January 26, 2004
Death of A Forester
The Forester is dead. Long live the Forester!
Here I am in the towtruck, with the Forester riding behind me. It took about two hours for the towtruck to arrive in Hopland to take me to Ukiah. By this time, I was already very tired and a little cold. I was still optimistic about my Forester's chances. Perhaps it had merely broken a timing belt.
The towtruck driver was a cutie! He didn't have much to say beyond apologizing for making me wait. I asked him whether he lives in Ukiah. "Yup." I asked him whether he grew up there. "Yup." When he saw my camera, he asked whether I'm a photographer, and seemed impressed when I said that no, I'm a writer.
Naturally, the mechanic was closed on Sunday, so I checked into the hotel down the road. I enjoyed cable TV, free tea all night, free Internet access, free breakfast in the morning, and this king-size bed with its tacky bedspread. I ate chocolate in bed and watched bad movies on HBO.
I felt much better after dinner and a margarita at the Applebees across the street. Half the patrons seemed to know each other or the staff. The food was mediocre of course, but the margarita was generously large. Still, I later ordered a shot of tequila to top it off. Car trouble isn't so bad, after all!
In the morning, Renee heroically drove all the way to Ukiah to pick me up! We went to lunch at Jensen's Truck Stop, and she explained what the mechanic meant when he said I "threw a rod". Basically, my engine fatally stabbed itself, and the only remedy is a whole new engine. In other words, total calamity.
I retrieved all my belongings out of the Forester and said goodbye. Wah! Fortunately, the nice mechanic, Marcus, offered to buy the Forester's remains, saving me the trouble of trying to salvage the poor thing. It's a reasonably happy ending, all things considered. My Forester will live on, in more competent hands than mine.
January 25, 2004
Stranded in Ukiah
I love my Subaru Forester. It slogs through mud and snow, hauls massive loads, and has never given me a moment's trouble--until today.
Northbound on 101, the Forester started making noises. I turned off the radio and listened, hoping the noises would just stop. But then the Oil light started flickering and the engine began losing its verve. Soon the Check Engine light was flashing, but I was still in the mountains. I kept nudging my unhappy Forester northward, hoping to make it to Hopland. But no. The engine quit huffily, and I pulled over.
Opening the hood, I found oil spattered everywhere and little wisps of smoke rising out of the engine. From the smell alone, I knew my beloved semi-SUV was dead.
Oh well. It was a pleasant day at least, so I walked the two miles to Hopland, called a towtruck, and settled into the Hopland Farms cafe with some hot tea and a paper. Four hours later, I was checking into a chain hotel in Ukiah.
Tune in tomorrow, when we'll find out...
Also, there will be pictures.
January 25, 2004
Cocktails of Houseness
Here are Renee and I, enjoying our glamorous selves at yet another spectacular Houseness cocktail party. If I attend just one party a year, this has got to be it. More pictures can be seen in Rick's gallery.
January 23, 2004
New Blue Sweater
Harmony Studios, around the corner from our apartment, is having a moving sale. Last week, I went there and scored two big bags of fabric at $1/yard, including some soft, blue, sweater-knit fabric. This is the hooded sweater I made out of it, for a total of about $2 in materials and a couple of hours of my time. Sweaters are easy, as it turns out! They don't have to fit neatly or have tidy hems, and they're easy to feed into the serger. Yay!
January 21, 2004
New Techniques in Pooping
Anyone who spends any significant time with me knows how much I enjoy a good dump. I don't like to carry my poop around with me, so I try to evacuate it frequently, and I find this very satisfying indeed.
A pal on tribe.net noticed that my profile's "Here For" field says "I am looking for new techniques in pooping." He asked:
New techniques in pooping, eh? What are your existing techniques?
Well, Jeremy, I'm glad you asked! My existing techniques include the following:
These techniques work well for me, but the results vary with other factors. For example, I poop most freely right after my period starts, and not at all just before. I poop more in familiar environments, such as my home or office, than in unfamiliar ones such as motels or ranger stations. If I've pooped in your toilet, you can infer that I'm very comfortable in your home.
So, since my existing techniques cannot produce consistent results, and since I am such a fan of hearty pooping, I am always open to new techniques. Please do not send me any sample turds. And I don't want to hear any bullshit about laxatives. Laxatives are for the weak. All other tips are welcome!
January 16, 2004
Electric Blanket of Happiness
Apparently lots of people are frightened by electric blankets. I was not aware of this until the first winter I spent with my Eurohusband, when he refused to sleep under one. When I was a kid, I and everyone in the family had electric blankets on our beds. They were a winter staple.
