Swedish Adventure 2011™ begins in one week. As if the trip itself weren't exciting enough, I recently learned that Bobby and I are approved to cover Way Out West while we are there. My preview piece about that is here. I wouldn't be able to do this at all if Bobby hadn't agreed to photograph the festival. Fortunately he's pretty indulgent of me and my crazy whims, so that's what we'll be doing. His test piece, which involved our friend Brittain's band, Prairie Empire, is here. He and I will be like three feet from Prince, Robyn, Kanye, Jarvis Cocker, Janelle Monáe, and a whole host of others. We've made a rather ambitious schedule for ourselves, but when else will we have such an opportunity? Can I cover 20+ bands a day for three days? You bet I can.
I'll have more exciting news later, I'm sure, and I'll try to make a few blog posts while we are in Sweden. In the meantime, I'm cramming my suitcase full of horizontally-striped clothing and fun gifts for friends. Let the countdown begin!
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
You guys on the float?
Yesterday, Rob and Elise came over early in the morning (read: 10:45) to head for the Sandy River. There, we would be met by Tucker and Carl, and everybody but me would float several miles down the river on inflatable boats. Jonathan was supposed to come along and hang out on the shore with me, but he had been out partying too late the night before. Faced with the prospect of several hours alone on a deserted beach, I reluctantly decided to come along. See, bodies of water frighten me when they are fast-moving and/or deeper than my waist. Has to do with almost drowning in the Mediterranean Sea when I was 14. Since I narrowly escaped the water ghouls, I am convinced they are hell-bent on getting another crack at me. I usually prefer not to tempt them.
Once we arrived at Oxbow Park, the boys went off to inflate the boat and wait for the rest of our party. When they returned, Elise and I were nowhere to be found. Rob assumed we'd gone off with some menfolk who had a better boat, but then they found us nestled comfortably in the car and enjoying a feast of fresh fruit. There may or may not have been accusations of setting the movement back 30 years. Fortunately, that was the moment Carl, Tucker, and Diego showed up. Bobby and Rob went to help them inflate their boat, and Elise and I were off the hook.
Bobby assured me I would not meet watery doom, as the Sandy is about as low on the danger scale as a swimming pool. Into the boat I went. There were a few worrisome parts initially, as Bobby and Rob got their communication down and we went over some minor rapids. I may have squealed in terror a few times while seated on the edge of the boat. Things got better when I figured out I could nestle in on a cushion and let my feet hang over the edge.
We floated quite a ways down the river and paused on a beach to rest a bit. We were on a quest for a corkscrew, as Elise had brought bottles of lambic that we were trying desperately to open. When a group of other travelers appeared on the beach, we asked if they happened to have a corkscrew. They did not, and one of them asked, "You guys on the float?" Rob thought this was so incredibly funny that he kept repeating it all day. The river is littered with bros just like anywhere else would be. Back into the water we went. Whenever we passed another group, Diego would yell "does anybody have a corkscrew?" He actually found us a guy with a Swiss army knife, and Elise and I got our lambics after all. Tucker took the same approach I did, and decided to stretch out comfortably while other folks handled the rowing:
Obviously I got far more photos of the other boat, because it was hard to find a decent angle on ours. I'm not sure what's going on here, but it looks collaborative.
When we got close to the other boat, we would trade snacks. The boys offered to toss over a granola bar for Rob and Elise, but it missed the connection and landed in the water. There was a combined effort from both boats to fish it out of the water:
Finally, Bobby was victorious!
Alas, the rescued granola bar contained milk, and therefore could not be enjoyed by Rob or Elise, who are vegans.
No matter. Onward down the river!
Carl left his boat to go snorkeling for a while. I wish I had a photo of this. The river isn't that warm, and the water is too murky to see much. We did find (and harass) a crawfish that was hanging out on the shore, and we saw many types of ducks swimming along. Nature!
We hit a few more sets of rapids, and Rob and Carl switched boats for a while. The day stretched on for hours as we drifted ever northward toward Rob and Elise's waiting car. By the time we reached Dabney Park, the sun had retreated behind the treeline and things got a little chilly.
The entire trip was about 11 miles, and took us somewhere between six and seven hours. Next time I think we'll go for the shorter route of Oxbow Park to Dabney. For the curious, here is a map of our route:
View River trip! in a larger map
Once we made it back to Oxbow to collect our cars, then returned to Lewis and Clark to load up the gear, the sun had almost set. I was due at Blow Pony around 9:30, but I had to decline. All those hours in the sun gave me a massive headache, and all I wanted to do was go to Burgerville and then go crash out on the couch. Dancing sounded like the furthest thing from fun, much to the disappointment of my usual BP companions. There's always next month!
All in all, my inaugural boat trip was fun, and Bobby was thrilled to hear I'd be willing to go again. I only look a little bit terrified:
Once we arrived at Oxbow Park, the boys went off to inflate the boat and wait for the rest of our party. When they returned, Elise and I were nowhere to be found. Rob assumed we'd gone off with some menfolk who had a better boat, but then they found us nestled comfortably in the car and enjoying a feast of fresh fruit. There may or may not have been accusations of setting the movement back 30 years. Fortunately, that was the moment Carl, Tucker, and Diego showed up. Bobby and Rob went to help them inflate their boat, and Elise and I were off the hook.
Bobby assured me I would not meet watery doom, as the Sandy is about as low on the danger scale as a swimming pool. Into the boat I went. There were a few worrisome parts initially, as Bobby and Rob got their communication down and we went over some minor rapids. I may have squealed in terror a few times while seated on the edge of the boat. Things got better when I figured out I could nestle in on a cushion and let my feet hang over the edge.
We floated quite a ways down the river and paused on a beach to rest a bit. We were on a quest for a corkscrew, as Elise had brought bottles of lambic that we were trying desperately to open. When a group of other travelers appeared on the beach, we asked if they happened to have a corkscrew. They did not, and one of them asked, "You guys on the float?" Rob thought this was so incredibly funny that he kept repeating it all day. The river is littered with bros just like anywhere else would be. Back into the water we went. Whenever we passed another group, Diego would yell "does anybody have a corkscrew?" He actually found us a guy with a Swiss army knife, and Elise and I got our lambics after all. Tucker took the same approach I did, and decided to stretch out comfortably while other folks handled the rowing:
Obviously I got far more photos of the other boat, because it was hard to find a decent angle on ours. I'm not sure what's going on here, but it looks collaborative.
When we got close to the other boat, we would trade snacks. The boys offered to toss over a granola bar for Rob and Elise, but it missed the connection and landed in the water. There was a combined effort from both boats to fish it out of the water:
Finally, Bobby was victorious!
Alas, the rescued granola bar contained milk, and therefore could not be enjoyed by Rob or Elise, who are vegans.
No matter. Onward down the river!
Carl left his boat to go snorkeling for a while. I wish I had a photo of this. The river isn't that warm, and the water is too murky to see much. We did find (and harass) a crawfish that was hanging out on the shore, and we saw many types of ducks swimming along. Nature!
We hit a few more sets of rapids, and Rob and Carl switched boats for a while. The day stretched on for hours as we drifted ever northward toward Rob and Elise's waiting car. By the time we reached Dabney Park, the sun had retreated behind the treeline and things got a little chilly.
The entire trip was about 11 miles, and took us somewhere between six and seven hours. Next time I think we'll go for the shorter route of Oxbow Park to Dabney. For the curious, here is a map of our route:
View River trip! in a larger map
Once we made it back to Oxbow to collect our cars, then returned to Lewis and Clark to load up the gear, the sun had almost set. I was due at Blow Pony around 9:30, but I had to decline. All those hours in the sun gave me a massive headache, and all I wanted to do was go to Burgerville and then go crash out on the couch. Dancing sounded like the furthest thing from fun, much to the disappointment of my usual BP companions. There's always next month!
All in all, my inaugural boat trip was fun, and Bobby was thrilled to hear I'd be willing to go again. I only look a little bit terrified:
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Summer? What summer?
It's currently pouring down rain, which pretty much cancels the whole True Blood BBQ thing. We'll still watch the show, but it's definitely not grilling weather. Bummer.
