I can sometimes use my anal retentive powers for good. Sometimes.

Every fall, for as long as I've done the gardening, has been all, "OH SAD. It's fall. The garden is over. I shall perish." and shit.

I believe I've even threatened people and you with death or a sound face beating for mentioning the forthcoming of fall before I've deemed it time.

There have been rants and specific fingers thrown up in protest of fall.

Because I love the summer garden.

Because, duh.

I love the tomatoes and the harvesting of a billion green beans and making pickles from the never ending supply of cucumbers sproinging off the plants and the watermelons taking over all reaches of the property and having to dodge crazed bees while scooping Jada's doots and losing most of the walkways around the garden because of ever-reaching vines and looking at the crispifying nasturtium when temps go into the 90s and putting up shade cloth to keep fruit from sunburning and refilling the bees' waterer every day because they're sucking it down while trying to make honey meanwhile not die from the extreme heat and remembering to water and care for the potted plants that I knew better than to plant but in spring time I can't be trusted with orphaned seedlings so I just put them in a pot because "OH I CAN'T LET A SEEDLING GO INTO THE COMPOSTER even though I totally don't have room for it so I'll just put it in a pot and totally remember to water and care for it just like the other plants" and oh wait some of that stuff is not fun.

Hi. May I use that walkway or bench? Oh no. No I may not.

Ah, volunteer tree sunflowers propped up with scrap lumber. That's classy.

Why yes, it has been hot. Thanks for noticing.

Really have no idea why I let this dill just grow wild and awkward except that I can't make it down this path to prune it.

Green beans - the awkward months.

So sunflowers, tomatoes and green beans, you're just going to grow all together then? OK, got it.

Don't worry tiny supposed to be manageable watermelons, I don't need to walk there IN THE WALKWAY or anything.

Nah. I don't need that bench. You use it, cucumber bullies.

Yeah. That's what I meant for you to do, tomatillos. Just grow wherever the hell you like and everywhere at the same time.

As it turns out, there are things about the summer garden that are annoying as fuck.

Because, as you well know, I'm anal retentive as fuck.

And things like crispy plant leaves, never ending watering tasks, vines growing all over the place and in my way as I try to navigate my way to the never ending watering tasks and potted plants getting chewed to shit by monsters that settled in while I was absolutely not paying attention get fucking annoying when you're super anal retentive and like things neatly and tidily growing to perfection.

So I *don't* remember to take care of the potted plants that I plant in spring? Oh right.

Within the confines of their pre-determined-by-me space. With the luster and vigor of young plants. In the mild and agreeable weather of spring.

The spring garden looks awesome, is what I'm saying. It's just the way I'd like the garden to always look because when you're as anal retentive and Type A and batshit crazy as I happen to be, having a garden that's growing green, healthy and within the lines is GOOD and promise of the food to come is GOOD and the not-a-huge-time-taking-mess is GOOD.

Sunflower at a size where, if I were a smart person, I could still transplant it elsewhere.

Cucumbers INSIDE the beds.

Yes, tomatillo. I prefer you like this. AKA - NOT EVERYWHERE.

No wayward branches just needing to be tied up RIGHT NOW OR ELSE? Yes. I like this.

Which is why I've decided/realized/finally-come-to-peace-with-the-fact fall is GOOD.

WHAT THE FALL?

Yeah. After all these years of being all DON'T YOU DARE SAY FALL UNTIL IT'S, LIKE, NOVEMBER, YOU SHITBITCHING ASS BASTARDS, I've changed my mind.

You can say fall. Shit - you can say it in August for all I care. I just did, anyway.

Because if fall's coming then it means I can clean up the damn garden and reset it to Awesome.

I can take down the volunteer sunflowers that have grown into trees, getting into my way every time I go out to look for watermelons.

It's a good thing you're so cute.

I can rip out the tomatillos that grew 8 feet tall, had to be reined in by multiple means and then fell over and cascaded freely all over the place any way as though to taunt me with their growing-all-over-the-place power.

That's a start.

I can dial back my watering tasks to once a week and finally toss that potted tomato plant that I had no business growing in the first place even though its tiny fruits are really quite tasty and it turned out to be the perfect tomato plant to grow in a pot, in case you're in the market for one next spring and you're a person that can grow shit in a pot without leaving it for the caterpillars to demolish.

