing.

I didn't.

I was completely ready to buy a bellydance top (which can run up to a cool $500) except our teacher decided all the costumes should be hot pink, and there aren't many well-structured hot pink costumes available. One woman in my class bought a cheap one and brought it to class, shrieking "It doesn't even fit half way around me!"

So I bought a nice pink skirt, and went to work upholstering a black molded bra with a hot pink sequined paisley fabric.

What a mess.

I think I've employed every form of technology known to attach one thing to another — short of duct tape. In addition to thread, I have used elastic, stitch witchery, velcro, fabric glue, and ribbon. It didn't help that the cats kept lunging at the thread and needle every time I took a stitch. The top should have a label that says "No animals were harmed in the creation of this costume, but three were severely disciplined."

Initially I had been very concerned about making sure I had a top that would look attractive. Well, the sewing ordeal took care of that silly worry. At the moment, I don't care if I look like a hippopotamus in this get-up. I'm just praying I didn't leave a pin in it somewhere that will emerge as we prance down the parade route on Saturday.

Long days, busy week on the way to the parade

Three evenings in a row of two-hour belly dance practices (for Saturday's Fremont Solstice Parade) are making for very long days. Particularly because, for some reason, I also scheduled an 8 a.m. business appointment every morning this week and another away-from-home meeting around mid-day every day.

The result is that I put on a business costume, dash out, come home and put on practical clothes for a few hours, get back into a business costume for the next meeting, then come home and put on a belly dance costume.

I think I'd be bitching less if the weather were about 10 degrees warmer. And I'm looking forward to testing that hypothesis.

By the way, the inside word on the upcoming Fremont Parade is: best floats ever!

Blogging less, writing more

I've been writing fiction for the past few weeks, which likely accounts for my blogging less. Yes, I know -- I've been writing fiction for the past 20 years! But previously I've worked on one project at a time. Currently, I'm working on several, from short stories and ultra-short "flash fiction" to novels. And I'm working in multiple genres and multiple styles. I know it sounds weird, but if I don't want to work on one piece, I generally find that I do want to work on another one. At other times, I find myself thinking about a particular story or character, and head for the computer specifically to work on that piece.

Weird as it is, this system is apparently working because I'm completing projects that had been percolating for months. And I'm sending finished pieces off to various magazines and contests.

Be patient. Many of the magazines take months to respond (usually, with a rejection!), and contests take months to announce winners.

The one tight deadline I'm facing is getting three book chapters in the mail before the end of June to be considered for a fall writers workshop. Part of me wants to write the whole book before committing to the first three chapters, but there simply isn't time.

The Mysterious Traveler turns 5

Thursday, June 12, is our 5th anniversary here at the The Mysterious Traveler. Ironically, we'll be celebrating it by blogging for clients' blogs — evidence, perhaps, of too much success!

The blog has had 995 posts in five years, and will hit the 1000th post sometime in June.

The blog's most popular page continues to be the Waring Ice Cream Parlor machine instructions. Check out the comments!

At the market and at the movies

I started the day by dashing down to the farmers market. Got fresh cow's milk mozzarella that tasted like very large-curd cottage cheese (expensive large-curd cottage cheese), a nice bouquet of rainbow chard, two very esoteric tomato plants, and a dish of fresh mint chocolate chip ice cream.

After the market, Zorg and I went to the Jewelbox (a tiny theater inside a bar on Second Avenue) to see the film "Ordinary Angels" by Todd Downing. If you like "Heroes," chances are you'd enjoy this well-cast indie film; it's presented as a documentary about the final days of contemporary angels on earth.

Unfortunately, it was the middle film of a group of three, and the first film was simply ghastly — a bit of black humor that would have been amusing for 30 seconds but was pure torture for the several minutes it persisted.

When we returned from our artistic interlude, I planted the five tomato plants purchased from various sources over the past week, along with two tomato plants that grew from last year's seeds. The back yard beds are full of heads of lettuce and strawberry plants. I think I'm almost done for the season, except for some basil.

Chaos level back to normal

My mother's plane landed late Tuesday night. Her luggage failed to appear, but we spotted it in the unclaimed luggage area — it had arrived several hours earlier. That was fortunate, as quite a few of her fellow travelers on the delayed flight from Dallas discovered their luggage had languished on the tarmac in the rain for many hours before being loaded onto a plane for Seattle. One woman pulled her bag off the carousel, unzipped it, and what looked like the contents of a washing machine in mid cycle poured out. Murmuring sympathetic phrases, we grabbed our (dry) luggage and dashed for the car.

I dropped my mom at her condo in Edmonds, where we'd already delivered her freshly detailed car, and she appears to be settling in quite well.

Wednesday night my cousins from Baltimore were in town and we had them over for dinner, along with my mom.

Thursday and Friday I refocused on client projects, of which there are many, but still room for a couple more for June. One possibility is a very exciting business-to-consumer site with a focus one of my favorite lifestyle topics. (No, not belly dancing, but just as colorful). Stay tuned.

The cool, gray weather this weekend has really got me down. I walked to many of the Sunset Hill yard sales yesterday while Zorg was out cycling (a car + bike operation). My friend Tom came over to watch Heroes (nominated for a Hugo this year), and last night Zorg and I continued our watching of the Harry Potter films.

Today I did trailer park yoga and the spent the rest of the day writing while Zorg went out and did two more bike rides. He just got back and now I'm headed out to grocery shop before making a run up to my mom's to deliver a package that arrived here for her.

June in Seattle: Turn up the heat, please.

Fasten your seat belts

As I write this, my mother has been stuck at the Dallas airport (currently in a plane on the tarmac) for six hours.

The site Flightstats.com is allowing me to monitor the situation as it deteriorates. I've been making periodic phone calls to Zorg as we reconfigure the schedule for picking my mom up this afternoon/evening when her plane arrives at SeaTac.

I have her car, and the original plan was that I would to pick her up and drive her to her condo Edmonds, where Zorg would pick me up in time to drop me at my dance rehearsal in Fremont.

With the plane delayed, it soon became apparent I'd miss the rehearsal, meaning I'd need to attend tomorrow evening's rehearsal, creating a conflict with a dinner I'm supposed to be hosting tomorrow for my mom and some rarely-seen cousins who are in town for the day.

As the flight's departure time inched later, the problem shifted to Zorg having to pick me up late at night in Edmonds, when he needs to get up tomorrow at the crack of dawn for a bike ride. We've now shifted things around so that he'll come home early, we'll take both cars to Edmonds, leave her car there, drive back home, drop him off, and I'll take his car to my dance rehearsal, then rush from the rehearsal down to Sea-Tac to get my poor mother.

The summer is off to great start.

Checking Flightstats.com, I see that the plane is now delayed another 30 minutes, meaning I can take my time on the way down to Sea-Tac after the rehearsal.

My mother, who started traveling at 4 a.m. Seattle time, is going to be berserk. I'll bet she'll have talked American Airlines into giving her a free round-trip ticket; if they're smart, they'll buy her one on a different airline.

Folklife, now tea

It's midnight. I'm sitting at my desk sipping a fabulous cup of Yorkshire Gold tea (amazed that I managed, somehow, to make it 24 hours without a cup of tea) while Zoe eats my last arrowroot biscuit. She missed me during Folklife, and has been bringing me stuffed mice all evening.

I said at the start of Folklife that it was going to be the least dramatic Folklife weekend on record. Since my 24-year record at Folklife includes one divorce, several severe migraines, a lost car, a screaming fight on my lawn at 2 a.m., a couple of bizarre house-guest incidents, and one ghost sighting, that was a pretty ambitious prediction. And, as it turned out, spectacularly wrong: For the first time in Folklife's 27-year history, there was an episode of violence and an arrest.

But, from my personal viewpoint, the prediction was right: No big drama. I did, however, get to introduce quite a few of my favorite people to each other, and encountered several folks from my far, distant past, almost all of whom I was delighted to see.

