Discolor Online

The Boat Dreams From the Hill

Boat on a hill, never going to sea.
Anchored to a fixer upper's dream.
This boat is beat, never going to be a boat now.
Thirsty, sees the sea from high on ice plant.

He keeps patching it and painting.
Thinking about his pension plan.
But the boat is out to pasture.
Seems it never had a chance.

I wanna be a boat. I wanna learn to swim
Then I'll learn to float. Then begin again.


Boat emembers the carpenter's sure hand.
Missing fishy flutter on it's rudder.
Sold at an auction, on a dolly ever since.
Sometimes rainy days bring boyish wonder.


Lyrics from Jawbreaker's The Boat Dreams from the Hill. I know it's seriously lacking in cursing or outrage, but set to some hard, tight accompanying music it's punky good. Matches my mood tonight.

First headache in weeks. Not crippling but definitely bad enough that I want to go lay around and sleep it off. Too bad for me that it's Mow Your Lawn Day in the neighborhood, combined with Low-Flying Helicopters and Bi-planes Day at the nearby airport, Beep Horn Repeatedly Day, and, for good measure, Lay On the Ambulance Horn Day. I kid you not about the convergence of these noisemakers. Oh, and the ding dang ice cream truck has started on its daily rounds jangling out Greensleves or whatever the heck this year's theme song is.

Had already taken some Aleve this morning for other chronic aches and pains but forgot that I have some homeopathic stuff stashed away downstairs until I started writing this. Must go try that.

Last week was insanely busy and I just didn't have enough time to do all the things that needed to be done, nevermind all the things I wanted to do.

This was a Kate-free weekend for me. Kate spent a long weekend with her dad in Vancouver, visiting with her grandpa and her 11-year old uncle (my ex's half-brother). Usually when Kate's away on these junkets I take the opportunity to go out with my adult friends, or watch R-rated movies, or sleep late, that kind of thing. This weekend, though, it's been all about playing catch-up with the house.

I moved bookcases and their accompanying books, I assembled four new sets of shelves and a hutch that we put up on the mule chest for more storage. I removed the door from Chris's office so we could fit yet one more set of shelves in there as well, and hung my samurai noren across the doorway. I rearranged Kate's room again, setting her up with a more workable desk and computer area under her loft bed, and giving her more shelf space for her books and school work. I must have washed, dried, folded and put away at least seven loads of laundry, reorganized video tapes and DVDs, reinstalled the operating system on Chris's laptop, upgraded a bunch of old software and got four of the five computers humming along in pretty good condition. I even managed to vacuum the entire upstairs (including the pain in the ass stairwell), flip the mattress, change all the bedding, and clean the master bathroom.

I snuck in a few episodes of The Wire (Season Two) on DVD while folding clothes and puttering with computer upgrades, so it wasn't all dire but I did have to sacrifice going to Wolf and Shelly's Burn Party last night. Still, I'm so pleased with the progress made in the house over the weekend. Tomorrow I'll get a late start to work because I have to pick Kate up in the morning, and then it will be filling the gigantic pile of orders that I meant to fill this weekend, but for now I'm basking in the clean orderliness of my weekend accomplishments.

SIN CITY is not for kids, asshole!

Last night Kate was at a sleepover, so we adults went out to see Sin City. Three men came in with three young boys and the boys sat in front of me, one adult on the aisle and two in the next row up. At one point in the movie the man on the aisle was snoring.

Meanwhile these little boys, all of them Kate's age or younger (!!) sat through an orgy of stylized sex and violence. Sex scenes, murders, titties, violent beatings, blood (in all its cartoon colors), beheadings, cannibalism, torture, you name it.

What the hell were these men thinking? Did they not know what Sin City was about? (Did the title not give it away?) If they made a mistake in choosing this movie for their sons (thinking perhaps that it was going to be like Spiderman or The Hulk since it's based on a "comic book") why, WHY let them sit through the whole two-hours of violence and gore once it became clear that this was no kiddie show? Or maybe they really didn't think there was anything wrong with having their kids there, in which case I cry for those poor boys and fear for my daughter having live with them among her peers in society.

Wil Wheaton wrote about the geeks lined up at the wrong theater for the new Star Wars movie, who (instead of admitting they were wrong) have decided to stay in their line "as an act of protest." The sense of entitlement, the idea that they can't just admit they were wrong and take their licks for being stupid but now must "escalate" the whole thing and make it a so-called protest...oh it's so familiar. How many times have game publishers had to deal with some snark on the internet bent on calling them out for a mistake in the rules that "ruins the game" or some other overwrought hyperbole? Or the guy who makes a big post about how something is broken, when it's really just something that he doesn't like? Every game company at one time or another has fallen under the unwanted attention of someone who pops up on every message board, backhands a company or product at the slightest provocation. I know I've personally wondered hundreds of times, "Who are these people? How the hell do they function in the world?" (Perhaps they sit in lines at movie theaters in their spare time?)

