Turtle Calls

Turtlecalls.com, for all your turtle-calling needs. I would like the cheadlecall for my next birthday, please and thank you.

Time-lapse bibliography

I like to think that my books dance around on their shelves when I am not home. And my knickknacks. And my banana. Ok, I really only care about the books.

Sierra Nevada photos

For those who didn't mind my ecstatic post about the Sierra Nevada beer dinner that Vanessa and I went to at Bar Crudo, here's a link to the photos that a pro took of the meal. There are a number of me beaming, and all are lovely.

I've got your Halloween costume

Right here:

Hamburger dress. Why didn't I think of that? Oh wait, because I am not completely insane.

For everyday wear, I might prefer the donut necklace. But how sad would it make you every time you remembered they weren't real?

Beeeeer

This past Tuesday night was magical. MAGICAL. It was the Sierra Nevada beer dinner at Bar Crudo, which meant seafood and beer deliciousness at one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants. The dinner was so magical that this was the only photo I took.

That's one of Sierra Nevada's brewers explaining one of the beers. I was so enraptured that I forgot to take photographs, which is unprecedented. This was a Beer Week event, so the beers were carefully paired with each course. For those interested (i.e. no one), these were the beers we had:

• Glissade Pale Bock
• Kellerweis Wheat
• Liquid Sourdough Lager (a Beer Week special)
• 2x4, a quadrupel/dubbel mix
• Fritz and Ken's Ale, 30th Anniversary Imperial Stout

Anchor Steam is my go-to beer, so I loved that Sierra's imperial stout was named after Anchor's vaunted former owner Fritz Maytag. And the 2x4, which it sounded like they made off the cuff, knocked my socks off. It wasn't too sweet, it finished clean, but it packed a punch.

There was a table of Sierra Nevada brewers there, including the founder's son, and I exchanged business cards with the assistant brewmaster, who was excited at the possibility of doing a tasting and a talk at the Goog. For me, this was like Lady Gaga agreeing to perform at a 16th birthday party. It was just. too. much.

So I insinuated myself into the group that had been sitting next to Vanessa and I at dinner and followed them to a bar, glowing with a creepy energy that they gamely tolerated. I felt like crap the next day, but the elation stayed. Beervana.

No brass instruments!

A few weeks ago Mike talked me into watching Transformers 2. Then about five minutes in he remembered that he had seen it on one of our endless flights to and from India, and so we turned it off and watched The Kids Are All Right, which also sucked. But enjoy that juxtaposition, anyway.

In the opening scene of Transformers, I saw something that seemed odd. We rewinded, paused, and lo and behold:

That's a bugle, I think. Are the transformers entering a no-bugling zone? No toots allowed here, and no taps or reveilles either!

That's how you know shit's about to get real.

C is for Cookie

This past weekend we headed up to Napa for some camping and a biking tour of wineries. Aside from the fact that we got dirty looks at a few tasting rooms for being sweaty and speckled with chain grease, it was lovely. Oh, and some of the limos tried to run us off the road. But it was sunny, and the wine was delicious, and it was nice to be out on my bike.

The last winery we went to on Saturday, Casa Nuestra, was absolutely delightful. It was started by a hippie from San Francisco in the 70s, and it featured tasty wines, picnic tables in the sun, no pretention, and two goats who liked to say hi. They even had a table with craft supplies so you could make your own valentines! The quality of the stickers they had was to die for - 10 year old me would have stuffed them in her pockets. I just made Mike a card that looked more like a threat than a declaration of love, due to my poor artistic skills.

We camped at Bothe-Napa Valley State Park and, while it was chilly, we gloried in our fire and the fact that it is possible to camp right through the winter in Norther California. We got yelled at by other campers for being up too late, which is always satisfying. The next morning we went to a historic mill, which sounded like a boring 6th grade field trip activity to me. However! I was charmed. The Bale Grist Mill was originally founded in the early 1800s by a colorful character who passed on and left his wife a money pit of a business. She modernized the place and got it ship-shape, though it fell into disrepair in the 20th century, when people, you know, stopped growing grain and bringing it to the mill to make their own flour. It's been spiffed back up and is now a functioning mill again. How kickass is that? We got to see it function, and learn the origin of all kinds of modern sayings.

For example:

1. "Keep your nose to the grindstone" came about because the miller would sniff the flour every once in a while to make sure the two millstones were rotating smoothly and not burning the grain.
2. "Cock-eyed" originally meant when the grindstones were properly aligned - the bottom stone had a spike in its center (the cock - and yes, I giggled) and the top stone had a little cup for the cock (giggle). When the two were fit together properly and the stones rotated in parallel, they were cock-eyed. So how the hell did cock-eyed wind up meaning the opposite? Our tour guide did not know.

And now I have told you way more than you wanted to know about mills and grindstones. But here's the best part: they were selling the grain they were milling, and I got to bring home bags of cornmeal, polenta, and whole wheat pastry flour. See?

And with that wheat flour I got to make this chocolate chip skillet cookie. See?

That stuff is my jam, man.

Radball

We need to bring Cycleball back! It is called Radball by the Germans, and for good reason. Not that I have the attention span to watch the entire 11-minute video. But of what I did watch, this is a glorious sport.

Pantone cookies

These make me weak in the knees. I want them now.

Happy VDay

Courtesy of Teppi and the NYT: Pick Your Cupid.