Chicken feathers and tales of Folklife

"What side of a chicken has more feathers?" Bob McQuillen asked me this morning as the early risers at Folklife milled about the Harrison Street entrance, unloading instruments and gulping coffee. I was working the first greeter shift, and pianist McQuillen, in town from New Hampshire, was already entertaining.

"The north side?" I guessed.

He gave me points for trying, but the answer was: "The outside."

Folklife weekend

I'm heading off to Folklife tomorrow morning for my 24th year at the festival. I've volunteered all 24 years, performed (with Nonesuch English Country Dance) for a half-dozen years, and was even on the board for a few years in the early '90s.

If you are a visitor to Folklife, three things will amaze:
• The breadth and depth of the performances, particularly the ones on the indoor stages.
• The fact that all the performances (with the exception of one benefit concert) are free.
• All the opportunities to jump in and participate — at the Roadhouse dance hall and the Center House dance venue, and at dozens of small specialty workshops.

As a volunteer, what amazes me year after year is the way the festival runs itself, with the vast majority of the work being done by experienced volunteers. The Folklife staff plans the event in meticulous detail (see photo, above) but when the festival goes live, their work becomes coordination of the volunteers, who are out there emcee-ing the stages, manning the info booths, asking for donations at the entrances, and performing on the stages.

Folklife is an organizational wonder.

Not yer daddy's square dance

The (mostly) Monday night square dance with The Tallboys is back at the Tractor Tavern (which a few of us old timers still think of as The New Melody Tavern). It's a great time, and I heartily encourage you to attend, keeping in mind that it's not quite the way we remember it.

Square dancing to Southern style music has swept through the Seattle folk dance scene periodically since the 1970s, and the Tractor's Monday Night Square Dance is the manifestation of the latest square dance craze.

It's loose, it's fast, and it's very old-timey — no smooth New England quadrille influences here. And it's extremely physical and active, in part because the people doing it are in their 20s and 30s.

Get a taste of this style when The Tallboys play for dancing in the Folklife Roadhouse 9-10 p.m. Friday.

They're grey, not green

Renee's Home and Garden in Bellingham is selling a 10'-high space ship and 10 little grey aliens. Spaceship seats seven — perfect for your next garden party.

You have no idea how tempted I am...

Meditations on cats, present and past

I've been sick with the flu for much of the past week, and spent a lot of time with our cats. Well, perhaps not much more time than usual, but instead of trying to get them to quit pawing at me and meowing to be let in and out and in and out, I paid attention to them.

Though tiny Kaylee still looks and moves like a kitten, she is beginning to show some signs of common sense. She has also recently become a bit more affectionate. Sitting still for more than a few seconds has always been a problem for her, but now she seems to be able to sit on a lap and have her head scratched for a minute or so. Oddly, in view of this, Kaylee is very good companion when I'm sick. If I run a fever, she is on me like glue. We've had cats like this before, that just "take over" when someone is significantly ill, and then wander off to resume an aloof lifestyle as soon as the owner recovers.

Large-tabby Zoe, who is perfect happy throwing her 13 pounds of fur and apparently un-retractable claws directly across my chest and going immediately to sleep, doesn't seem to differentiate between sick owners and healthy ones. They're all nice to sleep on.

Sheba, whose deafness contributes to her feline self-centeredness, didn't seem particularly concerned that I was sick. She snored right through some particularly miserable episodes.

But I noticed that instead of yowling and knocking things off the furniture to wake me up at the usual time, all three of the cats slept in when I did.

As the weather gets warmer, the tabbies are starting to refuse to come in at night. Sometimes one comes in, and in my sleepy and increasingly inept attempts to capture the one out on the patio, I let the captured one of the pair out again and have to start all over.

I was up quite a bit in the middle of the night this week. One night I found myself in the kitchen with the cats (they were hoping for a handout) and glanced out the glass door at the back garden. Suddenly a big fat raccoon ambled up the back stairs onto the little porch and put its nose against the door. Zoe hissed and whined. The raccoon was unimpressed. I walked over to the door, and it remained unimpressed. I think it was looking past me at the cat food bowls in the kitchen. It's probably going to report to its clan that they should try back in the afternoon when I'm out gardening and tend to eave the door open.

The lawn went unmowed much of the week (until Zorg got into gear on Sunday) and the tabbies were hiding in the long grass like lions, and springing out at each other. Sheba, being bright white, has no illusions about being able to hide in greenery.

This led us to think back on poor Socks, a big long-haired tabby we had at the old house in Wallingford. In Wallingford, we lived next to "the house" on the block — you know, the type of run-down, overgrown place with six cars that you'll find on most older North Seattle streets. The owner of the house (actually, the owner's black sheep son) went months, perhaps years, without mowing. The local cats, possums and raccoons (mice? voles?) had created a network of paths through the back yard. When we put a second floor on our house, we gained an aerial view of the feline Ho Chi Minh Trail and amused ourselves picking out the various cats hiding in the foliage.

One afternoon Zorg looked out the window of the upstairs office and panicked. The lawn had been mowed to a stubble, and what appeared to be the dead body of a cat — Socks — was in the middle of it. He grabbed binoculars and saw it truly was Socks. But when he rushed out the back door and into the neighbor's yard, he realized Socks was alive and perfectly fine — at least physically. Socks was laying out there in the sun because he thought he was still hiding; he was too dim to understand the implications of the grass being gone.

One tough day

Everything today was just a bit tougher than I thought it needed to be.

Recovering from one illness, I got hit with a touch of something else.

It seemed like everyone I tried to lean on for balance (and I rarely do that) was out of town, heading out of town, coming down with something or just wasn't answering the phone.

In short, I had some reality experiences I could have done without.

But I made it through. I delivered proofreading work to a client, gave an adequate training session at Folklife, made tapioca, and got some writing done.

And summer is finally coming. It still feels cool to me, but the cats know. They don't want to come in at night when I call them!

House guest, entertain thyself!

I'm not wild about out-of-town guests of the tourist variety.

Friends who are in town for business (such as our musician friends) are more my style—they have transportation, agendas, and plenty to do. Plus invites for us to all the best parties.

It's the ones who bounce in to breakfast and chirp brightly "Well, what are we all going to do today?" who strike fear into my heart. My cruise-director skills are...negligible.

So I want to thank the Seattle Times for today's brilliant article listing dozens of inexpensive tours and sights for out-of-town visitors of every age and interest. The article also lists how many hours you can expect to have the guests out of your hair while they are on each tour, for instance:"

LOCKS CRUISE

They get: To see the harbor, see the sky, see the wildlife swimming by — from Elliott Bay into Lake Union via the Ballard Locks on an Argosy cruise; 206-623-1445 or www.argosycruises.com/publiccruises/locks.cfm.You get: 2.5 hours, more if they're stopped by the feds for a random safety inspection.

Oh, where was this guide when I really needed it 15 years ago?

Is a kitty looking for you?

Purrfect Pals is having their Average Joe Cat Show, which includes adoptions, tomorrow (Saturday) in Shoreline. Details here. This is an agency that goes to great lengths to match cats to your home environment to assure a successful placement.

What a great day!

I got up this morning, put on gardening clothes, and rushed out to work on the front garden. Zorg went off bicycling. There was plenty of time to wander from task to task, giving the Japanese maple its "Farrah Fawcett" haircut (the layered look) and training a winter groundcover.

After I was sufficiently blissed out, I got out the tools and wrestled with the second of the two nightmarish cast-iron chairs, assembling it with the better-quality hardware I'd purchased after my melt-down with chair #1. So, the chairs are done and there's a place for us to sit out front when you drop by for iced tea this summer.

Zorg returned from his bike ride, and John came over to go to the Puget Soundkeeper Alliance first annual Oyster Roast. I changed clothes, and we headed down to the event at the Golden Gardens bathhouse. The beach was just packed with people.

The oyster event is a nice mix of folks concerned about the local marine environment and folks interested in...oysters. They served oysters, roasted and raw. Actually, the raw oysters were better than raw. They were alive. One of the experts showed us how to shuck a few. I found it helped quite a bit to do the shucking standing up, holding the oyster steady on the table while twisting the knife to pop the shell. There were a few self-inflicted stabbings at our table; we decided that the Tabasco sauce was a good way to treat the damage.