My apartment is way too cold. It's an uninsulated Victorian flat with 12-foot ceilings, single-paned windows, and insufficient heat. This time of year, nighttime temperatures are in the low 40s Fahrenheit. That's not even freezing, yet I'm freezing. I curl up under six blankets and I'm still shivering.
So today I made up my mind to buy an electric blanket. The line must be drawn here. I bought a Soft Heat® Electric Warming Blanket, which claims to be "The World's Safest Heated Blanket". Hopefully this means I won't go up in flames while I sleep.
If you search for "electric blanket" and "danger" on Google, for some reason the first batch of results is entirely from the UK. Apparently the British are very concerned about electric blanket hazards. Generally, though, the consensus seems to be that they're reasonably safe, provided they're not old or damaged.
What do you think? Is my new electric blanket going to murder me in my sleep?
January 16, 2004
Cat Friends, Again
Sasha's unbendable daily routine includes going outside immediately after breakfast. I suspect he goes out there to supplement his own breakfast with a little of Buster's. Buster doesn't share his food with everyone, but he shares with Sasha. Then, weather permitting, they lounge in the garden together. Here we see them dozing languidly in the winter clover.
January 16, 2004
Things I Need To Stop Buying
There are two things I buy compulsively:
Every time I go into a drug store, I have to look at the lip glosses, especially the ones on the special displays for new products. I own 13 lip glosses, which probably isn't that many by obsessive-compulsive standards, and I do wear all of them.
But do I really need a 14th lip gloss? The next time I see a new one that I like, the answer will be a resounding "Yes." Especially if it's the kind with tiny sparkles in it.
I have a large hamper in which I keep my fabrics. I once had a policy of never letting the hamper overflow, but now I'm routinely breaking it.
This week alone, I bought something like 12 yards of fabric, which will take me at least a month to sew and transfer to my closet in the form of clothing. But most of that fabric was on sale for $1/yard! That means I can make a shirt for about a buck, or a pair of pants for two. What budget-conscious seamstress could pass that up?
Then there are the two yards of pricey faux fleecey-suede I bought yesterday, but that's because I have a jacket out of the same fabric in brown, and this new fabric is green, which I love, and I didn't know it even came in green until yesterday.
There. See how I rationalize?
January 13, 2004
Cat Friends
My cat is fairly social. He wants to be friends with other cats, but most cats don't want to make friends. Now, for the first time in about four years, Sasha has a friend: Buster. Buster lives in the water-heater closet downstairs. He never lets anyone touch him, and he's a wuss when confronted by any of the marauding neighbor-cats. Buster and Sasha both needed a friend.
So, like a feline wuss club, Sasha and Buster hang out together. At left we see them sunning themselves on our back stairs, perfectly at ease. Occasionally, they've even been seen cavorting together in the garden, like very sporty pals.
January 12, 2004
Hideyhole for Sale!
Here's information about my property for sale. In brief:
This is on Iron Peak, 180 miles north of San Francisco near Highway 101. About a mile below the peak, this parcel sits in a lush, wooded canyon reached by about eight miles of dirt road. It's sunny in summer and fall, snowy in winter, and absolutely spectacular in spring. You need four-wheel drive to reach this property.
The image on the left shows the approximate location of Iron Peak. The image on the right is a map of the parcel, showing boundaries, topography, vegetation, and (in red) the locations of the two structures.
The house is 20' x 60', situated within sight of both of the gorgeous creeks. The south-facing deck enjoys views of Douglas fir, pine, oak, and madrone trees. The house itself is spacious, comfortable, and semi-furnished. It includes a flush toilet, a woodstove, telephone, and a primitive kitchen. There is also a storage shack near the house.
The best part about this property is not the house. It's the water. Oh, so much water! This is cold, clean, delicious, mountain water—enough for all your needs, including microhydroelectric. Besides being practical, the creeks are simply lovely! Below are some gratuitous pictures of some of my favorite spots along the creeks, but really you have to be there; you'll fall in love.
Interested? Email laurel@geeklings.net.
January 10, 2004
Flirting With Waterfalls
Sadly, I must sell my beloved wilderness property. So, I'm concentrating on enjoying it while I still can. This is something I have to do alone, so that I can hear myself think and experience all of my many feelings about it. Today I made my familiar circuit around the property, admiring it and marvelling at it, and telling it how much I love it.