I was supposed to go see Eddie Vedder on Thursday, but that didn't work out. Instead, Michelle bought me a last-minute ticket to go see John Doe and Jill Sobule with her and Brian. Not a bad change of plans. It was my first visit to the Alberta Rose Theater, which is a smaller venue up in Northeast. Two civilian shows in a week must be a new record for me, at least in recent memory. The show was great, and they have great stage chemistry. Mr. Doe talked about how so many people have told him they used "Golden State" as their wedding song, which he finds odd because it's supposed to be about a couple who can't be together. Glad I didn't know that song when I got married, or else I might have chosen it instead of "Say Yes" (which I suppose is also about a couple who can't be together - I fail at wedding songs). Still, it's a lovely song, and I found this video of them playing it earlier on the tour:
Friday was the release day for the last Harry Potter movie, but we wanted to go to the latest possible showing in order to avoid children. In the interim, we attended a barbecue at Brittain's temporary home. She's in town on tour with her band and invited us to come hang out. She made delicious tofu skewers:
I made many new friends:
And folks filled the small yard as the evening wore on:
Before long, it was time to head to the theater. Lorien was there, saving five seats. It was her first time away from Xander and she seemed nervous, but it's important to see the last Harry Potter movie in the theater with friends. We arrived a few minutes after she did, followed by Jonathan and his friend Iain. I held it together for most of the film, but The Forest Again scene was too much for me. Sometimes I am more of a human than I'd like to be.
Yesterday was filled with errands, like getting my stupid car fixed in the stupid suburbs. Bobby and I were supposed to go to a showing of Wizard People Dear Reader last night, but we were lazy and stayed home watching Buffy instead. He just finished summer school and I think he needed to recharge. It was probably a good idea, as there's plenty to do this week.
I was supposed to go see Eddie Vedder on Thursday, but that didn't work out. Instead, Michelle bought me a last-minute ticket to go see John Doe and Jill Sobule with her and Brian. Not a bad change of plans. It was my first visit to the Alberta Rose Theater, which is a smaller venue up in Northeast. Two civilian shows in a week must be a new record for me, at least in recent memory. The show was great, and they have great stage chemistry. Mr. Doe talked about how so many people have told him they used "Golden State" as their wedding song, which he finds odd because it's supposed to be about a couple who can't be together. Glad I didn't know that song when I got married, or else I might have chosen it instead of "Say Yes" (which I suppose is also about a couple who can't be together - I fail at wedding songs). Still, it's a lovely song, and I found this video of them playing it earlier on the tour:
Friday was the release day for the last Harry Potter movie, but we wanted to go to the latest possible showing in order to avoid children. In the interim, we attended a barbecue at Brittain's temporary home. She's in town on tour with her band and invited us to come hang out. She made delicious tofu skewers:
I made many new friends:
And folks filled the small yard as the evening wore on:
Before long, it was time to head to the theater. Lorien was there, saving five seats. It was her first time away from Xander and she seemed nervous, but it's important to see the last Harry Potter movie in the theater with friends. We arrived a few minutes after she did, followed by Jonathan and his friend Iain. I held it together for most of the film, but The Forest Again scene was too much for me. Sometimes I am more of a human than I'd like to be.
Yesterday was filled with errands, like getting my stupid car fixed in the stupid suburbs. Bobby and I were supposed to go to a showing of Wizard People Dear Reader last night, but we were lazy and stayed home watching Buffy instead. He just finished summer school and I think he needed to recharge. It was probably a good idea, as there's plenty to do this week.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Photos, old and new
Lorien and Xander met me for lunch today. Poor Lorien got trapped by a raised Interstate Bridge and was worried she'd be late. Once she arrived and parked, she realized she'd left her purse at home. Fortunately, she had her phone, and called me from the parking meter. I ran down to pay it for her. They'd intended to take me to lunch (at Xander's insistence, she said), but the whole lack of wallet thing dashed those plans. No matter, I was happy to front her a burrito in exchange for fine company. Alas, I couldn't do anything about the lousy weather. I do love a nice lunch date though.
