26 July 2012

Good night

I have a bad habit when I've been drinking, and that's to really want to record things in my phone in hopes of finding them later. Of course, I only usually find these things when when I've been drinking and looking to record such things.

This is a story about not remembering one of those things at all.

Tuesday night I partook in a little drinking and ended up looking at the calendar of my phone. I scrolled to August for some reason and saw the 13th underlined. Underlining means there's an event for that day, so I checked it out.

10:00pm
Good night

I have no idea what this is about. It's not recurrent on a daily, monthly, or yearly basis, so it's not like I had a good night once, put some reminder of it in my phone, and then made it recur inadvertently. The other consideration is that maybe I meant to put this in my phone last year, but put it in the wrong year. But I don't think I had a particularly good night August 13, 2011. Just some random Saturday. But at some point, I, or someone else who stole my phone, felt the need to attach the words 'Good night' to August 13, 2012, for whatever reason.

In any event, the pressure is on.

17 July 2012

A good day for a drive to the south

I was oncall for work until 1:00 PM today. It's been a terrible seven days and once the oncall shift ended, I mentally checked out. I stuck around until about 4:45, but hightailed it out there.
Because it was a good day for a drive to the south.

I had to go to Chinatown anyway to get some groceries, so I was heading southbound anyway. But I figured if there was one thing to do today it was to follow the overhead wires of the 7 bus and get to the magic land of Rainier Beach that it had on its rollsign.
It was a good day for a drive to the south.

Nevermind the fact that no one seemed to have any idea how to describe the weather today. The dude on the radio said it was balmy and muggy, which made no sense. The gage on the car said it was 76, which seemed like an outright lie. It was cold, until it was suddenly steaming hot, with a chilling wind. It was like what it's like to be sick. Maybe I'm sick? Is that why I'm not feeling it?

So I set forth down Rainier Ave and just kept going until I hit Renton and decided it was high time to turn back. There were houses and strip malls. I raced a minivan. A homeless man whooped whenever a light would change.

But at the end was the an amazing vista out of over Lake Washington, dotted with tiny cottages, facing the monstrosities on Mercer Island.

I think there's something curative about driving. I view my car as a total luxury. I don't need it, I could make do without it, but I enjoy it. Contrast this with my father, who just really literally cannot fathom the lack of a car. But he doesn't enjoy it the same way I do.

When I drive, I do so largely on my own accord. I don't need to get anywhere in any particular hurry, usually, so it's majorly relaxing.

But come to think of it, why are we as humans able to drive? What part of our evolutionary history selected for us being able to maneuver a vehicle at several times greater than our sustained running speed?

I wouldn't give it up, because it was a good day for a drive to the south.

09 July 2012

who wants to eat what's in my slowcooker

  1. Beef ribs
  2. Whole tomatoes in tomato juice
  3. Water
  4. White vinegar
  5. Honey
  6. Soy sauce
  7. Mustard
  8. Fish sauce
  9. Pressed garlic
  10. Brown sugar
  11. Sriracha
(who wants to eat that which is in my slowcooker?)

03 July 2012

Flat

I live in a place that's fairly mountainous. On a clear day I'm treated to incredible views amazing snow-capped mountains in basically any direction that I look. Back when I was in art classes in elementary school I'd draw mountains in the background of any landscape I'd draw. I'm not sure why; growing up outside of Boston there are really no mountains to speak of. I think I must have seen a drawing with mountains in the background and just thought it was the right thing to do.

Imagine my surprise when I saw that there was a place where there really are mountains in the background everywhere.

But I do a moderate amount of work-related travel to places that are not that mountainous. In fact many of the places I've been to are really, really flat. Phoenix. Exurban Indianapolis. These places are flat.

I regard flat places with a sort of reverence. Not a sense that I'd want to live in a place like that, but a deep appreciation of what I am seeing. Parallel roads continuing on and on until they meet at the horizon. There's just a sense that it evokes.

I think it's the closest thing I'll ever have to experiencing infinity. Speaking of which: