Pallottole

• Last night Hathor and I went to see The Taming of the Shrew at the Fort Walla Walla amphitheater.
  
• It was set in a trailer park, and although that might sound gimmicky, I thought it worked pretty amazingly; they threw in a few "beer me"s and "ka caw!"s, but you'd be impressed at how well the script fit without any modification.
• Earlier in the day, I had gelato with the Englishman before he flew to San Francisco--coincidentally, on the same flight as my aunt and uncle.
• I had coconut and mango lassi, and he had Japanese plum and strawberry.
  
• I almost always have coconut gelato when it's available; my favorite pairing with it is Nutella or something chocolatey, but I'm not consistently impressed with the patisserie's chocolate (though I am with almost everything else).
  
• Tonight I joined a local Italian conversation group at the Starbucks.
  
• I'd been invited by my friend Lidia, whom I ran into at the patisserie several weeks ago, and have since visited to meet her new puppy.
  
• Lidia is the woman responsible for the quote in this entry.
• Ironically, I'd just had my hair cut short again the day before I ran into her.
• It felt good to speak Italian again, and funny to hear Italian words held awkwardly in so many American mouths (including mine; I'm very rusty).
• Maybe I can find an Italian speaking group in Mpls.
• Tonight is rainy and cool in Walla Walla, and it feels pretty fantastic to have the windows open.
  

Holiday Wrap-up

So after nine hours in the car yesterday, which followed another 14 or so on Tuesday, I am back in the desert. My parents and I had headed north on Christmas Eve, arriving at my sister and brother-in-law's house Christmas afternoon, having survived a scary spin off the road just south of Roseburg, Oregon and having been semi-miraculously still able to drive the damaged vehicle the rest of the way north to Port Orchard, Washington--despite snow for much of the way, including a nasty storm around Portland. Due to weather and The Spin, we arrived approximately seven hours after our most optimistic estimate, but still had a festive evening, opening some of the Christmas presents even though we'd planned to do the tree after New Year's, and not all of us had finished our shopping (ahem).

We spent a few days there before heading over the mountains to Walla Walla, where I had a fantastic time eating delicious food, jogging with the aunts, being silly with my eight-year old cousin, and visiting friends (Ted and Heather hadn't managed to talk Veronica out yet, but I did get to see, among others, the blogging types boy-Lorin, Kuyler, Burtmiah, and David).

We returned to the we(s)t side in time for New Year's Eve, which I celebrated in Seattle with a variety of friends and relatives, first at The Rockstar's* CD-release party in Pike Place and then at a smattering of festive locations around the city.

On New Year's day we did Zoo Lights at Point Defiance, and Friday my mom, sister, and I met another aunt in Tacoma for lunch. On Saturday Joel ferried over from Seattle and we did a big dinner and the second round of the Christmas tree.

Sunday, Abraham were playing another show at a little cafe in the U District, so we headed over the waters again, where I thoroughly enjoyed not only an awesome show, but meeting up with both a high school friend I hadn't seen in a decade (adorable as always, and especially so at eight months pregnant), and with David, who'd made the trip up from Portland after hearing the band New Year's Eve. A few flakes had started to fall during the show, but by the time we'd finished a big dinner afterward, it was snowing in earnest, making the drive home adventuresome and stranding David on the west side of the mountains. By Tuesday it was gone, so he, my sister and I tripped to Tacoma to meet up with another friend at the Antique Sandwich Company before he had to head back to the east side; my mom was also able to fly back to Palm Springs that morning.

Wednesday, my dad and I drove as far as Santa Rosa, getting lost briefly in wine country, before staying with the inimitable Jonathan and Lauren, about whom I have blogged before and whom I see far too infrequently and miss terribly--although it looks like, through the most serendipitous of circumstances, they will be coming out to the desert this weekend!

I posted a random and lopsided but large selection of photos from the past two weeks here. My flash is broken, so lots of the indoor shots are a bit blurry. And somehow I ended up with about a ton and a half of pictures of cats and car-window landscapes--and none of plenty of important people, places, and events. Still, they give you an idea of the holiday adventures.

And now, I am back at my parents', where, as I was typing this, I just felt an earthquake** that shook the kitchen table from side to side and made things on the wall rattle. I also just realized that I am sunburned from this morning's (74 degree) run. Viva la California!

*If you're on Facebook, I recommend that you become a fan!
**Speaking of Facebook, I love that people's statuses were updated almost immediately to reflect the tremor.

A Prairie Home Companion

I was up early this morning to take a friend to the airport so that she could catch her flight to Peru. Actually, she drove there, but I drove her car back to my place. This time of year, you never know when they're going to close a side of the street to sweep up leaves or plow snow, so she asked if she could leave her car with me. It was the first time I'd driven since September, and it was admittedly a little scary... but also pretty awesome. She had suggested that I use the car for things like groceries and laundry, so I swung by Whole Foods on the way home, and it felt distinctly luxurious not to have to haul everything home on my own back.

