BEHOLD!!!!!!

I’m a tea snob, Internet. Of the douchiest variety. I won’t return to cafes that don’t serve loose leaf tea. I SCOFF (audibly) when offered bagged Lipton. And I hate Starbucks because Starbucks not only uses hot water from their espresso machine, which is too hot, TOO FUCKING HOT, but they have nothing but bagged tea. TAZO tea. And I hate Tazo tea simply because they allow their tea to be treated this way.

I was given some Tazo because I moderated a panel at a fancy thing. (I’m fancy, and yes, people actually ask me to do stuff at things where smart people will listen to the words that come out of my mouth.)

Yesterday, I cracked open the Tazo tea I was given, and found this coupon.

If you can’t see it, the text reads, “Behold, $1.50 Savings.” Behold, Internet. Behold. $1.50 Savings. BEHOLD THEM.

My New Year’s resolutions were twofold: 1) mainline as much black tar heroin as possible and 2) not react to douchie behavior.

But, behold? BEHOLD A DOLLAR FIFTY?!?

It’s as if the New Year’s Resolution Police are testing me.

ARE YOU TESTING ME???

Next thing you know, Black Tar Heroin (or as I call it, A Gentle Breeze on a Midsummer’s Afternoon) will be both illegal and harmful.

So instead of pointing out the fact that whoever wrote this ridiculous bit of promotion deserves a walk on the beach with their motherauntbestfriendfromcollege and polite conversation about that not so fresh feeling, I’m going to say this: TODAY, WE SHALL ALL BEHOLD!

I invite you, Fan Club, to spend your day BEHOLDING things. Like what? Like, well, I don’t know. Maybe that city bus that drove by. A power wire. Some lint from your pocket. BEHOLD IT.

For me, I plan to BEHOLD my newly shaved legs after a week’s worth of Portland winter, a few pesos I found at my mother-in-law’s house, and *dare to dream* a proper cup of loose leaf tea.

Let’s Have Your Happy Time Under the Blue Sky

So Steve and I went to the Japanese market the other day and something happened in my brain. Not the same thing that happens when I go to Anthropologie and that thing happens where my frontal lobe goes soft and gently, oh so gently, it becomes okay to be a 30-something white woman whose only true aspirations in life are to have bigger diamonds, a bigger SUV and a full-time housekeeper (and she shall be called Mah-reeeee-ah.)

No, not that feeling. In the Japanese market, my brain felt like over-blow-dried curly hair. It felt hot with a slight singe of burning tresses. I was alive, Internet. Alive! Suddenly, I knew that I alone would eliminate evil with nothing more than a lunch box and a mechanical pencil topped with a unicorn-shaped eraser.

There were thousands of tiny magnets, including some shaped like Russian nesting dolls. RUSSIAN NESTING DOLLS!

Row after row of writing utensils

[Imagine a picture here of an aisle of pencils. I was taking pictures with my phone, and for whatever reason, my phone took a picture too large to email. Kyocera is Taiwanese for Krazy!]

More cute stickers?

How can stickers be cuter than tiny Chiuaua stickers?!?

And there was this mug, of which I couldn’t get a good picture

But it says, Let’s Have Your Happy Time Under the Blue Sky. I don’t know about you, but I love having my happy time under the blue sky.

I would have gotten that mug, but it was too tiny and I’d already gotten a new teacup at the Japanese store in San Diego.

C’est l’heurle de the?

Toujours!

Happy New Year!

Back in Portland now, except I’m writing this from California and scheduling it to post tomorrow, so I can only guess what my life will be like tomorrow (today on the internet). I’m envisioning a pile of money upon which I’m rolling, oodles of chocolate and a shopping spree at Oh Baby. Or as we like to call it at my house, Wednesday.

Happy New Year to everyone, thank you for spending a solid 1.5 minutes with me daily. Because you read my blog, 2009 will bring us all 49 virgins, soft yarn and all the thousand dollar bills we could ask for.