One of the beverages at the feast was the Firesteed Pinot Gris that was such a smash at the oyster event at Anthony's Homeport last year. It's one of the most full-bodied and flavorful white wines I have ever tasted.

Got back from the oyster event with plenty of daylight remaining, so went back to gardening. I edged the lawn with the weed-eater for the first time this year, and a neighbor and his hulking teenage son came over to help me reassemble the concrete bench that had been in the front yard in its new position in the back yard. Then I removed grass to expand the shade garden, and then got to work on the ground cover in what will be the tomato garden. By this time, I was dashing around in the dark. I had dirt in my Keens, dirt in my hair, and grass clippings on my glasses. Wonderful!

I got in around 9 p.m. and now I'm starving. I'd kill for a chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting. Too bad Verite doesn't deliver.

Getting surly about name-calling

[NOTE: Names have been changed for reasons that will become obvious.]

I belong to an online group of women who share an interest in the arts and are involved with local arts activities. Discussion is allowed to go off-topic, and it's not uncommon for people to share tips on insurance agents, contractors, and such.

Recently a woman asked for a recommendation for a shoe repair person, and one of the replies referred to a local craftsman as "Surly Bob." The writer went on to vent her unhappiness with his "vibe" and his "shoddy" craftsmanship, which she did not describe in any detail. Several messages later, another woman chimed in describing "Surly Bob's" refusal to take on a repair job that involved a creative idea she'd dreamed up. A third woman later mailed the list to ask for the address of "Surly Bob" so she could "be sure to avoid" him—as if he were roaming the streets, snatching women's shoes off and repairing them ungraciously.

This really pissed me off.

I know the shoe repair person in question, am a highly satisfied repeat customer, and am also aware of the many contributions he has made to the neighboring business community. He does have a somewhat ironic sense of humor, but he'd pretty much have to. I've seen women (sorry, it's always women) rush into his shop, stand in line impatiently rolling their eyes and exhaling like yaks on a cold morning, and then ask him to do things like take off the three-inch skinny high heels from one pair of shoes and attach them onto a pair of flat sandals. To which he is likely to respond "You're kidding, right?"

Oh, and they want it done like this afternoon.

I think what truly discouraged me about the "Surly Bob" discussion on the online list was that the woman who started the name calling is herself a businessperson. One who did a less-than-impressive piece of work for me several years ago.

Now if the gals in the online group had been discussing local artists, or local fine woodworkers, and they didn't like someone, they might have made some negative remarks about the person's pricing, or workmanship, or attitude. But they wouldn't have labeled someone who makes $5,000 buffets "Cranky Joe."

The labeling and name calling reveal a pathetic lady-of-the-manor attitude on the part of these college-educated women toward a working class man—even though the working class business person may have a far higher-grossing, more profitable, and more demanding business than anything they've ever run.

I'm disgusted. I'm disappointed. I'm not posting my views to the list because I have never once seen any of these women disagree with each other on the list. Either it's simply not done, or perhaps the moderator just vaporizes any posts that might make someone reach for their smelling salts.

Meanwhile, my shoe repair person has a highly successful business with a wait list of work nearly one month out. Somehow, I don't think the mesdames in the list will have any trouble "avoiding" him. Though they may want to avoid me.

Avoidance

I have been avoiding blogging this week in part because I'm doing a lot of blog-like writing for paying clients. Which is very exciting because that's the sector of my business I want most to develop. Yahoo! Whoopee!

But I'm also avoiding blogging on this personal blog because I just can't stand to admit that I have yet another cold-type thing that starts as a sore throat and then is characterized by an annoying little cough that gets worse as the day goes on. There's no fever, and very little congestion. And Zorg observes that it doesn't even seem to be contagious.

Deciding that perhaps I erred with the first two bouts of this in March by trying to ignore them, I gave this third one my full attention. I spent one entire afternoon in bed. I have been taking Zicam (some kind of homeopathic cold remedy) every six hours, eating raw garlic every six hours, and taking half a hydrocodone or something similar every six hours. The hydrocodone is the only thing that suppresses the cough, and I'm pretty much immune to any drowsiness from it.

I have drunk gallons of chicken soup and tea. Zorg has fetched me hot and sour soup and dumplings with incendiary ginger-garlic sauce from Fu Man Dumpling (this is now his favorite food, as well as mine). I have done slow yoga.

I am slowly getting better, coughing less, and fully expect to be able to do a bit of dancing at the World Rhythm Festival this weekend. But I am really fed up with this bug. Yes, I know it's nothing in comparison with real health problems I've had in the past or with some of the serious injuries friends of mine are currently dealing with, but...three rounds of this in two months? What is it?

(For the record: Yes, I had my tonsils out. When I was 29. Ouch.)

50% discount on Take Control ebooks

To celebrate the 18th anniversary of their TidBITS electronic newsletter, the folks over at Take Control are offering a 50% discount on all their ebooks through April 29. The half-off sale includes their newest and most recently updated titles:

• Joe Kissell's "Take Control of Maintaining Your Mac"
• Steve Sande's "Take Control of iWeb: iLife '08 Edition"
• Ted Landau's "Take Control of Your iPhone"
• Brian Tanaka's "Take Control of Permissions in Leopard"
• Joe Kissell's "Take Control of Easy Backups in Leopard"
• Matt Neuburg's "Take Control of Customizing Leopard"
• "Macworld Mac OS X Hints Superguide, Leopard Edition"
• "Macworld Total Leopard Superguide"

You'll also find ebooks on wireless Internet security, switching from PC to Mac, and getting the most out of your iPod. (There are even ebooks on booking a cheap plane ticket and planning and cooking Thanksgiving dinner.)

• Take Control of Upgrading to Leopard
• Take Control of Users & Accounts in Leopard
• Take Control of Sharing Files in Leopard
• Take Control of Fonts in Leopard
• Take Control of Maintaining Your Mac
• Take Control of Mac OS X Backups
• Take Control: The Mac OS X Lexicon
• Take Control of Running Windows on a Mac
• Take Control of Troubleshooting Your Mac
• Macworld Mac Basics Superguide
• Take Control of Buying a Mac
• Take Control of Podcasting on the Mac
• Take Control of Switching to the Mac
• iPhoto 08: Visual QuickStart Guide
• Take Control of Apple Mail in Tiger
• Take Control of Spam with Apple Mail
• Take Control of .Mac
• Take Control of Your 802.11n AirPort Extreme Network
• Take Control of Your Wi-Fi Security
• Take Control of Your iPod: Beyond the Music
• Take Control of Digital TV
• Take Control of Booking a Cheap Airline Ticket
• Take Control of Thanksgiving Dinner

Springtime in the garden

Wait...what's that white stuff?

My interesting friends

All I'm doing these days is working and bitching about the cold rainy weather, so let's take a look at what the more interesting friends of the Mysterious Traveler are up to:

The Samurai Radiologist at Not Totally Rad went for a two hour tour of DC on a Segway, figuring he'd either get a great story or some interesting injuries. Find out which.

Over at Daily, Doug Plummer is taking gorgeous lush photos of tulips.

Geoff Duncan of Percolating is following Doug's lead in going for the lush flower shots while emulating Samurai's pursuit of danger. Here's how.

Over at (My New) Life Out Here, Rae is following my advice on men but apparently doesn't share my taste in literature.

At Cornichon, Ron expands on the New York Times' story about food and politics.

Whew! Guys, you are making me look boring!

A neighbor's tulips

Taken with my iPhone

Books, books, books

Another action-packed day:

• Wrangle with mom by phone (multiple calls)
• Follow up on contacts from last night's SEO seminar
• Attempt to write press release for client
• Several loads of laundry
• Turn off TimeMachine to restore normal computer speed
• Order new cat tags for Smokey
• Zorg home early; errands with him in town
• Cook macaroni and cheese using authentic 1960's recipe
• Seattle Friends of the Library book sale at Magnuson Park with book collector friend
• Feed cats for friends who are on vacation

The book sale was a trip; it's going on all weekend, and well worth visiting. Paperbacks, many of them brand new, unread donations, are 50 cents each. Trade paperbacks and many excellent hardbacks are just $1. There is also a Better Books section and a Rare Book section, both with extremely reasonable prices.

