Run for your lives! It's...

A mindlessly self-indulgent survey.

1. What is in the back seat of your car right now?
Dirty green rubber gardening gloves, an ice-cream tin full of pennies that I've been meaning to Coinstar into cash, a green HSU karate belt (which I forget to take to class if it's not left in the car), and a bendy figure of Gumby, who occupies the passenger seat ashtray. Lots of green objects.

2. When was the last time you threw up?
I got horrendous food poisoning from eating at the county fair in eighth grade, when I was about twelve. I think it was from some sort of an Italian pasta dish, because I couldn't eat pesto for years afterward.
If I was twelve then, I've gone through an entire decade absolutely vomit-free. That's pretty super-freak, considering that the last ten years encompassed both high school and college graduations, and my 21st birthday.

3. What's your favorite curse word?
The eff one. When I'm going for emphasis, I appreciate its staccato sound. And I find it more readily alliterative than other expletives.

4. Name one person who made you smile this morning?
Andy. He woke me up this morning by staring at me as I slept until I got a tingly sensation that I was being watched, and awakened. Then he fell back asleep, and later, during breakfast, denied the whole episode. I laughed at him for not remembering.

5. What were you doing at 8:00 this morning?
Dreaming about starting a college radio show; nightmaring about the kinds of pretentious weirdos that I might meet when I apply. They'll probably be cool people though, really.

6. Favorite sports team?
Corvallis Karate Dojo! We meet in the back of a Corvallis music shop, in a room lined with guitar and ukulele cases. We're an unorthodox motley crew--an underground rebel alliance fighting against the evil empire of the nit-picky and nastily exclusive Corvallis Shotokan Karate Society, or whatever they prefer to call themselves.

7. If you could marry any celebrity today who would it be?
By appearances and presence alone, I would go for the fiddle player from Amadan (a local and increasingly popular Celtic punk/trad band). Chad Marks-Fife is an exquisite musician who pretty much fits my complete definition of male beauty. I like his hair and his smile and the way that he dances and the shoes that he wears; he is visual perfection.
But don't tell my boyfriend.

8. Have you ever been to a strip club?
No, although god knows Springfield offers plenty of opportunities.

9. Have you ever known someone that killed another person?
Distantly.

12. What are you wearing right now?
A sky blue camisole threaded with velvet ribbons, under a frosting pink stretchy surplice covered in vintage-looking roses, with skinnies and a pair of bizarre multicolored pastel sandals circa 1987. All via clothing exchange or thrift. Clothes are my one material addiction--unoriginal and pathetic, perhaps, but true.

13. Last food you ate?
Nachos with Tillamook cheddar, beans, and fresh salsa. It was too hot to eat anything else.

14. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week?
Perfect black patent leather skimmers and aforementioned pastel 80's sandals from Goodwill (thoroughly disinfected); clear jellies from Target for $2.50; four secondhand camisoles/tanks/surplices; one cute little black strappy dress for attending graudation and weddings. I had to do some shopping because I'm without very many decent summer clothes. Usually I have gnarly jobs in the summer, like firefighting or landscaping, which don't afford any opportunity to dress up. This summer I'll be in school instead, so it's time to get a little more girly.

15. When was the last time you ran?
Last week, but it wasn't on purpose. I burned myself out on running in high school. Now I practice karate instead.

16. What's the last sporting event you watched?
Beaver baseball in Corvallis, about three weeks ago.

17. Last movie you saw?
Marie Antoinette. It made me want to eat mass amounts of cake and change my entire wardrobe. Sonofabitch.

18. Who is the last person you sent a message on Myspace to?
No Myspace. I boycott it. This stupid blog is self-indulgent enough, I think... abundantly so...

19. Ever go camping?
Yes. Every great affordable roadtrip you'll ever go on requires that you camp at least 50% of the time. I camp a lot while I'm on the road, bottle of whiskey, paperback book, and barbecued corn at hand.

20. Were you ever an honor roll student in school?
Most of high school, and all except two terms of college. Obsessive compulsive?

21. Do you like sushi?
I love how it looks and how it's packaged with the fluorescent pink ginger and the kitschy plastic grass, but it tastes too much like the Newport bayfront to be enjoyable to me. When you grow up on the Oregon coast, you're wrecked for seafood--for life.

