Parenthetically Yours

Favorite Things Friday - Northwest Edition

Today's Favorites come from the most beautiful part of these United States, the Pacific Northwest. I'm in all of my favorite cities this week (Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco), so it's only fitting to trump up these towns. If you're into the best culture and coffee the US has to offer, you have to come up this way at least once in your life. 

WEIRD PEOPLE - The strangest and oddest people live up here. I think it's because they didn't really fit in anywhere else, so they made their way west and when they went as far as they could without falling into the ocean, they called it a day. There also seems to be an abundance of homeless people in these cities. I don't know about you, but if I were a homeless person, I'd figure out some way to get to the NW and settle down. It's gorgeous, really liberal (lots of handouts), great bookstores (see below), with lots of free things available to the public. Make your way over to the grungy artist/musician parts of town and you'll feel that you stepped back in time, as if you just walked into a metal/goth/grunge documentary circa 1991 (completely void of hairspray). Do you like to people watch? Your eyes will be full all day in any of these cities. 

 

POWELL'S BOOKS - I have a fascination with bookstores. I'm not sure why, but somewhere in college I developed a slight obsession with them. When I'm away from home, my favorite way to pass the time is to sit in a bookstore (preferably an independent one, but I'm not picky) for a few hours reading the most random assortment of books and magazines. My favorite bookstore in all of America (and I've been to more than a few) is the crown jewel of Portland. Spanning an entire city block, Powell's is the largest independent bookstore in the world. Plus, let's say you'd like to own Jack Kerouac's personal copy of The Collected Poems of John Keats (and you have an extra $11,000), they have it in their rare books room. I've spent literal hours in this place and feel like I've only scratched the surface. 

QUEEN ANNE DISTRICT - In Seattle, most visitors head straight to Pike Place Market to see the guys throw fish, or buy fresh produce and flowers, or get a glimpse of the very first Starbucks. Or they head to Capital Hill for some funky food and people watching. Nothing wrong with any of that, but for my money (or lack thereof), I like the Queen Anne district. It's more of a neighborhood and not really a tourist destination, although it's dangerously close to the Key Arena and Space Needle, so I'm sure there are plenty of vacationers who happen to make a wrong turn, as I did when I first found this spot. Many of the condos and apartments here were originally hotels built for the 1962 World's Fair (which unveiled the Space Needle). Most have been updated, but they still have some of that retro-modern feel. My favorite places here are Caffe Ladro (best coffee in Seattle, period) and Easy Street Records, a great indie music store that has an unbelievable selection of foreign music magazines and pretentious alt-literature (which I secretly love). Hours of geeky fun on these streets.

Enjoy the weekend.

(rw)

Crazy Plane

Far be it from me to complain about someone’s kids, because I know that children are fundamentally flawed. Or, to use a clinical term, friggin’ crazy. Equally so, it’s rare that you would ever hear me complaining about someone’s parenting skills because I know that parents are fundamentally exhausted and confused. They’re just trying to find a little logic and reason behind why little Calvin thought that hammering nails into the coffee table was not only a good idea, but that his mommy and daddy would be rejoicing in the hallways at both his artistic achievement and his superior command of his still-developing motor skills.

All that to say, it takes a lot for me to really question a person’s parenting skills.

Monday night I was on a plane with a lady whose skills I questioned. Even as I write these words, I don’t think I can adequately describe what I saw and heard.  