I bought lots of foreign mystery and some science fiction collections, along with a few novelty items and a collectible, signed James Blaylock novel.

Detour for sushi

The schedule for today was long, varied, and busy:

• Do yoga at home
• Make a business call on behalf of my mom
• Finish an article and email it to client
• Pack car with clothes for evening activities
• Belltown to conduct an interview for an article
• Back to Ballard for massage treatment for my hip
• Over to West Seattle for a search engine optimization seminar
• Over to Lake City for contra dancing

Unfortunately, a derailment took place at 8:30 p.m. when the seminar in West Seattle (a very good one) ended and I realized I needed to eat. One of the other seminar attendees was a well-known Seattle food blogger.

"Ever been to Mashiko?" I asked him.

"No," he said. "Let's go!"

On my previous visit to Mashiko, I'd simply eaten what the sushi chef recommended. We did this again, and were not disappointed. One dish, with cucumbers, mint leaf, and tiny fillets of fish with bright silver skin, was particularly exciting. And I had a little bit of the cedar-aged saki. Another amazing meal.

If my friend ends up writing a review of the dishes, I'll post a link here.

A sloppy blog post

I've been writing short pieces for clients like crazy, but somehow writing tight professional pieces doesn't mix with personal blogging. And maybe I've been using all my snarky throwaway lines on Twitter, which I really love. You'll find me there as "mystrev" (short for "mystery reviewer").

The garden is off to a slow start this year. It's been in the 40s most days, with sun mixed with drizzle, which isn't exactly ideal for what I needed most to do: organize the equipment and supplies in the garden shed. Today I finally got out there and did a quick clean up, grabbing a lot of mis-filed stuff, putting it out in the yard, cleaning the shed, and then putting only half of the junk back in (and in an organized fashion). The rest of the stuff will be going into a yard sale (my neighbor is having one soon).

Anyone need plants? I have many pots -- large, medium, and small - - filled with Wargrave's Pink hardy geranium plants that I plan to give away or put in the yard sale. Wargrave's Pink grow into big mounds; you cut them down and they grow right back. These are the hardiest of hardies.

I also have available some cedar planters and other pots filled with misc. greenery and some red tulips. And, of course, there are some pots of Spiny Bear's Breech available. Bear's Breech grows into a big plant that's too much for my small borders (but which keeps coming back every year).

If you'd like any of these, let me know before they get yard-saled.

Don't call me, call Orchard Remote

[Ed. note: A slightly more formal version of this has been posted on one of my other blogs.]

So, you're on the phone with tech support (finally!) and the support person is asking you questions.

Sometimes they're downright insulting. (They want to know if your computer is turned on when you've already figured out the problem is a packet-switching error at your ISP's server.)

Other times they're using terminology you aren't familiar with. (Tech support: "OK, open Terminal and SSH into the...." You: "I beg your pardon?")

Oh, wouldn't it be heavenly if the tech support person at the other end of the line could see that problem you're glaring at on your screen? And even more amazing if you could turn over control of the machine to him/her and just sit back and watch while they diagnosed and fixed it?

Well, you can.

"He's was right there on my computer and could literally move the cursor!" is the way Kim Bamberg describes it.

Kim is not hallucinating. A busy Seattle wedding planner, she signed up for a new tech support service called Orchard Remote. Created by Jeff Hopkins, a former Apple Store "genius," Orchard Remote provides, yes, remote Mac tech support via the internet, logging into and literally taking control of a client's ailing computer while the client watches. Usually the Orchard Remote tech support person talks with the client by telephone or VOIP while the repairs are underway onscreen.

Remote support makes perfect sense for Jon Troxel, who runs a nautical charts company on a remote island in Puget Sound. He's nowhere near an Apple store. But instead of trying to describe his computer problems to phone-based tech support, Jon uses Orchard Remote to deal with everything from his website to his printers. Stuck while trying to modify a PDF, he logged into the Orchard Remote website and filled out a request for help. "Within minutes Jeff was on the phone and showing me how to make an adjustments in Preferences," Jon said.

Orchard Remote is in Seattle, but can serve clients just about anywhere—as long as they are connected to the internet. They access client machines using a Virtual Network Computing (VNC) software similar to that in Apple's iChat application; it works on Macs running the most recent versions of Mac OS X (Leopard or Tiger).

"As long as you can get to our website, you can give us remote control of your machine," Jeff said. He works with clients who use cable or DSL, but even has one customer on dial-up.

Service is available seven days a week, 12 hours a day. (Or more. I was amused to note that every time I emailed Jeff with a question for this article, he shot back a reply in just a few minutes.)

What problems bring people to Orchard Remote? Not surprisingly, many of the same ones that have friends who use Macs phoning me at odd hours! (You know who you are.) Glitches with email and calendars are right at the top of the list. But Jeff is game to assist with things as exotic as performance issues in Adobe Lightroom.

"Even if it's software I don't use, I know how to research it," he said.

Orchard Remote clients run the gamut from Mac-savvy business owners who don't have time to deal with technical glitches to non-technical types who get queasy at the mere sound of words like "reboot" "system preferences" and "software upgrade."

Orchard Remote currently offers unlimited support for six months for $99. The fee covers one household computer or one user with multiple computers. (Full disclosure: I have an account with Orchard Remote, and Jeff is also a client for my writing services.)

I asked Jeff if he has any advice for clients, thinking he might recommend a particular Mac book, or suggest that we get in the habit of using our applications' Help files (ahem). But his suggestion was far more basic and practical:

"Get as much RAM in your computer as you can afford," he said. "It makes your computer so much more responsive across the board."

So, guys, I'll still do triage on the occasional cry for help about lost email or sluggish internet connections. But don't be surprised if all I can do is stabilize your ailing machine and refer you to the specialists at Orchard Remote.

Yabba dabba...

I finally made it to Bedrock, the glass recycling shop just off Elliott under the Magnolia Bridge. Great garden decor, plus the raw materials and plenty of inspiration for DIY projects. And a nice snowshoe cat.

What kind of friend are you?

OK, that's a trick question.

I wanted to get your attention to find out if you're a Friend of Folklife. If you've let your Friend of Folklife membership lapse, or you enjoy the festival every year but have never cozied up to it much past stuffing a $10 bill in the donation box, now's the time.

"Now," as in "by April 30."

This "free" festival has a serious budget of about $2 million collars (with costs going up), and relies primarily on individual donations to make the four-day festival happen. (Has anyone seen any big arts grants recently? Didn't think so.)

Unfortunately, Folklife doesn't fit the usual profile of an arts organization or a human services organization or an educational or research non-profit—even though it works in all those areas. And though Folklife does a lot to benefit many of the regional ethnic and folk arts communities, most supporters of those groups tend to fund their own, smaller, projects before thinking of Folklife.

During the month of April, Folklife is doing a special "new friends" campaign to broaden its membership base. Over the years, Folklife has turned again and again to the same core of supporters. The new executive director of Folklife, Rob Townsend, is now challenging the board and longtime Folklife supporters (like me and Zorg) to help him grow that base.

So, I'm inviting you to join Folklife at the $50 level. The Friends of Folklife donation is tax-deductible, so it's a better deal than making $10 daily donations to the cash boxes on the festival grounds.

And, as a Friend of Folklife, when you come to the festival this year, you'll get a special button that will let you into the Folklife Hospitality suite, a large area with free refreshments where the performers hang out and jam. It's nice to be able to wander in there and get a free Coke or cup of tea without having to stand in a long line at one of the food booths; if it's raining, Hospitality is a wonderful sheltered place to come and hear some of the hottest music on the festival grounds.

