Category: All (-ish)

Three sentence movie reviews: Downton Abbey Season II

O! the gushing emails I wrote and conversations I had while watching this season!  How can the next season be any better than this one?  I like this show so much I’m going to watch it in “real time,” something I haven’t done since West Wing, season 3.

Perfect Drive.

So before I saw Magic Mike, I had a perfect day.  I had a scheduled all-day training for work in McMinnville, so I reserved a Zipcar for the day.  The day before the training, I realized the training was not relevant to my position, but a call to the powers that be confirmed I had to go.  I did secure assurance that I could attend the training until the lunch break and that would be sufficient.  Excellent.

The training itself was okay.  Like I said, it didn’t apply to me, but it included an Excel spreadsheet that was pretty amazing. During the copious amounts of work time, I played around with the spreadsheet, got the gist and then occupied myself reading things online.  This was harder than one would think, as the training was at a high school that blocked access to a lot of things.  For instance, I couldn’t access my gmail, nor could I read the New York Times.  However, Roger Ebert’s website was not blocked and I read a great essay about his wife.  Now, I would argue that maybe I would have benefited from reading the New York Times online, but if the district wants me to spend time reading movie reviews and essays, I will.

We broke early for lunch (yipee!) and off I went in my Zipcar.  Zipcar gives you 180 miles per day and I aimed to drive most of them getting myself back home.  First stop:  Newberg Dairy Queen.  I needed a Blizzard as it was summer and I was out for a drive.  As I ate, I sat in the parking lot and planned my route using my big Oregon map with all the back roads.  After I planned, (it turns out I’m not a huge fan of cookie dough blizzards anymore.  The quality of the ingredients isn’t very high.) I noticed the retro Dairy Queen sign, tucked away in the corner of the lot.
 

This is the Dairy Queen sign we all know today and it was right by the road.  I suspect the road was re-jiggered at some point and the new sign was built and the old one just sat there, instead of being removed.
 
Blizzard done, I headed out to Yamhill, via 240.

 

Once I got to 47 and Yamhill, I stayed on 47.


 Pictures taken while driving:
 

Don’t worry, I didn’t take my eyes off the road, just grabbed and pointed the camera out the window and pressed the button.
 
I next encountered Forest Grove.  I took “Old 47” which took me through town and I had trouble finding “New 47 again”  I burned some miles here, but eventually discovered I had to go travel on Highway 8 for a bit before it hooked up with 47.

More pictures from the car:
 


Finding 47 again, I headed toward Banks, which Matt and I rode on our bikes to from Stub State Park.
 
I followed the Sunset Highway (A.K.A. Highway 26) for a bit before turning off at Buxton.

 

Here the landscape changes as we begin to climb into the hills.
 
There were several places to access the trails at Stub State Park.  I used the bathroom at one of them.
 
And here I was!  Vernonia!  This is the other end of the Banks Vernonia Rail Trail.  I got there by car, not bike, but I finally set eyes on Vernonia.

Outside of Vernonia was some road construction.

Leaving Vernonia, I traveled for a bit longer on 47 before the turnoff to the Scappoose-Vernonia Highway.

An important decision.  Scappoose or St. Helens? I chose Scappoose.  My miles were dwindling.
 

There was much more traffic on this stretch of highway.  I followed this truck for a good number of miles.

Scappoose threw me back on the familiar territory of Highway 30 as I headed toward home.

The familiar spires of the St. John’s Bridge.
 

And back along Lombard toward home.

Unpacking the car at home I realized the super awesome “choose your own configuration” cup holder.  Good job, car engineers.

Also, the radio stations were fabulous.  I cycled between six stations and never had to listen to one commercial.  I did get to hear one song twice:  Lou Reed’s Walk on the Wild Side.  Also, I discovered that what one radio station is calling “the new classic rock” is what I was listening to in high school.

So thanks Zipcar, for getting me to my important training and thanks again for a delightful drive home.

Sand in the City

I joined Mom and Aunt Carol for breakfast at Mother’s and then we headed over to check out Sand in the City.  It was, frankly, underwhelming.  There were nine sand sculptures, a paltry amount, I thought, and I was not impressed by most of the scupture.  Perhaps my expectations were a bit too high?

Here’s an example.  The slogan is “branching out to help others” but the branches are not going out, they are going in.  It just didn’t work for me.
 

Kid’s on the block being sculpted into a block?  Eh.
 
