These are photos I took of Bellingham's Georgia Pacific Mill, which once used to be the city's livelihood. Most of the buildings are already demolished or in the process in order to pave the way for a waterfront revitalization plan. While its fun to see the city progress, its also hard to say goodbye to the character if the mill.
Monday, November 17, 2008
My darling blog,
Don't think I've forgotten you. Rather, you're always lingering in my mind as a dear old friend on the backburner and as soon as I get my life in order we'll be back together in no time. Besides my credit load, which I curse every day, these vibrant fall days have come to an abrupt end and now I'm left wondering when I'm going to get a grip on the impending 8 months of miserable weather. We'll see. As for right now, I'm counting down the days til Thanksgiving, reprioritizing my to-do list every day, and trying not to keel over from a brain aneurism. I'll try my best!
Monday, October 27, 2008
This is just one of the many, many bags of apples that Tucker has been collecting for his cider press. But since I helped pick these ones, I used them for an apple pie. It was my first apple pie, and I used a pre-made crust, but STILL. For a lady who struggles with the rigidity of making, I have to say I made a DAMN FINE PIE. And with otherwise-rotten fruit!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
In other news, I was so busy that both Tucker and I completely forgot our 2-year anniversary, and we kept making plans for dinner and forgetting them. But today we finally followed through to eat at a place downtown we hadn't tried, Bayou on Bay, and were looking forward to a good Southern meal. I'd recently read a Stranger article on chicken-fried steak, something I've never tried, so we ordered that and jambalaya (my last-meal dish of choice). Well, I was totally smitten with the steak (Steak? Fried? Why, YES, thank you!), but the jambalaya was completely lacking. It was dry, devoid of any spice, skimpy on the shrimp, and riddled with overcooked, underflavored chicken. Really? Zatarain's jambalaya out of the box is so much better in so many ways. Good thing I just picked up about 12 boxes of it.
Good news: two days ago we could see our breath in this house, and it was so frigid without heat that I literally slept in
1. Full body thermals with sweatshirt and socks
3. Two wool blankets
4. One fleece blanket
5. Two down comforters
And I'm not even usually that cold. But after a battle with Windermere we finally got some heat in here, and OH MY GOD LIFE IS SO MUCH BETTER WHEN YOURE WARM. It might help if the house was insulated, or devoid of cracks, but HEY. Paying a fortune for heat is so not even bothering me right now because I can feel my fingers as I type which is like a whole new world of happiness. Next up: Point out that our furnace is breaking about a bajillion fire codes and may be hazardous to our LIVES. Hopefully, with enough arguing and threats, they'll replace it with a furnace thats NOT 60 years old.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
But still, I'm here, I'm typing and I'll be damned if I'm not enjoying it!
My problem remains, though, that I really do have too much to talk about at this point in time. I can't possibly fit it all in one blog! And if I could, the transitions would be terrible! Also, it would probably bore you anyway! So I guess I have to let go of all the undocumented hilarity/tragedy in my life right now (mostly hilarity) and hope I have the gumption next time around. I really am going to try.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
UPDATE::: I definitely begged my boss to take me back on my last day of work. I'm staying after all! Good thing, because the thought of ACTUALLY leaving the museum was making me heartachey.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
This is where I imagined myself to be when I was seven, thinking about how hard college would be, but then assuring myself I would have it all figured out by then. Then, of course, the x looked much farther away because I was looking ahead at it, like a tiny, barely distinguishable building in the distance along the road I was on. Getting to the building actually doesn’t take that much time, it just looks impossibly far away. When I was seven I was here:
was better than
and better yet, there’s
Where I am never seems to be as good as where I will be, which presents two problems.
1. I cannot be constantly looking towards a better, brighter future and also be a reminiscent person. I am very fond of my memories.
