August 31, 2005

Beer City
Got a special entrance pass last night into a Portland area warehouse that is dubbed, 'Beer City'. Inside the walls of the warehouse, it really does look like a city - architecturally speaking. All the buildings are constructed of mammoth towers of beer and soda, the city's temperature is consistently frigid, and all the cars have fork-lifts on them. The warehouse is a cold-storage holding facility for beverages before they get shipped to the Fred Meyers and Plaid Pantrys around town. Naturally, seeing hundreds of stacks of beer made us terribly thirsty. We drank deep from those new Budweisers in fancy aluminum bottles. One of the great things about my new city is the fact that beer and wine is available at any local supermarket just about whenever I need it.

When the Levee Breaks - Mama, You Got To Move
Well, like the rest of the world, I've been sucked into round-the-clock Katrina Aftermath coverage. The toxic gumbo that has become the streets of Nawlins gives me a heavy heart. I'm glad I was there to see it before it completely went off the grid. The big question remains: Can a city built on Funk, withstand that much Funk? My guess is yes. Order will be restored and Eddie Bo, the Rebirth Brass Band, Tips, and all the other Funkateers that make NOLA a special town will be back to rock the spot again. Consider a donation.

August 28, 2005

Dahlia Festival
Armed with our new Oregon drivers licenses (see yesterday's post), the misses and I hit the road with friends for our first official outside of Portland excursion. Canby Oregon was the spot for the annual Swan Island Dahlia Festival. If you like dahlias, then this is your Holy Mecca. Fields of dahlias stretch out as far as the eye can see, covering the terra in columns of color. The varieties are endless. Each one has been painstakingly named, like a prize race horse, to assist you when ordering your bulbs. We ordered Pooh, Tiki Torch, Gitts Respect, and some Gladiators. We passed on the Dot-Coms, Mrs, Blacks, and Bee Happys.

Last night, we met friends and had drinks at the Kennedy School, which has to be, hands down, the best concept for a bar/restaurant/hotel/theater ever. Essentially it was an abandoned historic elementary school before the McMenamins renovated into an amazing lodging and social community. The attention to detail is astonishing and the many relics that they kept from when it was still an operational school makes it seem like you're drinking on the set of the Dead Poets Society.

Today, it being the Sabbath and all, I've decided to take a break from the plumbing projects and other not-so-fun household chores and put all my attention and efforts into setting up the wireless home stereo system. I've already got Airtunes running wirelessly into the Great Room and with any luck I'll have the speakers set up and rocking the Sabbath by sundown.

August 27, 2005

Suffering the DMV
Back in 1998, when I first arrived back in Minnesota from a long stint of adventures in Guatemala and Mexico, I initially crashed at my parents house for a few months before I found an apartment and a job. During that time, I got a Minnesota drivers license. Over the following years I moved around the Twin Cities four times, held different jobs and got married. But I was lazy with my license and never bothered to get new ones that reflected my current address. When we landed in Portland two weeks ago, my drivers license still showed that, contrary to all my migrations and life changing events, I was a 32-year-old male still living with my parents.

My apologies to my parents. It's time I break the last bureaucratic string that binds me to the safety of your home (mom, stop crying, it's not that big a deal).

So, yesterday the misses and I found ourselves at the DMV, flush with files of documents and proofs, anxious to get ourselves street legal and to hold in our hands a small piece of plastic that solidified our geographic evolution. One of the cool things about Oregon is that you get your drivers license on the same day you apply for it. In Minnesota, you have to wait months before receiving your license in the mail. You're actually surprised when it finally does show up because you've had a good long time to forget the horrible memory of the day you visited the DMV.

The only problem here in Oregon is that you actually have to retake the written test if your old license is from out-of-state. "Fuck that", I thought, "No problem". Wrong! We both took the practice test online and scored something like 15%. We were shocked as we realized that for the first time in at least a decade we were going to have to STUDY FOR A TEST! Having to study for any test after you're 25-years-old is just humiliating and wrong. But we sucked it up and spent a good hour yesterday morning reading the Oregon Drivers Manual and quizzing eachother on DUI fines and left-hand turn scenarios. Large bets were placed on who would get the higher score. I believe mine involved marital permissions to do naughty things with Demi Moore.

