The Daily 750

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .
Getting in Touch With My Inner Gambler

Friday, December 16, 2005

One of the first things I remember Josh writing about himself is that he was known locally as "the DA DJ" because he had a Thursday jazz program on our local community radio station, and it was pure serendipity, like everything associated with our meeting and our rockin' good lives separately and together ever since, that I was able to enroll in the on-air training session that began 10 days afer I moved to the Upper Left Edge. Giving me a decent sized patch of dirt and a radio station to play in has been like giving sniffing salts to the swooned. Oh! Hello! I'm awake now! Yes, yes, YES!

A few weeks ago I volunteered to be the webmaster for the station and wouldn't ya know it, they said yes. They'd contracted with Public Interactive for a full-on web-streaming, podcasting, news, arts, events, searchable playlists wowzer website to debut January 1st, and hadn't made much progress. Should I tell you about the FOUR ENTIRE DAYS I spent, first in design software and then moving semi-colons and <>'s around the PI modules, trying to create one arty mouse-over button? And that the day afer I figured it out I decided I didn't want to use it?

But it was a breakthrough discovery: the PI modules are JUST FINE and offer all the flexibility we need to differentiate ourselves from the pack. I'd been in a wrestling match with myself.

That was Tuesday and since then I've been in the groove. Click click, design, upload, click click click click, search, save, design, upload, click click click click click. Web design combines all the blissful tedium of stamping envelopes with the logic of solving mathematical equations to produce a sort of art. It's painting by numbers.

And except for the booze, the garish carpet, the flashing lights, the oversized chandeliers and the incessant noise, it's just like sitting at a Vegas slot machine for hours and hours, staring at the screen, clicking and clicking, hoping this time you'll like the result, getting up two hours after your arm has gone numb and your eyes have gone all googly, moaning about the ache in your back and the hole in your wallet -- and anxious to get right back to it as soon as you can.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

The Queen of the VFW says she never, ever served me an uncooked livermush sandwich. That she has always sliced the livermush thinly and fried it very well done, and served it on white bread with French's mustard. That my father preferred it that way too and would have said, "What the hell is this?" and made a terrible face that would have infuriated her and giggled us girls if it had been served thick and cold. When I said Mama Richie, the woman who kept me and two or three other children after school and during the summer when I was in the second and third grades, served thick, cold livermush sandwiches with mayonnaise for lunch and snacks and such several times a week, the Queen of the VFW said, "Hmm." Her days of listening to me complain about my childhood are so over.

Scott Reuter over at Burning Corn has been very busy, with many new posts over the last couple days. His pro-LNG slogan contest is still on, so get your entries in.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .
Cartoon weather

Freezing fog. The cat left a cutout in the air from the backdoor to his patrol spot under the contorted filbert. All the schools are starting at least two hours late -- except the catholic school, where the kids and the teachers are already on page three of the day's chapter. Guess which school provides the best education in Clatsopia.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .
How do I spell relief?

Monday, December 12, 2005

A couple weeks before Thanksgiving, for no reason at all, I lost my taste for animal products of all sorts, except for milk, eggs and fish. I didn't see the banned PETA commercial and think America should pardon the turkey. I didn't stop cooking meat for Josh or start curling my lip in disgust when he orders his usual steak-n-eggs at Steve & Edie's. Apparently the beef-poultry-pork taste buds share space with the alcohol buds because they turned off too and, Thanksgiving dinner excepted (when I shared a bottle of champagne with two friends), I've had a only couple glasses of Lake Country Red, just to be sociable with my mom one evening in North Carolina.

And then there was last night. I couldn't say No to the latest in Uriah's series of Special Wine Dinners at the Columbian. Everyday fare there is the best in Clatsopia. Last night, a five course feast: Antipasto of olives, meats, home-marinated mushrooms and three flavor-full cheeses -- one with a black line delineating the morning milking from the evening milking. Salad of local greens, organic wild rice, currants, Satsuma oranges, and three slices of chicken smoked in the pizza oven. A heavenly cabbage and onion soup served french onion style. My gut rebelled and I spent most of the homemade mango sorbet intermezzo studying the floor in the panther-patterned ladies' room. Main course: three medium-thin cool slices of rolled pork loin stuffed with cornbread, currants and other delights, served with a poached pear, drizzled with a spicy au jus of jalapeno and something or other. Dessert: manchego cheese dipped in dark semi-sweet chocolate and rolled in nuts and heaven, served with a slice or two of some sort of qunce jel. Five wines, beginning with a primativo (a Zinfandel grape), ending with an amarello (?) and followed by a port.

Followed by half a bottle of Pepto Bismol and, so far, 12 Ibuprofen.

Don't cry for me, I loved almost every minute of it and highly recommend giving the gift of a memorable champagne meal for Valentine's Day, the next scheduled dinner.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .
LNG: The Money Followed

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Nothing like a lovely night on the town for greeting old friends, solving mysteries, and gathering the odd bit of information.

To wit: In a blessedly short conversation about Calpine held in the cozy den of a hilltop home, I was told that #10 Sixth Street holds the contract to provide housing to the workers who would build the LNG facility. Ah hah! Also that neither the port nor the City of Warrenton believes the LNG facility will ever be built because Bradwood looks like a cinch and Calpine is belly up. However, the rezoning is important and will go through because what they really want is another, safer, marine facility that would take advantage of the 38 feet of water directly off the Skipanon Peninsula.

Other topics of interest: the joys of a radio in the bathroom; the high entertainment value offered by nightclub drag queens; the need for a California-style car wash facility in Clatsop County; the great gift bags at AVA Gallery; the return of Darren Orange from Santa Fe; and how sitting on the floor for years while you collect pieces is better than decorating your house all at once from Rooms To Go or even by Dudley Designer.