Jonna Bass, George R. & Grace Parr’s Neighborhood
Blogging these days at glchoate.com.
My second long weekend of the summer (the third coming in August) found me and the family in a wonderful situation. We took advantage of the non-weekend days off and ventured into the country for the famous Hood River "Fruit Loop." The day, Thursday, began with a hastily eaten Burgerville mean en auto and then a stop at Multnomah Falls. Boo was awestruck by the torrents and I was, as well, although the tourists left me with a let's-get-out-of-here mentality after 45 minutes. The short drive to Hood River was uneventful and we proceeded up highway 35 to purchase van cherries, fresh ears of corn (three for $1), cucumbers, strawberry milkshakes, snickerdoodle cookies, and cherry cider which lasted me three swallows before being left for whomever wanted it next. One of our stops had some farm animals and feed which, for a couple of bucks, could be used to inspire said animals to near-domesticity. Boo (and I and the Mrs.) loved the goats, particularly a tiny kid goat whose method for eating was all tongue and no teeth, and found the pigs fascinating, although less than pet-worthy. We then stopped at a lavendar farm where the copious honeybees prevented much more than a cursory exploration. Lastly, dinner at the Full Sail Brewery where the cask-strength IPA made the already excellent IPA even better. I wanted to set up a pipeline from the Session tank to my apartment, but it was all for nought. Friday was mellower, or so I thought, until the Mrs. surprised me with two tickets to Ray Davies at the Crystal Ballroom. We spent the afternoon tooling around, running errands, and stopped at Gartner's Meat Market for steaks, bacon, and encased meats. Amy Ruppel babysat while the Mrs. and I had cocktails at Clyde Common and enjoyed a "special acoustic performance" by the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame member. The show was comperable to the "X-Ray" acoustic gig I saw at the Aladdin back in '01, minus the sky-is-falling feelings of the one month post-9/11 scene. He began the first encoure at the Crystal by singing a lovely a cappella "Days," which won me over fully to the evening. Saturday was more errands, but closer to home, and two frankfurters/two Italian brats from Gartner's for dinner. After we put Boo to bed we watched There Will Be Blood and I wanted a milkshake (fresh raspberry from Burgerville) by the end of it. Today (Sunday) was even more mellow although I was dismayed to learn that the going away present from a former colleague was, in fact, a re-gift from circa 2006-7 and, thus, unexchangable. We had a late breakfast of the butcher's pepper bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh cherries and orange. Dinner was two lovely porterhouse steaks, lightly marinated in a sauce from West Texas, and dusted with sel gris, baked potatoes, green salad with avocado and the aforementioned cucumber, and sauteed Walla Walla onions. After giving Boo a bath, we all watched the Concert for Bangla Desh and lamented how Badfinger truly got the shaft at that toniest of events. I will be a bachelor from this coming Saturday through the 9th, so the four-day weekend was a blessing in many ways.
What is the biggest lie you've told?
I've never lied. ;-)
If you could leave notes for the future, what message would you have left in the past for today?
"Stop gritting your teeth."
An amazing photo set depicting Latino immigrants as the superheroes. Be sure to read the artists statement.
Happy Quatro de Julio.
Before stepping into another universe, lie quietly on the carpet, the rough, itchy kind that's good for cat naps, and scratching shoulder blades. Dreams are not a jury for the day's blame. Few dream of spite because they actually despise anyone, or perhaps they do. Me, I only want to dream in Spanish, Michel Thomas and I will tour Madrid and the French countryside. He'll have pasta; I'll have a good piece of fish, and I will convince him to tell me his true involvement in World War II. But when I swim back into this universe, I remember that Senor Thomas is quite shapeless, after 3 years of rot in the grave. I may hang a while, floating in the milky whey between these two worlds, where I can steal from the will of my subconscious, sharpen the dream to a point, and bring an old man back to life, until my eyes are open.