The nasturtium will bounce back and not look like total fried shit anymore.

Mmm...not fried shit.

I can clear my walkways and not have to circumnavigate the globe to get back to my spying chair.

So what you're saying is that no, I may not go back to the chair? Got it.

I can maybe see the beehive again from the patio.

Yeah. Not just yet.

And I can have NEW plants that are green and healthy and living within the confines of their raised beds like good little crops with their promise of food to come.

One day you'll be huge and crazy, but now...now you're just awesome and new.

So, yeah - I'm totally using my anal retentive powers for good now. In order to be not depressed by the summer's end times approaching, I'm choosing to instead be glad that I can clean this place up and have new little green plants to stare at.

Bonus is that I can do this WHILE eating all of the summer's stuff because I'm a fucking traitor like that.

Oh my god I bought so much pork

Hi friends. I have an admission to make.

I bought a LOT of pork.

Which, given my heritage is sort of amusing, but given our pastimes makes total sense.

If you just limit our pastimes to smoking meat and then eating it. Which we love to do!

Because, obviously.

So, yeah, we were about 3/4 of the way through our second split half of grassfed beef when Chestie started to feel lonely.

Empty inside if you will.

And then, handily, my local blogger buddy, IMQTPI, emailed me to see if I wanted in on a hog.

Like, do I want half of one.

DUH YES.

So we did some splitting up of logistics (she goes to the fair to bid on our hog, I go back out to Fair Land to pick it up from the butcher and deliver it) and now we are the rightful and proud owners of half a hog apiece.

Though I will also admit that our half is slightly less than half a hog already because, yes, we dug right into that tasty beast.

Nothing but First class pork for us, thank you.

We are not vegetarians around here. I forgot to warn you. Sorry, meat fearful people - this is a meatful post. Please come back another time when I'm talking gardenblahblahblah and your eyes will be safe from LOOK AT ALL MY PORK:

Why Spreckles, you look different somehow...

Sorry, that might have been scary. But still - you want to know where your food comes from - there you have it. In our house, it comes from Spreckles and YES PLEASE and also thanks, buddy.

Filled to the brim with tasty meats. And also tomatoes, hops and chicken stock BUT NOT ON THE PORK SIDE.

Perhaps more impressive is my anal retentive divider to keep the pork on ITS side and the beef on the other. It's very technological and advanced what with the box from somethingorother that I sliced in half and wedged in there, but nonetheless - it keeps the squabbling meats separate.

MOM! THE BEEF IS TOUCHING ME!

Can't have them mixing together, now can we? That would be wrong. And not kosher at all.

SARCASM, people. Sarcasm. No need to add your corrections to the comments because I'll just roll my eyes and call you retarded from my side of the computer.

Also, fun and anal retentive (yes, these things exist together in my world)(all the time) is my new Pork checklist that is taped to the inside of Chestie's lid above the Pork section of the freezer.

Yes, that DOES say 15 packs of pork chops - two to a package, thankyouvermuchandalsoBACON.

The Beef Checklist is a bit more worn, as you can plainly see.

Notice that the Beef side has its own checklist. ON ITS OWN SIDE.

That's right - we segregate the red meat from the (other, other) white meat. But we love them both the same, which is to say A LOT.

And we have already loved the pork A LOT since it arrived on Wednesday night, as I immediately made some of that hot Italian sausage into the most badass soup (recipe down there, just keep scrolling) and then I made the Burn The Fuck Out of My Left Hand pork chop recipe without WITHOUT burning anything at all.

No hands were irretrievably scorched in the making of this pork chop.

Que milagro.

Now, let me just say that I took some piss poor photos of this soup, so please do not judge me because all I wanted to do was eat the effing thing because by this time I was starved.

I wanted the pork inside of me.

Enjoy that one.

Badass Pork and Kale Soup

Recipe by moi

Ingredients

3 spicy Italian style pork sausages, cut into 1" slices

1 lb of kale, ribs removed and ribbon sliced

1 clove of garlic, minced

1 onion, chopped

1 leek, whites chopped (compost the rest)

6 fingerling potatoes or a normal sized potato equivalent, peeled and cut into big chunks

1 quart of chicken stock

Salt, pepper as you like

2 T Olive oil

To make

In a good sized stock pot, heat oil over medium heat until shimmering and add your onions, leeks and garlic.Saute until soft, about 2-3 minutes.

