Socially Sanctioned Gluttony (and the Great Seattle Snow Storm)

And my blog has come full circle (please see "Simpler Times" entry, circa December 2009), as I now find myself writing about my second Thanksgiving here in Seattle, with what are now (after a year of serious studying and dedicated drinking) good friends, and chock full of what can be now classified as (having established the extensive history of "twice") annual traditions.

So, happy (belated) Thanksgiving, all! My favorite holiday of the year. And, what a Thanksgiving it was, held at the same spot as last year, featuring the same superb cast of characters and sustained by the same signature holiday beverage.

• Pilgrim Punch [pihl-grum puhnch]: (noun) an intoxicating beverage, incorporating apple brandy, bourbon and cranberry juice with a splash of lime, consumed in ceremonial or celebratory situations.

I make no effort to conceal the fact that, when in each other's company, my friends do enjoy the occasional brew or two. Thanksgiving was no different; the hedonistic festivities commenced early in the afternoon with betting (clearly the only way to enjoy viewing the National Dog Show. I ended up down $3, but at least I now know what an affenpinscher is), followed by more betting and boozing (again, how else is one to suffer through two football games, back to back? J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, Jets!) and then a meticulously prepared meal (formal menu and all), a la our resident (and extremely talented, if I may add) chef. The 11-hour marathon of merriment ended with, yet another timely Thanksgiving tradition, a rousing game of Kings. Clearly, no gathering is complete without it. And, sure, while it's been acknowledged that most individuals lose interest in said drinking game by the time they graduate from college, it seems we're all pretty comfortable with bringing this game with us well into our 30's; it just never gets old.

On another note: Nothing makes the holiday season like frigid weather and unpredictable snow storms. Seattle got a pretty good dose of this just before the 25th. Ultimately, it was just a dusting by Northeast/New England standards (a couple of inches, maybe?) but the lack of plows, sanding, and all that jazz, paired with the insurmountable hills shut the city down for a good 24 - 36 hours. My first school snow days since, yikes, the 1990's...?

I now give you a little glimpse of the magic that happened out on the streets:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhZCyQ3emQg

(It gets pretty awesome around minute 3, though the whole thing is quite entertaining.)

What's in a word?

Well, just about everything.

This morning in Queer Theory, we were told that the Women Studies department is quite possibly being renamed as Gender, Women and Sexuality Studies. Is this a big deal? Well, yeah; it's the careful and intentional manipulation of terms, which in my opinion signifies that there are far bigger factors at play, aside from a simple switch of a moniker. Maybe women's studies is a unique field; embedded within the name of this young department is the history of a social movement, the intentional visibility of a once marginalized social group, the delineation of a unique space for the production of innovative scholarship and the creation, validation and acceptance of new knowledge. Does the title "Gender, Women and Sexuality" erase this history and gloss over the department's initial political function of naming, defining and ownership? Eh, I don't know. Conversely, does the singular title "Women", or at other universities "Women's", Studies limit scholarship, fix polarizing, binary notions (man/woman, heterosexual/homosexual, nature/nurture), ignore the experiences of other subjugated groups, diminish the interconnectedness of race, class, ability, and sexuality, etc., etc., etc.? Then again, does a simple name change prevent ossification and/or adequately address these critical considerations? Or, does it simply mask the very same spatial and scholarly arrangements? Again, I haven't formed a concrete opinion on this yet. Other universities boast varying iterations - "women", "feminist", "gender", "sex and sexuality", "queer" - and while I'm sure you could argue that these terms infer about a bazillion things, no matter how you slice it, none of these combinations could possibly illustrate the entire breadth of courses that these departments offer.

Consider just how ambiguous and fluid most commonly held concepts really are, and discourse becomes absolutely fascinating. Single words hold, and have held, a multitude of meanings depending upon specific times, spaces, places, geographic locations. String them together in varying ways and throw them into different contexts, and you can complicate interpretations, rock a double entendre, co-opt for political purposes or subvert the potentially oppressive. As I mentioned queer theory earlier, "queer" is an awesome, albeit pretty obvious, example of a word thats malleability has lent it various meanings; from shame, offense and aggression, to appropriation, reclamation and empowerment. And, despite it's ubiquitous use over the past decade, when wielded in an intentionally vitriolic manner by individuals in specific contexts, the word still holds the power to abet unforgivable verbal violence, as is evidenced by recent current (and heartbreaking) events. As with many recent queer theorists, I'm absolutely in awe of academics (and activists and, well, just about anyone) that can not only construct articulate intellectual arguments but at the same time trouble the institutionalization of the very disciplinary locations that they use (necessarily) as forums to present information. Because, whether it's "women's studies" or "gender studies" or even "queer studies", how much does it matter? Slapping a label on anything both empowers (in the ability to name and define) and simultaneously limits (by needing to define and thus set firm boundaries), right?

