We're not dead...
... just tired. We moved in two weeks ago and all is well. Lucy is happy, Oliver is happy and we're happy. In those two weeks, Beto has been to Brazil and is now in Georgia, so my OCD has had ample opportunity to flourish, resulting in most of our stuff being meticulously organized and stowed in all proper places.
Yawny, Cozy, Stretchy Puppy... in time lapse
Huh.
Funny, the perspective that a little distance can give...
After Beto's 7 years in the Milwaukie house, it just now occurred to us that:
1. One neighbor's name rhymed exactly with "Han Solo";
2. And the other neighbor's name was Wolkie... sounds like "Wookie" if you say it five times fast.
It's as if we existed in a parallel universe and never knew...
After Beto's 7 years in the Milwaukie house, it just now occurred to us that:
1. One neighbor's name rhymed exactly with "Han Solo";
2. And the other neighbor's name was Wolkie... sounds like "Wookie" if you say it five times fast.
It's as if we existed in a parallel universe and never knew...
Ripped from the Headlines: Today's Top News Stories
- "Clowns are universally disliked by children"
- "One-ton rodent discovered"
- "Dentist pleads guilty to running body-parts ring"
- "Messed up order sends man into fry rage"
- "Why incest makes us so squeamish" (Serious quote from the MSNBC article: ""It's sort of like a 'Star Wars' story that ends up with Luke Skywalker and Princess Leah marrying each other.")
myTunes
After several hundred dollars and many years of downloading, I parted ways with iTunes... took a break, so to speak. Cold turkey - no 12 step program. But here I sit stuck in our bunker in the third ring of Dante's Inferno (our apartment), pathetic and bored, all thanks to the writers' strike and Beto's travels to Phoenix. And so I return to iTunes to offer up what is left of my soul. Sweet! All sorts of new stuff, finally.
My favorite part of iTunes is the Celebrity Playlist. It's always a hoot (technical term, btw) to watch the pretty kids doing their utmost to look cool. But sometimes there are some gems there.
Most of the time, though, I daydream about someone asking me to post my playlist. They won't, of course. I can't even get Mac to donate an iPod to charity (although they are admittedly generous to their employees who generously share the generosity with others). I digress.
So, pathetic and bored, I thought a little about my celebrity playlist. Like most everyone, my life is punctuated by music. My first record, at 3, was the Queen 45 of "We are the Champions/We Will Rock You" I think it was around that time that I was rocking out on my Shaun Cassidy plastic guitar, and crying for the KISS dude when he smashed his guitar on TV. I vowed to buy him another one. I then moved on to more sophisticated music - Alvin and the Chipmunks on red vinyl - until discovering my undying love for both Michael Jackson and Rick Springfield. Rick was my first concert... Merriweather Post Pavillion in Maryland. He wore a black and white striped shirt. I was in the third grade and I was in LOVE. But then came Bono and out went Rick... ahhh, the U2 concert in the sixth grade - I was in the 16th row when Bono slipped and dislocated his shoulder and cut the show short. I still have the t-shirt. That was the first of five U2 tours that I've been lucky enough to see. I even paid $150 and went ALONE (see the "pathetic" theme here...) to see Bono speak in Portland. He's the bee's knees (second to Beto, of course).
I've seen lots of great concerts, though probably not as many as I would have liked. Mostly I remember the concerts by the people I went with - I'll never forget the House of Pain show that Kim and I went to, with Biohazard and Korn opening... we weren't sure we'd get out alive. I remember the Luscious Jackson show with Ellen and the Rolling Stones concert (a family event) where my mother yelled across the parking lot "Honey, do you have to go potty?" in front of a Jeep load of cute boys. I think that was in '89 and I still have the emotional scars to prove it. There are of course the long list of local bands that have warmed my heart... among them Cul An Ti, whose pub shows were frequented often with Joanie (attracting the undying attention of the Trenchcoat Mafia) and Claire. Don't forget Clumsy Lovers, and BS&M, a college favorite. And saw Nancy Atlas in the Hamptons with Katie, Claire and Cindy. I saw CrashTest Dummies with a warlock and Depeche Mode with a Republican... not sure which was most embarrassing. I saw Kanye West open for U2 and saw Pearl Jam play in their smallest venue in 13 years, with the love of my life, Mr. Dantas. Sting and Dave Matthews Band put me to sleep, and when Los Lobos opened for the latter, they refused to sing "La Bamba". Ingrates. I mean, what the HELL?