Till then, here are two more stories from the December 10th Back Fence PDX show.

The Great Portland Interview Experiment

I’m flying back to Portland today and pilots generally frown upon bloggers venturing into the cockpit and putting their arms around the pilots and murmuring, “Come to this cockpit often?” or “You have a well-equipped cockpit” or “The girth of your cockpit is remarkable” or “Cockpits makes me feel naughty.” So, I’m going to post my interview for the Great Portland Interview Experiment with EvaCatHerder owner of Portland’s CubeSpace and the author of Wonks R Us.

Eva is a knitter and her hubby is a rabbi. As you all know, I was raised without a shred of religion and so I find this fascinating and I’d love nothing more that to spend a little time at their house just hanging out. Would it be offensive if I asked for all their leavened goods before the Jewish non-leavening week? I hate the thought of good carbs going bad.

And yes, I asked about what it’s like having sex with a rabbi.

Check it!

You tweeted once that you used a 25 pound bag of flour per month (week?) what type of bread were you making and were you eating all of that yourself?

It was 25# per month. I was miserable while living in Philadelphia (while David was in rabbinical school) and I was also wheat intolerant (but not gluten intolerant), so I made myself feel better by baking loaves and loaves (and loaves) of spelt bread. I made challah every week (to the great joy of @grigs), bagels (my bagels had a serious fan club), ciabatta, artisan loaves, pizza dough, baguettes, and anything else that caught my fancy. I even started teaching bread-baking classes.

What’s the one thing you learned about baking that much bread that you carry with you in daily life?

Can I give you two things? The first is that everything is better when allowed to sit and ferment for a day or so. The second is that educated guestimation produces better results than strict precision.

You’re married to a rabbi — how’s the sex?

I am going to play presidential/vice presidential candidate here and not really answer your question. I have known David since he was a pain-in-the-ass college freshman. Watching David’s transformation into a rabbi was magical, and he really did go through some amazing fundamental changes. But he is still my David who always reminds me of a muppet (I mean that in a non-sexual way, so get those Furry thoughts out of your mind).

All of the other rabbinical partners I know also got together with their partners in the pre-rabbinic stage, so they had similar experiences to mine (yes, we do talk about these things!) I suspect that the experience might be different for someone who starts having sex with a member of the clergy after he/she has been ordained. I base my suspicion on the fact that many of the single clergy members I know have an incredibly hard time getting a date with someone who is not also a member of the clergy.

You own CubeSpace, which is a shared workspace for rent. That space is gigantic! What is it like in there when you’re alone there, it’s quiet. What’s you favorite thing to do? (I’d like to add that I think it’s great that you have flavored syrup. I made myself a vanilla soda there and I enjoyed it. When I did this one of the people who rents space there said, “Oh, I never thought of doing that!” And I said, “Well, Mr.-I-program-computers-that-solve-cancer-and-cure-pi, who’s the Nobel winner NOW?” And then he asked me out on a date. I’m kidding. I’ve never been picked up.)

Even though CubeSpace is large, I have spent surprisingly little time alone there, because we usually have at least one other person around before, during and after closing. My favorite time to be at CubeSpace is before we open. There was one night when I couldn’t sleep, so I went to CubeSpace at about 5am to get some work done (we didn’t have a computer at home at the time—a situation that we have since rectified).

I spent that morning sitting on the couch in our reception area working. The community-oriented feeling was still there even though there were no other people around and I just felt focused and happy. I have to open early on Wednesdays for a very perky group of people, and I always try to get in just a little extra early so I get some quiet time to ground myself before the hordes arrive. Now that we have the massage chair, I tend to sit there and drink my coffee and just chill until it is time to start running around in a frenzy.

On your blog, Wonks R Us, you wrote a post about a changing CubeSpace into a public policy something something. Explain that to me like I’m simple.