Add potatoes and stir to coat everything all nice like.

Add your chicken broth and a bit of salt and fresh ground pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat, cover and simmer for 15 minutes or so, until the potatoes are super soft.

Heat a large skillet on medium high heat and add your sausage to brown it thoroughly on both sides. Keep this browning and cooking while you do all the soup stuff. Keep a friggen eye on it though - if it burns, I will spank the ever-loving crap out of you.

Turn the heat off and, with your stick/immersion blender, go to town blending that soup right in the pot. If you only have a blender for this, pour portions of the soup mix into your blender and puree until smooth. 

Also, I'm sorry you have to contend with that hateful task. It was the A#1 reason I wanted an immersion blender and BOY HOWDY do I love that thing and thank you, mom, for giving me your old one - best gift ever. Never again with the muther effing blender and shooting hot soup all over my kitchen.

Or whatever! I hear that happens. To other people.

Bring your newly pureed soup back to a low boil and throw all that frightful kale in there, stir it up and put the cover back on so the soup can simmer over low heat for about 10 minutes.

Check on your sausage, if you haven't been all along (SPANKING SONG), and make sure all pieces are nice and brown on both sides. 

After 10 minutes with the kale in the soup, turn the heat off on the soup, add the sausage and whatever pan spackle-y goodness exists in there (there should be some and it is THE MOST. Scrape that pan if you have to. It's worth it.) and stir it all into magic in your soup pot. 

Give it a minute to mingle and get to know one another and then AFTER COOLING IT A LITTLE BIT GEEZ taste the soup and add salt and pepper if it needs it.

It probably doesn't, but I shan't judge you since I'm a salt addict and can't be stopped. 

I'm puffy and defiant!

Whatever.

Now go enjoy your soup with some warm bread or a crisp salad or just whatever the hell else you feel like having. A dirty gin martini? Why, yes, I hear that's quite the accompaniment. 

To resolve or not to resolve

The evil List Monster in my soul is poised and finally ready to attack the list of New Years resolutions/hopes/dreams/unattainable goals that have so far been stifled by the lazy Donut-hole (see below) Monster so mightily inflated by holiday indulging.

Hanukkah deliciousness :)

I was going to refer to AfricanKelli's format for putting finger to keyboard on the topic of New Years resolutions, but alas, I find this method too freeform for my anal retentive mind. If only I could be so fantastically liberated. Instead, I think I gotta do it longhand in order to fully unshackle my brain. Or, as my old friend Jeff used to say when asked about his unruly hairdo and lack of ballcap, "I'm no longer restricting my hair." And so, friends, I am no longer restricting the List Monster.

1. Swear less (Old resolution, I always fail to achieve this one)
2. Lose weight (See #1). This time I want 10 lbs gone by 8/29. Feel free to check in with me to see how I'm doing with this. Forgive me if I give you the finger.
   
3. Run more often. I'm pretty sure that 2x/week is not cutting it.
   
4. Start back up with weight training before I get scary grandma arms.
   
5. Be a better niece and cousin. I've worked on being a better friend, daughter and sister. Now for the rest of the blessed family that I have neglected. For starters, I need to make it to my Aunt and Uncle's place without my parents to escort me and I should really start a monthly dinner tradition with my cousin as soon as our fucking kitchen is done. Oops, already failed at #1.
   
6. Save more $. Repeat to self, "Don't buy shoes three pairs at a time."
7. Grow some plants from seed. I guess buying seedlings from the nursery isn't exactly cheating, but is it as fulfilling when someone else starts your plants for you? No, probably not. I have a head start on this one though -- the Better Boy Tomato seeds are already on the potting bench.
   
8. Read something from hubby's book pile. I feel a little dwarfed by his braininess. Where I read 95% fiction he reads 95% non-fiction. I feel like I should be better informed about current events, and despite listening to NPR for a couple hours a day (resolution from 2004), I could be better informed. I doubt that leprosy is a topic pressing on today's society even though it makes for a damn good book. Oops, sorry #1.
   
