Archive | December, 2011

Yesterday afternoon, and in the wee hours of the morning today, a group of Occupy protesters headed down to the Port of Seattle. There they blocked traffic, attempted to shut down operations at the port, and clashed with police. Eleven people were arrested.

I, unaware of where the action actually was, walked along what was left of the Occupy encampment at Seattle Central Community College (the protesters were evicted last week, but there are a few errant tents and scragglers left over). I’d been too timid to go when there were actually people there – I’d visited the Occupy Protests in London and New York, and felt like an interloper. Now that most of the Seattle outpost was gone, and there was little to see, and few people milling about, I felt braver.

But still, I was an outsider, and the one man who I spoke to made that clear to me.

He responded to my questions in clipped answers. At the time, I didn’t think I was being terribly invasive. I asked where everyone had gone and what was going to happen now. He was clearly bothered – either by how little I knew about the movement or by the suspicion that I was, in fact, part of a bigger media outlet. The truth, had he known it, would likely have gone over far worse: that despite my unemployment and money woes, despite my Converse and old wool coat, I’m married to a CEO. And my life is pretty damn good.


My head is a little scattered right now.

I just unfriended a young man on Facebook who I’ve known since high school. He was always a fun guy – clever and hilarious and really a joy to be around. I unfriended him because a comment of his on one of my posts left me so angered and so hurt, I simply didn’t want to deal with it or him. Perhaps it was impulsive of me. Perhaps I overreacted. But I’m of the mind that if we haven’t talked for a decade, then you don’t have the right to hurt my feelings.


There are some arguments that will consume you. They will take over your entire mind and body, so that you find yourself shaking with rage, unable to think of anything else. Your hands clench into fists, your teeth gnash together, and you are filled with anger and the conviction that DEAR GOD YOU ARE RIGHT AND THEY ARE SO, SO WRONG.

This is a story about one such argument.

I don’t remember how it began. Few great battles in history have marked beginnings. We say it was the assassination of Ferdinand, we suggest that it may have been the killing of Crispus Attucks and four others on a chilly night in Boston, but we are only guessing – trying to add sense and order to a situation where there likely isn’t one. Where there is only chaos and conflict.


It’s been a chilly week for me here at home in Seattle. I’ve got trips to Florida and New York looming on the horizon (yes, it’s the same trip. No, I don’t know how to pack for that sort of thing. A parka and sandals, I guess), but right now I’m doing all the things that someone who doesn’t spend a third of their life on the road does – sleeping in my own bed, doing laundry, and baking lots and lots of cookies.

Now, if only there was some way of doing all three of those things at once. While I try to figure that out, you enjoy these links …


NPR covers the changing face of Superman over the last 75 years (via everywhereist-reader and all around fabulous gal Holly).


Michael Paulus creates skeletal sketches of some well-known and beloved cartoon characters. Tweety Bird is gonna give me nightmares.


“Um, do you feel anything?”

“I feel my boogers drying up.”

“This feels weird.”



There are plenty of things in life that are beyond my understanding. The entire field of Physics, for one. The enduring appeal of Two and a Half Men, for another. Grooming your dog to look like another animal. The fact that Snooki published a NY Times best seller (sweet Lord in heaven, how? I DO NOT UNDERSTAND). But perhaps the biggest mystery that I’ve encountered thus far is this: How can a city as advanced as London not understand the concept of shower curtains?


It's official: The Clink is not now, nor has it ever been, a good place to visit.

I am easily scared.

The first time I saw The Sixth Sense, even though I knew the twist thanks to a big-mouthed teacher of mine, I nearly peed my pants. Thankfully, as far as you know, I did not.  And once, years ago, Rand and I spent the night at a hotel near the Oregon Caves that was supposedly haunted. I literally spent the night with one eye open, convinced that if I closed it, I’d wake up dead (in the early morning hours, this logic made sense).


There are times when I start to get a little bit big for my britches. Fortunately, the universe usually decides that’s an appropriate time to slap some sense back into me.

Take a few months back, when I was in my kitchen, pouring salt into a concoction I was working on (because really, next to sugar, salt is the best thing you can eat), and thinking, “Damn, I am on it. I mean, I love my blog, and even though I don’t make a dime from it, it’s really going somewhere and it feels like EVERYTHING IS COMING TOGETHER and maybe I should even start working out and thinking about trying skinny jeans again and …”

BOOM. The lid came off the salt shaker. And it was a HUGE shaker. I spilled roughly three cups of salt onto my counter, the floor, my concoction, myself. And my brain snickered at the scene and said, “Sorry, what was that about you having it all together, girly?”

At which point I laughed, because it was either that or crying.