Here's a recent encounter:

Customer X orders a product. When the customer's address is entered onto the UPS label, there's a slight typo in the address which results in the package being literally delivered to Customer X's neighbor. Customer X asks about his package: the error is discovered. UPS confirms the package was delivered to neighbor. Customer Service suggests that Customer X ask if his neighbor accepted the package for him. This concept is so abhorrent to Customer X that he writes angry letters back to Customer Service (wherein he admits he doesn't know his neighbors so they "couldn't" have accepted the package for him, and goes on a rant about he feels would be an acceptable solution which includes UPS coming back to pick up the package from his neighbor's house to personally hand-deliver it to him, or return it to the sender so the sender can send it correctly, all while casting aspersions on his unknown neighbor's general honesty).

This whole ridiculous exchange is followed up the next day with a one-line message that his package showed up in his mail slot (apparently without his having to go talk to his neighbor, which seems to be the issue of most concern to him) and he is willing to consider the matter resolved.

But never too busy to click a quiz!

You scored as Loner. Loner 88% Punk/Rebel 81% Goth 75% Geek 63% Drama nerd 44% Stoner 38% Ghetto gangsta 25% Prep/Jock/Cheerleader 6% What's Your High School Stereotype? created with QuizFarm.com

Loner on the edge of the punk scene...that's about right.

It was a dark and stormy night.

I had a giant bowl of steaming tempura udon for supper, then waited at a bus shelter in the cold and pouring rain. A guy offered me a piece of candy out of the pocket of his scrungy jeans for Kate.

We said no thanks.

I am considering writing up a few “about me” essays but I feel a bit shy about it. I find myself mulling the topics as I go about my other activities, especially when driving. I swear, if I could find an effective way to write and drive I’d be a happy, happy girl. I’ve titled the stories and refer to them to myself by their titles, like The Day I Decided to Die, Your ‘Nice’ Neighbor Grabbed My Tits, How I Discovered Grandma was a Racist, I Divorced My Husband and No He Didn’t Beat Me and My Relationship with Anger.

I guess I’m putting this up to spur myself on.

For the fourth time this week the cable internet service has been disrupted. I'd complain more, but I just switched to this service as a fix for the unsatisfactory DSL service I had been using. Boo hiss, I love technology, but technology hates me.

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I was really craving sushi tonight, but I already had a leg of lamb marinating, so I made that instead. It was AWESOME. I think I have my contribution to Cooking Club's Greek theme all worked out. Here's the rub I used, from Tom Douglas' Seattle Kitchen cookbook:

8 green onions, white and green parts, roughly chopped
leaves from 1.5 bunches cilantro (about 3 cups picked leaves)
1 jalepeno chile, seeded and roughly chopped
3 Tablespoons peeled and grated fresh ginger
2 Tablespoons minced garlic
1 Tablespoon cumin seeds, toasted and ground
1 Tablespoon coriander seeds, toasted and ground
1 Tablespoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons mustard seeds
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground cayenne, or more to taste (I just added 1/4 tsp)
1/2 cup olive oil
One 6 1/2-pound leg of lamb, boned, butterflied, visible fat removed, and separated into three pieces (I used a 4.75 pound leg because there were only two of us in the house that will eat this--no way Kate is eating "Lambie": otherwise the recipe serves 12!)

Combine the first five ingredients in the food processor until finely chopped. Add the seeds, salt, and spices and process to combine. With the motor running, add the olive oil in a slow, steady stream and puree everything into a paste.

Place the lamb pieces in a large, nonreactive pan and spread paste on all sides. Allow to marinate in the refrigerator for 4 to 24 hours, covered with plastic wrap.


I cooked this in the oven at 385 degrees until my thermometer told me I had medium rare at the thickest part (my digital thermometer is actually set for lamb, so I used this as a test of it, and it came out perfectly!). Served it with a bell pepper salad (tri-color bell peppers, diced tomatoes, salt, pepper, red onion, parsley, red wine vinegar and a dash of sugar), a yogurt sauce (I didn't have cucumber in the house, so I just mixed a bit of parsley, mint, basil, salt, and pepper with some plain yogurt) and some mini pitas warmed in the oven. Delish!