I didn't, however, drive into St. Paul, which is where I spent most of the afternoon. On MPR this morning they had announced that A Prairie Home Companion was at home this week, and that the featured guest was Emmylou Harris. They also said that $15 rush tickets would be available at the box office at 4:00 p.m., 45 minutes before the show. The show's website said that these tickets always sell out, and that people generally start lining up between noon and two. I called pretty much everyone I knew in town, and everyone was busy, so I decided to go by myself. I also decided to bus.

Getting there did take a while (a little less than an hour), but it was also pretty ridiculously easy. I walked about three blocks total, most of them between my house and the first bus stop, and had one transfer in downtown Mpls. It was definitely chilly, but the sun was shining and everything looked sparkly and beautiful.

When I got to the Fitzgerald box office, there was no line and a sign on the door said that place-holder numbers for the rush line were available inside. I'd read that they did this in cases of "bad weather, rain, snow, [or] extreme cold," but I didn't realize that a mere 28° counted! In any case, I got my number (29), and spent the next several hours by the fire at Dunn Bros, outlining and writing an abstract for a paper and reading.* I went back, as directed, at around 4:00, and a crowd had gathered. Apparently they had given out upwards of 100 numbers, although their most optimistic guess was that only up to about 65 had any chance of getting tickets (two tickets could be purchased per place-holder number). Eventually, they ended up calling out numbers and allowing us into the box office to purchase our tickets, but before that we learned about the available seats (the first ones released were in the front row and on the stage, or other seats with partially obstructed views, and the latter ones were just standing-room space) and had to arrange ourselves roughly in order of our numbers. That reminded me of numerous "ice-breaker"/group bonding exercises, but everyone was excited and a little giddy from the cold (I've written about this) and, of course, united by a love of nerdy public radio, so it was actually kind of fun chatting.

So. I'd been nervous, but I did get in, although it was for standing room only. We'd been offered the option of "stepping aside" instead of buying standing tickets, as other seats (guests' reserves and others) were to potentially become available later. However, buying a standing ticket was the only way to guarantee seeing the show, so I did that.

And it was great. I'd called Ellen before leaving to confirm that it was in fact worth it to bus clear into St. Paul, potentially stand in line for hours with the possibility of not getting in, and bus clear back, in order to hear Emmylou Harris, even if I had to do it myself. She confirmed that it absolutely was, and she was right.

Emmylou and her band only played about four songs, but they were fabulous, and I enjoyed the rest of the show, too--though I did get a bit stiff from standing. (I was in the first floor balcony, in the right wing, by a column and behind a railing, so I did have something to lean on. There were two of the railing spots, and as a single, I ended up sharing the space with a guy who was an uncomfortably close talker but who I could mostly ignore after the show started.) For half the price of the cheapest tickets, it was also a great deal.

Unfortunately, I didn't figure out how to submit a message for that greeting segment they do. Mine was going to run along the lines of, "Cërï thanks Ellen, cyborg extraordinaire, who convinced her it was worth it to stand in line." Or hopefully something more clever and amusing... though it's clearly a moot point now. You can ask Ellen about the cyborg bit.

So. Emmylou Harris is a glowing goddess, and I totally have a girl crush on her. But get this. Two-thirds of her band were at a table next to me in Dunn Bros, and I didn't even know! I'd noticed the very skinny guy in the designer jeans, with the shaved head, silver hoop earrings, and black cowboy hat, who walked by outside several times, and then came in and out a time or two. I noticed when another guy, wearing a pin-striped blazer over a printed shirt and a fedora with a feather in the band, came in and sat at his table and that they talked. I realized that the first one was older than he looked, and couldn't figure out whether they were a couple or what. (I was also trying to engage in the aforementioned productive activities, so this was just general distraction, not a concentrated effort.) When the took the stage, though, and I recognized first the feathered hat, and then the two guys--the first one the bassist, and the second the accordionist--I couldn't believe how close I'd been to Emmylou without even knowing. Wow.

*I'm only about 20 pages in, but so far I am loving this book!

Wrong

I saw Mr. Obnoxious Seatmate again. He was at the bus stop on Nicolett,* wearing dark tapered slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a dark vest. A vest! Perhaps he is a waiter?

I also saw a girl walking in the uppity part of Uptown with a male escort, wearing nothing but a jean skirt, a Corona-emblazoned string bikini top, and a belly ring.

Ewww.

People, it may be 85 and humid, but it is still Minnesota, and Minneapolis is quite clearly a northern city, far from any oceans. Seriously. That's an unfortunate fashion combination anywhere, but here I find it purely offensive.

*Pronounced "NICK-a-lit." Because I'm sure you were wondering.

Sightings

"Where'd all that hair go?" he asked, handing me back my photo-emblazoned debit card.
"That was long ago," I said. "That picture was taken in 1998."
"I like it better," he said.
"Then?" I asked. "Or now?"
"Now," he replied. "I like short hair. A lot of guys like longer hair, but I like short hair, because you can wash it and go. I can be kind of a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy--some days, I'll just say, 'Let's go to Duluth! Right now!' There's no time for my wife to spend two hours drying her hair!"