2. The x inevitably moves towards the end, towards death, and an attitude that says progression is always preferable to standstill regardless of when it means a loss of life implies I am either
a) deeply depressed, potentially suicidal,
Clearly there’s some flawed logic at play. What happened to convince me of the superiority of the farther-along x? Why was that x happier? Sometimes I forget all about the x and the line and get caught up where I am, here, underneath the cement staircase, where it smells damp but the atmosphere’s friendly and we’re huddled like mice in a storm listening to guitar. Like when the music is impenetrable, and we’ve all had just enough to drink, a few have had more, and we are exuberant, stretching our limbs and throwing our hair and all the pictures turn out too blurry. Like when I was little, I woke up early on a summer morning and went outside to the blueberry bush, picked a bowlful and sat at the counter with my bowl of berries and my storybook called “Blueberries for Sal,” waiting for my mother to turn around from the coffeepot and notice my smug smile, thinking of how clever I was.
It takes a lot of practice to remember these things. Along the way there are countless times spent curled in the ball on the bathroom floor, forgetting your promise to keep sane and remember the small things. There’s a lot of bewildered examinations of your day planner, dedications to start color-coding your activities, commitments, work schedule, in order to make your life more manageable.
I spend a lot of time trying to remember my many promises to myself, the most important promise being to stop thinking about my promises and calm the fuck down. You could say that’s the ironic part about all of this. To be truthful I’d never much given the x and the line much thought. It wasn’t until I realized the flaws of the x-line thinking that I really considered how much the x’s position on the line meant to me. That’s when I saw how badly it needed to stop. The line doesn’t accommodate any time for standing still, the x is always plodding along with very little consideration for what I want. “Fine,” the x might say, “you go ahead and have your freak out, I’ll be a few miles up the road when you’re ready to catch up.” And I, mascara-stained and out of breath, will inevitably arrive at the x, slap it heartily on the neck and hop right on again.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
I've been really busy doing a lot of things which DON'T include making money (except today, because I'm at work right now, isn't that fun?) and not making money is kind of a problem because I'm reals broke and can't seem to communicate that idea effectively to my hands as they keep pulling out my debit card to spend on even MORE pizza/sushi (at least, yum). Here's what I've done:
Moved into a new place with Tucker.
Gone home to visit my sister who's up from Utah for a bit.
Gone to the Radiohead concert.
Sliced my thumb open and gone to the ER.
Worked at a REAL job like, once. Today.
Moving has been exciting/gratifying/really drawn out. Its thrilling to put each thing away, watch our little house materialize into a real-life house, and decide where each item will live. But its also ridiculously slow, namely because our house has only a few closets, none of which have shelves (pantry included. What?). Tucker has been deemed the handyman, as always, and I have to pretty much hunker down and wait for him to finish the 3o projects I proposed to him. I suppose I could tackle The Closet of Stuff I Don't Want to Deal With, but that would be boring. And I would probably cry. So I'm procrastinating. Anyway, where should I store the printer that's out of ink (and whose cartridges cost $40) and the scanner whose cable I don't own? Sigh.
I was planning on Radiohead being the highlight of the summer- the tickets did put me out $55, but it was kind of a letdown. For one, it took four hours to get from our house to the amphitheater. Secondly, I'd never been to a seriously huge concert before and had no idea what I was getting myself into. The crowds (20,000? 30,000?), the painfully ill-planned parking arrangement (it took an hour to get from our parking to the road), the rain, the distance from our spots on the lawn to the stage...
Granted, I'm still glowing when I think about experiencing the music firsthand. I've been listening to Radiohead really loud and pondering the brilliance behind every song. But I would never do it again, for sure. I wish I could time travel to when Radiohead wouldn't consistently sell out shows in every town to 30,000 people, I wish I could go to a real venue and see them, but I can't, boohoo.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
I get to see babies, and babies make me smile.
Watching heart-wrenching parent-child interactions.
I get to draw.
I get to read books.
I get to read The Stranger as long as I cover up the extensive inappropriate ads.
I can do sudoku.
I can blog.
