kings and queens

Today's apple: Ginger Gold

A new variety from Virginia. I love "Great as a snack eaten out of hand". Hey, why not?

Another perfect, overcast day in Portland. Nipply mornings, warm afternoons. That doesn't mean I haven't already raided my cache of various body warmers (arm, leg), fingerless gloves, and hoodies (my current favorite was purchased in the Youth section of an Old Navy in Memphis six years ago). I also need some kind of weather-resistant burglar mask for winter bike nomadism. Along with those booties I mentioned.

Man, things were still at work today. Hushed. Where is everybody? Last week was a "landmark" week in money-speak. I could barely handle the torpedo of projects, phone calls, e-mails, and the occasional walk-ins. My guess is, most people who read this already know what I do for money, but...just in case, I work at a boutique print shop that triples (quadruples?) as a stationery/paper goods shop, record label (some would argue), and soon, a publication on typography and graphic culture. Owned and operated by the four-eyed overachievers you hated in high school. My boss (who, as Bethany pointed out, could be mistaken as a younger Ira Glass) is actually "pulling an overnighter" tonight.

A small faction of the olfactorily inclined have told me I smell like ink, which makes me feel both enchanted and melancholic, since it reminds me of the fact that I may never pursue that coveted degree in library science. Damnit. I wanted to smell like dust jackets and rare books, I wanted the pleated skirts and the secret garter belts and the corsets, the pumps and the pantyhose. I wanted eyeglasses with a fake prescription. I still want all of those things, an on-paper Masters in Library Science, preferably with a concentration in Archives and Book Preservation. And not just for the sex appeal, although that is a definite fringe benefit.

Wow, I'm feeling drunk and dislocated. And I've only had two-ish, (albeit strong, Oregon-grade) IPAs, thanks to our beer-thirty going-away pizza party for Vladimir (our production manager). I do love a nice IPA. However, me and drunk don't mix. Some crucial brain nodule broke inside me last year, and now I only feel the physical effects of drunkenness, without any of the mental niceties, like...oblivion, bliss, superhero strength. Now I just get sleepy, manic, or dizzy, depending on the time of day.

Anyway, randomonium. Yesterday we went to the Farmers Market at People's and bought a paper sack's worth of shitaki mushrooms, a huge head of broccoli, an heirloom tomato, an onion, and a handful of small potatoes (for only $7!) and made a huge stir-fry out of it, with tempeh and Goddess dressing, which I now drown everything in, thanks to that one night in the hotel with Derrick, where we sat watching Animal Planet and eating Goddess dressing'd tempeh on a bed of spinach and crumbled feta, and I was probably having a dissociative fit (that was around the time of the Big Chill - ask me about it), but the Goddess dressing at least assuaged.

Good night.