I enjoyed the pun here, but look at all the blank space.
 
And this didn’t even look fully formed.
 
There was a Voodoo Donut on the Octopus, which I appreciated.
 
This display had the best detail from shrimp on the barbie to…
 
…an intricately sculpted welcome mat.

At this point my camera warned me I was running out of battery and as we had Sunday Parkways yet to do, I decided to stop taking pictures of mostly unimpressive sand sculpture.

Three sentence movie reviews: The Dark Knight Rises.

Unlike it’s predecessor, where I had the thought midway through the movie, “I really don’t like this film,” I had the exact opposite mid-film thought with this one:  “This movie is awesome!”  There was a great balance of effects and story and Anne Hathaway was a delight.  I also thought I had everything figured out and was wrong, which is always a fun feeling, as is when the movie ends on just the right note.

ps.  I kept getting distracted by how awesome Bane’s leather jacket was.  It was just the right amount of distressed leather. Good job costumers!

The line!

Not wanting to pay expensive movie theater prices and wanting to support one of my favorite local theater  showing new releases, I took the #75 to St. Johns and headed toward the St. John’s Theater to see the new Batman movie, The Dark Knight Rises.  And holy cow, there was a line!  I’ve never seen a line longer than 10 people at St. John’s, and this one stretched around the corner.  I was surprised this many people were out at 4:00 on a Friday, but there they all were.  Next time I will arrive a bit earlier on opening night.
 

Essay: Fat

So I am fat. Not even fat, really.  I am not sitting solidly in the “overweight” category I’ve spent most of my adult life.  Those days spent miserably overweight seem like a thing to strive for now that I have completely living in the obese segment of the BMI chart.  And man, there’s a difference.  It used to be, when I looked down and saw my stomach pooching out I could suck in and still have a waist.  Now, I look down, suck in and only reach the “before sucking stage” of before.

How did this happen?  I blame two things.  One is that I have really let myself go. The “let yourself go” phrase is usually lobbed against women balancing children/husband/home/work but I’ve managed to do it without the children or the husband.  In the last year I just gave up taking care of myself.  The exercise fell to minimal levels and I ate what I wanted when I wanted and damn the consequences.  The other factor is that for the first six months of 2011 I went on a diet and lost 20 pounds.  This was in combination with following a naturopath’s plan to avoid gluten and dairy.  The combined restrictions of the diet and naturopath were at first comforting, but then started to chafe.  The whole thing went down last summer and I threw off all restrictions, eating sandwiches and macaroni and cheese with abandon and packed on 30 pounds, regaining the 20 I lost and adding 10 more.
So now I’m fat and I hate it.  My skin has folds to it, I don’t like the way I look in any clothing, I feel slow and slovenly and kind of disgusting.  A class at the gym the other day involved a backward lunge.  My hand rested on my waist and I could feel my stomach fat fold over my thumb as I performed the exercise.  It was frustrating and no amount of sucking in my stomach could fix the problem, believe me, I tried.
Here’s the worst thing. My disgust with myself and my fat frame has spilled over to others.  I’ve noticed that I continually evaluate women’s body types as they move in and out of my frame of reference and I feel the same disgust of women who are as fat, or fatter than me as I do me.  Why can’t they take care of themselves?  What has brought them to this point?  These are all questions I would do better asking myself then applying them to anonymous women. (It’s always women I judge, never men.)
I’ve sworn off diets forever.  This swearing joins the pledge I made about five years ago: to never again pay someone to tell me how to lose weight. I’ve read the figures, I know how much money the diet industry makes each year.  I know that, except for a few people for whom diets work, diets don’t work.  So why should I pay someone to tell me what to do when that thing they are going to tell me most likely won’t work? The diet I went on last year I didn’t pay for, I got around that restriction by checking out a book from the library.  That worked until it didn’t and I’ve accepted that following someone’s plan is not the way for me to lose weight.
Here is the other thing I know.  I’ve had moments of normal weight in my life and I wasn’t following a diet.  I ate right—and I think we all have a good idea of what this means—and exercised—I think we all know how to do this, too—and lost weight.  Why could I do that then and not now?  Where did this amazing source of willpower come from?  How could I meet this astonishing feat?
It wasn’t willpower or some magical combination of elements, I lost weight during those times because I knew who I was and my place in the world and was reasonably happy.  I felt secure, I lived in the present, not worrying about the future, and I took care of myself.  I haven’t been in that place in a very long time.  So now, I’m working on getting there.  I’m not sure I know who I am—certainly the harsh taskmistress who can put me through the paces so I lose weight isn’t me.  But I’m pretty sure this lazy, whiny, “don’t wanna” person isn’t me either. 
I’m working on eating less.  Eating right hasn’t really been a problem, I’m good with the vegetable/fruit/protein/carb balance and can prepare all of those things for myself.  I’m not very good with leaving the table just at the full mark, or even leaving the table a little bit over full. I’ll work on that too.  But also I need to live in the present, avoiding worry about the future, regrets about the past.  I also need to keep my present as comfortable as possible.  This means cleaning the house when I don’t really feel like it and cooking when I would rather collapse on the couch with a book and do nothing. It also means backing off on the judgment of my overweight self and my similarly overweight brethren.
So the conclusion of this post will not have me forswearing off sugar, or carbs or meat or dairy or gluten or any of the things that supposedly will save me from my weight.  I’ve actually sworn off all of those at one time or another in my life.  When I have, I have not seen a miraculous change in me.  Eliminating things from my diet only makes me want them more.  I’ll conclude this post by committing to be my authentic self and take care of myself, with food, with exercise and with psyche.   It’s no promise to lose two pounds per week, but I have put in my time with those promises and I know they don’t come true.

