Weird Charms

Saturday we had two items on our agenda: visit the Verizon store to look at cell phones and see the movie Inkheart. Critter will be moving to our wireless plan next month and to say that she is looking forward to a new phone is an understatement.

The Verizon store was packed and my claustrophobia set in immediately. I did my best to push it aside and browsed the twenty models that they had, figuring out that, really, none of them are good for my fat fingers. After thirty minutes trying in vain to write simple text messages, my thumbs froze up and refused to continue. We did find a few models that might work between the three of us but futher research is definitely warranted. I had too many people in the store tell me that they had the model I was currently handling and they hated it. Critter texted her friends and they would report the same about a different model. It seems everybody hates something about their existing phone.

We gave up and drove across the street to the mall and bought our tickets for the movie. The mall has been remodeled and has a new 20-screen theater as well as several new restaurants. CrafterKat left us in the food court to buy some sushi.


Critter, fingering the dangling beaded charm on her existing phone: Omigosh! I forgot to see if the [Verizon] enV phone had a place to hang charms from!

Me, straight-faced: Hmmmm. Well, you might have to keep your existing phone then.

Critter, shocked: NO! No. Nooooo. No. (pause) No. Noooooowah. (pause). No. And....No.


Inkheart was a fabulous movie and perfect for a lazy afternoon. When we finished, I bought Critter some pizza while CrafterKat visited the ATM. She had a huge slice of pizza which took two hands to manage.


Me: You know, I thought you wouldn't want pizza since you ate that all the time while the school cafeteria was being remodeled.

Critter: I always like pizza.

Me, trying to impart something educational into our dining experience: You know, in New York, people eat their pizza by folding it in half so they can eat it with one hand.

Critter, taking another bite: Well, at school, I would eat the pizza with a knife and fork. And then the kids would call me weird. And then I tried folding it in half. And the kids would call me weird. And then I would eat the toppings off of the pizza first and then eat the crust. And the kids would call me weird. So then I would eat it with both hands like them. And then I told them that that way was weird.

Me: Well, I'm glad you like the pizza.

Critter, taking another bite: I like eating pizza because it makes my nose scrunch up real cute when I eat it.


I had to laugh. It was really cute.

Hogwarts Weekend

Enough said.

Cutting Chicken

When I moved out of my parents’ house and started living on my own, I was thankful for any money-saving, practical advice and tips. Things like “You only need about an eighth of a scoop of laundry detergent to wash a large load” are not written on the packaging, because, of course, the manufacturer wants you to buy more detergent. But it worked, and saved me a bundle of money.

One of the money-saving tips my dad, Mr. GoGoGo, passed along was how inexpensive whole frying hens are. For about $5 (less, if you watch the ads), you can get an entire chicken. With a slow-cooker, you can cook the whole thing and feast on it for days. Or, you can cut it up yourself, and have the pieces for other sumptuous dishes at a fraction of the price of buying the butcher-cut pieces.

Dad showed me how to cut up a chicken a million times. He got me the fancy filleting knife, with its thin and slender blade that fits neatly between the joints for easy disassembly. He taught me how to remove the skin off the pieces to reduce fat intake. And he’d disinfect the knife, the entire counter, and the cutting board when he was done. I also watched Alton Brown’s episode on cutting up a chicken, too, with the nifty dinosaur skeleton as a visual aid to show joint locations. For a while, I actually hung on to the “how to” pretty well.

I think I’ve cut up 1 or 2 chickens in my day. The fact of the matter is, I think it’s gross. I simply don’t like how it feels between my fingers. I don’t like pulling the skin from the muscle (gross), snapping the leg joint (gross), or even reaching inside the “cavity” for the little baggie of innards neatly packaged so I can throw them away (super gross). Not to mention the carcass. My dad always cooks the carcass for broth – or freezes it to cook for broth later. Um, that means a chicken skeleton in the freezer (gross).

And I’ve discovered a few things about eating chicken, too that made this ritual even less desirable. Once you cut up a chicken, there are still only 2 breasts, 2 backs, and 2 drumsticks. No one eats the wings (too bony), and with the distribution of the parts according to my family’s preferences, I always ended up eating the back (also pretty bleepin’ bony). If I wanted pure, un-bony chicken breast, well, that’s another chicken… So I stopped buying whole fryers and cutting them up myself. The $6 I spend on fresh chicken breasts means I get to eat the good stuff, too, and I don’t have to stick my fingers where the sun don’t shine on dead poultry.

