Saturday, June 9, 2007
box cars are hanging in the yard/jealous lovin'll make you crazy
Because I just got a phone call accusing me of perhaps glossing over things a bit, maybe being a little heartless and possibly too happy-sounding about being up here, here is a list of things that I miss: crab rangoon from Yum Yum House, candied eggplant from Chef Jia's, the salade de maree and raspberry digestif that tastes like sweet paint thinner at Ti Couz, the part of the BART ride from SF to Oaktown where the train comes soaring up out of the bay tunnel and flies by the derricks (which, of course, remind me of Star Wars) and the box cars (which remind me of a Joni Mitchell song-- see title above), the park bench at Point Lobos, watching the sun set on the Great Highway with a face full of ocean spray and your feet on banks of springy flowered succulents, the various curves and Christmas lights of Lake Merritt, movies (both theaters and Netflix), my adorable and insightful roommate La Sirena and our shared worship of Sparklemotion's tiny face, dinners with my foodie friends, thrifting and watching the busy Thrift Town ladies battle shoplifters and bums, and-- St. Vitus, king of the silly dance, driver of car, bowler supreme, maker of teas, fount of obscure ethnobotanical wisdom, kisser of my apples. I miss you very much. So there.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
I'm writing this from the school, which is not the school anymore. Classrooms are all boxed up and ready to move into the new school at the end of summer. I've been wandering around the halls taking pictures. Somebody should, I feel. I would especially like to preserve for posterity the heinous student-drawn murals from the 1970's that terrified me so back in the day. I should put them all on flickr to avoid bogging down the blog, but here's a taste:
Please note the mermaid's Farah flip and hot little halter number. Let's not talk about the giant oyster.
I'm in the library at the moment, sitting on a couch in the middle of the room with the ghosts of all the books that were my best friends in adolescence. I have no idea what will happen to the school; it's for sale, but who would buy a block of boxy, weathered old building and a playground with a fault line running through it? Some sort of cult, I imagine.
I just did two consecutive country shows and am finally feeling functional on air. Getting great feedback from listeners-- surprising, because I'm just stabbing wildly in the dark at this beast called country. I get a fair amount of during-show calls, including one from a guy listening on a fishing boat outside of Glacier Bay, which is gratifying but makes queuing up songs and promos harder. Today I discovered Dale Watson, and there's really no turning back now. What a fine, handsome baritone on that man! And I found Roger Miller's "Dang Me" on vinyl and giggled for the duration. Fun.
Things have been busy here. Lots of hiking and walking-- we went up to Paul Swift's cabin at 13 mile with the Scowling Bagels (that is a shout out to you, Huar!) which is a short-ish vertical ascent over the Chilkat River covered in wild calypso orchids.
The cabin is the very definition of rustic.
And, although we were born at around the same time, in the same town, the cabin is much more Alaskan than I ever was or will ever be.
We raced back down to catch the brewery before it closed, and had a sampler of various stouts and ales leaning against the beautiful wooden railing of the brewery bar before retiring to the Scowling house for cold ginger chicken and lots and lots of Kettle chips, which is apparently the staple food of all Haines households these days.
On Sunday we drove out Lutak, which is the shortest of the three directions you can drive out of town, past the ferry terminal and along the Lutak Inlet to Chilkoot Lake.
There were still banks of snow out at the lake, which is unheard of in June, and the air had a still, potent bite to it. We listened to the Mamas and the Papas and all sang along very loudly. Dad is going to go fishing for trout in the lake soon, which he is now old enough to do without a license from the city! Congratulations, Dwight.
On the way back we saw a juvenile eagle feasting on a dead moose carcass on the beach. I took pictures.
Similarly grotesque, here's one last school mural shot. This one is from the library; I used to stare in fascination at it all afternoon. You might think her massive, log-like legs were a trick of camera perspective but I am telling you: they are just as hulking and out of proportion in the powder blue flesh. I've always considered her an affront to people, to paint and to libraries. Yet-- I want to have her always, so I had to take this picture.
Please note the mermaid's Farah flip and hot little halter number. Let's not talk about the giant oyster.
I'm in the library at the moment, sitting on a couch in the middle of the room with the ghosts of all the books that were my best friends in adolescence. I have no idea what will happen to the school; it's for sale, but who would buy a block of boxy, weathered old building and a playground with a fault line running through it? Some sort of cult, I imagine.
I just did two consecutive country shows and am finally feeling functional on air. Getting great feedback from listeners-- surprising, because I'm just stabbing wildly in the dark at this beast called country. I get a fair amount of during-show calls, including one from a guy listening on a fishing boat outside of Glacier Bay, which is gratifying but makes queuing up songs and promos harder. Today I discovered Dale Watson, and there's really no turning back now. What a fine, handsome baritone on that man! And I found Roger Miller's "Dang Me" on vinyl and giggled for the duration. Fun.
Things have been busy here. Lots of hiking and walking-- we went up to Paul Swift's cabin at 13 mile with the Scowling Bagels (that is a shout out to you, Huar!) which is a short-ish vertical ascent over the Chilkat River covered in wild calypso orchids.
The cabin is the very definition of rustic.
And, although we were born at around the same time, in the same town, the cabin is much more Alaskan than I ever was or will ever be.
We raced back down to catch the brewery before it closed, and had a sampler of various stouts and ales leaning against the beautiful wooden railing of the brewery bar before retiring to the Scowling house for cold ginger chicken and lots and lots of Kettle chips, which is apparently the staple food of all Haines households these days.
On Sunday we drove out Lutak, which is the shortest of the three directions you can drive out of town, past the ferry terminal and along the Lutak Inlet to Chilkoot Lake.
There were still banks of snow out at the lake, which is unheard of in June, and the air had a still, potent bite to it. We listened to the Mamas and the Papas and all sang along very loudly. Dad is going to go fishing for trout in the lake soon, which he is now old enough to do without a license from the city! Congratulations, Dwight.
On the way back we saw a juvenile eagle feasting on a dead moose carcass on the beach. I took pictures.
Similarly grotesque, here's one last school mural shot. This one is from the library; I used to stare in fascination at it all afternoon. You might think her massive, log-like legs were a trick of camera perspective but I am telling you: they are just as hulking and out of proportion in the powder blue flesh. I've always considered her an affront to people, to paint and to libraries. Yet-- I want to have her always, so I had to take this picture.
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