Cribbage scrimmage
February 7, 2011
Cribbage always makes me think of my Grandpa H. He was the one largely responsible for teaching me how to play when I was just a squirt. To this day, it’s the only card game that I would say I actually know how to play. Sure, we play poker at bowling (one card for a spare or strike, two cards for two strikes in a row), but I always have to consult a cheat sheet.
My grandparents would come from Wisconsin to visit us in Ohio for a couple of weeks each year (as we did them). My memory of my grandfather teaching me cribbage is that it happened on the back porch at our house, which would imply that it was warm enough to be outside, which would imply that it was not winter. But I also remember that our visits to them were in the summer as well. It seems a little strange that we wouldn’t have gotten together for holidays. Then again, with the cross-Midwest drive I guess it’s not actually mysterious that nobody planned the drive for Christmas and winter.
Anyway, my grandpa taught me how to play cribbage and he taught me well.
But not well enough to save one relationship I was in. “He” and I had played a bunch of games over the course of a couple weeks and I had lost all of them, and I finally snapped and called the relationship off. Of course things would have had to have been shakey to begin with at that point for something so trivial to become a mountain, and they were for a particular reason, but my twentieth cribbage loss in a row finally broke this camel’s back.
It’s true that whenever I get out the cribbage board I think of this guy just a little, but enough time has passed (you know, more than twenty-five years) that it’s not unpleasant. In fact, I just looked him up online and he’s still very attractive.
But I digress.
These days, it’s mostly when my mom lays a guilt trip on me during my parents’ visits that I play. She and my grandfather also played a lot, and she and I played a lot. Now, she usually has to pull teeth. I suppose it’s stubbornness on my part. When they’re here, it’s the one thing I can get away without doing right away or at all, because everything else she just pesters until I do it because I get fed up with the constant, um, mentioning. It’s a power struggle.
I enjoy playing, I just don’t want to have to feel like I have to. Evidently my cat feels differently.
I ate Robbin???s cousin for dinner
February 5, 2011
Today I shocked myself by doing something that I never in a million years thought I’d ever do.
Early in the day, Surly Brewing shared that the Ngon Vietnamese Bistro would be tapping a special edition cask of their Bender Ale that was made with vanilla bean. I thought that sounded like a delightful variation on a beer I like, and I’ve been reading good reviews of the restaurant for a long time.
I looked up Ngon’s menu and the word “rabbit” immediately jumped out at me, as in Crispy Rabbit Dumpling. My reflex was to huffily dismiss it as a place I’d never go on principle because they serve up fluffy bunny rabbits. But then I read the description: “Singer House Farms rabbit rolled in a crispy shell with herbs served with a sweet curry sauce & tomato basil confit.” To my horror and amazement I found myself thinking “that sounds really delicious!” I do like curry, after all.
All day long, I kept returning to the menu in fascination, spurred by the strong desire to go have some of that special Bender. Of course I could choose to eat something else, but Crispy Rabbit Dumpling continued to sound appealing.
As I thought about it, I thought why not? Maybe a dumpling would be the perfect way to satisfy my curiosity because it would be in a less recognizable form than, say, something that looked like my rabbit Robbin’s hind leg.
I went to Ngon (changing my previous notion about indulging in some Smack Shack lobster goodness for a Friday treat) and bravely ordered. The server asked me how it was and I gave her an honest answer—interesting, I’d never eaten rabbit before. Interesting in a good way? Well, I have a pet rabbit and this is just a little weird.
“Interesting” applied more to my conflicted emotions about the act of eating it, but in the end it went just fine. It tasted like it belongs in the dark poultry meat family. I’ve found that goat is kind of like that, too, though a little grainier. I have been getting more adventurous with my eating recently and if I am going to even loosely apply the term foodie to myself, I can’t be squeamish.
I was slightly disappointed with the Bender as I couldn’t taste any extra vanilla flavor in it.
I also had a small salad and Black Sesame Shrimp, both of which were tasty as well.
The lighting was very low, so these aren’t the best photos but you get the idea. I tried to throw a little more light on the plates with the table candle, and it wasn’t until I had been moving it around for a couple minutes that I realized it wasn’t even a real candle but a good fake that flickered and all.