And why is all of this relevant now, you ask?? Well, I’m working on an overall quilt. It’s a quilt made from old jeans – a tradition my grandma started when pristine bolts of fabric were a luxury. She came through the Depression, and learned not to waste the “good” parts of a worn-out pair of jeans. The first step in making an overall quilt, naturally, is to cut up the jeans. I was struck suddenly how similar cutting up the jeans was to cutting up chicken.

Depending on the size of the jeans, in the end, you get 2 breasts (the large front portion from which you can cut the “prime” large squares), 2 backs (the back pocket – bones and maybe some useful meat), 4 drumsticks (strips big enough to cut smaller, clean, no-seam squares), and a couple of wings (strips where a smaller square is possible, if you include a seam). There’s a carcass to toss (the waistband, thick seams, and often the front/back pockets). And some juicy bits that are too small for the main meal, but perfectly good for soup (seamless pieces that could be turned into a strip quilt… but that’s another entry…)

See, Dad, I was paying attention.

The whole "chicken".
The cut-up pieces.
The good bits, too small for the main meal.
The carcasses.

A Flashback Weekend

My mother, the Social Butterfly, called early Friday morning and rasped, "I don tink I'm cummin' ub tis weekend. I'm all stubbed ub." We shared a brief exchange of sniffles and I wished her well. I was finally coming off of my week-long cold stint and was hoping that CrafterKat wasn't coming down with it.

Saturday morning CrafterKat woke especially early and painted the final two walls from our remodel. We had the archway by the stairs and the little half wall that needed to be painted creamy beige, also known as peach. It was a bit of deja vu--we had painted part of the wall by Critter's bathroom and done touch-ups down the stairway a few weeks earlier. Her measurements from February are now gone. In fact, she actually shrunk a bit, as the floor was higher in the kitchen last winter when we began the remodel.

That afternoon we enjoyed fabulous pot stickers and hot and sour soup at Hong Kong 97 before heading out to see Sweet Charity, starring Molly Ringwald. I sort of knew the story--I had seen a few clips of the movie with Shirley MacLaine--but hadn't ever watched it all the way through. We had several good laughs, especially with Charity and her beau in the elevator. At one point, a man dressed as Andy Warhol strolled across the 1966 stage to the delight of the audience.

"Why is everyone laughing?" Critter asked.

"That man with the white hair? He's supposed to be Andy Warhol, a famous artist from the sixties. Do you know him?" She shook her head. "He painted a huge Campbells soup can?" Another blank look. "Um, Marilyn Monroe? He painted her in blues and greens and such?"

"Who's Marilyn Monroe?"

For the rest of intermission CrafterKat and I tried to explain, pulling out current comparisons (Madonna's Material Girl video) and movies Critter might have seen. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes? No. Some Like It Hot? Nuh-uh. How to Marry a Millionaire? Negatory.

We are the generation bridge, we determined, as familiar with our parent's era as our own.

Sunday we visited Bridgeport Village, a new shopping mall in Tualatin. It's an outdoor mall and instantly reminded us of Downtown Disney--wide pedestrian areas with elite shops and a variety of restaurants.

We passed a gelato restaurant and a candy kiosk with a variety of sugary delights. Critter pointed to one giant glob of sugar the size of a tennis ball. "I once had a jawbreaker that big. I had to pound it into pieces with a sledgehammer."

CrafterKat laughed. "Are you old enough to remember Farrell's?" Critter shook her head. "Well, it was an ice cream parlour in Eugene and when you left the restaurant, you passed this huge selection of candy like that." She chuckled a moment and continued. "Renaissance Man bought a jawbreaker like that and worked on it for several weeks and then decided that he'd take a sledge hammer to it. I didn't know it at the time, mind you, I just heard the loud whack from the garage. He came inside and admitted that he had missed the candy and left a huge dent in the concrete. 'I'll give you half if you promise not to tell.' And I never did..."

We picked up Critter's copy of the Black Stallion and Satan (not Satine, as she insisted) and then perused the shopping directory for a place to eat. Pastini's won. I laughed as we opened the door and whispered to CrafterKat, "I always think Pastini is something the Sand People would say... 'Pasteeeneeee!' as they go charging down a sand dune..."

She shook her head at me. "You're weird."

After lunch we took a leisurely stroll through Crate and Barrell and tried out various couches and chairs that might fit in our living room...until we glanced at the price tags. Most every chair that might fit cost more than two car payments. We'd take turns saying, "How good is my taste?" and flip over the price tag. I think CrafterKat won with a deliciously soft, coffee leather chair (ottoman not included) for $2000.