22. Do you have a tan?
I get pink, freckle, and fade out again. Very western European.

24. Do you drink your soda from a straw?
No. I like it semi-warm and straight from the can...
Unless the straw is twizzly, in which case I can't resist.

26. Are you someone's best friend?
Mhmm.

29. What color is your watch?
I don't have a watch--when I wear one I feel enslaved by civilization, so instead, I'm just perpetually late.

31. What do you think of when you think of Australia?
An artist I know in Melbourne. Stands of eucalyptus trees. The dead horse that Andy and Chris had to drag into a creek to feed to some crocodiles. Multitudes of marsupials.

32. Ever ridden on a roller coaster?
Yes, and if there were any substantial ones within 300 miles of where I live, I'd go and ride on a regular basis just to have a cathartic little-kiddish freakout of happy feelings. I love them.

33. What is your birth stone?
It's an opal. In comparison to other birthstones, it's hideous. I don't typically wear any jewelry though, so it doesn't matter.

34. Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru?
The only fast food joint I actually walk into is Muchas Gracias, this semi-sketchy, super greasy little Mexican food place in downtown Eugene. Otherwise I either don't go, or order from the passenger seat while Andy's behind the wheel. Fast food rarely seems worth it. I'd rather eat an apple.

35. What is your favorite number?
Nine (9). I also like seven (7) and fifteen (15). For reasons of my own.

36. Do you have a dog?
I want a dog in the same way that most women my age and older want children. I'm waiting until I have a house with a yard, and then I'll adopt some sort of a mutt or a greyhound.

44. Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
Lack of money. But I can't really be all that annoyed, since I don't, you know, have a job, and am not actively on the search for employment.
Yeah.

46. Are you allergic to anything?
Sometimes sunshine gives me itchy little hives on the backs of my hands.
I blame it on my Scottish roots. My body seems to find decent weather most unnatural.

47. Favorite shoes that you wear all the time?
Brown and black striped distressed leather slip-ons. A bit unfeminine, but I love them.

48. What is one thing you've learned about life recently?
Idiocy will out.
I know I'm supposed to say something diplomatic and wise, but nothing comes to mind at the moment.

49. Are you jealous of anyone?
No.

50. Is anyone jealous of you?
Nope.

51. Do you have an ipod?
His name is Little Jesus. He is a 20 GB 4th generation ipod, several years old, and he came back from the dead, completely restoring my faith in modern technology.

52. Do any of your friends have children?
Yep. In fact, some of my friends are the children of other friends that I met beforehand. It's a strange deal.

55. Do you hate anyone right now?
No.

58. How tall are you?
About five feet five inches--average height for an American woman. Most people still say that I'm short, but I think it's because I have little-girl shoulders and arms.

59. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
Alas, no.

60. How did you get one of your scars?
A piece of coral sliced a few long razor-cuts into the skin next to my knee, somewhere off the shore of Kauai. It actually bled a lot while I was snorkeling, and I was a bit worried that I'd become shark-bait.

Get your angels straight.

Flipping through our five measly rabbit-ear TV channels, I happened to run across the Cubs vs. Dodgers game. Apparently the Cubs have a left fielder named Angel Pagan.
Funny shit.
Angel Pagan. One huge contradiction, is it not? But I guess his parents thought "Cupid" would be too effeminate for a boy, or worse: a bad baseball name.
Still, I'd prefer a bad baseball name to one that cancels itself out.

Craigslisting for karate?

If I post an ad on Craigslist for a once-a-week karate partner here in Eugene, how will I know whether the person who responds is actually sane? What with all of the people I see talking to themselves on street corners in this city, the odds seem slim at best. Yesterday as I sat wolfing down my ever-so-nutritious chicken strip lunch, I noticed that two out of five people walking into Fred Meyer by themselves were speaking to some invisible entity; I kid you not--I tallied. I think it's the fumes from the mill north of Eugene that drive its citizens to senseless self-talk.
But I guess self-talk is fine. Whatever. When I worked in data entry, recording cherry genetics statistics alone in a room for eight hours on end, I certainly talked to myself: and in a fake British accent, no less. It's not the babblers, but the potential rapists and stalkers and weirdos-with-axes-to-grind that I most worry about.
That said, should I take the plunge and post an ad?
Are my self-defense skills really that good yet? Not sure.
Where's my faith in humanity?
Would I be having this sort of insecurity if I wasn't female? Unfair!

