Me in a nutshell

I am a Meyers-Briggs ENTP, apparently. Now I get to spend the rest of the day finding out what that means. My 15 coworkers are already arguing over which personality type is coolest.

She scares the bejeebers out of me.

Ok, so I have totally been enjoying the Palin bloodbath that is the New York Times' editorial section right now. She's dumb! She's impulsive! She's Bush 2.0! I have been eating that shit up.

But now I've got something even better: a beautifully-researched article that has quotes from her supporters that are damning.

"In Wasilla, a builder said he complained to Mayor Palin when the city attorney put a stop-work order on his housing project. She responded, he said, by engineering the attorney’s firing."

And this, from her campaign manager from her first mayoral race:

“'Sarah said she didn’t need to read that stuff,' Ms. Chase said. 'It was disturbing that someone would be willing to remove a book from the library and she didn’t even read it.'

'I’m still proud of Sarah,” she added, “but she scares the bejeebers out of me.'”

Sunday morning haul

From the farmer's market:

• a quart of organic apple cider
  
• a big bunch of pink peonies
  
• a strawberry-ollalieberry pie
  
• a pack of fresh cheddar-garlic breadsticks
  

From the sidewalk sale:

• two gorgeous metal tile picture frames, in blue and green

From Mojo:

• a large soy chai
  
• a medium nonfat mocha
  
• a toasted garlic bagel with butter
  
• a bowl of vanilla yogurt with granola and fresh berries
  
• the sense that even though you're doing work on a Sunday, at least you're in good company
  

Oh, God love ya, what am I talking about?

This article on Joe Biden's verbal gaffes is such a beautiful thing. I really hope he doesn't screw up too bad in the VP debate, but at least if he does, it'll be hilarious.

You can run your mouth off and still be a politician? Hm, maybe I should think about law school after all.

Only a little bit like a Julia Roberts movie.

As previously stated, Sunday night I took the red eye to New York. For my best friend's wedding. On a week's notice. From some stupid reason I wore heels, and so spent most of lunch assuring her extended family, who I have known since I was 9, that I have not actually had another growth spurt. 

The lunch was a really good mix of hey-we're-married! and Don't

 Worry it's Not Really Real Until the Big Party in April. It allowed me to have teary moments of both panic and joy, without one or the other making me into a total mess. Stef looked beautiful and happy. Here she is with her husband (!!!!):

I forgot my goddam camera, so I made do with my phone. Not ideal, but better than nothing, because I got some great moments, like when Nathan's dad read an unbelievably cheesy and sweet poem he had written. It was in rhyming couplets. I wish I could remember more of it, but it was along the lines of,

When you were a baby and looked up at me,

I wondered what you would grow up to be.

When you were a toddler and skinned your knee,

I wondered what you would grow up to be.

Etc, up to the present day. Ok I butchered it, but you get the idea - totally adorable. The reactions around the table were priceless.

Stef's dad gave a great speech too, and because it was 3 p.m. and I was 3 gin and tonics in, I thought that my official role as Oldest Friend should probably be acknowledged, but luckily no one paid attention to me and so I was not allowed to make an ass of myself.

As a side note, one of Stef's friends tried to convince me that all you need to do to be really skinny is eat cheese and meat. Are people really still doing that? Even if they do get skinny, don't they worry about how gross that is?

Still, when I met friends for tapas that night, I ate mostly meat and cheese. But that was mostly coincidental. Mostly.

Oooooooookay

It is time that I talked about the farm again, because it is a lovely place to be, and because I took pictures of vegetables that I am sure you cannot live without. Also, we saw Willie Nelson play at a vineyard on Friday, and I want to brag about that.

The drive out to Sonora is supposed to be only 2 1/2 hours, but that is if you don't take into account the hell that is the Dublin-Livermore-Stockton corridor. I don't know why there are so many people out there, and I don't know why they are always in their cars, but they need to stop being in my way because it makes me angry. Luckily I had a few "This American Life" episodes on my phone, so we listened to those and the time passed. Slowly.