I suspect that, if you're reading this blog, you already know what Folklife is all about. But, if not, I want to be sure you know that it's not the hippy-dippy fiddle fest that the local news media show 5-second clips of on the nightly news. Folklife's ethnomusicology staff spend years laying the groundwork with ethnic communities in the Pacific Northwest that enable the Festival to bring some fascinating folkways—music, dance, art, and rituals—to the greater community. In many cases, Folklife's interest has helped a community preserve a tradition that had been dying out, passing that heritage on to another generation. This is delicate work that Folklife undertakes; there are internal divisions in some communities and in others there are notions about performance that are very different from the mainstream (for instance, in some cultures, the idea of an artist performing for free, as the vast majority of Folklife performers do, is very odd).

Another unusual aspect of Folklife is that many of the people you see running stages, doing communications, greeting, staffing hospitality, and making the four-day festival run are volunteers. (Even the new executive director was taken aback to discover how much of the work done by hired staff at other festivals is handled smoothly by Folklife's enormous volunteer network.) Without that immense system of volunteers, Folklife could never remain a free festival. It would have gates, security police, ticket takers, and long lines.

As a writer, I don't use the word "unique" lightly. But I have no trouble applying it to Folklife. It's unique: the largest free folk music festival in North American, and easily the most magical.

So, if you've been enjoying Folklife all these years, and want to make sure it continues, now's the time to join me and other Friends in enjoying your very own annual membership and your very own role making sure Folklife continues. Please click here.

Split personality

I start off every morning full of energy, spend the the day writing and talking with people on the phone, and by 7 p.m. feel like a zombie. Obviously I am not quite over the last of the two colds.

Sunday I did yoga and last night I went to belly dance class, which was early enough that I didn't run out of energy—until I got home. The exercise makes me feel quite a bit better, at least for a short while after I do it.

There's a great caller at the Thursday night Lake City contra dance, so I'm hoping I'll be back up to speed by then and able to go dancing. I am counting on full recovery by Saturday; 31 days of being sick (even slightly) is about my limit!

Lights out

It was rather shocking how many lights I turned out Saturday evening in preparation for Earth Hour. Exhausted after a day spent at the Eastside Upside-Down Sale, REI, and the Ballard Market, followed by a couple of hours in the kitchen making a giant batch of vegetable beef soup, I decided to spend Earth Hour in a hot bath with candles and a good book.

Two candles give plenty of light for reading, I discovered (wonder how many watts that is?). But the big surprise was that the science fiction novel I'd grabbed, Simon Clark's The Night of the Triffids, opens with the protagonist in darkness. He wakes up to discover that the sun has failed to rise—but because he's in a village where many of the residents were blinded decades earlier, they are going about their business unaware that it's still dark. Then the blind neighbors fall silent, and things get even stranger...

A good book.

Cough suppressant

The cold I got last weekend was mild, but every afternoon a dry little cough starts up and just won't stop! After a sleepless night of coughing, I saw my doctor, who gave me a codeine cough syrup. There's not really that much codeine in the cough syrup, and it's been only slightly effective.

It occurred to me that there must be a folk-remedy cough suppressant. To my utter shock, I discovered that there's plenty of research to show that theobromine, an ingredient in dark chocolate, is more effective than codeine cough syrup in suppressing the cough reflex.

Needless to say, I wasted no time checking this out. The recommended dosage is 50 g (2 ounces). So I melted two squares of unsweetened dark baking chocolate, added a little Grade B maple syrup (long story), and am eating it. Full report tomorrow morning.

John Edwards to speak here in September

A client of mine has signed up Sen. John Edwards to speak at a non-profit's fundraising luncheon here in Seattle September 25. It think it could be fascinating to hear Edwards talk on what should be, at that point, a very hot presidential race.

If you'd like to attend (suggested donation to the non-profit public housing group holding the lunching is $150), please let me know. I'm not sure they've announced it to the public yet, so I'm being a bit obscure here. I'll make a second announcement when it officially goes public.

OK, I get the hint

I've been trying to tell myself all day that I'm allergic to something that's blooming, but it's becoming evident that I'm coming down with another cold. Perhaps this is a not very funny way of reminding myself that I owe a client an article on what to do about working out while you're sick.

Zorg has gone off to the Ballard Market to fetch lemon sorbet, chicken noodle soup, and saltines. I plan to stay in bed tomorrow; at least I won't be missing any good gardening weather.

Journaling

Blogging began as journaling, and now that I write for quite a few blogs, this is the one that's really my "home" blog in that traditional journaling sense. Sometimes I'll take a particular incident in my day, or week, and write about that in such as way as to inform or entertain, which is very much new-style blogging. But sometimes I just write about what's been going on in my life. Which is what I'm going to do right now.

At the moment I'm sitting at my desk listening to my email go "ping" every five minutes. You might think this is annoying, but I'll explain why it's pure heaven.

Mac OS X Mail lets you set up sub-mailboxes and then create rules that filter incoming messages to those sub-mailboxes. You can also create rules that can trigger optional sounds and other notifications when mail is routed to any of those sub-mailboxes.

I've set it up so that I hear a "ping" every time an automated ecommerce system registers an order for the ebook I edited that was released this morning. My payment for the editorial work is in royalties, so, along with the author, I'm enjoying listening to the digital cash register.

This is nice because, after working like a madwoman last week, I didn't bill many hours to projects this week. Instead, I dealt with a possible problem with my mom's car (it turned out to be a false alarm), caught up on the belly dance lessons I'd missed, live-blogged (well, Twittered) the Starbucks annual meeting, started my volunteer work at Folklife, coordinated the monthly weblogger meetup downtown, went to the chiropractor (who pronounced my neck pretty much cured); got the electricians to finally fix the sensor on the front porch light; hung out with friends at Jai Thai; went dancing at the Little Red Hen; saw a rare book collection; and got a great massage.

While picking up my mom's car, I ran into a friend from college I hadn't talked with in, oh, 33 years (though I've seen her in Seattle-area theater productions). We had a long chat and I'm going to take one of the fitness classes she teaches in Madrona. I was at the Little Red Hen to hear my friend Geoff play bass with the Bouchards; it turned out to be an extremely friendly place for dancing, and I ran into a fellow I used to dance with 15 years ago at the Tractor Tavern. Dancing is certainly much nicer now that the clubs aren't filled with smoke, and I'm hoping to get back to the Hen soon.

I also found out about a third-Friday SF Trivia night at the Wayward Cafe in Greenwood, sponsored by the Browncoats Meetup. Didn't get there this evening, but Zorg says maybe next month.

SALE! (Herban Pottery is closing)

In the mid 1990s, when I had a bungalow in Wallingford, a small garden pottery story opened nearby on 45th St. Run by a young couple, Herban Pottery had simply the most gorgeous, creative, inspiring selection of terracotta and glazed garden pots, everything from the rustic to the sleek.

I spent huge amounts of money there. And I still have many of those beautiful, durable pots.

Of course, the business grew like mad, moving to SoDo and expanding into a couple of warehouse-sized spaces at 3200 First Ave. South.

We just put in a tiny patio addition to our front brick walkway, and I'm looking for a pair of antique-style wrought iron or cast aluminum chairs with a very small matching table. As Herban Pottery wasn't at the Garden Show, I decided to call them to see if they had the furniture. That's when I discovered they're closing soon, and are selling their current stock, much of it at 25 - 80% off, through the end of March.

See you at the sale?

Play "Mousie" for me

I thought letting the two tabby cats in and out of the house every 15 minutes this week was really annoying—until it started raining. Then the big tabby curled up on the bed and went to sleep. The little tabby started fetching her toy mice and bringing them  to me—in the shower, in the kitchen, at my desk. The arrival of a mouse is followed by a 5-minute grace period during which I can either get up and play "Mousie" with her or have my office bulletin board destroyed.

"Mousie" started a few years ago as a game in which I would throw mice down the basement stairs and she would chase them. It evolved into a game in which I would follow the mice down, she would run up, and I'd toss them up to top of the stairs, where the cat would leap in the air and field them.