"Sweet Home Alabama" will always remind me of college. Apparently the southerners from New Jersey didn't realize that Virginia isn't Alabama. "Jump Around" from House of Pain and "Root Down" by the Beastie Boys are all about Kim and her penchant for rolling ankles and causing mischief and mayhem everywhere. "Dancing Queen" by Abba invokes memories of a drunk and mildly tone-deaf Cindy, and conjures memories of a very drunk and at all times hilarious Beth. Anything from Cowboy Junkies takes me back to the ranch and the hilarity with Bonnie, Hanna, Pat and the crew. The Doors' "Break on Through" = driving around in the VW Bug. UB40's "Red Red Wine" or Motley Crue's "Home Sweet Home" = high school beach misadventures with Becky and Renee (also anything by Karen Carpenter which was mostly definitely NOT my idea). For the high school genre, you might as well throw in "Blister in the Sun" by Violent Femmes. All I see is a kid in gorilla suit tumbling down the stairs screaming "Trick or Treat." (A story for another time.) And who can ever forget New Orleans' best belle Eli, belting out every word to Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise"? Throw in Jay-Z's "Can I Get A..." for Joanie and our misadventures at the Monte Carlo. Is Bubba in the hizouse??
There are, of course, the songs that have done me wrong. The Clash convinced me to buy my VW GTI which was eventually stolen and stripped. Kanye West convinced me to buy the Audi, which carried a curse unlike any other. And I knew the house in Gresham was The One because Johnny Cash was on, and it reminded me of my dad. Wrong again.
I could go on and on, but I won't - mostly because I figure that if you've read this far, you're on the verge of shutting down. So without further ado, here's my celebrity playlist. I'll try to keep it to 10.
1. Running to Stand Still by U2. Gives solace to the stuck. Picking one U2 song is difficult. I mean, for God's sake, they are only the greatest rock band in the history of the world. Other contenders: All I Want is You, Until the End of the World, Drowning Man... oh, and MLK, Wake Up Dead Man, I Will Follow and a bunch of others. It's a sickness.
2. Mama Said Knock You Out by LL Cool J. Dude is the man. This song could make the weakest among you want to kick some serious backside. Coincidentally, it was the anthem for our high school senior powderpuff football team, along with "Back in Black" by AC/DC. We lost. I blame AC/DC.
3. Ain't Too Proud to Beg by the Temptations and A Little Less Conversation by Elvis. I know it's cheating to include two in one, but these two have the same effect, which is pretty much demonstrated only in the privacy of my own home.
4. Once In A Lifetime by Talking Heads. This song is the anthem for a generation, perfectly suited to that point in life when you realize you're no longer connected to your youth, and you wonder just how it is that you lost three years of your life to law school and ended up with not a whole lot more than a huge student loan payment.
5. Rapper's Delight by The Sugar Hill Gang. Really needs no introduction. Parachute pants and break dancing and little old ladies in Adam Sandler movies. There's no way you can sit still.
6. Bullet with Butterfly Wings by The Smashing Pumpkins. "Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage." I don't think I need to say more.
7. Elderly Woman Behind a Counter by Pearl Jam. If I had to chose between Eddie Vedder and Bono for best voice, I might just have to pick Eddie Vedder because of this song alone.
8. Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds. This song, until the day I die, will remind me of Howard Davis, a professor at RMC who picked up where my dad left off. Nice social commentary, too, if you're interested.
9. New Year's Prayer by Jeff Buckley. Dude has a lot of really fantastic songs, but this one is tops.
10. Return of the Tres by Delinquent Habits. Best Mariachi rap song EVER.
11. Lullaby and One of the Three, both by James. An under-rated band, by far. Lyrics are unparalleled.
12. F.O.D. by Green Day. This is the ultimate kill song.
Okay, I'm at 12, broke the rules, and still have a ton to go and I need to go to bed. Runners Up: "Gone Daddy Gone" by Gnarls Barkley, "Freedom 90" by George Michael, "Natural One" by Folk Implosion (this one definitely deserved to be in the top 10), "Hey Man, Nice Shot" by Filter, "Rocket Man" by Elton John, "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," by the Charlie Daniels Band, "Tones of Home" by Blind Melon and "She's a Runaway" by the Bo Deans.