Confident in our ability to discern the difference between a 'School Zone' sign and a 'School Crossing' sign we headed out to the DMV. I've heard a lot of horror stories about bad DMV experiences but until yesterday I have never really been privileged with a truly bad story of my own. Yesterday, it was total chaos and Kafka hell. It was so packed with humans, we could barely get in the door. No less than 10 screaming kids were going off at any one time. It's true, the DMV is the great socioeconomic equalizer. The misses said that Hollywood celebrities get to make special appointments at the DMV. I thought we might be able to work that angle. Just days ago she bought a new pair of sunglasses, the ones with giant frames that make her look like the cool Olsen twin (her words, not mine). I thought perhaps we could front some kind of celebrity status. I reminded her of the time we were at a Chipotle and the kid behind the counter told her she looked like Nicole Kidman. "Come on, we can do this, honey!!". No dice.

We sat for an hour next to this Russian kid and his mom. The kid was trying to fill out some forms that were clearly alien to him. But he was in good spirits about the whole thing. Unfortunately his mom was the wicked witch of Chernogolovka and berated him with harsh ugly Russian words every time he tried to make the DMV experience more human with a little comedy. So he just gave up and sulked, practicing his English signature over and over again on small white napkins he pulled from his pocket.

Finally our number was called. We got our paperwork in order with the DMV guy and then held our collective breath as we were led into the testing room. If you've never taken a test with your significant other in a small room where other people are taking the same test, well then you haven't really got very far in life, have you? Ha. Within the first 10 seconds I heard the misses make a very audible grunting noise from her booth. She got the first question wrong! But I was too concerned with the guy next to me to worry about the wife's misfortunes. This guy was leaned back all the way in his chair and was just staring at my screen. His cheating gaze and the screaming kids were enough to throw me off my game. I felt like I was in fourth grade. I wanted to raise my hand real high and say, "Excuse me - Mr. DMV guy, yeah, this guy here is cheating and looking over my shoulder. Make him stop." But no. I acted like an adult and gave him a hard stare and then shifted my body to block my screen. When all was said and done, not only did we both pass the test but we both scored the same 90%! No bragging rights were awarded. But our end-zone dance and high-five display drew scary looks from the huddled masses still dying in their chairs.

Happy with our new drivers licenses and relieved to leave the purgatory hell that is the underfunded Oregon DMV, we marched on to the Library to show our new identities and establish ourselves as friends of literature. Two new sweet pieces of plastic for the wallet in one day. Our lives are most exciting.

August 25, 2005

86 Inches of Chocolate Love
Big day here at the Skelton Ranch. Our new couch arrives in just a few hours. We didn't think the couch purchase would come so quick but we got a great deal. Also the great room was looking seriously barren and the cats were becoming annoyed from lack of cushy seating. The couch is a chocolate brown microfiber, which we've been told is good for pets and great for the dexterity challenged - more red wine ends up on our floors and furniture then in our stomaches. Also the couch is a full 86 inches long which means that after a hard days work I can stretch out fully on that chocolate brown piece of love.

After many DIY projects around the ranch, we've decided to bring in our first expert. A lightening consultant will be over next week to help us learn a thing or two about good lighting. Hopefully this will be a comprehensive improvement over knee-jerk impulse buys of funky lamps on ebay.

Oh shit, the couch just arrived! Woot! Ok. I'll take a picture and throw it up in this post. Done. As you can see, the cats are all over it.

In other non-ranch news...the SkeltonFest BBQ was last weekend. Hilariously good time. Thanks to everyone who came out. SkeltonFest snaps on Flickr.

Also, what's the deal with all the sweet reunion shows? Gorilla Biscuits, Lifetime, The Promise Ring - everybody's getting in on the reunion vibe. You can watch the GB reunion at CBGB's here.

August 20, 2005

Jackleg Plumbers
The fun never stops. The first week at the Skelton Ranch has been consumed with the proper flow of liquids. Playing internet has been replaced with playing with PVC pipes. And it's a damn poor substitute. I feel a million miles away from all the important goings on in the digital world. The misses told me I missed some stunning pictures of a naked Demi Moore sporting an impossibly overgrown bush. Goddamnit! I need to be spending less time with pipe wrenches and paying more attention to not-safe-for-work images of Demi's pubic farm. Homeownership is throwing all my priorities out of whack.

Too bad you can't click your way through or photoshop your way to a non-leaking kitchen sink. No, you must get down and dirty with some plumbers putty to make things right again.