At that point, the big tabby got involved. She'd thump halfway down the stairs, sit in the middle, and play infield. She is so good at it that sometimes the little tabby gets disgusted and leaves.

But usually I pitch to both the infield and the outfield. Eventually, all the mice are upstairs again and then I toss them to the little tabby as we gradually make our way down the hall and into the livingroom. Eventually one of us gets bored.

But on a rainy day, the little tabby, who has the metabolism of a hummingbird, is ready to play again 30 minutes later. We have played "Mousie" about six times today. There are white and gray mice scattered all over the house. If I see another mouse, I'm going to scream.

More alarms at night

This week is made up of a series of informal meetings, in person and on the phone. Thus far, at least one of the meeting participants has been late and flustered. Half of the time it's the other person; the other half of the time, it's me. Which makes me want to be very understanding and humble in those instances in which I'm the organized, on-time party.

This reminds me of the advice Ernest Thompson, the marvelous dean of Erza Stiles College, gave us in his retirement speech: "Be kind to one another."

Many of the emails I received today were particularly intense. People were reporting deaths in their families, sending me compliments, asking me out to lunch, and offering me assistance. So I spent more time than usual trying to answer attentively and appropriately. I have some amazing friends!

There was an email from my mom tonight that made my hair stand on end. In it she casually mentioned that she'd gotten an odd phone call from her bank this evening and had given out some of her account information before she began to suspect it wasn't her bank, and hung up on them. She said she was going to call the bank when they opened in the morning to see if there was a problem. Eeek! 

I called her in Florida (fortunately she stays up late) and insisted she call the bank's 24-hour 1-800 number immediately to freeze the account. She just called back to say she'd called them, they didn't have any evidence of usual activity, and they had frozen the account. Whew. Now I think I'll just stop reading email for the evening...

It's late

I throw the laundry into the dryer in the basement, then head up the stairs to gargle with hot salted water.

The nightly whisker count: Kaylee is bedded down in the bathtub (the cast iron is still warm from my bath). Zoe is in the basement, looking for Kit Kat (who, sadly, will never appear again). Sheba is in the bathroom, asleep on a towel next to the sink that is designated a cat bed. (Towels for humans hang on the racks.)

A teaspoon of Grade B maple syrup and I'm off to bed. This cold is making me crazy.

Fortune favors the prepared mind

The quote in the title of this blog is from Louis Pasteur. I saw it this morning and through how appropriate it was to last night's Democratic primaries.

What I'm about to write is simply a personal record of what I think I saw on television last night; it's not an invitation to a political flame war.

I watched both Clinton's speech in Ohio last night and Obama's speech in Texas. Here's what I saw:

Clinton reminded me of dozens of successful black women I've met, people who have succeed by working three times as hard anyone else while being ignore, discounted and patronized. People who raised kids, scrubbed floors, got dumped by their men, and still managed to stay in school and get their MBAs and start their own businesses. Clinton shone with determination and pride. Like the women I've known, she was plain spoken, short on vision, and a bit scary. (Yes, I said black women.)

Obama reminded me of some of the brilliant young men I worked with in Silicon Valley. He was eloquent, he was sharp, he was poised. But in his eyes I thought I saw glints of puzzlement and annoyance -- just a slight narrowing of the eyes and tightening of the mouth that said, "Hey. I was great. I was more than great. I kept to the high road. I was original. I was passionate. WFT—I should have won!"

In other words, an attitude of entitlement.

Obama's speech, while a little subdued, was inspiring and visionary. He may yet win. But, as Hillary has known all along, it won't be easy...

In Naples, Florida

I have never been to Naples, Italy, but for the past 20 or so years I've made an annual visit to Naples, Florida, where my mother spends the winters.

It might as well be a foreign country.

Downtown Naples is one of the wealthiest communities in the nation, a place where brand-new beachfront mansions worth millions are routinely torn down to be replaced by even newer ones worth slightly more.

Outside of the city core are miles and miles of walled communities with condos, artificial lakes, and golf courses, interspersed with miles and miles of construction sites for even more such walled communities -- even though the low-end condo market is completely gutted and older condos languish on the market for years. Churches are huge, with buildings and parking lots that look more like community colleges. Shopping centers, eerily identical, abound. Cars are predominantly white, American and very, very large.

I worry that the flat landscape will encourage alien space ships to land here and that, if they do, an analysis of the local culture will result in annihilation of our planet on the grounds of total vapidity.

Somethings never change in Ballard

OK, maybe I got a little carried away about Ballard turning into a post-Yuppie enclave ("Flee Ballard").

Because this afternoon I saw something on NW 80th St. that I'd have a hard time imagining in any other Seattle neighborhood.

Our first clue was the crows.

Three of them were pecking at six salmon scattered across a lawn. At first I thought the fishes might be some kind of yard art, but on closer inspection, it was clear they were real salmon, frozen, and still covered with ice crystals. As Rae and I drew closer, the crows retreated. Then the front door of the house opened and a woman emerged.

"There are frozen fishes on your lawn," I said.

"Oh yeah," she responded. "I put them there. The birds will eat them."

She walked to her car, got in, and drove off, leaving Rae and me to wonder.

"Do you suppose she bought the fish to feed the birds, or do you think she had them in her freezer and they were too old to use so she's giving them to the birds instead of just throwing them away?" Rae asked.

I had no idea. But I was relieved to find out this wasn't one of those strange phenomena you read about in which fishes rain from the sky. It was just...Ballard.

Kit Kat (1992? - 2008)

Kit Kat was our next door neighbors' cat but found it convenient to visit with us on a regular basis. Sometimes she just came in through the basement cat door for a bite to eat, or to watch TV with Zorg. If her family was traveling, she moved in for the duration, making her home in Smokey's old cat bed in the laundry room.

No one knew how old Kit Kat was. Her family acquired her 10 years ago in the Green Lake neighborhood. Kit Kat had belonged to their next door neighbor, a reclusive man, and she got in the habit of visiting back and forth between the two houses. One day Kit Kat insisted on moving in, and they discovered a few days later that her original owner had died.

Kit Kat's family moved in next door to us in Ballard five years ago. At first, Kit Kat and our aggressive deaf white cat Sheba had disagreements. But over the years, they learned to get along. Kit Kat liked to visit all over the neighborhood, greeting residents and guests with her squawking meow. If you picked her up and talked to her, she talked back, echoing your voice.

This summer Kit Kat developed health problems they thought were attributable to a thyroid condition. But after a few months, it seemed as though something else were going on, and eventually she was diagnosed with an untreatable cancer. Because I'm home during the day, and because her family had to travel out of state quite a bit, Kit Kat was spending more and more time at our house. We began sharing responsibility for her care, and taking her to the vet.

This past week it was clear she was failing rapidly. But even as late as last night, she insisted on keeping up her schedule of visits back and forth. She slowly dragged herself to their house when it was time for her owner to come home from work, and late last night, she yowled until her owner carried her to our basement door, where she crawled in through the cat door for the last time.

This morning we all took her to the vet.

New Ballard slogan

Not so long ago, our staid Scandinavian neighborhood inspired the ironic bumpersticker "Free Ballard."

But the invasion of condos, condo denizens, cocktail bars and cryptically named boutiques, coupled with the disappearance of most of the street parking, has inspired a slight modification of the slogan.

Spotted today on a Subaru outside Cash and Carry:

Good news, bad news, then vacation

Good news first: Aaron, our artist/contractor friend, has done a spectacular job on our little front patio. He removed the "bark your shins" wall of the raised bed, moved it back three feet, and poured a little concrete patio with enough room for two chairs and little table.

The dull red concrete of the new patio blends extraordinarily well with the existing weathered brick, and the new section of the concrete wall for the raised bed is colored with a bit of lamp black so it blends beautifully. Aaron put a compass rose pattern in the patio, using a contrasting mortar. (Now no one will get lost trekking through our front yard!) The cats added some nice paw prints, as well. It was delightful having Aaron around—he helped me with a few other remodel projects, as well.