I find it infuriating that we (were, are, might be?) a world superpower with a huge amount of wealth, and yet we do not provide any kind of universal health coverage. It makes no sense from a health management, financial or ethical perspective to deny people access to basic health services. What ends up happening is that people fail to get medical care when a problem is easily and cheaply treatable, and instead are forced to wait until they need emergency medical services that are horribly expensive and that they cannot afford to pay for. Hospitals and insurance companies increase their rates for those who do have health coverage to cover their losses from services given to those who cannot afford to pay.

The “American Dream” is built around the myth that anyone can start a business and if they work hard, they will earn the wealth they “deserve.” However, health insurance is something that is available only at the workplace (there is individual insurance, but it is difficult to get because it requires a physical history and the coverage is often substandard). Self-employed people used to be able to get health insurance through professional associations, but that is something insurance companies put the kibosh on in the early 2000’s. Given the choice between foregoing health insurance or starting a business, many people opt to stay in jobs they don’t want just to retain their health insurance.

Since it seems unlikely that either our state or federal government will take on the insurance industry any time soon, it is up to us (which I mean in the broadest, collective sense) to create solutions to serve the public good. So, as a business whose clientele includes the self-employed and who has group health insurance for its employees, CubeSpace is stepping up to the plate.

In (hopefully) simple terms, this means that we will contract with businesses, governments and nonprofits for the services that they are seeking from local consultants. We will then hire local consultants to do the work. As they will be CubeSpace employees, we will be able to give them and their families access to our group health care policy.

Knitting

Favorite pattern? Favorite yarn? Yarn store of choice?

My favorite pattern, without question, is Baby’s first DNA by Kimberly Chapman. It has become my standard baby present, and you can tell a lot about a person by how they react when you hand them stuffed DNA.

I am not much of a yarn snob, and I generally just knit using David’s leftovers. I do have a great love of rough wools that still smell of lanolin and are hand dyed. But, nobody wants to wear projects made of these wools, so they tend to gather dust in my house. I have decided that they would make great felted bags, but I am intimidated by the fulling process. My favorite yarn store is Yarnia. I just love the ability to mix color and fiber, choose the number of strands in one’s yarn, and I totally groove on Lindsay’s yarn rolling machine.

Your husband knits, and so do you. Do you ever make the same pattern at once and who was knitting first?

Technically I think I was knitting first. My friend Lynn (who works at Northwest Wools in Multnomah Village) taught me how to knit while I was tutoring her daughters in the mid to late nineties. I started a scarf for David, using the previously mentioned scratchy wool, that I still have not finished.

David only learned to knit a few years ago, but he took to it right away and has been knitting like a demon ever since. So I blame him for actually turning knitting into a habit/fidget toy/addiction for me.

We have certainly knit socks at the same time (although the patterning and yarn were always different). We have recently finished knitting up a series of strips that will ultimately be turned into a baby blanket for the son of some dear friends. The strips are currently laid out on our living room floor, just waiting for David to crochet a border and for him to sew the strips together, but so it goes.

Portland

Dream day in Portland: Sleeping in (sleeping is a very big deal for me these days), then going out for a long breakfast at Gravy’s. Then a nap would be in order (even if I had consumed enough coffee to make me high, that full a belly always makes me sleepy). Ideally the day would involve some real Portland drizzle (the misty kind where you never really get wet) and a trip to the Chinese Garden. I would round it out with a trip to the Wednesday farmers market downtown and an evening spent making an amazing dinner and eating it with David, and maybe even a friend or two.

Most underrated tourist attraction: Portland’s neighborhoods. Tourists have no idea who we are based on a visit to downtown, OMSI, Washington Park, etc. Seeing where and how we live is the essence of Portland and what I always do with friends coming to visit.

Finally, sum your life’s philosophy up using a single Britney Spears song title.

I actually had no clue of any of Britney’s song titles, but once again, Wikipedia saved the day. I would have the sum up my life’s philosophy with “The Beat Goes On.” Full disclosure, it is a cover of one of my favorite Sonny and Cher songs.