By the time we got to the Sonora area the sun was setting, and because we were in the foothills, looking down on the hazy traffic hellhole from which we had come, the sunset was glorious. By the time we got to the vineyard to meet Katie and Larry it was night, and we parked in a big dusty field a la my hometown fireworks, for which we always parked in the St. Charles corn field. (There is a really good story associated with this fireworks parking lot, but it involves my mom laying the smack down on a mother for hitting her child, and is better told in person.)

So we saw Willie Nelson, and he was great. He played almost everything we wanted him to play, except no "Stay a Little Longer" for me, and no "Pancho and Lefty" for Mike. Our disappointment was hard to hold onto, though, because Katie told us

THAT SHE IS PREGNANT!!!!

She totally is, just over a month in. Larry thinks it is twins, and I will not even tell you why he thinks he knows that. Aside from talking about bebbes all weekend, we also worked the market, and watched a lot of football.

Obligatory farmer's market shots:

We also went out for a fabulous meal, and ate pizza, and played with Sampson, who is now a Big Boy. It was lovely and wholesome and relaxing, and I think Mike has dreams of dropping everything and moving out there. An idea which Larry and Katie would probably not support, as I am neither a particularly good farmer or babysitter. I sure am good at drinking beer and watching football, though.

A final photo. Please note Larry's hand on the soon-to-be baby bump. Well done, K & L!

I've said it before

And I'll say it again: I love Gail Collins. She sure makes me feel better.

Also, I agree with her about the moose.

Thank god I have an Irish passport too.

Just as a reminder that I do not have to stay in this country if I don't want to. And I may not want to, because I just cannot handle hearing about Sarah Palin anymore, seriously I am not kidding I may just barf all over their Franken-feminist, crazy-conservative, book-banning, secessionist, "abstinence-promoting", ANWAR-drilling nutjob of a candidate.

The rage, oh the rage. I can't read the NYT, I can't listen to NPR, and I sure as shootin' can't pay attention to anything more right wing - not that I would, anyway. 

Does anyone else just want to beat their chest and projectile vomit and go ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh all over this campaign cycle?

UPDATE: There are some good articles on Palin from Gloria Steinem in the LA Times and Eve Ensler in the Huffington Post.

Hihihi

Google News Archive launched newspaper scans today! I've been working on this project for a while, and I love it so very very much. Look at the articles! Look at the ads! Look at how you'll never ever need to use microfilm again (assuming you used it in the first place)! I feel like this needs to have a trumpets-and-parades-and-fireworks launch, but I guess I am a superfan. I am not the dorkiest person ever, right? This is amazing, right?

Also, the New York office has two slides now, but I am wearing a dress and so will refrain from exposing myself to my coworkers. Sad!

Jetlag

It is 8:30 a.m. Eastern time and I am in New York and tiiiiiired. My redeye went about as smoothly as those things can, aside from the kid sleeping next to me, who dug his elbows into my side pretty much the whole time. I have been in the office for more than an hour now, and the only reason I am still functioning is due to an everything bagel with avocado and the knowledge that I am leaving work at 2 for Stef's wedding luncheon.

Oh, also, all my clothes are wrinkled and I put on my makeup in the back of a cab. So if I see you today, and I look like the crumpled remnants of a business cocktail hour that went on way too long, I hope you will be kind.

Team Building Activities

Yesterday, instead of going to work, we went to Napa for a "team building" day. Read: getting drunk off of really nice wine. One winery gave us an intense tasting lesson (as in, we had to drink pure tannins before we were allowed to go near the wine), and another did a barrel tasting of some fancypants cabernets. Our guide at the first place was an oversharer, interspersing instruction on tannins, alcohol, sugar and acid with gems like, "Don't drink too much rose when you're camping or you'll wind up pregnant with twins like my daughter." Right-o.

The second place led us deep into their wine cave (do I sense a future euphemism?), to a set of white-clothed tables next to a big yellow Chihuly piece. It was beautiful, and totally unsuited to the crew that I was rolling with. The guy who walked us through the tastings was the embodiment of Bo from Friday Night Lights (Blue 42! Blue 42! I like candy! Candy candy candy! Hut hut hike!), but all grown up. He windmilled his arms while talking about oak and aging and oxidization, and I got the giggles so bad I spit out my '98 Oakville Cab. The wine was delicious, and they served us the tastiest aged gouda that I have ever had the pleasure of sneakily hoarding.