No admittance except on party business.

I finally completed the batch of graduation party invitations, and the shindig is scheduled for Sunday the 17th of June between 4 and 8 PM. I haven't sent the cards out yet, and have no idea who will show up; my scattering of friends mostly consists of middle-aged people with families (from karate) and just a few longtime buddies from the homeland and my most recent college (U of O).
In short, my hoppin' party might be a bunch of 50-year-olds, but I guess that's fine.
I don't mean to be antisocial; I've just moved so much in the last five years that I haven't kept very many longterm college connections. My relative loner-ness has never really bothered me, because I've always been occupied with Andy and school and karate (and its people), and made friendly acquaintances (if not longterm friends) in every class. So I've never really felt lonely. It's a cowgirl's life, kids.
I just hope this party won't be too bizarre. (Save me, Suzanne!)

At least the food is going to kick ass. On the menu will be Chicken Coconut Curry, which I've been experimenting with...



And probably Watermelon Cilantro salad (see recipe below), without the feta--because feta is a very personal and often offensive cheese:

1 small red onion
2-4 limes
½ large sweet, ripe watermelon
1 cup crumbled feta cheese (goat’s milk feta can be used)
1 bunch fresh cilantro, chopped
1 bunch fresh mint, chopped
3/4 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
fresh ground black pepper

Peel and halve the red onion and cut into very thin half-moons. Squeeze the lime juice over them and leave them to marinate. Cut the rind off the watermelon, deseed it, then cut into bite-size chunks. Place in a large non-aluminum bowl, add the crumbled feta, cilantro and mint. Pour the onion and lime juice over the mixture, then add the olive oil and black pepper to taste. Toss gently and add more lime juice to taste.

Perhaps also on the list (assuming I can find all the ingredients):
Grilled chicken with kumquat lemongrass dressing
Grilled corn with lime and cheese
Lemon pasta with tomatoes and feta (or another cheese)?
Tossed green salad
Chocolate cake

I hope people will arrive hungry.

Her name is Yoshimi...

One of the things I most love about shotokan karate is its universality. I get a nerdy thrill out of watching kata videos from Spain and Israel and Japan and recognizing the exact same movements and sequences that I practice and obsess over on an almost-daily basis. Like dance, karate really defies the language barrier. Although I can't understand most other languages, there's a certain subcultural connection that I feel with karate people worldwide, because of the intricacy and difficulty of our shared art. I love anticipating the turn and the punch and the snap of the gi, and knowing (to an extent) how the performer's muscles tensed or locked or suspended during this or that movement. They've probably struggled with some of the same techniques as me, cursing quietly in a myriad of different languages at the same exact stuff that I have--and yet (like me) appreciating the challenge all the while.
Martial arts are sort of masochistic beasts.

I'm definitely not naturally great at karate, but I absolutely love it, even though (or maybe because) I have to work really hard for every centimeter of improvement that I acquire. I'm not a fast physical learner, but I am thorough, and I like understanding how movements work and why. I hope someday (probably thirty years from now) I'll be able to instruct in my own community, wherever I end out. I'd run my dojo exactly like Reed does.


This is one of the katas (karate forms) I'm learning right now at Saturday morning practice. It's called Gojushiho-sho, and if you can get your hips going well enough when you perform it, your gi makes a series of fantastic swishing and popping noises that I love. And it's a formidable kata aside from that.
I thought y'all should see.
(Note that none of these people are me; I am a lowly green belt.)

And this (called Heian Godan) is the kata I have to perform for my next test. This clip is not an especially dynamic performance, but admittedly, if I could do it this well, I'd shit a brick. (It's more difficult than it looks; just try.)

Abandon ship! Abandon ship!

I've been having this insane surge of creativity over the last five weeks--writing and painting and decorating and stencil-making and karate-practicing like a madwoman--but for the moment I feel that it's beginning to wane (or rather, it's lurching in a most sickening manner to an absolute stop). I sit down to write but nothing substantial comes out, and I tried last night to paint, but ultimately just fucked up what I'd started, got angry at myself, painted the whole canvas black, and threw it into the trash bin. (The turn of events seemed bizarrely incongruous with the music I was listening to as a soundtrack: I was convinced that Andrew Bird would somehow save my painting, but alas, he didn't.)