9. Fix the bathroom ceiling. This means learning to create a texture known as "Orange Peel Knockdown". I know no other profession with more random nomenclature than construction.
   
10. Start making the bedroom livable. This means getting a new mattress, finding an armoire to accomodate my ever expanding wardrobe, getting seasonal storage worked out, buying a rug to keep my heel marks from ruining the wood floors forever, etc.
11. Stain the dining room table an acceptable color. The naked wood thing we've had going is just no good.
    
12. Remember as many birthdays as possible. I've already moved birthdays from my 05 calendar to my 06 calendar, so that's a start. Must fill in with everyone elses birthdays. Did I forget yours last year? Shoot me an email - Subject: My birthday. Text: Hey ass, my birthday is xx/xx. Don't forget again, k? Love always, (your name here)
13. Knit myself the sweater from Knitted Gifts. I must have this, in the orange fiber used in the example photo. I covet this sweater.
14. Deal with the work thing. Keeping this one brief for reasons relating to professional suicide.
15. Start research for my newest hair-brained idea, a book.
    
16. Try out some new recipies from the load of cookbooks I've amassed. Once the fucking kitchen is done. I'm sorry #1, the kitchen can really only be referred to in this manner for the moment.
17. Take part in Backtack 3 since Backtack 2 was so fun and I got to meet such insanely talented people.
    
18. Be neighborly and throw another summer bbq. With any luck our neighbors kids will have grown out of their dunking-our-heads-in-the-drink-bucket phase. This is dependent on having the fucking kitchen done. I am no longer apologizing to #1, it'll just have to deal.
    
19. Go hybrid AND carpool more often with hubby. Since we in CA get to drive alone in the carpool lane in our hybrids (coming soon), I almost feel like I'm cheating. So, I was thinking it'd be doubly fancy to actually carpool in my hybrid with another human. That means prolly making some compromises, but it might be worth it if it felt like we were taking TWO cars off the road instead of just one.
    
20. Tame the List Monster.

Ok, I think that's all I can semi-commit to for now. Perhaps I'll get serious and put up a Status in the right frame of this blog to keep track. Ya know, kind like how I have for my crafty WIPs? Wouldn't that be wildly anal retentive and boring for everyone except me? We'll see. For now, Happy New Year and Happy Resolving.

I'm making no promises.

Adopt a Crop: RED

Me: Bubba! You want to see the most awesome thing! Wait! I have to get my camera! You want to see the most awesome thing! (Notice how none of these are really questions, more like orders.)

Bubba: Yes. Ok. I mean, YES! Let me change my clothes!

Me: Ugh. Fine. COME ON. The most awesome thing is out there!

Two seconds go by...

Bubba: Ok! I'm ready!

Me: GAWD WHAT TOOK YOU?

Bubba: (under his breath) Love my wife. Don't kill my wife. Love my wife. This better be awesome.

Just kidding, he didn't say anything like that, but I wouldn't 100% blame him for thinking it. Frankly, he was totally "ready to see the awesome thing" I was screaming about, so bless him. He knows my crazy.

I led him out to the garden (Obviously. You didn't think there was something awesome in the basement, did you?) by his pinkie finger and around to the back of the beds where we barely go because a mystery creature keeps leaving black mystery dumps back there EW, and after navigating the mystery poo piles I pointed very enthusiastically at this beauty here:

Awesome, right?!

To which Bubba appropriately exclaimed: NICE! IT'S ABOUT TIME, TOMATOES!

Yes, I do believe he thought it to be an awesome occurrence as well. The first tomato of the season.

*Sigh* As sad as it may sound, I totally live for this. I won't go banging on about the depth and severity of my particular tomato-inspired brand of crazy because you can read all about that here, but just know that my world is all right in the head now and I can go on living another day because no matter how many people flip me off in traffic or insist on leaving their five year old in charge of their cart while they run out of line at Trader Joe's to just get one more thing of blanched almonds, I can go on with my life knowing that tomatoes are on their way and that being jailed for manslaughter at this moment would be the worst torture ever because my tomatoes are just coming into season and I can not miss it.