You know I can???t dance
January 31, 2011
Here is a video of me demonstrating a dance move that I made up. I originally called it “The Washing Machine,” but then I decided “The Agitator” had a little more pop. Not only should you admire my funky break, but also please appreciate my Minnesota dead-of-winter indoor get-up of turtleneck and wool sweater, sweat pants and long underwear, socks and sheepskin slippers—figure-flattery at its finest! I do have a furnace that works, but I keep it set a few degrees lower to conserve. Besides, when I’m bustin’ a move I get hot real fast.
Leo Sayer – “Long Tall Glasses (I Can Dance)” – buy it here.
Getting my hard on
January 27, 2011
Yesterday we got to talking about what you’d like to experience if you were the opposite gender for a day.
Many answers were predictably about having sex in various ways. Saxchik’s list was comprised of many things I already do—”First, I’d open every jar in the pantry, then I’d kill some bugs, then I’d fix things around the house, then I’d take out the trash, then I’d build a fire, drink a beer and jerk off for the rest of the day.”
I don’t understand about opening every jar in the pantry and I don’t have a fireplace. But I do kill bugs (specifically the centipedes that come with an old, garden-level apartment) and fix things around the house (such as replacing my bathroom faucet and toilet handle and plunger, and installing a programable thermostat). Of course I take out the trash, and if you’ve been a reader for any length of time you’ll have figured out that I adore beer.
Jerking off was almost interesting, but it didn’t quite capture the essence I was seeking. Sure, it’s something that as a woman I can’t do (well, at least not like that), but it’s not something I’ve ever wondered about. It was a conversation later in the evening about beer that gave me my eureka moment.
If, as a woman, I were a man for a day, I think it would be fascinating to have an erection. It must be such an odd sensation.
I suppose you men as men don’t often think about what’s going on when it’s happening. I suppose that, just as I have to carry my breasts around all day every day and they hold no mystique for me, the physiology of your erections probably doesn’t usually warrant a second thought by you. When you had your first one way back when, do you remember if you contemplated it as some weird, new feeling in your body?
Oddly enough (or maybe not, any of you other gals?), I often dream at night that I have a penis. Sometimes it’s limp, sometimes it’s hard, seldom am I doing anything with it in the dream, and it almost always breaks off at some point causing me to feel very disappointed. It’s not that I secretly wish I were a man—at least I don’t think I do but maybe my subconscious knows something I don’t (where’s Sigmund Freud when you need him?). But I do have complex feelings about how men treat and objectify women and society’s general tolerance and reinforcement of such behavior and that, for as far as gender equality has come, the balance of power still tips in favor of men. So my dream penis is probably the manifestation of my desire to have the same kind of power that men have.
So, if you could be the opposite sex for a day, what would you most like to do and/or experience?
Hangin??? at the Cooper
January 27, 2011
Maybe you don’t know what to expect when you walk into a new place for the first time, but thanks to Bizzy, some of the element of surprise is taken away with its recommendation engine.
Bizzy already knew that I like Kieren’s Irish Pub, O’Donovan’s, and ADORE Brit’s Pub. So there was a good chance that I’d feel a kinship to the Cooper Pub & Restaurant which it recommended for me, and so I did. And that’s for two reasons, the second of which follows from the first.
I probably don’t need to admit it in public, but I am a bit of a beer nerd. The Cooper doesn’t have an extensive selection of beers but the ones they do have are good, and what’s more, they’ve managed to get branded glassware in the optimal shape that’s correct for enjoying each beer to the max. That thrills me! From a purely aesthetic perspective, I love drinking beer from a glass emblazoned with its own logo, and that these glasses are in various shapes designed to enhance your beer-drinking enjoyment of that particular variety (such as IPA or Pilsener or Stout) is a bonus. I appreciate that.
For those who need to know, the Cooper has Guinness Draught, Boddington’s, Newcastle, as well as local favorite Summit EPA, and several others on tap. They also stock at least five (yes, FIVE) varieties of Jameson Irish Whiskey. Turns out the Cooper is owned by Kieren, and Kieren is Jameson’s best customer in the US. Just like Minnesota is Bell’s best market for Two Hearted Ale, but I digress.