I laughed.

He had just spent the past half an hour talking to me about my car and the rest of the work I needed--as well as the European style of car purchasing and maintenance, his relationship with his wife ("She tells me I should learn another language, because then I could bore people in two languages!"), and public transportation.

I had given him the card for a $700 oil change.* I was rather pained about the cost and ready to leave--but didn't begrudge the compliment.

In other news, today I saw both Mr. "Intestinal Fortitude!" and Mr. Obnoxious Seatmate. It would appear that the latter lives a mere two blocks from me; I felt the briefest pang of guilt upon that realization, recalling his plan to walk home from the downtown station and my own solitary taxi ride to my house. (Approximately 1:30 a.m.: "I have my trip all planned out! The first third was getting it into my head that my vacation is finally over. I've finally gotten that into my head. The second third is working on my computer, because my laptop has two and a half hours of battery, because I just charged it. I charged it at my grandmother's house. That was the last full charge I got. I'm very careful about charging it, so the battery is perfect. It has two and a half hours, exactly. So in the second third of the trip, I'll get some work done on my computer. My battery will last exactly the right amount of time. Then for the last third, I'll sleep. I want to be well-rested, because I will walk home from the station because I don't have bus fare. It should take me about 45 minutes, so I want to be well-rested. So I'm going to sleep from 3:00-5:30. That way I'll be rested for my walk home!")

I had awakened briefly as we came into St. Paul, feeling refreshed and rested--then realized my seatmate wasn't there, and that the latter situation was the likely cause of the former. I caught a glimpse of him in the back of the bus as we headed into Minneapolis, and didn't wait around in the station to find out whether he had moved to give himself more room or whether I'd managed to offend him in my sleep, as I'm afraid I did half-awake (and for which I apologized) by drifting off during his monologue on trip-planning. I do recall making semi-strangled yelps as elbows in the ribs jostled me from an already-fitful sleep; I'm afraid I can't take responsibility for any noises or gestures I might have made should I have been disturbed during a deeper sleep pattern.

Minneapolis is not exactly a small town, but I tend to stick to the same neighborhoods, so I guess it's not that surprising to run into locals. The strangest run-in this week occurred at the Stone Arch Arts Festival last Saturday evening with my friend Lynsi. I'm pretty sure I was miming my attitude about the heat level in my apartment when I began hearing, "Adam! There's your reading teacher! There's your reading teacher! There's your reading teacher!" Since I teach in the suburbs, I had pretty much planned on not running into any of my students, ever, so that one especially caught me by surprise. I'd only seen the kid once, and had no idea of his name, but the parents were very friendly, so we all smiled a lot and then went on our merry ways. Perhaps I should be more careful of flailing and lolling in public; I guess that's practically asking for a run-in with someone to whom I'm supposed to appear authoritative--or at least civilized.

*That included a new muffler and everything that connects it to the catalytic converter, and rear brakes.

Running down a dream...

So yesterday my dad, sister, brother-and-law and I ran the Wine Country Half Marathon, between Santa Ynez and Solvang, California. Afterward I asked Bryant (who came out from Vegas for the weekend!) to take a picture of my hugely muscle-bound post-race legs; unfortunately, this is the only photographic documentation I have so far of the event, although I'll try to post more pictures as they become available. April and I finished together at just over 2:14; Dad and Chris were faster. Total results are here, and pictures will be here.

The course was pretty hilly, and pretty much kicked my butt. The other three were training for San Diego in three weeks (and I'm totally jealous because Seal is the surprise star for the after concert!), but this race had been my final goal (I'd only started really running again when Dad and April registered me for this race).

However, now, even in my soreness and tiredness, "The Most Beautiful Urban Marathon in America" is sort of calling my name. It's expensive ($85) and seems to provide in return primarily beautiful scenery and a flat course, but it does start just two miles from my front door. My weekend long run partner is doing it (for his seventh time!), and I don't want to quit marathoning on last year's finish time of 5:45--I'd like to beat my Lincoln 4:33. Unfortunately, it will sell out any day now--registration opened on the 3rd, and last year apparently all 10,500 spots went in about two weeks--so I have to decide soon. Sigh.

Oh! One more great thing about yesterday. It was a small race--only about 2000 participants---and the starting line was really informal, without pace corrals or anything. The whole group of us, including the moms, who weren't running, was close to the back of the crowd, just before the race started, when I looked up and saw, only feet in front of us, a friend I'd worked with at camp nearly 10 years ago. A friend who married Michelle Tumes. He does triathlons--or did--but it was she (Michelle Tumes!) who was running. I hugged both of them and we got to chat for a bit before the race started. It was pretty awesome. My mom laughed because she thinks I know people everywhere. I just think I'm freak-coincidence-prone.