This is how you do it.

February 5th, 2011

To all my brothers and sisters on M2 — this is where I learned my mad culinary skillZ.

That’s right, I’m representing for motherfucking Sweden. Er, Lithuania. Er, Helotes.

One Lone Sock

January 22nd, 2011

I finished my retina-immolating Jaywalker sock a few weeks ago – I’ve just been very slow to update things around here. For like two years.

Anyway, this sock is not going to be getting a mate any time soon. I had a lot of fun knitting it and I personally like the, shall we say, whimsical colorway, but I’ve put it up to a vote of my knitting peers and the consensus is that these colors only belong on a six-year old girl who is running away to join the circus. Some people went so far as to suggest that the six-year old would probably only wind up wearing these colors if she was subsequently vomited upon by a queasy clown.


Waterfowl in Washington

January 19th, 2011

Last weekend, my sweetie and I drove up almost to Canada to visit a friend and hit a fiber store. On the way up we saw something neither of us had ever encountered before – a just-plowed field covered by hundreds of swans. I’ve seen wild swans before, but only two or three at a time. This place was covered in them.

The pics of the swans on the ground weren’t nearly as interesting as a couple I got of some on approach to the field.



December 30th, 2010

Mama, don’t take my Kodachrome away.

Christmas Dinner 2010

December 26th, 2010

Christmas Kitchen

December 25th, 2010

Wandering Jew, this is Houston. T-Minus thirty minutes; we are good for next stage. Baste the bird; repeat, baste the bird.

Roger that, Houston. Basting the bird in five . . . four . . . three . . . dang, that’s hot . . . two . . . one. Basting the bird now.

Good job, Wandering Jew. Houston out.

Um, Houston? I may have gotten confused. Did you mean literally baste the turkey that’s in the oven, or did you mean bomb Beijing?

. . . shit, Wandering Jew.

Never mind.


December 20th, 2010

Oh man. I’ve been waiting for a sequel to the movie TRON since I saw the original at the Santikos Northwest 10 in San Antonio when I was a kid. I loved that movie. And this weekend, I saw the sequel. It was visually stunning, Jeff Bridges put in a great repeat performance as Flynn, and . . . it sucked.

Boy did it suck. There were plot threads that went nowhere. There was inconsistent internal logic. There were no surprises of plot or character development.

I was hoping for more. The best thing I can say about it is that it didn’t shatter my childhood memories the same way that George Lucas did with the three Star Wars prequels.

It might be a pony

November 14th, 2010

On Friday, my girlfriend and I had to go by a store to shop for some holiday presents and some new cookware. On the way back home, we stopped by an Eritrean restaurant that we’d noticed before. We were both interested, knowing it was like Ethiopian food, but not much else. So we went on in, wondering what to expect.

The first thing we noticed was that it was cold. The building was a big box and the front door was wide open. There didn’t appear to be a heater on inside. The room was divided roughly into three parts: the far end from where we entered was a dark dining area, maybe a banquet room, separated from the rest by an archway. That end of the room too up about half the building. On the near side of the archway was a dining area with about a dozen table. And right next to the entrance on the left was a well-stocked bar.

There was a young man who looked like a young Michael Jackson behind the bar, talking loudly with three men who were leaning heavily on the bar for support. The rest of the building was completely empty.

A little confused, we asked the bartender if they were open for dinner. He directed a 10,000 watt smile our way and said of course, and would we please take whatever seats we liked?

We found a table and he brought us menus. As he walked away, my girlfriend looked at me earnestly and said “If you want to find someplace else to eat, I totally understand.” I thought about it hard.

True, the place wasn’t exactly inviting. And it was freezing. But it got high marks on Yelp and it was a bit of an adventure. I decided that the possible benefits *probably* outweighed the down sides. So I suggested we order and see how it went.

“It might be a pony”, I said.

This is a phrase that my buddy Dan and I coined at work several years ago. Dan had gotten a call from a customer whose server was suffering a hard drive problem. Dan had diagnosed it as probably being something that was going to be very expensive in terms of both time and money to fix. The customer was hoping really hard that it was a minor thing that could be easily fixed, but the easy fix could have destroyed the hard drive and made it even MORE expensive and time-consuming to fix.

I listened to the facts that Dan had gathered and agreed that what he was describing was probably not going to be helped by the easy fix that the customer was pushing Dan to implement. “But it might be a pony”, I said, suggesting that this unknown quantity might turn out to be a happy surprise like the gift pony that every kid looks for around the holiday season. Dan caught my drift and nodded.

I don’t remember what came about in that case, but I don’t think it was a pony.

My girlfriend understood the reference and we settled in, shivering slightly, while we placed our order and waited for the food to arrive. The men at the bar continued talking in what sounded like a heated argument in a Hamito-Semitic language that I couldn’t identify. But their demeanor at the bar suggested that they were pretty relaxed and enjoying themselves.

The waiter brought us the food and it was served very much like the food I’ve had in Ethiopian restaurants before. There were small mounds of lentils, stewed spinach and pickled root vegetables arranged on a large round piece of injira (spongy flat bread). There was also a large four-bowl brazier with different dishes in each bowl and a hot flame wafting out of the center.

The food was delicious. As soon as we started eating, all of our worries left us and the conversation became more animated, if more punctuated by long pauses as we shoveled morsels up using torn-off pieces of injira to pinch them up from the plate.

When we were done, the waiter returned with his illuminating smile and asked us if there was anything else we needed. I asked him what language they were speaking at the bar. “Oh, that’s Eritrean”, he said.

“Duh”, I thought to myself.

We also asked about one very savory meat dish from the brazier that we wanted to try again. “That’s okra”, he said.

“No, this is the okra. What’s this one next to it?”, we asked. He looked at the bowl which we had almost scraped empty and looked puzzled. “What is that? I’m not sure; let me check with the kitchen.”

As he walked off, I looked at my girlfriend as deadpan as I could and said, “. . . it might be a pony.”

Fibonacci Scarf Done!

November 5th, 2010

I’m pretty happy with this.

Fibonacci Scarf

Next go-around I want to carry my colors better (I had a lot of loose ends to weave in which really felt unneccessary) and get enough yarn to do three pattern repeats instead of just two.

Post-Rhinebeck Collapse

October 19th, 2010

I got back from beautiful (and I mean utterly stunning) Duchess County, NY late last night and I am dead. Zonked. Bushed. Done. Travelling is exhausting when you’re an old man.

But oh, it was nice to be back at Rhinebeck. I have only a few pictures this year – Delta made us check our bag with the cameras in it and then lost the bag in Detroit somewhere, so I didn’t have my camera until Sunday. But there are a few decent pics which will be going up later.

In the meantime, if anyone needs me, I’ll be in my bunk.