Archive for August, 2006

August 31st, 2006

» at random

I apparently never update any more.

I’ve decided my recent happiness has made me fat and lazy, so I’m back on a planned Firm rotation. I have video-specific workouts written through November. I’m on the fourth day now and I’ve already happily shot it all to hell by scheduling my first riding lesson for next Wednesday. I’m crazily excited.

I went to San Francisco again last weekend, which was fabulous as always. Some of it’s an exhausted blur, and my body is telling me today that if I don’t start getting extra sleep immediately it will be kicking me down and holding me there by getting violently ill again. But I’d do the whole insane overnight flight again in a heartbeat. There was lots of Hobee’s and lots of hammock and a tour of Stanford and a long sunlit walk and a guilty but productive trip through the Japanese bookstore and The Illusionist (which was okay but I remain sad we didn’t see Little Miss Sunshine instead) and V for Vendetta (which oh, lovely) and — oh, everything. I adore Mountain View, and Bryce and Allison. (Not necessarily in that order.)

My dog died. I haven’t known what to say about it, or really wanted to say anything about it at all. The grief might always be a small, private, quiet thing somewhere behind my heart.

I’ve been thinking lately about cooking my way through Camillia Panjabi’s Great Curries of India, but most of the recipes call for at least a little yogurt. The vegan inside me (kept at bay by baked goods and ice cream) leaves me uneasy about it. I really try to limit how much non-vegan stuff I bring into my house, and I don’t want to try to substitute through the whole book.

I’m getting a Vita-mix. I’m trying not to think about it because the knowledge that it is on its way but not yet here is driving me batshit insane.

Last night I was a terrible companion at the Twins game, which I feel sort of bad about but everything is just so distracting. I spent almost the whole night squinting at ads and eavesdropping on nearby conversations and shamelessly watching other spectators, so I kept missing things like … plays and hits and things. Baseball things. There would suddenly be lots of cheering and I’d look up to discover someone’d hit a homerun or stolen a base or something. Happily I did not miss the enthusiastic fan who hopped the wall to jaunt around the outfield for a while — a welcome break from our last few losing innings. I like the atmosphere of baseball. I like the vibrancy of the field, the ultraprecise white lines and bases and all. How manicured everything looks. It’s sort of comforting. Traditional-feeling.

August 8th, 2006

» s’more please

There are days when I am in the supplyroom/kitchenette just after the poptarts have popped. I am sure if I had one now I would find them a grave disappointment, grainy and at once bland and oversweet, unpalatable, chemical-tasting, but the smell is pure indulgence, decadent childhood mornings. I am thrown back to crisp edges just browning, my tongue burnt on oozy s’more filling, trying to taste the stripes separately, discern some difference in the chocolate and marshmallow flavors. The taste worth the occasional icky dry heavy stomach-feeling afterwards. Even through my present aversion I kind of want them. Imagine filching one. Dream a perfect sweet sugarstorm.