I can pretty much do whatever I feel like.
A lovely boss.
We get muffins at work meetings. Ooh!
Cute babies make me want one, too. This is unhealthy.
Nine year-old boys, the bane of my existence.
Parents who don't moniter their screaming, object-throwing, running nine year-old boys.
Explaining why we have to charge for adults. Over and over and over.
People who don't understand why we want them to leave at 5:00, when we close.
Blasting air-conditioner (though this could at times be a pro).
The TV that has no regard for the specific programming that I reprogram into it every morning.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Mum: Green Grass of Tunnel
Kings of Convenience: I Don't Know What I Can Save You From
Beirut: Postcards From Italy
Aphex Twin: Avril 14th
Antony and the Johnsons: Bird Girl
Old Crow Medicine Show: Wagon Wheel
Sia: Breathe Me
Sigur Ros: Saeglopur
I am such a sucker for sad songs. Ah, but The Strokes are bringing me back to reality.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Really, my dialogue with myself today was so painfully circular and a waste of time, but luckily all the time spent in my own head while I rearranged flowers at the flower shop helped me realize I very much have a good sally and a bad sally. Here's a sample from my brain, verbatim, if it could talk.
Bad Sally: X said so and so about me and it really pissed me off and no one came to my rescue and that is so unfair.
Good Sally: Whatever, he's insecure and you're a good person and you should really love yourself regardless of what people around you say and do.
BS: Yeah, maybe, but everyone else has a bazillion friends who throw them parties and write them letters and love them unconditionally. If you were worthwhile, you'd have that.
GS: That's not true, you're exaggerating and it only seems that way because you witness things and romanticize them.
GS: See, everything is fine and you're great and you should really learn to love yourself more in the face of badness. Maybe you should check out some self help books or something and seriously devote yourself to that for awhile.
BS: That could be a good idea....wait a minute. Only loser housewives in American Beauty and on sad TV shows do that stuff. If you did that you'd be deemed pathetic and you'd live up to it. Everyone else is perfectly okay with themselves without stupid books and you can be too.
GS: Well then, what's your solution?
BS: This conversation is, loser, I'M TRYING TO COME UP WITH SOMETHING HERE.
Well, that was fairly disturbing to actually write down. But its ALWAYS LIKE THIS, and seriously? Can't there be a better way? Maybe, says Rational Sally, now that I've pinpointed the distinct problem in my logic of Good Brain versus Bad Brain instead of NORMAL BRAIN ALL THE TIME, maybe now I can utilize that Counseling Center on campus and make good my parent's hard-earned money.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
The start of the stupidity began on Monday, when my Honda, which was parked at a gas pump while I was inside the adjacent convenience store buying a 6-pack of coke, popped out of the Emergency brake and rolled through the parking lot, off the sidewalk, into traffic and ended up plowing into the side of a 4-Runner. Awesome. I actually wasn't too worried about it at first- it wasn't my fault (so, obviously, no ticket should have been issued), I had auto insurance, so the damage should be covered, and hey, by the time it was all squared away with the police and the other car then the frozen salmon we had been trucking to a barbecue should be all thawed out. I bumped merrily away from the scene feeling a little shaken up but hopeful that everything was fine. That is, until I called my dad to tell him about it all only to find out that I would first have to pay for the $500 deductible on my insurance. And that the cop actually HAD found a law that states you're responsible for your handbrake functioning properly ($150). AND that while Tucker and I had been approved for the house we wanted to rent for the next year (FINALLY), I now owed a deposit of $275. And to top it all off, since the lease starts some time in August I'll be paying double rent for awhile. Whoooooo.