BUT! The one that defies any list is "Song Bird" by Eva Cassidy - the wedding song Beto picked for us, and one that is nearer and dearer to my heart than anything Bono could do...
I'm done. Goodnight Portland.
My favorite part of iTunes is the Celebrity Playlist. It's always a hoot (technical term, btw) to watch the pretty kids doing their utmost to look cool. But sometimes there are some gems there.
Most of the time, though, I daydream about someone asking me to post my playlist. They won't, of course. I can't even get Mac to donate an iPod to charity (although they are admittedly generous to their employees who generously share the generosity with others). I digress.
So, pathetic and bored, I thought a little about my celebrity playlist. Like most everyone, my life is punctuated by music. My first record, at 3, was the Queen 45 of "We are the Champions/We Will Rock You" I think it was around that time that I was rocking out on my Shaun Cassidy plastic guitar, and crying for the KISS dude when he smashed his guitar on TV. I vowed to buy him another one. I then moved on to more sophisticated music - Alvin and the Chipmunks on red vinyl - until discovering my undying love for both Michael Jackson and Rick Springfield. Rick was my first concert... Merriweather Post Pavillion in Maryland. He wore a black and white striped shirt. I was in the third grade and I was in LOVE. But then came Bono and out went Rick... ahhh, the U2 concert in the sixth grade - I was in the 16th row when Bono slipped and dislocated his shoulder and cut the show short. I still have the t-shirt. That was the first of five U2 tours that I've been lucky enough to see. I even paid $150 and went ALONE (see the "pathetic" theme here...) to see Bono speak in Portland. He's the bee's knees (second to Beto, of course).
I've seen lots of great concerts, though probably not as many as I would have liked. Mostly I remember the concerts by the people I went with - I'll never forget the House of Pain show that Kim and I went to, with Biohazard and Korn opening... we weren't sure we'd get out alive. I remember the Luscious Jackson show with Ellen and the Rolling Stones concert (a family event) where my mother yelled across the parking lot "Honey, do you have to go potty?" in front of a Jeep load of cute boys. I think that was in '89 and I still have the emotional scars to prove it. There are of course the long list of local bands that have warmed my heart... among them Cul An Ti, whose pub shows were frequented often with Joanie (attracting the undying attention of the Trenchcoat Mafia) and Claire. Don't forget Clumsy Lovers, and BS&M, a college favorite. And saw Nancy Atlas in the Hamptons with Katie, Claire and Cindy. I saw CrashTest Dummies with a warlock and Depeche Mode with a Republican... not sure which was most embarrassing. I saw Kanye West open for U2 and saw Pearl Jam play in their smallest venue in 13 years, with the love of my life, Mr. Dantas. Sting and Dave Matthews Band put me to sleep, and when Los Lobos opened for the latter, they refused to sing "La Bamba". Ingrates. I mean, what the HELL?
"Sweet Home Alabama" will always remind me of college. Apparently the southerners from New Jersey didn't realize that Virginia isn't Alabama. "Jump Around" from House of Pain and "Root Down" by the Beastie Boys are all about Kim and her penchant for rolling ankles and causing mischief and mayhem everywhere. "Dancing Queen" by Abba invokes memories of a drunk and mildly tone-deaf Cindy, and conjures memories of a very drunk and at all times hilarious Beth. Anything from Cowboy Junkies takes me back to the ranch and the hilarity with Bonnie, Hanna, Pat and the crew. The Doors' "Break on Through" = driving around in the VW Bug. UB40's "Red Red Wine" or Motley Crue's "Home Sweet Home" = high school beach misadventures with Becky and Renee (also anything by Karen Carpenter which was mostly definitely NOT my idea). For the high school genre, you might as well throw in "Blister in the Sun" by Violent Femmes. All I see is a kid in gorilla suit tumbling down the stairs screaming "Trick or Treat." (A story for another time.) And who can ever forget New Orleans' best belle Eli, belting out every word to Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise"? Throw in Jay-Z's "Can I Get A..." for Joanie and our misadventures at the Monte Carlo. Is Bubba in the hizouse??