It will be hard for some of you

But please, stop drinking diet soda. Or cut down. Or just stop injecting it into your veins after lunch. Because seriously, that shit is gnarly in so many ways. I mean, barf to the skinny "sassy" can.

"In findings involving 2,564 people in the large, multi-ethnic Northern Manhattan Study [potential name for a band where everyone just plays the kazoo: Multi Ethnic Northern Manhattan Study]...scientists said people who drank diet soda every day had a 61 percent higher risk of vascular events than those who reported no soda drinking....By 'vascular events,' the study authors mean to say 'strokes.'"

I'm just going to throw this out there: I could come up with a much more upbeat definition for "vascular events".

What's causing these "vascular events"? It looks like the artificial sweetener aspartame. Because "Under Monsanto's ownership, aspartame conquered the diet soft-drink market."

Monsanto = generally up to no good, as you may well know. When you Google "Monsanto", this is the results list blurb that shows up: "If there were one word to explain what Monsanto is about, it would have to be farmers." (From their corporate site, if you hadn't guessed.)

Wikipedia's take (yes, I'm citing Wikipedia - eat me): "Monsanto's development and marketing of genetically engineered seed and bovine growth hormone, as well as its aggressive litigation, political lobbying practices, seed commercialization practices, and 'strong-arming' of the seed industry, have made the company controversial around the world...As a result of its business strategies and licensing agreements, Monsanto came under investigation by the U.S. Justice Department in 2009."

If you do a mashup of these two results, you get...very confused. My brain doesn't deal well with ambiguity, so I chose to put an MS Paint X over the Pepsi can above. You're welcome.

In the spirit of scientific discovery, has anyone run across any reliable studies on the benefit of Monsanto's GMOs vs. the harm they're doing? I have my own gut feelings, but would be interested in seeing data. Because right now it seems like you'd be better of drinking hippie draino (called Drain-bow, for those that don't live in the Bay Area) than a few gallons of diet soda.

I am obsessed with my cats

There, I said it. I know that's what happens when you're young and live in a city and don't have enough other hobbies, or whatever. But my cats are awesome. When you are in the bathroom in my house, a cat whines at the door. Let one in (yes, you can open the door while sitting on the toilet in my bathroom, did I mention I live in an apartment?) and it will circle your feet, observe what you are doing, and leave. The other will then come in and do the same. They will hiss when they pass each other in the doorway.

But sometimes they will get along, and you will catch them napping with each other in the bed that you left unmade out of laziness or a pathological fear of being an adult or because you are working from home dammit and you might need to crawl back in there, and you will feel like a real parent. Ok, maybe you wouldn't, but I feel like what I imagine a real parent feels when their kids get along. Like you have made a family. And yes, this family is made up of selfish fuzzballs who lick their own buttholes, but still, we are keeping those things alive, and I am impressed.

And sometimes my cats yawn, and cat yawns rule.

I do not need it

But I signed up for the Clymb anyway. Dudes, it's Gilt for outdoors stuff, and it is sweet. I scored this two-person sleeping bag as a present for Mike (and myself, right right) at 60% off.

Today I am eyeing a new bike helmet, and at some point some yoga pants are going to get bought - it's just going to happen. Even though I don't do yoga. Yoga pants are irresistible because they simultaneously speak of exercise and sloth. Tricksy.

I did, however, resent this all-too-accurate descriptor:

Cranial insults aside, since I usually know exactly what gear I need, and I do my research, I have a feeling that I won't go too overboard. So the Clymb and I will - aside from my resentment of its spelling - be very good friends.

Perfect Sunday

Before it gets too far behind me, I want to note that this past Sunday was a perfect day. It was warm - nay, hot even - and full of exciting events. En route to get crepes for breakfast, we ran into a number of neighbors and friends, all of whom we were delighted to see. We sat in the sun with them and chatted. We picked up veggies at the farmer's market for our Superbowl crudite platter, then headed to Land's End, one of the most beautiful places in the world, for a trail run.

The trail was shady and not as crowded as I had feared, and we made it up and down all the hills without puking. Here is me at the end. I look maybe a little pukey.

This picture is great because Mike's head is there, and you can't really see the bridge, and there are golfers in the frame, though they are sort of hidden in the shadows. Oh, and I am pretending to run. But take my word for it: the Land's End trail is wonderful.

Still sweaty-sweaty, we picked up frozen hors d'oeuvres at Trader Joe's and prepped for our Superbowl guests. Almost 20 people showed up, and thank god Big Dan saw fit to bring intimidating amounts of pulled pork and tortillas and slaw and potato salad, because my little snacks would not have done the trick. We also tap and float the keg of our specially-homebrewed Brecki Superbowl Pale Ale, which was pretty tasty, if it is ok for me to brag a little. Oh wait, I am already bragging a lot.

The best part: it was a damn good party. Sometimes parties take off, sometimes they don't, and as the host you can make yourself spazzoneurotic wondering why. This one just felt fun and lovely to me, and thinking about it still gives me the warm fuzzies.

Pursued by a bear

So there is a dude who paints famous thinkers - most of them literary theorists - being menaced by bears. I really can't get enough of it, and I am trying to decide which is my favorite.

Maybe about-to-be deconstructed Derrida?

Or dapper yet threatened Umberto Eco?

Or perhaps endangered Judith Butler.

Yup, that's the one.