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In other news, my Unitarian Jihad Name is apparently Sister Garrote of Warm Humanitarianism. I think I'm going to take that as my modified handle on the Blue Rose message boards forthwith.

First, read this post from Pramas, who scooped me out of my blog entry.



I wrote about McDermott making his surprise appearance at the Rock Against Bush show last September. While I feel pushed aside, ignored, and actively wronged by yahoos in the Federal Government like Tom DeLay, good old McDermott is out there picking up the mantle of "most liberal" where dearly-departed fellow Minnesotan Paul Wellstone left off.

I LOVE it that my congressman is commenting on (and commending by name) punks with names like Justin Sane and Pat Thetic! He acknowledges we exist, despite wacky names and weird hair, where others would (and do) just go along pretending that what they don't like will just cease to exist. Good for you, McDermott! Keep sticking it in the eye of those guys who think that winning an election means they own the whole damn world.

Yesterday was a flurry of chores and errand-running. I've been vehicle-enabled since Thursday and not just any vehicle, but that shining beacon of yuppie excess, the Landrover. Driving around in the Landrover has been quite an experience. I look out at people, make eye contact with pedestrians or other drivers and at first I couldn't reconcile the looks I was getting in return. Nothing obvious, no glares or stares, just a subtle split-second difference that happened over and over with person after person. Finally it clicked: it's not me, it's the car! Inside the car I'm still listening to Anti-flag as I would be in the Flexcar or on the bus, but the outside world just sees the shell, just as inside my own head I'm still every bit the Nikchick who spawned her nickname 20 years ago, while the outside world sees whatever it is they see (angry publisher bitch, disheveled bemused mom, impatient driver, middle-aged homeowner nee punk rocker?).

Back to yesterday, after shooing off Kate's sleepover friend and dropping Herr Pramas at his Saturday roleplaying game, I went on a spree. Anywhere you might want to use the hauling capacity of a Landrover type vehicle, I was there. Bought more shelves and bins and now have a place to store both the Warhammer line and the endless stream of packing peanuts that regularly arrive. I made a trip to Costco because surely if you have a giant vehicle, you should buy some giant jars of olives and wheels of cheese to haul in it. Most importantly, though, we worked into the night moving a dozen very large boxes that had been delivered to the front of my house around the back and into the garage in the most convenient and expeditious manner! Sounds like a small thing I'm sure, but it's thrilling, absolutely thrilling to me.

Today is a day of rest and wild plundering of my friend's equally impressive collection of DVDs and mega-giant tv until I receive the bat signal that it's time to pick them up at the airport and return to my own digs. We started in watching the first season of The Wire last night. Seems like another good original show from HBO.

Kate had a friend over for a sleepover last night. They took over the livingroom, creating a nest of sleeping bags and pillows in front of the tv, setting up a fort with blankets tied to pieces of furniture and door knobs and so forth. Friends J&J stopped by to pick up the key to R&C's to fulfill their cat tending duties and I could barely get to the door to answer it. The kids were in mid frenzy preparing to repell an onslaught of zombies rumored to be attacking at 10:30 pm. Alex looked out the window and confirmed that the doorbell ringers were indeed humans.

As we wound down last night they tried to convince me to let them stay up until midnight. I pretended that I couldn't conceive of the idea, but in reality I didn't care. Helped them feel like they were getting away with something when they stayed up anyway, even if they didn't make it until midnight.

They were cracking me up with their banter as they prepared their fortress and hunkered down under the blanket-fort with "supplies" (a couple slices of sourdough bread) and a flashlight, spinning out tales and plans. When one of them would venture too far, they would stop and reassure each other that they were just using their imaginations.

"They're evil spirits. No, wait! They're zombies!"
"Um, we're just using our imaginations, right? Because there aren't really zombies."
"Yeah, we're just using our imaginations."
"Ok... So yeah, they're big, ugly zombies and they're coming RIGHT NOW!"

"I have a gun and a knife to fight them off."
"Um, you don't really have a gun and a knife, do you? "
"No, we're just using our imaginations..."
"Ok! Yeah, I have a *pistol*...."

It went on like that until just shy of midnight when they finally fell asleep. I waited about half an hour to be sure they weren't going to wake up screaming or tangle themselves in fort-supporting ropes, and then I turned in myself.

Peaches - I Don't Give A...

Freelancer Clue #147:

When you have an approved outline for a project that says, for example, Chapter 7 will be about fluffy bunnies, DO NOT turn in a manuscript where Chapter 7 actually contains slave cults and kiddie fiddling. Especially DO NOT turn this in three months late.

Jackasses bloom like flowers in the spring, I swear.