My very favorite spot is just below the largest waterfall, which is about ten feet high. During the winter, it turns into a mighty cascade that roars and foams and throws up splashes of cold, clean, mountain water.
Today I climbed into the waterfall and practically made love to it. I laughed and squealed in the spray, yelling, "Yeah, splash me! Aaah you taste so good! You're so swift and strong! You think you can rush me? Do it! Yeah!" I scooped big handfuls from the plunging rapids and slurped them up, revelling in being wet and gritty.
"Ha ha," I said to the falls, "I have owned you!" Really, it's absurd that you can own a force of nature. The falls roared back at me. I suspect it didn't give a shit about my alleged "ownership".
Once I was well-soaked with icy mountain creekwater, I climbed around to the other side of the falls and collected a beautiful rock, one of the loveliest ones I've found here. It volunteered to make this sacrifice with me, and come to the City, and never see its beautiful whitewater canyon again. It'll occupy a special place on my little altar.
January 7, 2004
Back Together With Matt
A few weeks ago, I "broke up" with my pretend boyfriend, Supervisor and former mayoral candidate Matt Gonzalez.
Now, it's not that I can't share Matt; he's a public servant, after all, and I knew that when I got into this imaginary relationship. But I'd heard a rumor that he'd been spotted at a neighborhood bar with a leggy blonde woman, and I was disappointed that he (or, rather, the rumormongers) didn't have more imagination than that. Now, if he were rumored to have been spotted with someone along the lines of Björk or Aimee Mullins, that would have been cool.
But it's funny how a little attention can change a girl's mind. I think I'll get back together with Matt now, since he finally replied to my email messages! OMG OMG OMG HE'S TALKING TO ME! Hee. *self-smack*
From Matt.Gonzalez@sfgov.org Wed Jan 7 10:59:29 2004
Subject:
To: laurel@smartacus.org
From: Matt Gonzalez <Matt.Gonzalez@sfgov.org>
Date: Wed, 7 Jan 2004 10:58:38 -0800
Laurel,
I'm just catching up on my email at work... As you can imagine I've been recovering from my election effort...defeat...whatever... (this has consisted mainly of hiding out and relaxing... ) but now I'm back at work...
Anyway... thanks for your playful emails... sorry the mayoral boyfriend thing isn't going to work out...
But...I could talk to Newsom for you if you like?
Matt Gonzalez
Newsom? Ew, no thanks.
Meanwhile, all the hip SF chicks continue to pine publicly for Matt.
January 6, 2004
Nicknames for My Cat
Sasha is my cat's name. Many people assume he's female, in spite of his large size and his male-featured face. In Russian, "Sasha" is the diminutive of "Alexander," something you'd call a little boy named Alex if you lived on the steppes and stuff.
My cat is my default boyfriend, and we've been together for many years. Naturally, over the course of our long relationship, he's acquired a few nicknames:
Some of his nicknames for me include "Mehr" and "Ruher", which I believe to mean "Hey" and "Where Were You I Should Have Been Fed Hours Ago", respectively. There are many, many other things I could tell you about my cat, but you would not understand.
January 1, 2004
Obligatory NYE Report
All good bloggers must submit our reports of our New Year's Eve festivities. Yesterday I spent the entire day grooming and beautifying myself. (Give me an excuse to dress up, and I'll waste hours upon hours!) There was no end of cleansing, moisturing, shaving, polishing, and miscellaneous preening. Curlers alone take about half an hour to install, then they must dry for at least four hours, and finally they may require touchups with a curling iron. Below you see me in various stages of preparation:
As you may have already inferred, my dream is to become a drag queen.
Last year I made a long, brown, quilted, nylon skirt with a black faux fur hem, which I later ruined by subjecting it to the mortal enemy of faux fur: the dryer. So, yesterday I cut off the old skirt at the knee and added new faux fur trim to match my fancy new jacket. It's rockin', especially with knee-high boots, Barbarella-stylee. Unfortunately, the last picture above was taken in a huge hurry, as I was late to Oakland.
The piece d' resistance was a pair of beaded false eyelashes. By the time my friends and I arrived at the Gratitude party, I'd forgotten I was wearing them; the beads sit slightly above my field of vision.
Now, I only knew four other people at this party of 300, and at such parties I enjoy floating across the dance floor anonymous and unnoticed. Somehow, that didn't work this time. Why was everyone looking at me curiously? Strangers would peer intently into my eyes and then look shyly away. I mentioned this to Erin and she said, "They're trying to figure out what's up with your eyelashes!" Oh yeah... I'd forgotten about the eyelashes.