For that price, the chair had better come with a built-in sound system and brew its own coffee!

Cinnamon Autumn With a Pinch of Molasses Drama

Last weekend, in my mind, was the beginning of Autumn. Mostly because I was able to do this.

Well, maybe not gingerbread cookies, but it was the first opportunity to bake in the new kitchen. Notice how tiny the old kitchen looked... I can't believe that I ever survived nine years with so little counter space. And my head is extremely happy, too. I can't tell you how often I've bumped my noggin on those old cabinets above that penisula.

Now when we bake or cook, it resembles this:

Last weekend was action packed--and baking cookies was the perfect way to begin. Friday night I had decided what cookies to make (chocolate chip, peanut butter, and some sort of molasses cookie). I made sure that I had unsalted butter (the only ingredient I wasn't sure was in the freezer) and went to bed.

Saturday morning I retrieved said butter and pulled out the stand mixer [insert sounds of angels singing here] only to find that it needed to be thoroughly washed. It had been stored under the computer desk in the living room for three months and had accumulated several ickies inside the bowl. Sigh. I methodically washed the bowl, the stand, and any other little bit that connected to the mixer.

With the butter melting on the stove, I began pulling out all of the flours and sugars needed for Alton's recipe. And then went looking for the flour sifter... Not where it used to be, snuggled down with the measuring cups. Found it one drawer down from there. Sifted the flour and went to add baking soda. No measuring spoons with the measuring cups. Found them somewhere else. Are you beginning to see just how much bigger our kitchen is?

The first batch of cookie dough went into the fridge while I pondered which kind of molasses cookie I wanted to make. Time to get The Book. Which was not on the new bookshelf we purchased for the living room. Nor was it in the cookie cutter drawer (yes--we have a drawer for cookie cutters!). Nor was it nestled among the DVDs and computer games on the large oak shelf from Mr. GoGoGo's old law office.

I believe at this point I suffered a minor heart attack.

After several deep breaths I was able to locate a hand-written molasses cookie recipe. That called for shortening. Which we hardly ever buy. Sigh. I had just enough for the recipe and was able to store that in the fridge.

Then a quick shower, lunch of mac and fromage, and we were off to see Wicked at the Keller Auditorium. Wicked is the story of Oz happenings before Dorothy was blown in from Kansas, centering on two girls who become the Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda the Good Witch. The women had incredible storylines, fantastic songs, snappy lines, and great costumes. I'd highly recommend seeing it if you have the chance. Critter enjoyed it, too, saying it was "almost better than Hairspray" which she attended with the Social Butterfly and myself.

After the show, we went to New Seasons Market and bought flavored brauts and garlic chicken for dinner. Once home, the baking began. If only I could find the parchment paper to line the cookie sheets.

I foraged up in the attic and found two rolls of it. Unfortunately, they were in two more boxes that were destined for the kitchen. Sigh. We thought we had unboxed everything when I brought the eight other boxes down in August.

And no sign of The Book, either.

At the end of the evening the whole house smelled of molasses. And a bit of peanut butter (which used up the last of the shortening!).

Sunday morning we baked the last of the cookies and headed off to the Scrap Maven's house for a day of scrap booking. I brought cookies and a borrowed laptop. CrafterKat had the remainder of our Disneyland photos to paste. Huggy Girl brought her daughter and many cute "nekked baby" photos. The day was spent in scrapbooking and cookie bliss. With a few dashes of garlic and rosemary brauts on the side.

And after a week I still have not found The Book...

One Of Our Submarines Is Missing

As I was leaving work on Thursday, I caught up with my boss, Evil PXE (computer term for “Pre-boot Execution Environment” and pronounced “Pixie”) and another co-worker who thanked me for the List of Lists. “I especially liked the one about Poets naming breakfast cereals," she said. Evil PXE gave me a funny look.

"Oh, the one I liked was why the Little Teapot wasn't popular in school." My friend laughed and Evil PXE gave me another confused glance. I continued in a flat voice," She was short. She was stout. She slept around and everyone knew it."

"What?" Evil PXE asked.

"It's a joke. From the song?" I demonstrated the movements, putting one hand on my hip, the other as the pouring spout. "I'm a little teapot, short and stout...?" He continued to stare at me. "And she was a slut."

"That's not in the song," he said.

My friend and I laughed. "That's why it's funny!" She made her goodbyes and left Evil PXE and I in the hallway.

"You know, you can come in tomorrow if you want to..."