A little while ago, I was working on a piece about Riot Grrrl (which is much harder than I thought it would be), and going through old photos to accompany it. In my piles, I ran across this gem:
That's Cesar, Iris, and me on the last day of CSSSA in the summer of 2000. The three of us had met in the Creative Writing program and become super close friends over the four weeks of the program. In this photo, we are standing in front of the dorms following a much-appreciated dinner bought by my parents. I stuck the photo on Facebook a few minutes ago, and received "Hey Angela!" as a comment. We are more than a little Rickie, Rayanne, and Angela, are we not? All these years and I never even realized. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn't attended that program, if I hadn't met Iris or if Cesar hadn't exclaimed, "Hey, you're that red-headed girl!" when he saw me outside one day. That single month set off a years-long chain reaction that led me to my current life in Portland, and I'll be forever grateful for it.
A little while ago, I was working on a piece about Riot Grrrl (which is much harder than I thought it would be), and going through old photos to accompany it. In my piles, I ran across this gem:
That's Cesar, Iris, and me on the last day of CSSSA in the summer of 2000. The three of us had met in the Creative Writing program and become super close friends over the four weeks of the program. In this photo, we are standing in front of the dorms following a much-appreciated dinner bought by my parents. I stuck the photo on Facebook a few minutes ago, and received "Hey Angela!" as a comment. We are more than a little Rickie, Rayanne, and Angela, are we not? All these years and I never even realized. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I hadn't attended that program, if I hadn't met Iris or if Cesar hadn't exclaimed, "Hey, you're that red-headed girl!" when he saw me outside one day. That single month set off a years-long chain reaction that led me to my current life in Portland, and I'll be forever grateful for it.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Things you can't unsee
Bobby, Tara, and I took off for McMenamins Edgefield on Friday afternoon to see the divine Ms. Neko Case. We got there early enough to score prime real estate near the front, and the weather couldn't have been lovelier. Of course, since you're trapped inside a fenced area, the prices aren't quite so lovely. Five bucks for a slice of mediocre cheese pizza and six bucks for their proprietary beers (PBRs were $5, and I don't drink those anyway). I did drink the beer, however, as a child-sized cup of wine was eight bucks, and that is highway robbery. Teetering back to our blanket stakeout with two slices of pizza and two beers in my hands was a challenge, and I spilled on myself and my food more than once. All in the name of fun, though. Beer-battered pizza is surprisingly good for an accidental creation.
We were seated right in front of the stage, which was fantastic. My plans of listening to Ms. Case while lying on my blanket in the waning sun were somewhat dashed by the jerks who decided to stand up in front of us, and I yelled at them good before I went and stood in front of them. Tall people have it so easy. Rude concertgoers aside, it was an excellent way to end a Friday. I'd tweeted Ms. Case with a song request (Twist the Knife) earlier in the day, and alas she didn't play it. I did, however, get to hear this one:
Simply put, she was amazing. It's a shame I went as a civilian and don't get to review this one for Melophobe, because she'd be getting a glowing review from me. I don't think I've ever seen somebody sound so good live. Perhaps it was the woodsy outdoor venue and the joyous sunshine, but the whole evening was pretty magical. The video above doesn't really do the experience justice, as it's from Bumbershoot a few years ago. She had signs up requesting no photos, and I respected her wishes. We waited for the disastrous parking situation to calm down a bit, which didn't do us any good because we got stuck in construction traffic on the way home.
Saturday morning, I headed up to Tara's house so we could go to the beach on Sauvie Island. We had planned to go around 10:30, but the air was much too cold. We dallied around a bit, dropped by Grand Central for sandwiches, and were buying our parking permit by 12:30. Sauvie Island is huge. "About the size of Rhode Island," says Tara. Our beach destination was at the northern tip, so we had quite a ways to go. I'd heard from friends that between the super crowded main beach and the "clothing optional" beach, there was a prime spot for splashing in the river and cooking on the shore. We drove all the way to where the road became gravel, and found no such spot.
Tired of being in the car, we opted for the clothing optional beach. It's not the naked mandatory beach, after all, and there'd be no kids to kick sand in our hair while we napped in the sun. Win-win, really. There we sat, two ladies in swimsuits surrounded by several groups of leathery-skinned regulars in their collective altogether. Sure, we stuck out, but we didn't much care. We settled in, ate sandwiches, read magazines, and soaked up the sun with the rest of them. Let me tell you, though, the nude beach does not attract people you'd like to see naked. No siree. We spent a good amount of time staring straight at the water and trying not to giggle. Because that's where we ended up, I have no photos of the excursion. It's rude to take photos on a nude beach, even if one is discreet and uses a camera phone. Also I didn't want to accidentally photograph anybody else. I do have a photo of the St. Johns bridge on the way, though, so that's something.