Beach Pictures for Kiala

I went to La Jolla Shores yesterday. This is the beach that I’d go to when I ditched class in high school, and where my boyfriend and I would come to fight or do other stuff, depending, and, of course, where my ex-husband taught me to surf. Every time I come down here I need to spend a little time on this beach crying and feeling melancholy and then slapping my own face because it’s just so beautiful, why am I boo-hooing?

I want this house. I have a thing for ranch houses.

Here’s my future home’s view.

And here’s the February Lady’s Sweater that I’ve been knitting. Last night, I spent a good portion of the evening saying motherfuckingshitgoddamn. The sweater is going to be asymmetrical now. It’s not supposed to be, but I’m making a fashion statement. A FASHION STATEMENT, YOU HEAR ME???

I Just…

It’s…I don’t know…

The world is magical.

Can you see that, Internet? Let me blow it up.

Prick bag…and…

A prick line. Plus a cut sword.

Please turn to the person next to you and give him or her a hug because how great is it that this exists? And that I can take a picture of it and post it to the internet?

Hugs and kisses,

Melissa

Yes, Another One

So I’m going to do these posts on abundance from time to time because for fuck’s sake, Fan Club, I’ve got a good fucking life. And I think most of you have good lives too. So, anyway, abundance.

This week’s abundance post is about crack. And addiction. See, I don’t have many addictions, (with the exception of Thai dancing girls and ADRENALIN) I have but two. Ahmad Assam long leaf golden tippy tea and Altoids cinnamon gum. When I put either of those things in my mouth (smooches, Ken) I feel a wave of pleasure crash through my brain. It’s pretty awesome.

The tea, like so many herbal goods, I have shipped up to me from San Diego. The gum…well…the gum has been hard to find for these past nine months. And that’s been hard, Fan Club. Very hard. (I haven’t had sex in a while and this post is sounding oh so dirty). Anyway…sex…hard…vibrators. Where was I?

Gum.

My mom shares my addiction to this Altoids cinnamon gum, which we call crack, and we’ve had numerous conversations that go a little like this:

Mom: Melissa, I’ve had to stop chewing the crack because I’ve noticed that my mouth is bleeding.

Me: I know. I haven’t been able to taste food in weeks.

Mom: It’s so strong. And hot. Makes my tongue hurt.

Me: I know.

[Pause: the rattle of what sounds like hard candy in a tin and then two attractive brunettes with great smiles chewing two pieces each of...well...crack.]

Mom: That’s better.

Me: MmmmmHmmmm.

So for the last nine months we haven’t been able to find it and my mom and I have been acting all eh…we didn’t need it anyway. We acted this way because the truth we feared was all too brutal. But still we looked. And chewed lesser cinnamon gum. And then a month ago, I was in a cigar shop and newsstand with a wonderful selection of gum and I asked the guy point blank about the gum. And by point blank, I mean my hand was shaking as I was holding a small revolver to his nose and screaming: PASS OVER THE RED CIRCLES MUTHAFUCKA.

And he said Altoids stopped making it.

So I called my mom and said something like, “Hey Mom, yeah, I just got a dragon tattoo on my back and Archer is outside playing in traffic and Steve’s out whoring and I’ve decided to start hooking on the streets and Altoids has stopped making the gum.”

She said, “I know.”

We got off the phone and I felt better, Internet. I faced my fear. Realized my addiction had come to an end and maybe I was free. Unwillingly free, but free.

And then when I was in Portland experiencing the SADDs and stuck in the house for days on end, a break came in the storms and I asked Steve to drive me to New Seasons because sometimes New Seasons is the only place that will make me feel better. I was wandering the aisles and at the very end of the check-out stands, the very last one, I glanced down at the candy selection and lo and motherfucking behold were 20 packs of Altoids cinnamon gum.