There are, of course, the songs that have done me wrong. The Clash convinced me to buy my VW GTI which was eventually stolen and stripped. Kanye West convinced me to buy the Audi, which carried a curse unlike any other. And I knew the house in Gresham was The One because Johnny Cash was on, and it reminded me of my dad. Wrong again.
I could go on and on, but I won't - mostly because I figure that if you've read this far, you're on the verge of shutting down. So without further ado, here's my celebrity playlist. I'll try to keep it to 10.
1. Running to Stand Still by U2. Gives solace to the stuck. Picking one U2 song is difficult. I mean, for God's sake, they are only the greatest rock band in the history of the world. Other contenders: All I Want is You, Until the End of the World, Drowning Man... oh, and MLK, Wake Up Dead Man, I Will Follow and a bunch of others. It's a sickness.
2. Mama Said Knock You Out by LL Cool J. Dude is the man. This song could make the weakest among you want to kick some serious backside. Coincidentally, it was the anthem for our high school senior powderpuff football team, along with "Back in Black" by AC/DC. We lost. I blame AC/DC.
3. Ain't Too Proud to Beg by the Temptations and A Little Less Conversation by Elvis. I know it's cheating to include two in one, but these two have the same effect, which is pretty much demonstrated only in the privacy of my own home.
4. Once In A Lifetime by Talking Heads. This song is the anthem for a generation, perfectly suited to that point in life when you realize you're no longer connected to your youth, and you wonder just how it is that you lost three years of your life to law school and ended up with not a whole lot more than a huge student loan payment.
5. Rapper's Delight by The Sugar Hill Gang. Really needs no introduction. Parachute pants and break dancing and little old ladies in Adam Sandler movies. There's no way you can sit still.
6. Bullet with Butterfly Wings by The Smashing Pumpkins. "Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage." I don't think I need to say more.
7. Elderly Woman Behind a Counter by Pearl Jam. If I had to chose between Eddie Vedder and Bono for best voice, I might just have to pick Eddie Vedder because of this song alone.
8. Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds. This song, until the day I die, will remind me of Howard Davis, a professor at RMC who picked up where my dad left off. Nice social commentary, too, if you're interested.
9. New Year's Prayer by Jeff Buckley. Dude has a lot of really fantastic songs, but this one is tops.
10. Return of the Tres by Delinquent Habits. Best Mariachi rap song EVER.
11. Lullaby and One of the Three, both by James. An under-rated band, by far. Lyrics are unparalleled.
12. F.O.D. by Green Day. This is the ultimate kill song.
Okay, I'm at 12, broke the rules, and still have a ton to go and I need to go to bed. Runners Up: "Gone Daddy Gone" by Gnarls Barkley, "Freedom 90" by George Michael, "Natural One" by Folk Implosion (this one definitely deserved to be in the top 10), "Hey Man, Nice Shot" by Filter, "Rocket Man" by Elton John, "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," by the Charlie Daniels Band, "Tones of Home" by Blind Melon and "She's a Runaway" by the Bo Deans.
BUT! The one that defies any list is "Song Bird" by Eva Cassidy - the wedding song Beto picked for us, and one that is nearer and dearer to my heart than anything Bono could do...
I'm done. Goodnight Portland.
Mazel Tov!
Is this the cutest couple, or WHAT? Congratulations to Ellen and Wes on the upcoming nuptials!!!
Ellen has been a good friend for a very long time, and having spent a day on a marathon tour of all of Portland and beyond (from the Gorge to the coast, up to Astoria and back to the booming metropolis of Milwaukie), I can attest that Wes is a perfect match for her. I think this was Ellen's fourth trip to the west coast to visit... not to mention heading down to Richmond when Beto and I were there for the reunion. I officially owe her several. Much, much more than that, really. The woman has a heart of gold.
