December 2004 Archives

When Kevin and I went to Ole Ole last night, there was a big paper bag full of sushi on the sidewalk next to the bike rack. At first I'd thought that it was somebody's groceries that had been mysteriously abandoned, but then I realized the whole thing was sushi.

While we were waiting to cross West Burnside to go to Powell's, standing on the traffic island with the giant testicle sculpture (the one that you have to be tall to fondle), there was this noise. This squealy creaky noise. I looked for the source and found it in a street sign that was loose and swinging back and forth, but hardly at all, just enough to make the noise. It wasn't very loud.

The affection shown for Lovely Hula Hands in the comments to my last entry prompted this addendum.

I went to the restaurant expecting the idealist hippie business attitude that neglects customer service because it assumes that people will be satisfied just to know that their meal was organically grown on a local farm and cooked on a biodiesel stove, and shuns profit-mindedness because it's offensively capitalistic. (For an example of an excellently intentioned but terribly run experiment in sustainable food service, visit the Food For Thought Cafe at PSU. I feel kind of bad saying that; it's really good that it's there and a friend of mine works there baking vegan cookies that are quite good, but the flaky service and moralizing atmosphere make me want to strangle people.) I was surprised and impressed to find, in Lovely Hula Hands, a restaurant that uses organic/sustainable ingredients while also offering a really pleasant dining experience, and whose staff appreciates the importance of running a good business. Little details like good lighting and a curtain between the dining room and waiting area - not to mention the whole free dessert thing - show respect and consideration for the customer, and is the stuff that, for finicky people like me, makes or breaks a dining experience. That the beef was naturally raised and attended montessori school is just icing on the cake.

I love sweets. They're so bad for you, and I don't care, because they taste so good. Candy. Cake. Brandy Alexanders. I love them all. Sweet is one of the tastiest tastes and most enjoyable feelings of everything in the world. It makes me happy just to think about sweet things. For instance, I very rarely eat birthday or wedding cake, with buttercream roses, custard filling, and names penned lovingly in tubular icing script, but I think about it quite often. I love going to the bakery section of the supermarket and gazing at the exquisitely turned out confections with their fancy dresses of powdered sugar, plump fruit and velvety ganache.

Sometimes the sweets find their way across my tongue. Most recently, they punctuated the beginning and end of an excellent dinner at Lovely Hula Hands on Mississippi, held in honor of Justin's departure to the East the following Monday. We began with cocktails. I managed to bat my eyelashes enough to convince Kevin, who normally hates sweets, to split a "bfk hot chocolate." The bfk stands for baileys, frangelico, and kalhua. Yeah. There was also whipped cream. After the meal, which was unusual, varied, and well-executed, we had a frangelico creme brulee topped with hazelnuts, and we had a molten cake, which seems to be all the rage these days. Here it involved a plain, warm chocolate cake with a gooey liquid center, topped with a tangy raspberry sauce and surrounded by a pool of some sort of cream. Originally everyone had supposedly not wanted dessert, but then when we found out we were getting a free one (long, dumb story), Justin threw caution to the wind and ordered the other dessert to go with it, and we destroyed them like predatory animals.

I could go on, but I have to get ready for work. The only sweets there are cheap chocolates that we're only supposed to eat as "rewards" when we open credit card accounts, which seems degrading, but it doesn't matter because people just eat them all the time anyway. The sweetest part, though, is that today is my last day.

I just saw that movie Ridicule about how funny everyone was in the court of Louis XVI before the French Revolution. I am sometimes envious of sharp-as-nails circles such as that one or the Algonquin round table, and the good fortune their participants had to be surrounded by people who were simultaneously smart and hilarious. Then again, it probably became stressful after awhile to try to keep up, and besides, look what else they got - guillotines and the world wars. At least they enjoyed what they had while it lasted.

Top Ten Cool Things About Berkeley
1. My mom
2. Chester's
3. You can run in booty shorts in December
4. Lots of fire trails to get lost on
5. Rent control
6. Lots of good used book stores
7. UC Berkeley campus
8. Ethnic groceries on San Pablo Ave.
9. Durant Food Court
10. Fourth Street yuppie deli

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I went on an epic run/hike in the Berkeley hills today. I had this great mix CD that featured Tupac's California Love, which came on right as I got to the top of the hill and the entire state seemed to spread out below me. Then I got hella lost, but OpIvy and Rancid kept me going until I glimpsed civilization in the form of the Cal Bears stadium. OK, that's not really civilization. Everything amazing about growing up here and my life now seemed to collide in one glorious moment. I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

Hey you guys. I got a job as a copy editor. I'm going to work for the Vanguard, the Portland State newspaper. Do you even realize what this means?

1. I get to correct people's grammar and get PAID.
2. I don't have to work at the mall anymore.
3. There is no dress code.
4. I get to work in the sub-basement. It's extra underground, which is neat.
5. I get to keep the same schedule every single week.
6. I will be slightly less screwed when I'm looking for a real job after I graduate.
7. My boss commutes by bike from Milwaukee.
8. I will officially be more conservative than somebody. (The university also has a more liberal paper, the Rearguard, and a more conservative one, the Portland Spectator.)
9. I am "getting involved" in campus life. Or whatever.
10. I have something non-disappointing to tell my grandparents.

Yeah. I'm really excited.

To all of the people in my apartment building who have wireless internet service: you are all so awesome. Thanks, dudes. The trance music and hacking cough reverberating down the air shaft, the dog pee in the courtyard, and the muffled late night TV sounds are but a small price to pay for a free high-speed connection. To my boyfriend who lent me his old Toshiba laptop: you are so awesome. I'm sure it will start working again soon. To all of the PSU students who refuse to use Macs: even though your ignorance confounds me, I really appreciate never having to stand in line for a computer. Thanks. Also, thanks to the PSU and Reed students who gave me their school computer lab passwords when I wasn't in school, and lastly, thanks to Rafi and Kraftwerk for writing cute songs about their warm affection for their computers. It just makes me all tingly inside. I don't know if anyone remembers Rafi, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately. He was one of my favorite singers when I was in second grade, with hits such as "The Supermarket Shuffle" and "Baby Beluga." There is a verse in one of his songs about loving his computer and feeding it underneath the Banberry tree. Thanks, Rafi.