I calmly grabbed both boxes. Took my cell phone out of my purse, called my mother and whispered, “I’ve found the crack.”

Mom (whispering): What?

Me: Mother, I found it. Crack.

Mom: How many?

Me: Twenty.

Mom: Buy it all, Melissa. BUY. IT. ALL.

And so I did and shipped half to my mom.

Here’s the moral: even when you think there’s none, there’s always more.

Also Happy Resurrection Baby Jesus Day! That’s today, right?

Oh Malibu

You just slay me.

Here’s the solstice sunset last night. We went out yesterday and snapped a few pictures. It was just magnificent.

Now V and I are going to have breakfast at Urth Cafe on Main Street in Venice. Only the greatest cafe in the greater LA Metro region. Is Venice in LA? I have no idea.

All I know is: MALIBU. I love this place.

Dear Internet,

I love you. Have I told you all that lately? That you all remind me of love and soft pillows and snuggles? Have I mentioned that I want to stare intensely into your eyes and hear all of your stories because YOU ARE FASCINATING. I love you, internet. I love you Fan Club. I love all of you and I love life and things and you know what you remind me of? Panty shopping with Brad Pitt where I put on a pair of low slung black panties and stockings and a pretty demi cup bra and Brad smacks my ass and tells me I’m irresistible. That’s how you make me feel, Internet. I wish you were all here so I could break my *NO PHYSICAL AFFECTION* rule and hug all of you and stroke your skin gently because all of you have velvet-like skin. You all are a Jane Austen book, knitting and whipped cream. You are black sunglass with dark lenses. You are my banana frye boots. You feel like that time I did not smoke some stuff and then put on my favorite jeans and got into a car where I sat on a seat that had a seat warmer on. You’re a scalp massage and a foot massage at once. You are delicious. And fabulous. I love you.

I’m in California now. Here’s my office today.

I Have the SADDs

I have the SADDs and it’s not making me pretty. In fact, it’s making me somewhat *ahem* un-whatever the word is that means temporarily less than drop dead gorgeous but I’m not quite ready to call myself ugly on the internet. I blame Portland. I SAID IT, PORTLAND.

My skin is a fucking mess. And seriously, folks, when people meet me, after they’re done complimenting my sparkling wit and engaging personality, they always ALWAYS tell me about my peaches and cream complexion. Okay, maybe they don’t. And maybe they’re not impressed by my sparkling wit aka (occasional) overuse of irony. But whatever. It’s what I notice about myself. In fact, my skin is my gauge. It’s how I know if what I’m doing is good and ought to be pursued. So, for example, smoking. I don’t smoke not because I’m worried about my health or if I smell or if I’m making others die a painful death because of my smoke. I don’t smoke because it makes me break out. I ride my bike not because it keeps me fit and I’m saving the planet. I do it because it keeps my skin clear. Same with drinking water. Who cares about hydration.

Here’s my point: my skin looks like hell. Because I won’t be seeing the sun before I get to California and I can’t roll into San Diego looking like a cracked out black tar shingles victim, I decided to take a vitamin. Except that my vitamins are all gone. And I take special vitamins because I can’t swallow whole multivitamins, I get the Trader Joe’s chewable adult vitamins. But they’re gone and I haven’t been to Trader Joe’s. So I had to draw inspiration from that cracked out black tar shingles victim and go rooting around in my cupboards for vitamins. I came across Steve’s man-a-mins. But because they are boy things, I checked the expiration date — 4/08. Archie had a bit of Ovaltine so I mixed that up, but then I saw that it has approximately 22% of your daily vitamins. Archie also had some multivitamins, but they’re 100% of the daily nutrients for a 3 year old. So I cut up one of Steve’s man-a-mins, mixed up a double dose of Ovaltine and snorted a small cherry-flavored bear.

I’m also going to swab my skin with some vinegar tonight because I’m pretty sure white vinegar is magical. I’ll let you know if I wake up back to my Snow White self.

See? SADDs.