We called it a day around 4:00 and returned to our respective homes to get ready for Conor and Jonathan's housewarming party, of which I also have no photos. I am terrible at taking photos of social gatherings, apparently. Still, we had a fine time eating gooey butter cake (OMG that stuff is addictive) and pineapple, and having a chat with the many people who dropped by.
This brings us to today. Bobby went with the Ringers and Tara to watch Trek in the Park, and I prepped the house for our weekly True Blood barbecue. By prepped the house I mean napped on the couch while watching home improvement shows. Either way, there's nothing better than hanging out in the sun with friends and watching a silly HBO summer soap opera. This week I've got houseguests coming from California (Mircea and his fiancee Lyndsey), and a potential show on Thursday. I do love Portland in the summer.
We were seated right in front of the stage, which was fantastic. My plans of listening to Ms. Case while lying on my blanket in the waning sun were somewhat dashed by the jerks who decided to stand up in front of us, and I yelled at them good before I went and stood in front of them. Tall people have it so easy. Rude concertgoers aside, it was an excellent way to end a Friday. I'd tweeted Ms. Case with a song request (Twist the Knife) earlier in the day, and alas she didn't play it. I did, however, get to hear this one:
Simply put, she was amazing. It's a shame I went as a civilian and don't get to review this one for Melophobe, because she'd be getting a glowing review from me. I don't think I've ever seen somebody sound so good live. Perhaps it was the woodsy outdoor venue and the joyous sunshine, but the whole evening was pretty magical. The video above doesn't really do the experience justice, as it's from Bumbershoot a few years ago. She had signs up requesting no photos, and I respected her wishes. We waited for the disastrous parking situation to calm down a bit, which didn't do us any good because we got stuck in construction traffic on the way home.
Saturday morning, I headed up to Tara's house so we could go to the beach on Sauvie Island. We had planned to go around 10:30, but the air was much too cold. We dallied around a bit, dropped by Grand Central for sandwiches, and were buying our parking permit by 12:30. Sauvie Island is huge. "About the size of Rhode Island," says Tara. Our beach destination was at the northern tip, so we had quite a ways to go. I'd heard from friends that between the super crowded main beach and the "clothing optional" beach, there was a prime spot for splashing in the river and cooking on the shore. We drove all the way to where the road became gravel, and found no such spot.
Tired of being in the car, we opted for the clothing optional beach. It's not the naked mandatory beach, after all, and there'd be no kids to kick sand in our hair while we napped in the sun. Win-win, really. There we sat, two ladies in swimsuits surrounded by several groups of leathery-skinned regulars in their collective altogether. Sure, we stuck out, but we didn't much care. We settled in, ate sandwiches, read magazines, and soaked up the sun with the rest of them. Let me tell you, though, the nude beach does not attract people you'd like to see naked. No siree. We spent a good amount of time staring straight at the water and trying not to giggle. Because that's where we ended up, I have no photos of the excursion. It's rude to take photos on a nude beach, even if one is discreet and uses a camera phone. Also I didn't want to accidentally photograph anybody else. I do have a photo of the St. Johns bridge on the way, though, so that's something.
We called it a day around 4:00 and returned to our respective homes to get ready for Conor and Jonathan's housewarming party, of which I also have no photos. I am terrible at taking photos of social gatherings, apparently. Still, we had a fine time eating gooey butter cake (OMG that stuff is addictive) and pineapple, and having a chat with the many people who dropped by.
