Maybe I've been blogging for too long. I was all set to blog about my search for the perfect bowl of clam chowder,when I realized I had said it all before. But I did find another glorious bowl of chowder at the Blackfish Cafe in Lincoln City. Jeff thoroughly enjoyed his fish and chips, which made up for the perfectly awful identical dinner we ate at McMenamins the night before.
Because we were celebrating our anniversary, this complimentary homemade DingDong was ours to enjoy. I almost think it was the best part of the meal. Chocolate-y, creamy, and not too sweet.
I ordered this creme caramel, but it was a little too rich on a full stomach...
...so Jeff let me finish off the DingDong. Which is what all good husbands should do.
...me! Every week, I hopefully enter KINK FM's contests of the week. Three times: One for me. One for Jeff. And one for Charlie. (That's as many email addresses as I can monitor.) I win quite frequently. Well, once or twice a year. I gave it up for a few weeks because I hadn't won anything for a while, but decided to start up again about a month ago. Shortly after starting up again, I won tickets to go see "Snow Falling on Cedars", the play. I was a little dubious, not having been to see a play for a long time. But it was free, and I was curious to see how the playwright had adapted it for the stage. For the price of parking, $5, we had an entertaining night out. The play was astoundingly well done, the audience was rapt, and the venue was pleasant. The building is in the Pearl District in an old Armory, renovated in Portland edgy-environmental style. The parking structure across the street was also interesting, with narrow, steep ramps, skinny parking places (woe betide any SUV's that attempt to park there), painted brick, and arched windows. We deduced it must be part of the same military complex. Here is my conclusion about Portland. It may be on the extreme left edge of political wackiness, but once in a while it gets something completely right. But I digress. Then, last Tuesday, I got a call from the radio station to say that I had won tickets to the Tower of Power concert at Chinook Winds, the casino at the beach. "Cool," I said, although to be honest, it wasn't my first choice of a win. But my philosophy is, I enter everything and then if I win, I decide whether to go. If not, I pass it on to someone else. So far, I have chosen to capitulate to fate, and been pleasantly surprised every time. As luck would have it, I had been looking for a getaway this weekend, as it is our, wait for it, THIRTIETH anniversary on Tuesday. So I booked a beach house, and off we went. Do you even know who Tower of Power is? Jeff didn't. But he trusts me (why, I will never know) and he loved them. He is a good sport to tag along on my adventures. Tower of Power puts the "fun" in "funkify". They have been together for 42 years and still sound as fresh as they did when I listened to them in the 70's. How do they do that? Their presentation is snappy, synchronized, and syncopated to the extreme. Jeff sat next to a black guy who was at the concert for the second night in a row, having driven down from Seattle just for that purpose. He knew all the words to the songs, the name of all the band members, and their whole history. Now that is a fan. This is my favourite Tower of Power song. They played it for the encore, thus rescuing me from abject disappointment. Turn up the volume and feel the funk.
The guns belong to B., who has a passion for the topic and subscribes to rule # 5 of gun ownership: You can never have too many guns.
Jon, as usual, dressed appropriately for the occasion, except he forgot that it was cold, so he shivered the whole time. He gets annoyed with me for thinking he's cute and funny, but I ask you, how can I not? He's trying not to smile.
B. owns four hand guns, so we got to try out several different calibers and makes. See how intelligent I am already on the subject?
Jon, trying out a very beautiful rifle. Note the cool scope.
You may have noticed that there are no photos of me, shooting. There's a reason for that. Nobody, but nobody, gets to take a photo of my backside in shooting stance. But here is my target from the rifle shots. My group is the tidy little cluster in the SSW corner. Woot woot for me!
Mind you, I did use the closest target. Here are the boys, walking to the back of the range to check their targets.
Aren't they cute?
If you want to read up on women and guns, check out the Women of Caliber blog on the Blog Roll.
George Washington said, "A free people ought to be armed."
I do believe I am beginning to feel quite enthusiastic on the matter.
The philosopher, Martin Heidegger, said that time persists merely as a consequence of the events taking place in it. The old saying, "time flies when you're having fun," is apparently more than a truism. Our brains, according to recent studies, do a poor job of tracking time. Our internal clocks seem to respond more to the kind of activity in which we are engaged than to the actual passage of time. Which is why an hour in the dentist's chair passes so much more slowly than an hour eating chocolate and reading a good book. (Feel free to insert your own dreaded and favoured activities into that sentence.)