It all started out with a little guy (maybe 2) freaking out because he wanted to sit on his big brother’s lap next to me. That’s normal—little bro wanting to hang with big bro. Well, big bro (maybe 7) kept staring out the window, obviously wishing little bro would just be quiet. This, of course, made it worse for little brother and he started doing something beyond crying. He was out of control wailing. Mom could do nothing to settle him, so instead she took the victim route and started to explain to him why he wasn’t allowed to sit with her brother—the TSA regulations, the airline rules, etc. This was done at such a volume it was obvious she was letting everyone on the airplane know it’s not my fault! I would love to let him sit with his brother, but the airline won’t let him! Sure, these behaviors are manifestations of a total lack of boundaries and discipline in our home, but it’s someone else’s fault! I kind of doubt the little brother understood anything she was saying because the wailing became puking. Yep. He cried so hard that he threw up. Three times. Then the mom started explaining how he does this any time he doesn’t get his way and how he threw up 5 times on their previous flight. She loudly explained that this is just an attention behavior that he does daily. I couldn’t tell if she was a hippie or a child psychologist. Or an alien from the planet MyKidNeedsToBeSpanked. Of course, she was telling this to no one in particular. In a darkly comic turn, the seven year old next to me then began explaining to me all the various things that could happen to make our plane crash and how if part of the propeller came off (we were on a small commuter plane) it could fly inside the plane and kill people. All of this was happening at the same time as the aroma of fresh vomit began filling the tiny fuselage.

This was all before we took off, mind you. 

(rw)

Night of Joy

One of life’s great joys happened to me last night. Not just once, but twice.

Last night, Katie and I filled our respective bellies with chips, salsa, and enchiladas from our favorite local Mexican spot. Then we moved on to Curious Gourmet (only because Ivey Cake was closed) for a Lemon Basil cupcake (with the frosting piled so high we threw half of it away…heresy!) and then home for some French press coffee. Well, to say the least, all was right in the world. Katie settled in the back room for an overdue phone call with a friend, and I settled on the couch for an overdue date with a Wal-Mart documentary I’ve been wanting to watch (nerd alert!).

About 45 minutes in, I start nodding off. Bad. Like someone had roofied my coffee. You know, the whole head-violently-falling-into-your-chest thing. After a couple of those moments when I thought I was falling off the couch (or out of an airplane), my heartrate had skyrocketed and I was alert for another hour or so, just enough time for us to fast-forward through the American Idol results show we’d recorded. 

At this point, it’s only 10:30 but I’m barely keeping my eyes open. We’d gone to bed around 1 a.m. the night before, so this was a bit on the early side. Teeth brushed, lights out, kiss goodnight…ZZZZzzzz.

I casually woke up (as I often do around 4 or 5 a.m.) feeling hungover and/or dead. With a heavy sense of impending doom, I slowly turned my head toward the alarm clock glowing in the darkened room to my right. I feared the worse: that it was only 30 minutes or so before the alarm, which means my mind wouldn’t allow me to get back to sleep. If I know I have to get up soon, I can’t for the life of me go back to sleep. In fact, I never actually need an alarm because my body automatically wakes up beforehand. This is only one of the joys of being me. Welcome to my world.

Knowing this, I was certain that my day was beginning. I didn’t want to look at the clock at all because it was going to be bad news. But the only thing worse than knowing something is NOT knowing something, so I made myself look.

But something didn’t look right. Now, if you know me, you know that without glasses or contacts, I have the vision of an 85 year-old bat. As you can imagine, at night it’s worse. So here I am, pressing my face closer and closer to the green glowing numerals until they come in clear. 11:58. 11:58?? Really? It’s not even midnight yet? Oh Hallelujah! I’m not even usually in bed at this point! I have an ENTIRE NIGHT of sleep remaining. Oh Heavenly Day! 

With a cozy sense of relief and joy, I snuggled back under the covers and pulled the comforter up close.

Then it happened again! I woke up, this time in a heated fear that the house might be on fire because I’M BURNING ALIVE! I violently throw the comforter off and begin wiping the sweat from my face, neck, and torso. Katie’s awake too doing the same thing. I jumped up to turn the heat down (when I say “jumped up,” think “stumbled like a wino across the bedroom”) and came back to bed. Another glance at the clock: 12:48. What? We went to bed later than this the night before! AHHH…Glory to the Lord of Hosts on high.

Twice in one night, I thought my sleep was over. Twice I was given the gift of many more hours of sweet slumber.

Needless to say, I woke up refreshed and ready to take on the day. Lots of writing to do today, quite a few items on my to do list…but I’m prepared.