I got up to speed on my own plumbing problems while helping the Good Doctor completely replace his kitchen sink earlier in the week. I then called in what little markers I had and pulled in his services yesterday to tackle my own drips and bad seals. The Good Doctor's single greatest contribution to any project is his poetic and colorful use of the darker parts of the english language. Having the words "Fuck Shelf" punctuate the violet throwing of PVC pipes makes any project way more fun. The laughter almost makes you forget that you've been on your back for two hours and your hair has been sitting in a years worth of garbage disposal jelly and there's naked pictures on Demi Moore somewhere on the internet that you haven't seen.

Best purchase for the Ranch so far comes from Simplehuman.

August 17, 2005

Emergency Toilet Installation
The fun has already begun here on the Skelton Ranch! Not five minutes after we finished moving our stuff from the moving trailer into the house we discovered that our upstairs bathroom toilet had for some time been leaking nasty poo and pee jelly into the walls and ceiling of our downstairs bathroom.

Luckily, the misses was so repulsed by the wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom that she had already begun tearing it down. Thank god she made that executive decision. Had I lobbied harder to keep the wallpaper, we might have never known what dirty terrible secrets were hiding under those walls.

Even before this problem surfaced, I was already over the upstairs toilet. It was a low boy and sat at least six inches shorter than anything I'm accustomed to. It felt like I was squatting in a Guatemalan rain-forest every time I went to take a crap. It was also a serious low flusher - totally useless against my bowel armies.

A new emergency toilet installation was called for. Lucky for us, Joe Hockett, who knows a thing or two about installing a good crapper, took the reins. The offending toilet, with its second rate plumbing, was ceremoniously put out in the front yard and then blasted with buck shot from a Remington 870 (the neighbors love us already). A few hours later and after three trips to the Home Depot and another couple side trips to the hardware store, a tower of a toilet (with extended cab) called the Cimarron was flushing at full power. Oh Cimarron, what good times we will have in the future.

Next up: cleaning up the poo jelly and learning to put up some dry wall. Who's with me? Home ownership is AWESOME!

August 15, 2005

Homecoming
We have arrived safe and sound to P-town. Two extra long days in the car that covered an insane amount of flat land. Montana is just an endlessly long state. All our stuff arrives in just a few short hours so I don't have much time to give the full update. For now, here are a few photos from the road. We didn't really get out of the car much so most of the photos were taken whilst in route. Sturgis was in full effect.

August 08, 2005

Sweaty, Rashy & Grumpy
I drank the gallon equivalent of Lake Nokomis in bottled water this weekend. The house is basically empty except for the dozens of empty Aquafina bottles that lie discarded like gun shells all over the wood floors and front yard. I'm happy to report that everything is packed securely in the trailer and we had no problem coming under our ten foot limit. In fact, with a little more gumption and steely determination I dare say we could have done it in nine. It's a liberating thing to know that all of your stuff can fit into the size of a space that's basically no larger then one county courthouse jail cell.

The good folks at upack will be back to pick up the trailer today. With any luck and few prayers to the patron saint of moving (is that Alexius or Sebastian of Aparicio - I forget) all our stuff will arrive safely in Portland in five to six business days.

Preparations are now being made for our departure, Wednesday morning. Anybody got any good audio book recommendations? Podcast recommendations?

August 05, 2005

The Return of the Minimalist
Awwe Yeah. The total and complete breakdown of my office gives new meaning to the word simplification. For the next few days my set up will have all the professional trimmings of a poorly attended outdoor picnic. The legs on this table are so wobbly, that as I type, the whole computer shakes as if rocked by a gentle earthquake. It's so modern I could cry.

Today's a big day. The moving trailer shows up later today. In a few moments I'll be running down to the hardware store to pick up some police-style caution tape. I have to cordon off 28 feet of avenue to reserve room for the trailer.

Last night I bid farewell to Tracy's Saloon and Pizza Luce. So sad. Today is the misses' last day of work at Catalyst Studios. They've been very good to her.

Go enjoy my friend Jodi's home style cooking at Moose & Sadies. She'll be the cute one with the bandanna on her head, making magic in the kitchen. They got a glowing review in the Strib. Also from the Strib: make your own Daisy Dukes.