So, the purpose of these arguably inarticulate and likely verbose, musings? Eh, they're fairly self-serving; there's not much purpose other than killing some time on an uneventful Thursday evening. But, constantly and critically questioning seemingly cemented categorizations can have some very real consequences and provide interesting (helpful? positive? productive?) perspectives. I mean, take education. Beyond higher ed and squabbles over department names, what about the basic, every day terms that we commonly toss around, like success, achievement, underrepresented, minority, disabled...? All come with a slew of assumptions and, at the same time, a certain degree of ambiguity and constant fluctuation.

Oh, and here's an additional note that's sure to inspire some thought: the recent proposal to create academic space for deconstruction and empowerment of individuals that identify as, or are perceived to be, fat. Fat Studies and the Fat Acceptance Movement.

http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2010-11-03/fat-studies-colleges-hot-new-course/

http://bitchmagazine.org/tag/fat-acceptance-28

Wine and Wineries: A Win-Win

Tonight I had the pleasure of tending bar at the re-opening of UW's Women's Center, a role that I'm now familiar with (over the past year I've been the bartending at Henry Art Gallery events) and decidedly in love with. There is a distinct possibility that bar-tending is my calling in life (or, you know, a side career). Let's look at the facts here, shall we? I get to socialize with copious amounts of fresh (well, at the start of the night) faces for 2 to 3 minute intervals (which, by the way, is the perfect amount of time before the "hi, nice to meet you" conversation gets stale), discuss the evening, answer questions about the wine, and feel good about sending them on their way with a compliment or a witty remark. And, all the while, I lightly sip my own, complimentary beverage and take in the scene while chuckling at my inner monologue (and, likely, judgments). In fact, I am currently enjoying a tasty glass of tonight's Pinot Noir (my favorite... This one isn't bad: Main Street Winery, Napa, 2008) with my roommate, a reward for all of my enjoyable chatting earlier this evening.

Speaking of wine (and, um, tasting it), this past weekend I had the pleasure of leaving schoolwork and stress behind with about a dozen friends as we headed to Leavenworth for an Oktoberfest celebration. For those unfamiliar with this bizarre little town, it's nestled in the Cascades, about 2.5 hours outside of Seattle. Seriously, this "alpine Bavarian village" is fashioned like it's straight out of Germany (circa the 1800's) and was all sorts of abuzz for this festive event; it was, in short, totally nuts.

Somehow, between polka dances, giant bratwursts and beer steins, a few of us managed to sneak away for about 4 hours to check out the spoils from local wineries. Though mildly fuzzy, I'm confident there were two tastings and two bottles of wine involved, paired with scintillating conversation. The wine was most certainly awesome (Nebiollo?), the overall day/night/36 hours was fabulous, and the verdict? Everyone should check out Leavenworth, especially during the month of October.

And, in case you're interested in checking it out further...

Leavenworth, WA

http://www.leavenworth.org/modules/pages/?pageid=1

Back to the Future!

It's been nearly two weeks since I left Seattle for my September voyage to the motherland and I honestly have no idea where the time went. I had all of these grandiose plans: drive up to Boston, visit Vermont with Chels, perhaps even visit our brother at his college in upstate NY and swing by my alma mater for nostalgia's sake. Alas, nothing (aside from trips to the beach, jogs, and some quality twin time) has transpired. We joke how coming home for extended periods of time is like falling into a black hole, a tear in the space-time continuum, entering a place where hours, days, even whole weeks pass with simply no explanation as to how those minutes were actually spent. And, in the meantime, as you puzzle the previous day, you find yourself happily fed, well rested, and completely relaxed (if not somewhat lethargic). While our current vehicle of choice neither runs on uranium nor is it a snazzy early '80's delorean (it's actually an older Volvo xc90, with Vermont plates and bumper stickers reading "My Other Car is a Bicycle" and "Namaste") when it's run the speedometer, odometer and gas gage all freak out, the needles spin around, and the lights blink on and off, somewhat resembling Michael J. Fox's time traveling automobile.