This brings us to today. Bobby went with the Ringers and Tara to watch Trek in the Park, and I prepped the house for our weekly True Blood barbecue. By prepped the house I mean napped on the couch while watching home improvement shows. Either way, there's nothing better than hanging out in the sun with friends and watching a silly HBO summer soap opera. This week I've got houseguests coming from California (Mircea and his fiancee Lyndsey), and a potential show on Thursday. I do love Portland in the summer.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Dinner is such a hassle
Finding something to eat day in and day out is a right thorn in my side. Like my dad, I find the constant need to feed myself tedious. It gets in my way, and I'm not very good at it. I never really learned the science behind food preparation, so I mostly just wing it. Sometimes things turn out ok, and sometimes (read: often) there are tears. I have been known to eat a bread sandwich for dinner, or to throw leftover french fries in a tortilla, or to toss a Quorn "chicken" burger in the toaster oven and get distracted by the internet until the smoke alarm starts to harass me. See? Bad at feeding myself. Once, circa 2005, I even made this handy info-graphic instead of actually going to the store or getting takeout:
Though that was taken six years ago, it's pretty much what the inside of my fridge looks like all the time. I also hate going grocery shopping. Running out of things gives me anxiety; almost as much anxiety as going to the stupid store and trying to act like the adult I'm supposed to be and buy actual vegetables once in a while. I ran out of fakin' bacon yesterday and didn't buy more. Instead, I treated myself to a breakfast item at the local corporate coffee joint, which burned the bejesus out of my teeth. Fair play to the breakfast wrap, I had it coming.
It's not that I don't like food. I love food - when someone else makes it. Throughout my four years of college, I ate at Planet Fresh at least twice a week, and sometimes twice a day. I'd order a bean and rice tostada with black beans, brown rice, cheese, and guacamole, slathered in the hottest salsa they made. That salsa, by the way, is the most delicious substance on the planet. If I could figure out a way to reliably transport it from Santa Cruz to Portland on a regular basis, I'd be set for life. The bland salsa in the Pacific Northwest (and the equally bland Mexican food in general) can't compare. Why would it try? Oregonians hate spices and driving at proper speeds. It took about three years before my favorite cashier asked me my name and introduced himself, and after that, every time I came in, it was "Hello, Caitlin. Tostada today?" I'd sheepishly nod, partially ashamed of myself for being such a predictable creature of habit, and partially ashamed of my inability to cook. Pictured here is my college meal plan in all its delicious glory. I never ate the tostada shells.
By contrast, when I make my own food, it's the saddest food ever. It's bland, uninspired, hastily thrown together. See this web comic for further explanation. Making my own food, though cheaper, is merely an unsatisfying method of powering through until the next time I can visit a professional food-making establishment. It's a good thing I can write; I'd make a lousy housewife.
On that note, I'm off to have Morningstar Riblets and a strawberry shortcake for dinner. Don't judge me.
Though that was taken six years ago, it's pretty much what the inside of my fridge looks like all the time. I also hate going grocery shopping. Running out of things gives me anxiety; almost as much anxiety as going to the stupid store and trying to act like the adult I'm supposed to be and buy actual vegetables once in a while. I ran out of fakin' bacon yesterday and didn't buy more. Instead, I treated myself to a breakfast item at the local corporate coffee joint, which burned the bejesus out of my teeth. Fair play to the breakfast wrap, I had it coming.
It's not that I don't like food. I love food - when someone else makes it. Throughout my four years of college, I ate at Planet Fresh at least twice a week, and sometimes twice a day. I'd order a bean and rice tostada with black beans, brown rice, cheese, and guacamole, slathered in the hottest salsa they made. That salsa, by the way, is the most delicious substance on the planet. If I could figure out a way to reliably transport it from Santa Cruz to Portland on a regular basis, I'd be set for life. The bland salsa in the Pacific Northwest (and the equally bland Mexican food in general) can't compare. Why would it try? Oregonians hate spices and driving at proper speeds. It took about three years before my favorite cashier asked me my name and introduced himself, and after that, every time I came in, it was "Hello, Caitlin. Tostada today?" I'd sheepishly nod, partially ashamed of myself for being such a predictable creature of habit, and partially ashamed of my inability to cook. Pictured here is my college meal plan in all its delicious glory. I never ate the tostada shells.
By contrast, when I make my own food, it's the saddest food ever. It's bland, uninspired, hastily thrown together. See this web comic for further explanation. Making my own food, though cheaper, is merely an unsatisfying method of powering through until the next time I can visit a professional food-making establishment. It's a good thing I can write; I'd make a lousy housewife.
On that note, I'm off to have Morningstar Riblets and a strawberry shortcake for dinner. Don't judge me.
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