In addition to, and peripherally related to, the branded glassware is something I’ve notice from sitting at the bar. Every few barstools, there is a privacy divider. It’s lovely etched glass framed by darkly stained wood. And when you look at it more closely it’s—wait for it—IN THE SHAPE OF AN UPSIDE DOWN GUINNESS GLASS! None of the bartenders have been able to tell me if that’s intentional or not, and it doesn’t matter. I’m assuming it is!
Thus far, I’ve been there a little bit later in the evening. There is a happy hour menu and from that I can say that the mushroom and herb pizza, as well as the fish bites, are tasty options. But I’m mainly focused on beer.
The staff, in particular, bartender Casper on Monday nights, are eager to accommodate your needs. As British-style pubs in America go, this one is rather cavernous, but the service and selections make up for it, especially if you’ve never actually been to Great Britain.
Go to the Cooper! Or at least see where the Bizzy recommendation engine sends you. Chances are, it’ll work out as it did for me in Minneapolis!
Photo from The Cooper’s website.
The day in walk: Bridges 2: winter riverfront
January 17, 2011
Today I was supposed to pick someone and follow them for a while, reporting on where they went. Well, I followed Old Man River and he went south, to New Orleans.
I was going to take pictures of the river (the Mississippi River in downtown Minneapolis)—the river itself—but it didn’t take long at all for my focus to shift to the bridges. The river is present in a few of the shots, but once again the underneaths of the bridges are the stars. Maybe you remember when I did that last summer on a bike ride.
Ah, summer.
The difference between last summer’s bike ride and today’s walk is, oh, I don’t know, about 70°F/21°C. I didn’t look today, but it was about 15°F/-9°C, based on the forecast high. But being a hardy Minnesotan, I bundled up and went for a nice walk.
So.
1. Hennepin Avenue Bridge (historic). Underneath the bridge, behind where I stood to take my photo, are a couple of pylons from the original version of this bridge built in the mid-1800s. I think the current bridge is the third or fourth version. Oh. According to Wikipedia, this bridge was the first permanent one across the Mississippi River. How about that?
2. 3rd Avenue Bridge (secret passage). Just a bit east (the whole walk wasn’t even two miles), is a more modern-looking, but quite older bridge. This one was an odd duck because it has beautiful arches when viewed from a distance. But when you’re standing directly underneath it, all you see are two doorways like the one in this photo. It looked like it went through three parallel walls. Weird. I was sort of disappointed there wasn’t a drawbridge or something.
3. Mill Ruins Park. Okay, so it’s not a bridge, it’s the riverfront ruins of abandoned flour mills. There is running and dripping water everywhere. The icicle mass was cool. There also seemed to be a model photoshoot going on. The models were not modeling outerwear. Silly catalogs.
4. Stone Arch Bridge (arches). This is the bridge that might possibly have some notoriety outside the Twin Cities. It used to be a railway bridge. Now, it is for pedestrians and bicyclists. It’s stoney and archy and neat. It’s at the foot of the St. Anthony Lock & Dam, which I believe is the first lock and dam on the Mississippi. The first in sequence, I mean. I don’t know if it was the first constructed.
5. I-35W Bridge (strong). This is the sturdy replacement for the bridge that collapsed in 2007. From the side you see graceful arched spans, and from underneath you see these stout legs. I live in the neighborhood. I was outside puttering with my tomato plants when the old bridge collapsed. I heard the sirens and figured there was a big accident on I-94, which is also near my home. It’s still weird to interact with the new bridge.
6. 10th Avenue Bridge (industrial). It’s also weird to be underneath this bridge, just a couple blocks downstream from the 35W Bridge. This photo doesn’t show it, but this bridge looks old and tired from below. The roadbed on top is all spiffy, but it’s a little creepy to look at the chipping concrete when you know what happened to its neighbor three years ago.
Photos were taken with the assistance of my new friend, Instagram, and the Inkwell filter. (Except for the first one of me, that is. I did that in Photoshop.)
A smidge for your fridge
January 16, 2011
Today was one of those rare occasions when I made art for the sake of making art. You have my permission to print out this picture and hang it on your refrigerator, because that’s why I created it.
As you’ve learned from previous entries, woodcut is my preferred medium for art-making. But for work as a graphic designer, I used to have to illustrate simple stories and did so with photo and clip art, such as in the Billy Goat Can Float book. I didn’t usually have to draw stuff from scratch though, it was just a matter of combining elements. That’s fun, too.