"I'm taking the day off, remember? CrafterKat and I have tickets to Thomas Dolby tonight."

He laughed, "I know. Have a good time. Who is opening for them?"

"I don't know. Some group called The Pleasure Bots or something. Could be...interesting."

By the time I returned home, CrafterKat was in her concert clothes and Critter had secured a sleepover with a girlfriend up the street. We shuffled her out the door and then filled each other in our day as we drove over to the Aladdin Theater, a lovely old theater complete with balconies and ancient wall sconces.

"It starts at 8:00, right?" I nodded. "Who is opening for him?"

"Well, some little band I've never heard of. The Pleasure Robots? The Sex Bots? I don't know." I pictured guys in white vinyl behind an array of synthesizers with inflatable adult mannequins as backup singers.

We parked and found seats behind the mixing board. The stage had a multitude of syntehesizers piled in one corner and a screen in the back of the stage. A couple of Apple notebooks could be seen , waiting for musical input.

The lights dimmed and polite applause enveloped us. Two men entered carrying electric guitars and proceeded to the two notebook computers which were hooked up to a synthesizer each. They pressed a few buttons and 80's era synthesized pop music streamed forth.

For the next hour we heard the same song repeated over and over. Well, maybe not the exact same song. "They kind of sound like Big Country," said CrafterKat. "No, maybe ABC. No, maybe A-Ha." The men played guitars...barely. You could almost hear the chords from time to time above the synthesized beat.

The best parts, though, were when each man would stride to their notebook, nodding their heads in time with the music and glance from the keyboard to their music partner. Their telepathic conversation was something like:

Bot 1: I'm getting ready to hit 'Enter'. Are you ready to hit 'Enter'?
Bot 2: I've got my next beat programmed. Are you ready to hit 'Enter'?
Bot 1: I'm ready to hit 'Enter'. We totally rock.
Bot 2: Okay, let's hit 'Enter'. In one...
Bot 1: In two...
Bot 2: In three...
Both: (press the Enter button on their notebooks)
Bot 1: We totally rock.
Bot 2: Yeah, we rock!

CrafterKat couldn't take it anymore and went outside to check the merchandise table. When she returned I learned that not only did they have a CD available, but they have one CD with thirteen versions of the same song!

"Portland! Are you ready to dance now? This song was from our Psykosonik days!" The Portland audience gave polite applause but it didn't drown out the people who were discussing Thomas Dolby and drinking beer. But Bot 1 didn't seem to mind and misinterpreted, "Well, we definitely gotta come back to Portland more often!"

Finally, the opening band finished and we waited patiently for Thomas Dolby to enter. He did a few moments later, wearing a long buttoned-up overcoat and head gear. Remember Lando's pal in the Cloud City who had the computer fused to his brain? He had nothing on Mr. Dolby.

The lights dimmed as Dolby approached the array of synteshizers. The screen behind him lit up and we were suddenly swooping and diving across the keyboards, following his hand movements. The head gear he wore had cameras above either ear allowing us to watch as he crafted melodies. Amazing.

For ninety minutes, Dolby dazzled us with liquid melodies and snappy rhythms. He played his commercial successes (Europa and the Pirate Twins ), some of his favorites (I Live in a Suitcase) and gave insight to the lyrics of a few others. He spoke to the geeks in the audience about some of his toys ("This adjustable stand is used by lots of parishes!") and how he marvelled at new discoveries in science. One of earth's sattelites has, for instance, captured solar flares and recorded them in ones and zeroes. Dolby took those binary bits and encoded them into midi, playing the solar music for us and then dipped into Windpower.

He ended his performance with She Blinded Me with Science, his most recognizable song from the 80's. After much applause, he returned to the stage and admitted that he didn't have any other songs queued up for the concert. "But, this went over pretty well at one of the other gigs I did," and he proceeded to build a song for us. A few taps on one keyboard, set the tempo and then repeat. A rhythm introduced on a second machine, overlaying the first. It took well over five minutes before the first strands of Hyperactive floated through the tiny theater. We were mesmerized.

As he closed up for the night, he added a few words for the opening band. "Hey, what did you think of Basic Pleasure Model?" Polite applause. "They've not performed on stage in nine years!" CrafterKat and I laughed.

Later that weekend, as we prepared dinner to christen our new deck furniture with a nice stir fry, Critter asked, "Who did you see in concert?"

CrafterCat answered, "Thomas Dolby. He's a musician we like from the 80's."

She looked up from the noodles she spooned onto plates. "Is he a Beatle?"

Sigh. I guess one of our submarines is missing...