So needless to say I've been a bit grumpy, since my tab to the universe is somewhere in the region of $925...and that's a lot for someone who every two or three months buys a new CD and immediately feels guilty for the next week and a half. I ended up not going to the Capital Hill block party (oh good, it's actually going on AS I TYPE THIS) because I couldn't justify the cost of gas/ticket price/food and beverages for the day. This is particular blows because I'd been waiting forEVER to see Chromeo (and to see them with Riley) and now I've lost the opportunity for WHO KNOWS HOW LONG. It also sucks because I'm going to have a really hard time not working myself til I enter Crazytown in an attempt to make as much money as possible. I'm kind of astounded I'm not working right now. I keep trying to NOT think of all the glorious, wonderful, and PRACTICAL things I could have bought or saved for with $900 or more...but its a lot harder than it sounds.
The good news is that at least after that happened I had three days off and I went camping for Tucker's birthday, attended a really fun party and drank plenty of sangria, and Tucker discovered two new YouTube channels with copious amounts of No Reservations in full length, so at least I have that. Watching too much of that show has made me incredibly anxious to leave Bellingham, and I'm really feeling that today. So my antidote is to bake some strawberry rhubarb pie, some blueberry buckle, clean my house, take care of my to-do list, and when all of that is done, hope that I've forgotten how much I'd prefer to be anywhere else.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
It surprises me that many people are happy gobbling down any old grocery store chicken or fast food chicken burger but are repulsed by the idea of killing and butchering their own food. Understandably, parts of America aren't exactly a hands-on food culture, but I think the whole "circle of life" approach is much more humbling and even, after awhile, reassuring compared to never knowing your food in the first place. While my chicken, which I just rebasted, is filling the house with wonderful garlic-rosemary-chickeny smells, I'm dreaming of a time in my future when I can have a few very happy animals roaming freely on some land...and every so often I will eat one of them. Ha! Divine.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
But actually, despite my impulse buys and awkward money scenario (read: every day or so I transfer $20 from savings to checkings and examine my savings amount with extreme confusion), things are surprisingly okay. I'm not sure if it's just me calming down with the summer months or what, but these things aren't really getting to me right now. Searching for a house has been hellish, as college students are a wiley, sneaky, and frighteningly quick crowd who snatch up ALL THE GOOD HOUSES right from under your nose. Every day. All the time. No matter how polite/persistent you are to the property managers. One certain asshole wouldn't even rent to Tucker and me just because we were a couple, which I'm pretty sure is illegal, but I don't exactly have the time to seek that law out at the moment. I'll probably have to settle for this one less-than-perfect-but-mostly-acceptable-apartment pretty soon if nothing turns up in the next day or so. Whew! I'll just be glad when its over and I can stop thinking about living situations for another year or so.
In the meantime the only thing really bothering me is the sad news that a longtime friend of mine has decided I am no longer worthy of being her friend, for reasons I can only guess and then try not to feel too bad about. This person has been a dear friend of mine ever since first grade, and never have we had any major breakdowns/fights, or really any disagreements I can recall. I've always loved her, and whenever we were together we'd have a blast and I'd feel good to be around her again on whatever vacation break we were on until we'd part ways for another few months. But then something changed and she'd ignore me, my phone calls, say she was busy or that she didn't feel well or was too tired or something. And then it just sort of fizzled out, and my repeated attempts to get in touch and see how she was were met with nothing, until I heard through the grapevine that she just wasn't interested in my friendship anymore. There were months of me beating myself up for reasons I could only guess and wondering, still wondering actually, why I was singled out as the undesirable one. I just think the whole process of eliminating me from her life is wildly distressing. I understand that as we all get older and start going our own separate directions we'll inevitable have less in common and less desire to keep our ties. But there are also ways to let things die naturally, people do it all the time, and why she couldn't be content with that and instead had the need to sever all ties so dramatically is not only painful to me, but incredibly selfish. If it had to be this way, I'd at least like a reason, but she's decided to skulk away without even having to face me and tell me what exactly is wrong with me. I just think its pretty fucked up to put one of your best friends through heartbreak without ever having to feel the least bit of guilt or responsibility. And why only me? No one else I know of got the boot, and I just really can't see how I am so completely less worthwhile than every one of her other friends. What did I do? It's infuriating to me, but at least now I've had since around January to coem to terms with reality so I'm not too bent out of shape about it anymore. But when I do think about it, there's this ridiculous inner dialogue that goes something like this:
SALLY 1: What did I do? Why I am so lame? Why doesn't she love me anymore?