Unfortunately one of the most predominant memories I have of Ellen is dancing in the rain outside of some fraternity whose name is long gone. Her best dance move? A misguided and (apparently... or so she says) unintended drunken slide tackle. That would be the same slide tackle that landed square on my right knee, left me incapacitated in a muddy puddle during a heavy rainstorm, and later led to a 3 a.m. phone call to Claire and Kim, who came to drive me to urgent care, where I trucked through the automatic doors, wobbling in a makeshift beer case splint (Milwaukee's Best, no less) and on crutches for a 6'4" football player. That in turn led to ridicule by the attending doctors who thought the nickname "twinkle toes" was appropriate, and five months on crutches, slipping and sliding through hallways, because no doctor believed that anything was wrong with my worthless knee. That's the same knee that buckled on a backpacking trip through Arizona, causing me to nearly take out the poor classmate in front of me, straight over the rim of a sizeable canyon, and the same knee out of which a skilled surgeon would later pull several calcified pieces of broken cartilage, one the size of six stacked quarters. That would also be the same knee that - more than eleven years later - made a sound something like a metal spoon in a garbage disposal, when I recently attempted a run. It's the gift that keeps on giving... there are five scars on my knee that will always remind me of Ellen.
But congratulations anyway, Ellen. ;) LITF, YBS
PS - Lucy also says congrats...
Ellen has been a good friend for a very long time, and having spent a day on a marathon tour of all of Portland and beyond (from the Gorge to the coast, up to Astoria and back to the booming metropolis of Milwaukie), I can attest that Wes is a perfect match for her. I think this was Ellen's fourth trip to the west coast to visit... not to mention heading down to Richmond when Beto and I were there for the reunion. I officially owe her several. Much, much more than that, really. The woman has a heart of gold.
Unfortunately one of the most predominant memories I have of Ellen is dancing in the rain outside of some fraternity whose name is long gone. Her best dance move? A misguided and (apparently... or so she says) unintended drunken slide tackle. That would be the same slide tackle that landed square on my right knee, left me incapacitated in a muddy puddle during a heavy rainstorm, and later led to a 3 a.m. phone call to Claire and Kim, who came to drive me to urgent care, where I trucked through the automatic doors, wobbling in a makeshift beer case splint (Milwaukee's Best, no less) and on crutches for a 6'4" football player. That in turn led to ridicule by the attending doctors who thought the nickname "twinkle toes" was appropriate, and five months on crutches, slipping and sliding through hallways, because no doctor believed that anything was wrong with my worthless knee. That's the same knee that buckled on a backpacking trip through Arizona, causing me to nearly take out the poor classmate in front of me, straight over the rim of a sizeable canyon, and the same knee out of which a skilled surgeon would later pull several calcified pieces of broken cartilage, one the size of six stacked quarters. That would also be the same knee that - more than eleven years later - made a sound something like a metal spoon in a garbage disposal, when I recently attempted a run. It's the gift that keeps on giving... there are five scars on my knee that will always remind me of Ellen.
But congratulations anyway, Ellen. ;) LITF, YBS
PS - Lucy also says congrats...
2008 Update
In the category of "careful what you wish for," keep in mind that a resolution to lose the weight you gained because of monumental stress incurred over the last 4 months could, in fate's eyes (I suppose) mean a request for a stomach flu. Bad, bad stomach flu = craptaculous way to ring in 2008.
Congrats to Mariel who just had baby Grace - fastest 9 (10?) months I've seen pass in quite a while. East Coast Kim and Yuen are also each on the list for upcoming births, and rumor has it that Katie is well into her third trimester with twins...
Here's our news... a new, new house... we close very soon. It's in NW Portland - Forest Heights area. Great place, great view, very convenient to downtown and three streets away from our great friends Shahab and Kelly. We'll move in in early February because we're having hardwoods added and stained on the first floor. Cindy asked for some pics, so here they are...
Stay tuned...
Congrats to Mariel who just had baby Grace - fastest 9 (10?) months I've seen pass in quite a while. East Coast Kim and Yuen are also each on the list for upcoming births, and rumor has it that Katie is well into her third trimester with twins...
Here's our news... a new, new house... we close very soon. It's in NW Portland - Forest Heights area. Great place, great view, very convenient to downtown and three streets away from our great friends Shahab and Kelly. We'll move in in early February because we're having hardwoods added and stained on the first floor. Cindy asked for some pics, so here they are...
Stay tuned...
A Video is Worth A Thousand...
An Open Letter to 2007
Dear 2007:
You can kiss my ass.
2008: This is fair warning.
Best regards,
Me.
You can kiss my ass.
2008: This is fair warning.
Best regards,
Me.
A melange of sorts...