So the muse has left the building.
I need some nuance, I think, to cajole it back into action. I wish I could just hop a plane to some other place with some other landscape, but the funds just aren't there (and won't be, until I get off my lazy ass and get a real job).
Instead, I think tomorrow I'll swap a few books down at the Smith Family Bookstore, take some photos of weird urban Eugene stuff, and then maybe hit up the local Goodwills for some trashy treasures. I want to find a few bright ceramic vases (orange! turquoise! pink!) and tacky 80's patent leather slingbacks (which I live in habitually) and maybe some vintage childrens' storybooks (which have the best color schemes and animal illustrations ever). If you put these things into a blender and hit frappe, you'd have the Elixir of Life. But don't tell anyone.

For now I'm going to drink a glass of wine (ever so grown-up) and watch Disney's Cool Runnings (perhaps not so grown up after all).


I am trying to convince Andy to start a U of O radio show with me, but so far he's not taking the bait. Updates on this as they unfold.

I made a pretty.

In the last two days I've been whipping up a god-awful acrylic mess atop my kitchen table, in tribute to my mom, whose own kitchen table was similarly plastered with (my) paint and glitter all throughout my childhood.



This little moon footstool (and a copy of Fruit Bats' Spelled in Bones and a bottle of Catwalk Sexed Up Shampoo, which smells like strawberry lemonade heaven) is for her. Because she is an absolutely spiffing mom, and I am an incurably random gift-giver.

And now it's off to bond with mummy.

Love has a way of causing premature senility.

And I mean that in the best way possible.

After three years of total immersion, you, too, will begin to laugh at jokes that your significant other never made. And when he points out that he never, in fact, made the joke, you'll nevertheless congratulate him for his brilliant ability to make you laugh (and contract a fierce case of hiccups) without even trying.

On occasion, you'll argue amongst yourselves about whether or not NPR is turned up too loud as you sit at the stoplight on the way to Winco.
"Turn it down. You're officially bumping the NPR."
"Am not."
"Are so. The guy in the Ford in front of us is looking at you funny."
"His bumper sticker says 'Whip Me, Strip Me, Tie Me, Fly Me.' He's a fly-fisherman. He's probably listening to the same thing."
"You're going to blow out the speakers."
"Am not."
"Are so."
"Oh, fine, I'll turn it down. Quit heckling."

And after five minutes' worth of such senior-citizen-esque bickering, you'll declare your love for each other afresh, with much patting of knees and squeezing of hands.
"You're my favorite-est."
"You're a wild pumpkin."
"I love you too."
"Did you bring the grocery list?"
"No, I forgot it."
"Well hot damn."

Lime soup.

Whenever I manage to make a meal without signaling all of the smoke alarms in our apartment complex, it is truly an event worthy of photographic documentation.
Observe, friends, the following snapshot of the lime soup and flour quesadillas I made for dinner this evening:

That's right. Eat your heart out, Campbell's.

This recipe is a modification of the recipe for lime soup that can be found on Epicurious.com. I added ground cumin, a tiny bit of chili powder, and a can of diced tomatoes for extra spice.

An anemone.

When I was in the third grade, my teacher, Mrs. Arnold, asked our class to research and draw our favorite animals for an art/writing assignment. We were each to write a sentence or two about our chosen animal and provide a colorful illustration of the animal in its habitat. I remember being quite delighted by the assignment, because this was the sort of thing I did to entertain myself regularly at home--I was a strange and precocious kid.
Anyway, a day or two passed in which I vigorously sketched, re-sketched, and researched my animal, and finally it came time to post our masterpieces on the bulletin board at the back of the classroom. Among my classmates' Crayola drawings of cats, dogs and ponies, I proudly tacked up my sketch of the majestic sea anemone...
Thus beginning a stigmatism that lasted until I graduated from high school and left my hometown.

More reasons Oregon is the best.

The Willamette Valley in the spring is like taking a chilly bath in a box of watercolors. Every morning simultaneously sundrenched and gray, every surface reflective, every unfolding leaf so irridescent green it's almost yellow.
The world is thick with the scent of cottonwoods.


Random sidenote:
Y'all ought to make some lime soup.