Boo!

We should do this more often

We went and saw the Decemberists on Friday night as a grown-up outing. It reminded me of Justin's one-time post about the Arcade Fire rocking his face off. It was the best show I've been to in a long while.
At the beginning I had a twinge of apprehension because as I stood in the packed auditorium, I realized that I only knew three people at this show (four if you count the acquaintance who was clearly on a date and pretending not to know any of us), while I would have been part of a much larger crowd if this had been Cat's Cradle instead of the Showbox. The opening act, Cass McCombs, was pleasant if unremarkable.
The Decemberists set began with The Tain and built steam from that point forward. I had previously declined an offer of earplugs thinking that accordians couldn't possibly be that loud, which was a mistake. An old professor of mine (Performance Studies) used to encourage us to be "thrummed" by art--to let our guard down, be in the moment, and transcend the room, the floor, the instrument, etc., both in creating and consuming art. At the point at which Colin Meloy had the audience silent, sitting on the floor in the aspect of eager kindergardeners at story time, I knew we had been thrummed.

Design/build

This year's Halloween
costume. I owed her a
good one.

When I'm in charge, things will be different

Working for a state agency means that many of the features that I always thought were intrinsic to an office are not in evidence. Like the communal coffee pot and the occasional all-office-burrito-lunch. Not so here, apparently. To remedy this, the office has several "clubs" in which folks who wish to participate may pay and then enjoy the perks of the "club." The coffee club, for example, is $5, which was used to buy a coffee pot and coffee. Those who paid are allowed to drink the coffee, but those who didn't pay are supposed to forage for themselves.

I never took this system very seriously (although I did pay my $5 for coffee) until this week. There is a "birthday club" which charges its members and then buys birthday cakes for the members on their birthdays. Cakes which are only to be consumed by paying birthday club members. This week, the cake was purchased and left still sealed in its box in the kitchen with no note, to be eaten later. Well, somebody was heating up their lunch and must have thought--"Hey, cake!" removed the shrinkwrap and cut themselves a slice. So then many folks who came into the kitchen to heat up their food must have thought--"Hey, cake! I wonder if it's available? Well, somebody already had some, so it must be. I'll have some too." So when the birthday club members came back later to enjoy their cake, it was well massacred. Much angry emailing and muttering and gusty sighing resulted, all of which I enjoyed since I have the cube closest to the kitchen.

All of which has made me realize that I am a cake socialist. Who brings cake, leaves it out in the kitchen where everyone can see it, and then tells folks they can't have some?

Down with the cake bourgeois!

Procrastination
Oh, I'll admit it; I'm stalling. So far I have made three cups of tea, done two loads of laundry, one sinkful of dishes, made a batch of rice crispy treats, and restored the hard drive on our old desktop computer. And what am I so agressively avoiding? Well...belts.

So, due to a scheduling quirk, I am working extra at all of my 2.5 jobs for the next month. To accomodate this, I have been allowed to work at home (and not in the telecommuting sense, Monsieur Jefe). I have a stack of boned, tie-front cumberbunds in a screaming shade of yellow waiting to be assembled to complete the ensembles worn by the mice in our local holiday production. These are not difficult to construct; I have the tools and skills to complete the project. What am I waiting for?

The obvious answers: I'm still reveling in the lovely visit this weekend by a dear friend, Halloween costumes, pink wool just crying for transformation into a pair of trousers, yard work, the book. But none of these quite touch on the point. I think time wasting is just more satisfying when you know you have something that must be finished.

And since these are not needed until Wednesday at noon, I still have plenty of time.

Snort

sniff sniff, cough.
Snort, cough, Cough.
Check to make sure no one is around; this is silly.
Ppth. Spit behind the bushes. Twice.

I hate being sick.

What bears already know
Today was a banner day at the farmers' market. Our fish guy had some beautiful smoked salmon for half off (because it was overdone--my favorite!). And this is the time of year when you can get a good tomato in Seattle. Beets for her, even though they are gross. Some flame colored dahlias because there is more than one way to feed yourself. And, straight from the Shuksan...wild huckleberries. The last time we had these, I used them as a reward on the hardest hike we ever did. Mt. Pilchuk, to the watchtower, is only three miles, but much of it is over scree fields with ankle-turning shifty rocks. It took us three tries to actually make it, finally at the end of the season, with the promise of even more huckleberries if she would just keep going a little further.
So today, we had salmon and huckleberries for breakfast and then compared our purple tongues. She won. And I told her we were eating like grizzly bears and roared at her, at which she nodded and excused herself. Apparently that's not funny anymore.
Since we are on day three of a five day rainy streak (today was squalls, while yesterday was hard rain, and the day before, drizzle), we stayed in and cleaned the house. And now that all my dishes are clean, I will proceed to dirty every one of them making a tomato tart for dinner.