Maybe after just the tiniest of naps.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday

It’s good to be back on the blog and to be sharing all my opinions with anyone who will listen (er…read?). Turns out, that’s about 100 people. Not enough to swing an election…but more than enough to, say, help me move. A good number. (note: no. I’m not moving. Just a figure of speech.)

It’s Friday. It’s time to let you in on my little secrets this week.

KONA COFFEE  So yeah, I went to Hawaii last week and got back this past Monday. Before I even boarded the plane in Nashville, I knew what I would be bringing back home: a tan and some Kona coffee. Only coffee grown in the Kona region of the Big Island can be labeled “kona,” therefore it’s a very limited (and expensive) coffee. On the mainland, it’s generally only available once a year (late spring) and usually fetches $30-$50/lb. I thought it would be much cheaper in Hawaii. Ha. Nothing is cheaper in Hawaii. Even sunburns have a consumption tax. I bought two 8 oz. bags (one for me, one for a friend) at $19 a pop and am a third of the way through mine. You really can tell a difference. It’s mild and mellow, like Hawaii. Even this dark roast I’m sipping this very moment has zero bitterness, but strong flavor. I’m more than a little tempted to drink this other bag and not tell my buddy I got any for him. Is that wrong?

AMERICAN IDOL  Yeah. It’s that time of the year (we’re about five or six weeks deep at this point) and I have to admit, I’m completely hooked…again. For the most part, there’s a ridiculous amount of talent on that show, year after year and my picks have won the past three years running. The top 12 was just rounded out last night (I picked 10 out of the 12 so far, thank you) and now we get into the popularity contest of it all. My picks for the final two? Lil Rounds and Danny Gokey. They both have great stories, humility, charm, and talent for days. I used to be totally ANTI-IDOL…but with my growning appreciation for David Cook, Carrie Underwood, Eliott Yamin, Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, etc…well, you can’t argue with genuine talent. I’ll admit a few big disappointments so far this year (which I won’t mention for risk of sounding too much like a super-geeky-fanboy), but all in all, once again, Katie and I are glued to the TV every Tuesday and Wednesday nights.

THE JESUS I NEVER KNEW. My friend Tony Lucido gave this groundbreaking book by Philip Yancey to me a little over a year ago. I’m just now picking it up to read. Why did I wait? I recommend this book to anyone who grew up going to church.

Thank you, and good night!

(rw)

Creative Hibernation

It’s amazing how much I can care about something yet do literally nothing to actually care for it.

I love this blog. It’s a source of pride for me (the good kind) and I truly enjoy it. Then why have I not been able to get my fingers a-movin’ across the keyboard lately? Many theories abound, much like a conspiracy nut internet forum, but I’ve yet to nail down why I haven’t been able to come up with (what I believe to be) an original thought since mid-December. Maybe it’s the recession. Maybe it’s the temperature. Maybe it’s decaf.

Whatever it is, it shut me down. And shut me up. 

It seems to be letting up, though, and I’m feeling the juices beginning to trickle again—like the first unfrozen drops of water from an icicle hanging on the corner of a house that doesn’t get sunlight. Here comes the sun. It’s alright.

I think I’ve been sleeping a little better too. I’ve definitely been sleeping harder (more on that next week) and I’ve been waking up with that unmistakable crush of a heroin hangover. You know what I’m talking about, right? You don’t? Well…I don’t either. But honestly, how can I sleep ten hours, wake up, and not want to do anything else but sleep ten more hours? It had to be the jetlag.

Jetlag? Oh. Did I tell you I went to Hawaii last week? I didn’t? Here’s proof:

It was good, it was fun, it was tornadic. I think the wind blew a constant 40 mph the entire time we were there. Don’t get me wrong: it was amazing, refreshing, all that (and more). But don’t get the whole Randy-in-a-grass-skirt-on-a-surfboard image in your head. The waves were out of control and I usually only wore the grass skirt in my hotel room.

(rw)