Now, the bad news: The neighbors' elderly cat, which moved in with us when their little girl became severely allergic to it, is dying. We worked with the vet on Saturday to get Kit Kat a few more days, but things aren't looking good. Zorg spent much of the evening with the cat, the neighbor came over to visit, and now I'm about to take pillows and blankets down to the TV room where the cat is on a little heated cat bed, and keep her company. If she's still with us in the morning, the neighbor and I will take her to the vet, and most likely she will be put down. One of our cats, Sheba, is clearly unnerved by seeing the other cat in so much pain. She has been yowling piteously all day.

A week from today I'll be heading to Florida to visit my mom in Naples for a week. I think by that time I'll really need a vacation.

Food news from Belltown

A little after 4 p.m. today, I trudged into The Grindhouse at 318 Blanchard in Belltown and looked blearily at the pastry case.

I'd had five hours of sleep, an early-morning battle with Microsoft Word, a long morning at a seemingly endless exhibit of Roman antiquities from the Louvre, and followed it all up with two hours of interviews with previously homeless people for an article I'm writing about a new public housing development in Belltown.

"Try a Lamington," the barista suggested.

A what? OK.

A Lamington turned out to be one of the most delicious pastries I've ever tasted — as good as any of the afternoon treats I've had in Paris, Florence, or even Vienna.

The Lamington hails from Queensland, Australia (well, the local version is from the Australian Pie Company in Burien). Named after a Baron Lamington, the a past governor of Queensland, it's a cube of light-as-air moist yellow cake, dipped in the thinnest layer of chocolate, and coated in finely grated coconut.

Oh my god. You've got to try one.

(Here's a recipe for Lamingtons — but I wouldn't advise using pound cake. It's the light fluffiness that's so amazing.)

Our hearts "heart" cats

This evening we took over care of the neighbors' terminally ill elderly cat. She's been such a wonderful friendly kitty that we are happy to be her hospice. (The neighbors' daughter is very ill — with asthma, possibly exacerbated by the poor cat — and it's logistically very difficult for them to give the sick cat the attention she needs.)

So Zorg and I are getting back into the caring-for-a-cat-with-cancer mode again: pillows on the floor, heating pads, all types of tempting cat foods at all hours, and compounded medications so as not to torture the poor cat with pills.

But there is some good news. A research paper presented at the International Stroke Conference this week reveals that cat owners are far less likely to die of a heart attack or stroke than people who miss out on the cat-owning experience. (Surprisingly, the study found no similar beneficial effect to dog ownership.)

In defense of carbs

Ten years ago, fat was the bane of dieters. Today, it's carbs.

But there are carbs, and there are carbs.

One one hand, you have Minute Rice, Ritz crackers, instant oatmeal, and white bread. And on the other hand, you have brown rice, Rye Krisps, steel-cut oats, and breads like Ezekiel Bread and Dave's Killer Bread.

The difference is whole grains and fiber. The high-fiber carbs are very filling and nutritious. Eaten with a little cheese or peanut butter, they're a whole meal.

Somewhat to my amazement, I've come to love brown rice. I cook a big pot of it every Monday morning, and live off it for the rest of the week. (See the brown rice recipe, below.)

Brown rice heated up with a little cinnamon and brown sugar and chopped apples makes a quick breakfast. Leftover baked chicken or leftover vegetables (or curry) can be mixed with brown rice for lunch. And brown rice pudding with currents makes a very good dessert or evening snack.

My favorite brown rice dish is brown rice pancakes. I mix cooked brown rice with lots of browned onions, eggs, a little potato flour (or regular flour) and a pinch of baking soda. Then I drop the batter by 1/4 measures into a frying pan with oil to make something very similar to potato pancakes.

It turns out there are many types of brown rice. I've been using the plain, large-grain brown rice. Here's the basic recipe:

Either:
• 2-1/3 cups of rice to 4 cups of water
• or 3 -1/2 cups of rice to 6 cups of water

Rinse the uncooked rice three times and drain well. Put the water on to boil in a separate saucepan. While waiting for the water to come to a boil, put two tablespoons of oil in the bottom of a heavy, tight-lidded sauce pan, then sauté the well-drained rice in the oil while you wait for the water to boil. Do this over fairly high heat. It has to be stirred constantly, otherwise it will scorch. This process coats the rice with the oil and evaporates the water from rinsing. The rice will begin to smell very nutty after a minute or two.

When the water in the other pan has come to a vigorous boil, pour it over the rice in the sauce pan. It is very important at this point not to stir the rice anymore, not even once. Let it come back up to a vigorous boil, put the lid on, turn it down as low as you can and cook for 45 minutes. During this time, do not lift the lid or do anything else to it. When 45 minutes is up, turn off the heat and let the rice sit undisturbed for at least 15-20 minutes before serving.

(cross-posted on Food, Fitness, Fashion)

Where did the weekend go?

Yes, I know for some of you the weekend is still here (Presidents Day Monday). For me, Monday is a work day but with many of my clients and teammates taking the day off.

Three of my web content writing projects are winding up at the end of February, and I'll be starting a new project that is solely blogging. That's exciting because not only do I love blogging but the company has a full-time, professional editor to review the writers' work. I haven't had the luxury of working with one of those in eight years.

Those Dems know how to delegate — not

It's a hack, it's a party insider, it's Superdelegate!

Holy vote count, Batman — Zorg explains it all.

Cat in the box

Our big tabby, Zoe, loves to get inside cardboard file boxes. She has a way of slithering under the lid and letting it settle back on top so you don't realize there's a cat inside. Quite a few times I've lifted a lid off an apparently empty box and been surprised to find her curled up inside. Zoe's much smaller sister, Kaylee, likes to sit on top of file boxes and amuse herself by clawing at the edge of the lids.

Tonight I was vaguely aware of Kaylee clawing away atop a pile of boxes behind me in my office. After about 20 minutes of the clawing sounds, I turned around and saw her just sitting there on top of the boxes, looking as innocent as possible: "Who, me?"

I went over and picked her up, and was startled to hear the clawing noises again, even though I was holding on to her. That's when I realized the clawing was Zoe, who'd been stuck inside the box for 20 minutes because Kaylee had been sitting on the lid, preventing her from getting out!

What's truly scary is that Kaylee had obviously been doing this on purpose.

Are we too lazy to choose Hillary?

One of the strongest and most frequent arguments I've heard from the Obama supporters about why he should be the Democrats' choice is that poll after poll shows he's most likely to defeat McCain.

It's true.

But, sadly, one of the reasons it's true is because we Democrats are out-of-shape and lazy about campaigning. I read reports of the Washington caucuses, and noted how many of the participants complained — whined, really — about the caucus system. Oh my God, people had to wait in line for a half hour to get into the caucuses. The rooms were crowded. And there were people — arguing! Eewww, gross.

One blogger got in a terrible huff about getting the wrong information about his caucus location. I'd certainly agree with him that the local Democrats had a feeble information system. My friend Rae called the caucus information hotline, only to find that the voice mailbox was full. I got emails telling me to look at the previous email by someone else to see my caucus location, but I wasn't on the mailing list for the previous email, so had never gotten it. The website for finding your caucus location for my district looked like some web design instructor's example for how not to design navigation.

Now, I'm about to unload a shocking revelation here, so hold onto your delegate hats: The Democratic party that organized the caucuses is made up of volunteers. Volunteers being people like you and me, only with more energy and commitment.

If we'd gotten involved a few months ago, the voicemails would have been answered, the website might have been comprehensible, the emails would have been sent...you get the idea. The organizers I saw were working their butts off to make the caucus a good experience for the political dilettantes who thought it might be fun to show up and go rah-rah for Barack or Hillary, then go home and watch "Lost" until the November elections appear on their radar and they sashay over to the mail table to sign and stamp their ballots.

I listened to some of the Obama people shrug off arguments that Clinton has the better skill set and experience needed to get the legislature in line and govern the country, and then keep talking about how electable Obama is, and I realized we're at the point where we think politics is like the Oscars or the Grammys. We like to watch, we might like to vote, but we don't like get involved in producing any of the options we can later vote on.