Speaking of truisms, I had to look the word up to make sure that I was using it correctly. Cliche, platitude, banality. I never knew it was such a despicable word! Which led me, as is wont to happen when surfing the web, to this website, which has compiled a hilarious list of truisms.
Here are a few, with some commentary by yours truly.
Never go to Dudley. It's not the end of the world, but you can see it from there.
I was born in Dudley, therefore I resent that remark.
Never pretend you can horse-ride.
Ask Bethany, if you don't know why.
If you can't believe it's not butter, you're an idiot.
There is only butter. Nothing else.
Never mix sleeping pills and laxatives.
Ouch.
The trouble with being punctual is no one's there to appreciate it.
Eh, Ellen?
My hope for all of us is that 2010 zips right on by, we're having that much fun.
We're having a new baby, did I tell you?
A little Annie or Edwin.
Send good thoughts their way.
Annie is really sick, in the tradition of the Tuft women.
She's going to have a really LOOOONG seven months or so.
Does anyone else remember that rather freaky little Victorian moral tale by the Reverend Charles Kingsley? It was about a little chimney sweep named Tom that was badly treated and when he fell into the river he turned into a water baby. Well, tonight, we had our own resident water babies, Josh and Natalie, who were, dare I say it, rather stinky. Mom and Dad were out on a rare date, it being Saturday night. I decided to give them a break and bathe the little ones. Church comes early these Sunday mornings.
These two are such a crack-up. I think their personalities really shine in these photos. My own personal water babies.
I don't think I have ever just "copied and pasted" a post before, but a friend just sent me this, which has apparently been floating around in cyberspace for a few months. I thought it was too hilarious. I've changed a few words for the faint of heart, like me.
The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved." Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to a "Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was during the great fire of 1666.
The Scots raised their threat level from "Pissed Off" to "Let's get the B*****ds" They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the frontline in the British army for the last 300 years.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide". The only two higher levels in France are "Collaborate" and "Surrender." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country's military capability. It's not only the French who are on a heightened level of alert. Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout loudly and excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."
The Germans also increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbor" and "Lose".
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.
Americans meanwhile are carrying out pre-emptive strikes on all of their allies, just in case.
New Zealand has also raised its security levels - from "baaa" to "BAAAA!". Due to continuing defense cutbacks (the airforce being a squadron of spotty teenagers flying paper aeroplanes and the navy some toy boats in the Prime Minister's bath), New Zealand only has one more level of escalation, which is "S**t, I hope Australia will come and rescue us". In the event of invasion, New Zealanders will be asked to gather together in a strategic defensive position called "Bondi".
Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She'll be all right, mate". Three more escalation levels remain, "Crikey!', "I think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend" and "The barbie is canceled". So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.
For your information, Bondi Beach is a suburb of Sydney where more Kiwis reputedly live than in New Zealand. Somehow, it's not funny unless you have that tidbit.
You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it. Robin Williams
Listen to this while you read.
One of my mottos is Everyone is crazy. Especially me. I don't remember when I decided this, but it was a long time ago. It was right up there with Never put Neosporin on your lips. (The kind with the painkiller in it. If you've ever done it, you'll know why.)
I was lying in bed this morning, not wanting to get up as usual, and feeling bad for my Mum. In our family, in case you haven't noticed, we have kind of beatified my Dad. Don't get me wrong, he was the best man I have ever known, but he did have the advantage of dying young. My Mum, on the other hand, has always been a little on the crazy side, and it hasn't gotten any better as she has aged. So I tend to dwell on her craziness, when, in fact, she taught me many good things. So, here is the list of things I learned from my Mum:
Stand by your man. Take care of your man. Be grateful. Think of the needs of others. Keep a tidy house. Cook dinner every night. Appreciate beauty in nature, like sunsets and trees. Sing. All the time. Eat lots of chocolate. Be generous with your time, talents, and possessions. Shop for bargains. Always check your store receipts. Appreciate quality, whether it's in a person or a fabric. Buy stuff for your grandkids. Adore your grandkids. If in doubt, bake a cake.
And I thought to myself, that's a pretty good list for a crazy person!
