proteanme

I love riding into work in the dawn when it’s not raining.  The sky is all hazy, mixed in purple, blue, grey and black, and everything in the distance is soft and dreamy. The office and street lights have not quite yielded to the morning, so in pedaling over the river, the Willamette shimmers and looks almost romantic.  This morning I heard birds reminding me that Portland’s spring, as understated as it is to me, is starting to show itself. By the time I arrive to the big building where I work on the edge of the  industrial section in the northwest, the blanket of daybreak is nearly lifted, and I slip upstairs in relative quiet and sometimes watch sun-up’s ending.

I really love where I work, in large part because I get to do the work I love and my work is valued. But also because I have a voice here and because I can be sincere and ambitious about getting things done. Also, it feels good to work some where that has good politics.

And no one’s around to dig the sound.

I made a mixed cd for a new friend, carefully culled from end-of-year favorite lists I’ve maintained over the last 5 or 6 years. (My lists not only include stuff that was released in a given year, but also whatever I happened to be listening to a lot that year, which is why Under Pressure made the cut) The mix went through a couple iterations, but with the final tweak in place I came up with a great idea for a cover that looked pretty fucking cool and was also a personal nod to my new friend. And after the final listen when I popped the cd in its case I’m thought to myself . . . perfect. My new friend seemed genuinely happy when I handed it over.

A couple of weeks pass. I’m chatting with said friend. I inquire, “How’d you like that cd?” She pauses, her eyes look down just a little and she answers, “I think we have different taste in music.” I’m sure I must have tipped my head to the side as I thought over my response, if for no other reason than being thrown off balance by the weight of the shocked and indignant thoughts quickly amassing in my brain. Thoughts like – “What? How can that be? Maybe your taste is broken. Or maybe it’s just neglected. Maybe your taste needs a work out, like a lazy fat guy who doesn’t want to put down and pizza and turn off the xbox. Yeah, maybe my taste should be your taste’s trainer, your taste’s sifu, because I have phenomenal taste in music. So much so that I should instruct you in what you should be listening to. C’mon my taste is so cool it should kick your taste in the fucking ass. Right, ass. . .right, don’t be an asshole here. Liz, you’re on the verge of being an obnoxious, pretentious asshole. Good lord, she can listen to whatever she wants, who cares?” You might be happy to know, I ended up saying something, like “What gracious reply”. We’d been talking about being gracious earlier.

I keep forgetting to link to this, the Fantastic Idea Project lives on in myspace. And you can check out 3 newer tracks there.

I’m always pleased to see Rachel, Pat, Clint and Kelly, and even more so to see them in the context of sharing a good meal and talking over the last book we read together. A couple nights ago we shared a really fabulous meal at Wong’s King Chinese Restaurant. If you come to Portland go there and get in line for the best dim sum in town.

Here’s a quick recap of dinner:

• Appetizer recommended by the server: Lightly deep fried, but not greasy, tofu cubes with multiple spices served with a white vinegar dipping sauce. Peppery, crunchy, and silken on the inside. These were sublime.
• Clint picked: Short tip pork ribs in garlic sauce served on a small bed of lettuce, scallion and black bean. Succulent.
• Liz picked: Dry green beans with minced pork. Fresh ingredients and just the right amount of oil raised the bar on this old stand by.
• Author recommended: Cod and tarrot root stir fry with a light sauce that really show cased the vegtables and fish. This was the biggest surprise for me in tasting so good.
• Author recommended: Crispy garlic chicken where I guess they pour deep fried oil over the chicken and then serve it in some kind of sweet and salty dark sauce. I almost never eat chicken when I go out, but this rocked my world.

A teaser for a headline, but I’ve had some whoppers, well little whopper insights lately.  Today’s insight is that being busy with interesting work can, not always, but can help create a little breathing space around heart ache.  I’ll take a little space.

Ever since I bought my new bike, I get so much more play from the bike mechanics. It almost always starts with “how do you like your Surly”, and from there it’s not unusual to be on the listening end of some crazy touring story about riding to California with one pannier or riding from Washington to Canada with a fanny pack.

I do think I’m sliding into some serious bike geekiness, something I think I mentioned earlier, because I’m trying to figure out if I can swing buying a back-up bike, especially after seeing this Raliegh.

Just saw There Will be Blood, and . . . No Country for Old Men is still my favorite movie for 2007. Frankly, I thought Blood needed some editing and it was too narrowly focused on Daniel. I’m pretty sure I’m in the minority here. I even looked at my watch at the 2 hour mark, and found myself a little bored during the last 45 minutes. But, I love that Paul Thomas Anderson makes big, ambitious and imperfect movies.

Here I am Saturday night. No plans. No movie rentals, which for the last year have often taken the place of plans. I’m just trying to accept that things are what they are. And right now they might be not be much. Granted, I’ve been on and off the computer lots today, mostly writing, but I rode my bike, did my volunteer thing, ran some errands. I guess what I’m trying to say is I feel ok and I feel this is real and necessary, this stretch of nothing much.

But what made me want to blog again today is that I laughed out loud when I read this post in W4W casual encounters on CL “Hot Fat Woman in a Hurry to Fuck–Women Only” – it just seemed so amusingly precise.

I was looking in the moleskin I carry around in my back pocket, thinking I’d written something really profound in there that I could ruminate on here in my blog. But instead there’s mostly random notes about freelance projects, sneaker stores I wanted to check out when I was in NYC and SF, a list of graphic novels to check out, the theme of a dinner I’m hosting next week, and a reminder to pay my rent. So here’s an oldie but a goody. I think it’s the first song Matt and I wrote together, lyrics by him and melody by me: sold out teenage screamfest.