Sure, some of this is the fault of the stultifying and complacently corrupt two-party system. But a lot of it is just us, and our preference for the "low effort" choice.

On time

This is a weird little quiz, but, yes, 10 a.m. is about when I get into gear:

Cupcake update

Cupcake Royale has posted a webpage about the Cupcake Caucus. Looks like Hillary is all chocolate and Obama is vanilla frosting on chocolate. And, silly me, of course there are no Republicans in the caucus.

Caucus by cupcake

Has someone over at the Ballard Community blog had too much sugar?

They're reporting that Cupcake Royale is baking special cupcakes for each of the primary candidates on Saturday. Customers will "vote" by purchasing the cupcake of the candidate of their choice.

There isn't anything about this on the Cupcake Royale website yet, so take it with a grain of decorator's sugar.

How do you suppose they will match up the candidates with the cakes and frostings? Obviously, the Romney cupcake will not have mocha frosting. But will Hillary be in pink? And Obama...? Yikes. The possibilities for mis-steps are...delicious.

I may need to purchase the entire ballot.

Buying a microwave oven

Our five-year-old microwave oven was slowly losing heating power so we decided to replace it. (This post is about replacing it, not fixing it, so if you are sanctimoniously sniffing about how we really should have disassembled, troubleshot, and hunted down parts for it, please read this online repair guide, all 44,995 words of it, and let me know when to send over the old oven.)

Where was I? Oh, yes.

About 20 years ago I bought a small Sharp Carousel microwave oven and liked it so well that our subsequent three microwaves have been Sharp Carousels. The Carousels have gotten a little bigger over the years — they now can accommodate a large dinner plate — and that's always seemed to be the perfect size for us. I do three things with the microwave: melt cheese in tortillas; heat up leftovers; and defrost meat. Zorg sometimes makes popcorn.

Each time I've bought a new Sharp Carousel, I've consulted Consumer Reports, which recommends some other brand instead. This time they recommended two Kenmores and a Panasonic, so I checked those out on Amazon.com and at Sears' site.

It turns out that in "real world" testing, they're lemons. People wrote the kind of reviews that take full advantage of the shift key and the upper rows of the keyboard. It seems that, in spite of having all the wonderful features favored by Consumer Reports, these microwave ovens have one problem that Consumer Reports didn't test for: they break down after just a few months. Reviews for the Sharp Carousel, while not raves, generally concluded that the Sharp is a basic workhorse.

On this round of microwave shopping, I had one big surprise. Or was it a small surprise? It turns out that Consumer Reports doesn't even rate microwave ovens as small as the Sharp Carousel. It rates a much larger Sharp in the "mid-size" category (apparently for people who roast turkeys in their microwaves) and no Sharps at all in the extensive "full-size" category, which has ovens that would probably have suited the needs of the witch in the Hansel & Gretel fairy tale.

To even locate a Sharp Carousel online I had to resort to the Sharp website, getting model numbers from there that eventually made it possible to track it down on Amazon.com. Turns out it now goes by the name of the Sharp Compact. The Sharp arrived today. It's just a tiny bit larger than its predecessor but with (bless their souls) the exact same glass turntable, so now we have an extra for when one needs to go in the dishwasher.

Thank you, Sharp, for rescuing me from unnecessary "progress." Now if Adobe would only come up with a version of PageMaker for Mac OS X...

Why is there a pine tree in the living room?

How have I made it this far without hearing about comedian Jim Gaffigan? In this video he takes on holidays...I love what he does to Valentine's Day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjJCIbC9sxA&feature=related

At the Ballard skate park

Tat

"Is that a tat?" probably stands as the weirdest question anyone has ever asked me.

They were doing body painting last night at the Fremont Arts Council benefit, a Mardi Gras party called Carnivale Voodoo, and I got painted with a hibiscus. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to have that as a tattoo (even as a "temporary airbrush tattoo", or, as I discovered they're called, a "tat").

It was a fabulous party, and not nearly as crowded as I'd thought it would be. Captain Leroy and the Zydeco Locals played, and most of the dancers either knew how to Zydeco or knew how to do something else that worked. I ran into some Zydeco friends I hadn't danced with in years.

It being the Fremont Arts Council crowd, the costumes were stunning -- flashy and festive. I didn't stay for the midnight parade, but my vote for the best costume goes to the fellow I collided with over by the bar. Short and slight, he was wearing a Beatles-type brown moppy wig, big black-frame glasses, a red velvet Edwardian suit, and a white cravat. "Are you feeling randy?" he purred, happily invading my personal space. Fortunately, I recognized his character and shot back "Oh, behave!" and "Austin Powers" disco-danced off into the crowd.

This and that

I haven't been Mysterious Traveler much this week because I've been so busy being myself elsewhere.

After five very slow months at work, I now have as much contract work as I can handle for the month of February. Wow. And it's a nice variety of work, no "dreaded" projects.

Monday I paid my annual visit to the dermatologist and came away with little burn marks on one side of my face. Nothing like the year I left looking like I'd been attacked by a vampire.

Tuesday morning I had coffee with Laura and her mom at Fiore on Leary. There's something very comforting about hanging out with other people's parents! Tuesday night I worked out with the CompFit group on Capitol Hill. I'm still not thrilled about the rush-hour drive from Ballard to Capitol Hill and tried a different route; I somehow ended up by the Philly Cheese Steak place on 23rd. The workout was great, but I wasn't very happy to hear there was a fatal shooting at the Cheese Steak place the following night!

Wednesday the folks from Northwest Modular delivered the second-hand lateral file for Zorg's office. It's a sturdy, office-quality piece with just couple of small scratches, and the price was half of what a new lateral file would cost. I'd been impressed with how nice they were when I called and ordered over the phone, and I was even more impressed with the fellow who delivered the cabinet. He had me come out to the truck to make sure the cabinet met my expectations before he loaded it onto the dolly, and once it was in the office he helped me adjust it so that it sat evenly on our slightly tilted floor. Then he made some quick adjustments to the Ethos cubicle in my office. If you need any second-hand office furniture, these are the people to call!

Wednesday night a blogging colleague and I spoke about blogging for a class of students in the PR certificate program at UW. I'd spoken a few years ago at a community college class and it hadn't been a good experience. But either I've improved or this was a very engaged bunch of students. There were tons of good, tough questions.

Thursday was "dining out" day. I had lunch with Nicole, who I met through...hmmm....blogging? Twitter? Flickr? Can't remember. Anyway, the two of us do all that stuff, and have tech-related small businesses. We had a delightful lunch at the Hi-Life in Ballard.

In the evening I went out with Carrie from my original yoga group. Her son is a chef, and she wanted to try the new restaurant he's working at, Quinn's on Capitol Hill. (This put me on Capitol Hill for the fourth time in seven days. I can even find parking now.) Quinn's looks like a pub for 30-somethings but it turns out to be a Euro-inspired restaurant. I had the "duck! duck! mousse" appetizer and the a pear salad, plus some of the fabulous braised lamb on polenta Carrie ordered. Unfortunately, I was driving so couldn't indulge in one of the amazing house signature cocktails. I will be back!

Today was the 10th anniversary of the Fremont networking group I belong to and we met for lunch at a new venue that is managed by the fellow who owned the original venue the group started at. Great party. From there I headed down to Pioneer Square for a client meeting, and finally managed to pick up the replacement light fixtures Zorg and I needed for our offices at the Seattle Lighting Outlet down by the port. The fellows who filled the order were...hilarious. While the main store is fairly sedate, the outlet has a popcorn cart and a rather amazing assortment of deeply discounted fixtures. There's a pottery outlet just across the street on South Hanford; I think I need to get back down there some afternoon.

My mom called from Florida to report that my aunt (her late brother's widow) had died after a short illness. Now all my aunts and uncles are gone, and my mom, who's 89, is the last one of her generation in the family. My mom, who is very healthy, is still having difficulty with the idea that perhaps she won't live forever. It's understandable...she has more energy than most people half her age.