Moving right along... Ah. Long Island. Many, many folks in the Northeast (and now perhaps across the nation, thanks to MTV's cash cow The Jersey Shore) mock Jersey and Long Island, and the population that resides here. Even as a born and raised native of this colorful region, I too take cheap shots at the grating accents, often over the top style and copious amount of "pizzaz". It's funny. I can't resist. However, there are some simply wonderful aspects of this area, my favorite being the L.I. Sound. I grew up down the street from the beach, and I cannot imagine living anywhere permanently that doesn't boast some sort of coastline. As tweens pre-license, it was an escape within walking distance. As teenagers, a spot for carousing and consuming. Now, with only a few weeks to enjoy what I used to see every day, I'm in awe of how beautiful it is each and every time I go down for a jog, swim, or just to watch the sunset. A-mazing.

Seattle's Figure Drawing

The best part about this summer? Remembering how to draw - oh, and also how much I love it.

$8 drop-in at a gallery downtown + an awesome, thoughtful and unbelievably interesting coworker = the perfect summer Saturday mornings.

Models vary each week and most are pretty talented (their poses are dynamic, creative, fairly still). These are a few selections of 2 to 25 minute sketches... Ok, so they don't translate terribly well to the (rapidly proliferating) art of digital photography but, you know, it's all I've got.

2 to 5 minute poses:

The longer poses, 25 minutes:

Fiction Junkie

I have hazy memories of the summer before my 2nd grade year and a wily little penguin, the protagonist of some children’s book that my mom would force me to read aloud far too often. I believe this was her attempt to quell my adamant rejection of the written word. As a little kid, I hated to read. Or, maybe I just had a difficult time with it. Regardless, now two decades later, I cannot get enough.

After a year of required readings and thousands (very seriously thousands) of pages on educational policy development and structure, feminist theory, and critical pedagogy, I have zealously embraced leisure reading with a reaffirmed passion for all things fiction. I am convinced that the perfect summer day consists of exercising outdoors, then heading off to enjoy a lazy morning coffee and casually peruse one of Seattle’s many fabulous used bookstores. I’m partial to Ophelia’s Books in Fremont, a charming little place (next to the Flying Apron bakery, no coincidence there) where patrons are greeted not only by a friendly cashier but an adorably lethargic tabby cat that roams the stacks. Also, Half Price Books in Capitol Hill is humongous, high ceilinged and air-conditioned, a great spot on particularly steamy
days.

So far, I’ve devoured some short stories, a novel here and there, and sincerely basked in the luxury of not needing to jot down notes or prepare for class discussion. This is me crafting my written response.

Best American Short Stories 2009 (Alice Sebold, Editor): Gosh, Alice Sebold is boring. I know, I know, everyone and their mom loves the Lovely Bones. Yes, like the rest of the nation, I read it half a decade ago and was both horrified and touched by the story. And, sure, I commend her for writing something that’s now been adapted into a screenplay starring Stanley Tucci (as the creeper, nonetheless) lest we forget Mark Wahlberg. But, I’m simply not her biggest fan.

Best American Short Stories 2004 (Lorrie Moore, Editor): Interestingly enough, I’d never heard of Moore prior to picking this up. After finishing this collection of short stories that she opted (or at least helped) to compile, I’m intrigued. I’ll have to keep my eyes peeled. Favs included: "Screenwriter", Charles D'Ambrosio and "Intervention", Jill McCorkle

She’s Come Undone, Wally Lamb: I have been hearing about this book for years, seen it on many a bookshelf in other used bookstores, and Oprah deemed it worthy of her stamp of approval (the same seal also rejected by Jonathan Franzen about 10 years ago, so I take this with a grain of salt). In any case, while not mind blowing, it turned out to be a $2, quick read, endearing and enjoyable.

The End of Alice, A.M. Homes: I love her. She is, without a doubt, in my top five favorite authors. Everything she writes is clean, clear, and yet at the same time riddled with vivid imagery. Since I've read all of her other fiction, I thought, why not, let's give this a go. Slightly disconcerting at best and disturbing at worst, could have perhaps done without the graphic clarity. But, that's why I heart her, right? Yeah.... Well, it’s told from the perspective of an imprisoned pedophile. I’ll let you imagine the rest.

The Mistress’s Daughter, A.M. Homes: Please see above (minues the part about pedophilia). In this memoir, Homes recounts her experiences finding her biological mother, analyzes her family, and does a really great job of relating the complexity of entwined emotions.