Not even for strangling a parent who returns with yet even more than just blanched almonds like twenty minutes later to banshee shriek at their five year old for eating a candy bar off the rack and HOW COULD I LET THAT HAPPEN WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING.

Hey, I wasn't going to stop the kid. I like candy, too. Except I'm worried about the fatness and he clearly is not, so I say, live it up, kiddoo!

All said, we are mere weeks (days?) from sinking teeth into Tomato #1 and then you know things get real fucking crazy around here with canning and sandwiching and bacon (more on this later) and the Best Tomato Sauce Ever. Yep. and what not.

Gird your loins, folks - the tomatoes are upon us.

Also, there's melons. Ok, there's ONE melon. But that is because I ripped out the squash of doom and the very bright sun and surviving squash beetles tried to kill the plant and its babies dried up.

But do not fear! I have killed many squash bugs and do twice daily checks (oh no, I am not anal retentive at all) on the plants to search for more bugs to crunch between my fingers so that I can watch their evil plant sucking goo come squirting out their behinds. SO - maybe more will grow and I will be able to enjoy eating a Midget Melon if only to tell the tale.

And I'm sorry if that description about bug smashing was too graphic for you, but you'll just have to accept that I support squash bug genocide as long as it is done in a non-chemical type way. Like by smashing with my hand. BASTARDS.

I need sunscreen.

There's also some bean action happening. Specifically the beans are climbing the peas, which sounds porny, but it's really quite cute. When Bubba asked me what kind of beans they were, my only answer was, "Green", which seemed normal to me, but made him give me that look of, "Really now. Do you think?" and so I will say that they are specifically Blue Lake String Beans and that's all I know.

They also seem to like the remaining snap peas in the biblical sense.

Hey baby, you from around these parts?

Chard. Oh the damn chard. It took the opportunity to grow into a hedge while I was out of town trying not to die in a tornado and when I found it upon my return, I do believe my cries were heard throughout the town.

But I got it into check, if only for a moment, and I will post the recipe(s) for Chard Killing soon with a story about my Awesome Stalker and how I'm not afraid of being chopped up in the night. At least not by him.

I'm such a fraidy cat!

Do not fear me. I don't have opposable thumbs. Yet.

I'm getting annoyed with the bell pepper. To the point where we've renamed him the Bell Pecker. And in some more inspired moments, the Bell Peckerhead, because he's growing vuurrrrrrrryyyyy slowly.

These blooms (shone in the yellow haze cast upon us by recent wildfires circling our quaint valley) were a long time coming and I do think there *may* be a teensy bell pecker developing from one. Another two just fell the fuck off, so who knows what's going on here.

Again, I blame the soil.

Call me a peckerhead, will you?

This is the Tastes Like Bitter Ass lettuce I was referring to the other day. It's now in a wilted pile near the compost bin getting ready to be turned into future soil. It bolted recently, as happens in the heat of summer, and so we will use its space for late season beets because I can't be bothered to create any shading apparatus under which to grow more lettuce. Sorry Square Foot Gardening Guy, I am too lazy for this kind of thing.

Lettuce tree.

Remember I said there was a volunteer pumpkin somewhere near my basil? Yes, right. There's now a pumpkin plant everywhere near my basil. Which is AOK with me, as long as it doesn't start attracting more squash bugs for me to kill because frankly the activity is starting to annoy me.

But I do hope this guy makes pumpkins. That'd be rad.

I mean no harm.

I had a nice little harvest when we got home from the trip of a thousand hail softballs and, since, I have eaten all of this. Some with Bubba, some without. The strawberries were especially good since I've broadened my anal retentive gardening habits to include Strawberry Perching in addition to Squash Bug Crunching.

To keep the soil-born strawberry munchers from ruining my crop of berries, I perch the green newbies up on the higher berry leaves to keep them out of harm's way. Sure, I could probably put some type of plastic mulch under them or something, but Perching is what I can do when I'm still in my work clothes and the inspiration strikes.

I think this is also the last of the radishes.

I guess I don't really need to do an update on the sunflowers, since I've technically never planted them and they're not really a crop per se, but this one is particularly amazing because it's a volunteer growing outside the beds and right in front of the dutch gate we share with our nice neighbors. So, basically, despite the constant smashing that happens when we open the gate and traipse to and fro, he has lived and thrived and has about 10 of these flowers on his one big stem/trunk.