Beto is in the Bay Area for the week, and I'm out of Ghost Hunter re-runs, can't pack anything else, and can't possibly finish steam-cleaning the couch tonight (nothing but glamor here, folks), so here's a little experiment to pass some time...
It's a video I made for the family of the bride from the wedding I shot at the Coast.
And because I'm feeling particularly evil...
HAHAAH ahhh, buenos tiempos. I hear screams from the east coast...
It's a video I made for the family of the bride from the wedding I shot at the Coast.
And because I'm feeling particularly evil...
HAHAAH ahhh, buenos tiempos. I hear screams from the east coast...
The Lazy K Bar Ranch
On the drive home from work, I was reminiscing about the ranch - inspired by a song on the radio by Peter Gabriel, which I used to listen to for hours on end in the 80 square foot cabin I shared with Bonnie... the same cabin with no heat, no phone, no radio reception and no indoor plumbing.
If you're reading this, chances are you know the significance of Montana, the Lazy K Bar Ranch and the Van Cleve/Kirby family to me. It was an experience that helped me regain my footing after my dad died, and created values that would ultimately lead me to Portland and the life I have now. The ranch itself is a place that offers me solace and peace and reminds me of the bigger picture - and even though I haven't been back in more than five years, it continues to have a meaning greater than anything I could really explain. To say that it was a life changing experience is an understatement.
Anyway, I just received an email from the Kirby family, that a wild fire started on the eastern slope of the Crazy Mountains and did some serious damage to the Van Cleve home ranch. There are several ranches on their property, and I can't recall which is considered the "home ranch," but the thought of six generations of history going up in smoke is a horrible one. The thought of that place changing in the least is nearly as unbearable, but far more selfish.
Here are some pics if you're interested, from the road trip I dragged Beto on, in 2001 (note to self: Brazilian is not a fan of the All American Road Trip - not sure if it was the Johnny Cash or the truck stops) -
Tewtally Rad Puppy Photo Shoot
A few weeks ago I did a photo shoot of a friend's two eight-week old puppies. Flippin' adorable. I wanted to swallow them whole. Painfully cute...
Greasy Ham
Yes, we've come to terms with the fact that we're moving to Gresham, and we've come to terms with the fact that we will endure endless taunting on the same subject... For your entertainment, here are the top zingers we've encountered to-date:
1. "What? You're moving to West Alabama?"
2. "Moving from Milwaukie to Gresham... if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a meth addict."
3. "You will henceforth be known as 'The Lovely Couple from Gresham.'"
4. "Yes, I will come visit you in Greshlahem."
5. "Please tell me you're moving there to be closer to the mountain."
6. "You can always meet us at Marie Callendar's in Gresham for some tasty pot pie."
7. And the most predominant: "WHY?"
1. "What? You're moving to West Alabama?"
2. "Moving from Milwaukie to Gresham... if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a meth addict."
3. "You will henceforth be known as 'The Lovely Couple from Gresham.'"
4. "Yes, I will come visit you in Greshlahem."
5. "Please tell me you're moving there to be closer to the mountain."
6. "You can always meet us at Marie Callendar's in Gresham for some tasty pot pie."
7. And the most predominant: "WHY?"
Oh yeah, I almost forgot...
...photography is picking up. Check out my online gallery space. I'm working on a regular old website, but I don't have much time. There's a wedding I shot this summer - Emily and Kris, and soon I'll pictures from last month's puppy photo shoot.
New Digs, dig?
Okay Renee, ask and ye shall receive, or so the good book says. Here are pictures from inside the house. But first, the obligatory sold/nostril shot.
This is the living room portion of the great room. Obviously not our furniture - it's staged as a model. We're going to mount the TV to the wall above the fireplace.
This is the back deck off the great room, which will be converted into a sun room with a fireplace. Backs to a wooded green space with a seasonal creek.
View from the soon-to-be sun room.
This is the deck off the master suite upstairs. Same view of same trees. More bugs.
This is the palace... also known as *my* closet. I'd show you Beto's closet, but it's too small for the camera to pick up.
Dining room, to the left of the front door...
Stairs... (no, really?)
Butler's pantry... now we just need a butler...
Detail on the tile.
Kitchen portion of the great room with giganto-enormous island. La Isla Bonita. Man, I hate Madonna.