August 03, 2005

White Chocolate
Gangster Lit! You might presume from the title that this post is going to be about sweet delectables. Ha. You couldn't be more wrong. It's about books fool. Last night the misses and I went to the area Barnes and Noble to pick up a few books for the road trip out West. Unfortunately, the giant book seller carried neither of the two books that I was looking for. My tastes seem to lie just outside the margins of what's on the B&N bookshelves. Lately, whenever I inquire about a book at B&N I am told, "Yes, that is an actual book title, however we don't have it in right now. Would you like us to order it?". I appreciate that they always acknowledge that the title I'm seeking is actually a book in print but I am an impatient sort and can't wait around for them to order it. Hopefully, a trip to Micawbers Books will prove more fruitful.

The misses, seeing the disappointment on my face, started giving me random titles that I might find interesting. I shrugged them all off in a grumpy manner until she put a book in my hands called, "Sex in the Hood" by famed author - get this: White Chocolate!! Hell yes! Who could forget this superpower of American Literature? He (I presume the author is a he) is right up there with the greats: Hemingway, Miller, Steinbeck, and White Chocolate. It was a total work of willpower to not by this book. Turns out there is a whole sub-genre of lit that one might call gangster. Who knew?

Ok. I lied. Part of this post will actually be about food. Yesterday, I had an amazing breakfast at the newly reopened Moose & Sadies Cafe in downtown Minneapolis. They're not just slinging coffee and Wi-Fi anymore. They have a full breakfast and lunch menu. I had a heavenly plate of huevos rancheros. Try the homemade bread. Fucking yum.

This mornings breakfast didn't turn out so good. In fact it was horrible. I tried to go to the mexican restaurant by my house for a plate of tortillas and eggs, but they don't open until 8am. I was there at 7am and was deliriously hungry. So I had to walk next door to Perkins. The food wasn't that bad. Sadly, the meal was ruined when a large guy in the booth in front of me let out a huge earthquake belch and then, not two minutes later, the old guy sitting in the booth behind me let rip a terribly long whiny fart. The double combo effectively destroyed my appetite and imprinted a memory that will forever remind me not to make the mistake of eating at a Perkins again.

On a more positive note, the new Jim Jarmusch/Bill Murray movie, Broken Flowers looks like a home run.

August 01, 2005

Land of 10,000 To-Do's
With everything in the office now tightly packed up in cardboard containers, there is a haunting reverb that echoes throughout. Every tap of the keyboard and phone conversation bounces around the room like a superball.

Tried to see Ted Nugent Friday night but arrived at RibFest too late. Apparently, the Harriet Island sound ordinances demand that concerts be wrapped up by 10PM. Bummer. Instead we went to Mancinis Char House to chill with the classy toupee crowd and drink strong cocktails. I'm glad I got to that establishment before I left.

Yesterday there was a golf outing that was punctuated by a guy almost dying in my arms. Seriously, I've had two 911 calls in the last two weeks! It's getting weird around these parts. Yesterday's near miss came while I was trying to reserve a golf cart in the club house. This guy burst through the door, ran up to me with crazy blood shot eyes and said that someone had better call 911 because he had just been stung by a bee. I sat him down in a chair close by and he immediately began scratching every part of his body. It was like something straight out of a 70's horror movie. If I was in that movie, I probably would have slapped him and yelled, "Get a hold of yourself man!". But I didn't. He started to go into shock and at that point there were other people gathering around. I yelled at the guy behind the golf counter to make an announcement over the P.A. to see if anyone had an Epipen but he said there was no P.A. Damn. The guy, now lying on the floor, began to really swell up. His tongue was not fitting very nicely inside his mouth. I left him there with other folks and ran up and down the driving range line trying to see if anyone had an Epipen on them. No one did. Just as I got back to the club house the Paramedics were pulling up. I opened the door for them, thinking they would fly out the truck and come running in...but Nooooo. These guys were on like super leisure slow-mo mode. Honestly, it was as if they were trying to take as much time as possible.

That's the last I saw of the show as I was already 10 minutes late for my tee-time and I had to be off. When we got done with the round I asked the people in the club house what happened to the guy and they said he was fine as soon as the paramedics administered the right shot too him. They also said that the guy had said this had happened to him before. WTF? So the guy was aware he was allergic to bees and was golfing without an Epipen at the height of bee season? That's just really REALLY dumb.