Empire Falls, Richard Russo: I didn’t realize that this had been made into an HBO miniseries a few years back, featuring everyone from Ed Harris to Helen Hunt to Philip Seymour Hoffman (and even Paul Newman!). When I get a chance, I will certainly watch it. Anyway, this was a good read. I’m not in love with Russo, but I liked the book. And even though it admittedly lagged for about 100 pages somewhere in the middle, the end left me, agape, wondering, “Um, really? WTF?!?”. Is that a sign of a great literature? Eh, no, not necessarily, but it was certainly entertaining.

Until I Find You, John Irving: Alright, so I only made it through about half of this novel. A quarter, even. And, even when I was laying out my $7 to purchase it, I KNEW this was going to happen. It’s not that I don’t love Irving’s writing – I do. I read the World According to Garp about two years ago, and thought it was great… When I finally got through it. In the same way that Homes is sparse, Irving is verbose; what could take a paragraph takes three pages. And, yes, the imagery is vibrant with plots often incredibly detailed and rich, but these books are just not commuter or public transportation friendly.

Cavedweller, Dorothy Allison: Oh, I will always have a soft spot for Dorothy Allison, ever since sitting in Hamilton’s Chapel and listening to her do a reading from her book, “Bastard out of Carolina”. She’s an amazing storyteller; almost all of her writing pulls from her own experiences of poverty, growing up in Appalachia, and as the oldest daughter of an unwed mother in a time and place when this was unacceptable (to say the least). True to form, this story is an unapologetically honest and quite lovely.

And, finally (randomly?), here's a snapshot from my morning walk to the gym. I adore this part of the UDistrict. At 7:30AM it is deserted, a bit barren, and totally lovely.

Summer Asserts Itself

Today we embarked upon what weather forecasters predict will be a week long heat wave in the greater Puget Sound region. This means hot, hot and HOT, and at least 5 degress hotter in the blazing sun (dude, the sun is stronger out here, I kid you not). My, it is hot out there, especially between 3pm and 7pm, and especially when you're idiotically biking back from the gym, an entire route of uphillness, along some of the busiest and most congested streets in North Seattle, already tired and exhausted from your workout (and, well, mildly hungover from the previous evening's shenanigans, but that's neither here nor there). But, I digress...

Thus brings me to the benefits of the highly stigmatized and often misunderstood basement bedroom:

Yes, it's true; my new room is "garden level", and yes, that's a snazzy synonym for basement. HOWEVER, as the rest of Seattle suffers through 90+ degree heat, stuffy 1st or even 2nd floor living spaces, and insomnia inspiring ill-circulated bedrooms, I'm coming to realize some subtle benefits of my new spacious digs (please see accompanying photos for proof).

• Well lit? Check.
• Spacious? Oh, indeed.
• Privacy? Coming out my ears.
• Temperate, dry, and comfortable? Yes, yes AND yes.

So, in summary, perhaps folks should give the garden level a chance, or at least some consideration in a positive light. You know, I think I might even employ the use of my comforter tonight.

Puttin' on the Ritz

My, my! So much has happened since the last time I sat down to “blog”. I’ve relocated my meager belongings to a new house in Wallingford, survived yet another July 26th (with assistance of a fabulous friend, photo-hunt and copious amounts of libations), breezed through two of perhaps the more unsavory areas in the Northeast (why, Long Island and New Jersey, of course) on a 72-hour trip for a dear friend’s wedding, and Wyclef Jean announced that he plans to run for president of Haiti. Yes, yes, I know, I can hardly keep up myself.

Now a solid two months into UW’s summer quarters (due to said mangled scheduling system, the “summer” out here starts mid-way through June, and runs through the end of September) I believe it’s now acceptable for me to begin freaking out at the prospect of embarking upon my second and final year of graduate school. Yup, halfway through, time to consult the blueprints and see what I have planned for the future… Oh, right. Nothing.

In an ideal world, I would wrap up my degree early, somehow stumble upon a pot of gold (fair enough, I’ll allow one leprechaun joke) and then spend 2 months couch surfing across Europe in the humble abodes of my darling siblings, all three of which will be smattered about there next spring for various reasons: One will be working in Budapest for the second and final year. Another is starting a one-year graduate program at the University of London. And finally the last - still an undergraduate – is heading to Germany to drink (I mean, “study abroad”) for a semester. Oh, those kids, always off adventuring somewhere exotic and unexpected, if not in Europe than biking from Georgia to California, trailblazing through the White Mountains, building a stone staircase in the Northwest Territory, or docking boats at the Sound Beach marina (oh, wait… I kid Ker, I kid).