Hallway from great room to front door. Towards the front door and to the left is an office/den with french doors. Or are they "freedom" doors, still?
And that's pretty much it for the interesting stuff. So, it's 4 bedrooms, 2.5 baths, den/office, huge bonus room in basement... will post more pictures once we actually move in.
This is the living room portion of the great room. Obviously not our furniture - it's staged as a model. We're going to mount the TV to the wall above the fireplace.
This is the back deck off the great room, which will be converted into a sun room with a fireplace. Backs to a wooded green space with a seasonal creek.
View from the soon-to-be sun room.
This is the deck off the master suite upstairs. Same view of same trees. More bugs.
This is the palace... also known as *my* closet. I'd show you Beto's closet, but it's too small for the camera to pick up.
Dining room, to the left of the front door...
Stairs... (no, really?)
Butler's pantry... now we just need a butler...Detail on the tile.
Kitchen portion of the great room with giganto-enormous island. La Isla Bonita. Man, I hate Madonna.
Hallway from great room to front door. Towards the front door and to the left is an office/den with french doors. Or are they "freedom" doors, still?
And that's pretty much it for the interesting stuff. So, it's 4 bedrooms, 2.5 baths, den/office, huge bonus room in basement... will post more pictures once we actually move in.
Home Sweet Home
So, it has been a while since I posted anything here, and the above picture is why. We're moving! This is the house. Pretty much the one and only house that (a) would make us want to leave our current home, and (b) would convince us to move to Gresham. The house is insane, the setting is serene and wooded, and the builder - www.ryanolsenhomes.com - is fantastic. We are really excited. We are still working out the contract details, but hope to resolve all issues soon!
CARPET CARL. SERIOUSLY.
I travel the same route to work every day, usually bleary eyed, a bit disheveled, and almost always running 30 to 45 minutes late.
The only shining part to my morning commute? Seeing "Carpet Carl, the Living Billboard." That's right, the fearless leader of a local carpet company gets into a boom lift every morning, and stands precisely under the arrow on the giant-ass billboard that says "Carpet Carl."
You can't make this stuff up.
In the noble words of Forrest Gump, "That's all I'm gonna say about that."
The only shining part to my morning commute? Seeing "Carpet Carl, the Living Billboard." That's right, the fearless leader of a local carpet company gets into a boom lift every morning, and stands precisely under the arrow on the giant-ass billboard that says "Carpet Carl."
You can't make this stuff up.
In the noble words of Forrest Gump, "That's all I'm gonna say about that."
Gross. And Embarrassing.
On Saturday, Beto and I made our weekly pilgrimage to Costco. We had several small items which I requested be put in a box for - you know - ease of carrying. It was not until I got home that I realized that the box they gave us once held an entire case of "stool softener"...
... that would be the same box that stood front, center, upright and proud from this morning's recycling bin (compiled by my betrothed) in front of our house, shouting "STOOL SOFTENER" in bold yellow and blue, for all of our neighborhood to ponder the age-old question: what sort of condition do those people have that requires 24 bottles of generic Ex-Lax?
... that would be the same box that stood front, center, upright and proud from this morning's recycling bin (compiled by my betrothed) in front of our house, shouting "STOOL SOFTENER" in bold yellow and blue, for all of our neighborhood to ponder the age-old question: what sort of condition do those people have that requires 24 bottles of generic Ex-Lax?
Dead Animals: The Key to a Girl's Heart
We had something interesting happen a couple of weeks ago that reminded me of an event far more important to me.
As most of you know, I was pretty smitten with Beto upon first sight, and although I had hoped to spend forever with him, I frankly would have been happy just to brag to my neighbors in the nursing home that I once went on a few dates with THAT guy.
I've pretty much always remained amazed that he has had any interest in me whatsoever, and I think I really had a hard time believing it until that one sad night when I left my apartment to go to his house. I looked down at my door mat, and two baby - I mean TINY - birds had fallen to their early death. By the time I traveled the few miles to his house, I was really upset. And before I knew it, he was getting back in the car with me to return to my apartment, where he helped me bury the little birdies and give them the peace they deserved.
It was a really moving moment for me, because not only did he put aside any notion that I was simply nuts, but he did the dirty work too.