Today, however, I created this original illustration in Adobe Illustrator and jazzed it up a bit in Photoshop. Guess what, it’s a rabbit.
Has anybody printed it out and hung it on their refrigerator? I have no idea. But I did. Yes, those are rabbit-shaped magnets holding it up, and there are many other rabbit things present on my fridge. I also have some bowling achievement magnets, a few Minnesota Twins baseball things, ephemera from my favorite radio station, The Current, and a few beer items. Oh, and my guest pass sticker from the day I visited my friend who works at Yahoo.
My new picture definitely brightens things up. I printed out an extra one for my mom. Well, it’s actually an extra that I thought I was printing with a border, but the rule only showed up on one edge. But I know she’ll like it. She hasn’t had refrigerator art from me since the mid-seventies.
Out of the poop loop
January 15, 2011
It’s a dirty job, and it doesn’t get done often enough. That’s right, folks, I’m talking about the price of living with your furred or feathered sweeties. And scaled, I suppose. I guess fish and snakes poop, too.
Everybody has their least favorite household chore. Mine is laundry. I hate doing laundry. It’s not even the washing and the drying. It’s the sorting and folding and putting away. Socks and underwear have gone whole seasons without getting back to their drawer, as I pluck them clean from the laundry basket on top of the dryer. There is a two-foot stack of clean, folded shirts on a chair which, for some reason, I simply can’t bear to take fifteen feet back to my dressers to put away. What the heck?
So scooping the litterboxes should be simple by comparison. Sure, ideally, it would happen more frequently than laundry—as in daily, when it would be a smaller, faster task—but for some reason I tend to put it off until it seems monumental, and then I put it off some more. And so on.
I give props to all four of my cats (the two current and the two previous) for being very forgiving and reliable, even when the boxes are a mess. My rabbit, Robbin, well, he gets himself to the litterbox corner but …
I know that out in the rest of the house, Robbin doesn’t like current cats CJ and Dasie very much, and I think this extends to sharing the litterbox with them. He didn’t seem to have any beef with my previous cats, Dhia and Yul. In fact, his reliable litterbox use (along with not being a chewer) is what earned him the free-range lifestyle. But then the cat individuals changed, and so did his toilet habits. But maybe it’s also a function of his increasing age (he’ll be eight next month). I know he’s still physically able to get into the box; he still frequently jumps up onto my couch and various chairs. All I’m left with is that he doesn’t like CJ and Dasie’s, um, smell.
Anyway, what I do know is that he is more likely to get into the litterbox if it is fresh, clean litter or if it’s not, if the box freshly scooped. So why the heck don’t I just scoop already?
Bibi (no longer with us), CJ, and Robbin, takin’ care of business.
Arteaga, Michoac??n, Mexico
January 13, 2011
For today’s fun, I got a randomly generated geographical coordinate and took a closer look in with Streetview. The pin dropped in west-central Mexico, in the state of Michoacán. The nearest settlement was the town of Arteaga, and the main drag did, in fact, have Streetview.
I was looking for an interesting building. Most people would probably look for something architecturally interesting, but in light of my developing food awakening, I decided to look for a place to eat. Google gets credit for taking their Streetview images in the warm season (not as important in Mexico as it is in Minnesota where I live). On the other hand, that means trees are in full leaf and often obscure things you want to look at. I’m sure there were several other eateries that I missed because they were behind beautiful flowering trees. The one that I did find was big and purple, Erika’s Restaurant y Mariscos.
Anything that you can make out on Erika’s menu looks delicious to me. For only having had Spanish classes when I was thirteen and fourteen, I am pleased with how much I remember (which isn’t really much, but enough to get the gist). Nevertheless, I had to look up mariscos. It means seafood. Arteaga is about an hour from the ocean. I bet the seafood is pretty good. I’d probably be up for that, too.
If I gone just one more notch further north, I would have come across the loncheria above, which is the kind of establishment I was really looking for, if you can call it an establishment—it looks pretty temporary, unless you consider that the wheels on the trailer have been removed, then it looks more permanent. But what I’ve learned from Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmern is that this is where you will find the best eats. ¡Quiero tortas!
I also noticed there were some hotels in town, so tourists like me would have somewhere to stay.
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 