The best part of the job interview.

I had a job interview today, which was exciting and I think went well.  But I can tell you that the best part of the job interview was the Zipcar I rented.  The one that was closest to where I work was also a fancy car.  When I saw it I laughed.  This was going to be a fun drive.
 
In reserving the car, I allowed copious amounts of time for the interview itself and to get the Zipcar back in time.  This meant I had nearly two hours after the interview to drive around and I took advantage of that time.  I rarely get to drive cars that react so strongly when I press the gas pedal.
 

Requiem: Water Bottle

I was in the observation phase of my graduate degree in education.  This meant I took the train and bus an hour each way to Aloha High School and wandered between several Social Studies classes for an entire day, never really feeling like I should be anywhere.  The Social Studies teachers (all coaches, fulfilling my history teacher stereotype*) hung out in a shared office–no one seemed to venture into the staff room.

Due to the lack of access to drinking fountains and running water, I quickly became dehydrated.  My solution?  Buy two Nalgene bottles, fill them in the morning at home and drag them with me every day.

But then the whole BPA thing came about.  I’m pretty sure these are old enough to be BPA bottles, but I can’t tell because the symbol on the bottom has rubbed off.  So I finally got a new fancy glass water bottle and am retiring this one.  Matt has just adopted it for rolling out his foot.  The second water bottle I still use at school. I’ll look to replacing that one soon.

*Why are US residents so incredibly ignorant of their own country’s history?  Because a lot of people hated history in high school.  Every time I encounter someone who professes such hatred I ask them if their history teacher was a coach.  There is always an amazed pause and they say, “How did you know that?”  I know that because a lot of high schools fill their social studies positions with coaches.  In fact, sometimes they advertise them this way.  I couldn’t apply for a Social Studies position in the David Douglas school district because I could not also coach boys’ JV basketball.  Hiring this way ensures all the coaching positions are filled, but are the best Social Studies teachers being hired?  I think we have evidence that in most cases they are not.

Requiem: Hairbrush.

This hairbrush was a present in either high school or early college.  My friend Sara had a brush like it and I loved how good it felt on my scalp.  Before this brush I had been using a tight-bristled brush with a blue handle that came from Avon.  Except for periods of short hair, I’ve used this brush daily for a very long time.

But it’s a bit worse for wear.  In college, I tried to use it as a hammer and discovered that wood, when pounded on a steel dowel, yields to the steel dowel and you get splinters.  The side you can’t see has been ragged for 16 years now.  It’s also losing bristles slowly but surely.  They fly off at random moments during the morning brush and Sentinel goes after them followed quickly by me, so he can’t attempt to swallow them.

Getting rid of things like this is very hard for me to do.  Despite its ragged appearance and decades of hair oil buildup on the bristles, this brush still works, so I feel like I’m casting away a slightly crippled child.  On top of that, I can’t donate it, because who wants a broken, crusty brush?  After I took this picture, I left the brush on the table for a good week or so, before taking it to the trash bin, thanking it for its service and tossing it in.  I feel guilty every time I drop another bag of garbage on it.