Fast forward 6 years or so, to a few weeks ago. Gleefully putting together our new deck furniture (a story for another day), Beto dropped a washer between the deck boards to the great unknown below. Now, we've gazed under our deck from time to time, but we largely try to ignore it because we're pretty sure the arachnids and other slimy, fuzzy creepy crawlies under that thing could give us a serious run for our money. It's the kind of space you see in horror movies where the innocent young professional is taking her cute furball dog for night-night potties, when some oozing deformity from beyond jettisons out from under the deck, steals a vital organ or two and leaves the young professional to be found weeks later when her husband finally returns from his travels.
Beto, the same poor guy who has to crawl under my mom's house to change her air filter, took the lead without complaint and headed into the abyss. What was I doing, you ask? Doing what I do best - testing out our new adirondack chair. SERIOUSLY COMFORTABLE, PEOPLE.
Suddenly, he let out a yell - a very manly, masculine yell, of course - that he had just put his hand in a dead cat. And then... it all came together ... this was the reason for that smell several months ago that elicited our response of "what in the hell died?" And this was the reason Lucy was transfixed by the deep darkness under the deck every time she was supposed to be doing her business in the back yard.
Poor kitty. Once Beto yelled, and I looked hard, I did indeed see the little kitty's eyes staring at me. How sad. How sad that if we had paid better attention, we might have been able to save it. How sad that it died all alone in the dark. And I'm pretty sure it was the little black neighborhood kitty with a docked tail. But unfortunately, it had been gone for so long that it was impossible to tell
I'm getting verklempt just thinking about it.
Beto, being the ridiculous saint of a man that he is, crawled out from under the deck, grabbed a shovel, headed BACK under, and buried the kitty for me, so the kitty could join the birdies up in critter heaven. He did it without complaint and without mentioning once that his wife was a complete and total nut case.
As most of you know, I was pretty smitten with Beto upon first sight, and although I had hoped to spend forever with him, I frankly would have been happy just to brag to my neighbors in the nursing home that I once went on a few dates with THAT guy.
I've pretty much always remained amazed that he has had any interest in me whatsoever, and I think I really had a hard time believing it until that one sad night when I left my apartment to go to his house. I looked down at my door mat, and two baby - I mean TINY - birds had fallen to their early death. By the time I traveled the few miles to his house, I was really upset. And before I knew it, he was getting back in the car with me to return to my apartment, where he helped me bury the little birdies and give them the peace they deserved.
It was a really moving moment for me, because not only did he put aside any notion that I was simply nuts, but he did the dirty work too.
Fast forward 6 years or so, to a few weeks ago. Gleefully putting together our new deck furniture (a story for another day), Beto dropped a washer between the deck boards to the great unknown below. Now, we've gazed under our deck from time to time, but we largely try to ignore it because we're pretty sure the arachnids and other slimy, fuzzy creepy crawlies under that thing could give us a serious run for our money. It's the kind of space you see in horror movies where the innocent young professional is taking her cute furball dog for night-night potties, when some oozing deformity from beyond jettisons out from under the deck, steals a vital organ or two and leaves the young professional to be found weeks later when her husband finally returns from his travels.
Beto, the same poor guy who has to crawl under my mom's house to change her air filter, took the lead without complaint and headed into the abyss. What was I doing, you ask? Doing what I do best - testing out our new adirondack chair. SERIOUSLY COMFORTABLE, PEOPLE.
Suddenly, he let out a yell - a very manly, masculine yell, of course - that he had just put his hand in a dead cat. And then... it all came together ... this was the reason for that smell several months ago that elicited our response of "what in the hell died?" And this was the reason Lucy was transfixed by the deep darkness under the deck every time she was supposed to be doing her business in the back yard.
Poor kitty. Once Beto yelled, and I looked hard, I did indeed see the little kitty's eyes staring at me. How sad. How sad that if we had paid better attention, we might have been able to save it. How sad that it died all alone in the dark. And I'm pretty sure it was the little black neighborhood kitty with a docked tail. But unfortunately, it had been gone for so long that it was impossible to tell
I'm getting verklempt just thinking about it.
Beto, being the ridiculous saint of a man that he is, crawled out from under the deck, grabbed a shovel, headed BACK under, and buried the kitty for me, so the kitty could join the birdies up in critter heaven. He did it without complaint and without mentioning once that his wife was a complete and total nut case.