SALLY 2: Get over it. Its not your fault. Its impossible that this has anything to do with your faults.
SALLY 1: But I love her.
SALLY 2: But she's crazy enough to cut someone close to her out of her life with no remorse, so you shouldn't feel too bad about getting rejected by a crazy person.
SALLY 1: I don't like getting rejected by anyone, even if they're crazy, if they were my friend.
SALLY 2: But she is crazy. There is no logic. There is nothing wrong. Stop pinning it on you. You never did anything wrong.
And so on and so on. Its a remarkably stupid and cyclical process. Mostly I'm terrified of seeing her in person, because if I did I'd probably simulatenously reach for the closest blunt object to throw at her head while sobbing and screaming LOOOOOOVE MEEEEEEEE! I MIIIIIIIIIIISS YOOOOOOOOOOOU!
Thus, Sally might be a little nutso herself. But if you treat her nicely and try to be good to her like she is to you, she stays mostly sane. Well, as long as its not the holidays or final-paper time.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
In the meantime, between editing the 750 wedding photos I recently took (whew!) and the writing group tomorrow, I better finish up the ultimate dance mix I've been working on to properly cement the essence of summer fun into my memory forever. You know how it goes.
Playlist so far (not necessarily in order):
Daft Punk: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
Calvin Harris: The Girls
Mika: Love Today (I'm iffy on this one...)
Hot Chip: Out at the Pictures
Calvin Harris: Dance Wiv Me
Annie (Alan Braxe remix): Heartbeat
Cut Copy: Lights and Music
Calvin Haris: Acceptable in the 80s
Europe: Final Countdown (you know it.)
Scissor Sisters: Get it Get it
M.I.A.: Come Around
Cut Copy (Chromeo remix): Future
I still need about 7 or 8 more songs for it to feel complete. Now if only Acquisition would stop denying my download access...
Friday, June 27, 2008
So, as I would do in person,
Sally: "HI, BLOG."
Little Box: "Hi Sally. Don't write in all caps, it scares people. It makes them think you're angry."
S: But this is how I EXPRESS MYSELF! You'll just have to deal with it."
LB: "You're a little grating."
S: "Look, sorry, let's get to know each other. Would you care for a drink?"
LB: "Sure, thanks, and do you have something I could munch on?"
S: "Well, yeah, let me whip you up a little shrimp cocktail or something."
LB: "I love shrimp! How lovely."
S: "See, we have so much in common! Let's be friends."
Whew. Now that THAT'S over with (I apologize for the caps, I really do, but its simply a habit I cannot break, and plus, I don't want to. So there.) we can get started. I named my blog Little Box for the poem I found while skimming a college textbook. I was flipping through the pages remembering how there had been so many little phrases that spoke to me, phrases that I'd be okay with representing, ME and ALL THINGS WRITTEN BY ME, and so forth. But I hadn't seen this poem before and when I read the first line the hair on my arms stood up and I ate that poem whole. I've read it so many times since then, considered how closely I relate to it and how I feel as though that poem is lodged somewhere in my bones and I'm okay with that. So the poem is on the sidebar, now and forever and you, too can read it whenever you wish and get a little shiver every time.
That said, I am concluding this first post. Now that I've gone and done formal introductions (or some ragged semblance of them), I can't figure a way to gracefully launch into my countless pages of crap I'm positive I could produce, because that just wouldn't flow right. So, hopefully throughout this long and fairly lazy summer I'll find a billion opportunities to start the extensive process of transferring the whirlwind of junk flying around in my brain onto this handy virtual journal-thing. Because typing is so, so much easier than actually writing.