However, in what I can only imagine might be reality, I will likely procrastinate on important paperwork, take a full year to get said degree (heaping on more loans, to boot), and find myself this same time next summer broke, unemployed and comparably undecided about my future. While I don't fancy myself a delusional optimist, I’m certainly not tragically negative either. I am simply trying to be reserved (cautious, guarded, protective, what have you) with my expectations, a credo I seem to have adopted and applied to all facets of my life, professional, academic or relationship based.

Anyway, after considerable pondering (on the elliptical, riding the 48 bus, answering phone calls at work, sipping an iced Americano at Zoka and chatting with a similarly “optimistically reserved” friend) today begins my very serious quest to figure out what it is I really, really want and then start mapping my new plans on how to get there.

P.S. Much to the chagrin of one of my friends, I could not get this song out of my head all weekend at the wedding. A catchy remake of a classic tune, though I highly doubt this Taco fellow could be any more of a creeper.

Taco, Putting on the Ritz

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OG3PnQ3tgzY

Kitty photo shoot!

Alright, so it seems that three photos is their max. No worries, I'm nowhere near becoming a crazy cat lady, and in fact, these aren't even mine. I have, however, had the pleasure of watching them do laps around the living room, wrestle, and try to throw themselves through the front window (picture a bird flying into a glass pane) for the past year and I'm certainly going to miss these little guys once I move out at the end of the summer. What with all of the ear scratching, feeding and making sure their water bowl is full, I feel like we've bonded; Take care, (Jeze)Belle and Willow.

Celebrating America's Birthday

You know you had a successful 4th of July when...

Your 9 guests somehow consume nearly 9 liters of delicious, homemade Sangria.

You've managed to procure a grill, currently sitting on your back deck, and successfully grilled everything in sight.

You wake up to find one of your friends still in your living room, and asleep on your couch.

Or, when you've not only experienced the aforementioned but are nursing a massive hangover. Yes, it was a fabulous Fourth indeed. My roommate and I held an impromptu barbeque; all attendees brought an array of grillables and we provided copious amounts of (yes, you guessed it) sangria for the group. Our recipe was fairly budget friendly (laugh all you want, there was indeed Franzia used) but surprisingly delicious. See below.

1 box of Franzia ("Cabernet Sauvignon")

1 bottle of rum

1 cup orange juice

1/2 liter lemon lime seltzer

1/2 cup white sugar (add more for liking)

(chopped and added)

2 apples

2 peaches

2 oranges

1 lemon

1 lime

It's summer and P.S. I need a job

New season, new look, long time much? Very long time. As is evidenced by the gross lapse in posts, the past few months clearly got away from me. But, in all seriousness, would you be inside nerding out* and diligently posting to your blog when this was literally right outside your window? Yeah, I didn't think so.

*Nerding out: Recently heard this term used by one wonderful roommate of mine. "Nerd" as a verb? How brilliant. I will be permanently adding this to my daily vernacular.

Anyway, now that I've rediscovered my account and dug up my password, it's time to start typing away. And, conveniently enough, since I'm both without classes AND a job, I've got PLENTY of time on my hands these days. Not exactly something to celebrate or brag about, for that matter, but I might as well make the best of it.

Recent cost effective ventures during my fiscal freeze (pending temporary, part-time summer employment):

Hiking Wallace Falls













Hiking Rattlesnake Ridge












Hiking Mt. Si












Watching naked bike riders at the Solstice Parade












Entertaining lovely friends from Boston
(Yeah, alright, this did include $15 trip to the top of the Space Needle, but it turned out to be a lovely, and hilarious, time)

"Winter" Weather in the Northwest

I have moved to the land of the perpetually runny nose. We're looking at about 7 days of not just mist but serious, steady, unrelenting rain. The sky hangs just above the rooftops and there is hardly a moment when my socks aren't soaking. In reality, this isn't much different than central New York in the middle of January, except my finger tips aren't frozen and I'm not wading through knee high snow drifts. But, there's something enchanting about snow, where as rain just breeds bad moods. That being said, the drab is interspersed with an occasional, absolutely gorgeous, sunny and mild, day. I've included a (poorly taken, amateur level) video as proof. This is of Red Square, a central part of the University of Washington campus; the beautiful stone building is our library and, even though you can't see it (thanks to the fabulous quality of said short), Mt. Rainier is looming in the distance, just beyond the fountain.