The fact that we got scolded in both places for not settling down to our lesson makes me like my coworkers even more, though I'm sure the booze didn't hurt. Did I mention that it was 100 degrees in Napa yesterday? After a day of heat and wine, someone went to bed mighty early last night. And that someone was most certainly definitely absolutely me.

It is ON, my friends.

From NPR commentator John Ridley. Yes!

If you live in an urban area and you get a girl pregnant you're a "baby daddy."

If you're the same in Alaska you're a "teen father." (Actually, according to your own MySpace page you're an F'n redneck that don't want any kids, but that's too long a phrase for the evil liberal media to take out of context and flog morning, noon and night.)

Black teen pregnancies? A "crisis" in black America.

White teen pregnancies? A "blessed event."

If you grow up in Hawaii you're "exotic."

Grow up in Alaska eating moose burgers, you're the quintessential "American story."

Similarly, if you name your kid Barack, you're "unpatriotic."

Name your kid Track, you're "colorful."

If you're a Democrat and you make a VP pick without fully vetting the individual, you're "reckless."

A Republican who doesn't fully vet is a "maverick."

Labor Day

We spent most of last week drinking with Dumbro, so I was looking forward to a healthy weekend of hiking, making s'mores, and drinking from fresh mountain streams. Or something. I threw wholesomeness out the window and packed vodka and Tang instead.

Still, it was totally worth it. Saturday morning we drove to Castle Rock State Park, which is only about an hour south of the city, on Skyline Drive. The weather was gorgeous, and it was Labor Day weekend, but the sites are a 3 mile hike in the parking lot, so there was almost no one else in the Frog Flat campground. Meesh had already been there alone for two days, but she had gone only a little bit feral, and so was lovely company. More friends met us, and we spent the next couple of days hiking, bouldering, and drinking wine/vodka/whiskey that we had carried in like boozy pack mules.

It was fantastic, and a good lead-in to a nutso Family Dinner on Monday night that involved 10 Wellesley ladies and about as many male compatriots. In typical Family Dinner fashion, we cooked and ate and drank and played Celebrity.

When I woke up for work the next morning, my ass was sore from hiking, my shoulders were sunburned, and my clothes from the night before were covered in red wine stains. I felt fulfilled.

Discombobulated

I got Donovan McNabb as my QB for Fantasy Football. Other than that, my life is in complete disorder.

Holy crap, what a weekend.

I spent the weekend camping in Castle Rock State Park; more on that later. Right now I am preoccupied with the civilization I returned to. Things that I found out when I got down from the mountain:

• Gustave missed New Orleans, woohoo. I checked in with Amelia to make sure her ranch did not blow or float away. It did neither.
  
• Sarah Palin and her family WTF?
  
• My best friend Stef got all-of-a-sudden engaged, and is getting married next week! I just booked a last-minute flight to New York so I can be there in city hall when she and Nathan are joined in holy matrimony. She is a super practical lady, and they have been together a long time and love each other very much, but I am still all ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhmarriedahhhhhhhhhhhhIreallycan'tbelieveit.

Which brings me to yet another set of bullet points: the tendency of the people I love to have seriously non-traditional unions. Thus far, the marriages in my circle of friends include:

• an elopement in Arizona between a cowgirl and an illegal Mexican immigrant;
  
• a super girly lesbian wedding;
  
• a grand ceremony in an ancient Italian cathedral;
  
• a wedding in a farming community, in which the turkey dinner had been slaughtered by the bride herself and there was a photo of Jerry Garcia on the straw bale altar;
  

and now this! Lest you think I am being judgy, I think all of these unions are wonderful and loving and a testament to the rad people I have in my life. But jesus, guys - at some point I'm going to start craving a Save the Date card and a VFW hall.

Anyone else freaked out by the engagements and weddings?