I am so sexy. It's hard to look away from my face.

And, finally, because I know you're all out of breath like I am, the real Adopted Crop update: cucumbers.

Fluffy has jumped ship and begun to seek acreage outside of his bed. Which is fine by me since there's plenty of space to roam, as Bubba and I have done 100% of nothing with the rest of the back BACK yard. Grow all you want, bud, you're the whole show right now.

I will be in Pickle Round #3.

Wee Man here is doing pretty well, given that he is slow as hell and appears to only produce flowers and never any fruit. I'm OK with it if only because he's alive and hasn't made me cry with his dying. Also, no squash bugs have been sighted on his leaves, and that is good news.

I found one on Fluffy the other day and nearly went at it with a hatchet.

Don't worry about me down here. I'll be fine.

And that's it. I mean, there's more, but I can't justify going on since I'm pretty sure my subscriber number has gone down just as you've read through this post.

But next week I hope to have a little more variety in the posts, even if it's just one day when I show you the fun gift I made for my Grandma for her 84th birthday. It's pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. And it doesn't have anything to do with the garden, as may come as a relief to you all.

I will also have at least one Chard Killer recipe and then some not so nice things to say about what it's like to drive Northern California freeways on 4th of July. OH - and there's a bacon surprise coming soon, too.

Mmmm...unexplained bacon...

The universe wants me to be a fatty

Because it's the beginning of a new year, I'm obviously spending a lot of time with Google Spreadsheets open on my laptop.

That is because I'm an anal retentive psychopath and I plan things as though the act of putting characters into a spreadsheet makes them miraculously occur without any further effort from moi. In reality, it just frees my mind from having to store up all the details so that I can think about important things like thong underwear and new surfaces for the kitchen floor.

Basically, once it goes on the spreadsheet I, instead of continuing to refer back to it like a sensible person might, move on to other things and let all those details just sit and think about themselves while I try to figure out how one might clean spaghetti sauce off of cork. Eventually I make it back to the spreadsheet, yes, but in the mean time I make all kinds of other decisions without the burdensome interference of What races am I doing this year? lying unresolved in the Oh Good, You're Awake! part of my mind.

You know what I'm talking about. That trouble making asshole in your head that clicks on when you wake up in the middle of the night and really want to go back to sleep but all of a sudden your brain has run off in a hundred directions and forces you to go sit in front of the computer at 3:37am doing searches for "arm warmers for running" with your bare buns shivering against the leather of the Steelcase.

Why don't I put on sweats or a robe? Who knows.

What I'm trying to say is that I've tried to fit all the "I'm going to totally do that race in 2011" races into my scheduling and planning and you know what? Conflicts galore.

As though some universal hand of fate wants me to avoid exercising all year so I can just be the fatty it's always wanted me to be.

Take the Mermaid Tri/Duathlon, for instance. After last year's super fun and disaster-free outing on the Cannondale, I came into the finish line proclaiming that I'd "totally do that again!" and also I believed it when I said it. Except that it lands on the day after AIDS Lifecycle finishes up, which wouldn't be the end of the world except that it ends in L.A., which is about 600 miles from where the Mermaid Du starts less than 24 hours later.

Boo. Probably not going to happen. Not that I'm doing the AIDS Lifecycle, Bubba is, but I am roadie-ing and have important responsibilities related to hot-tub finding and ball bandaging, if the circumstances arise.

Think I'm kidding? OK, I am. About the ball part anyway. I have no idea if any balls will require bandaging or if there's any ball maintenance involved in the roadie responsibilities that I'm making up for Bubba myself since I'm not an official "roadie", but rather just his personal roadie because I don't want to set up a million other people's tents or cut up bananas for a week.

Call me selfish, but I really only care about Bubba's well-being for this thing. Everyone else can set up their own bullshit and bandage their own balls. Don't they have awesome spouses like Bubba does? Let's assume they do.

So, yeah - I might have to wait until Mermaid announces the dates for their fall duathlon in Santa Cruz to get a chance to ride the Cannondale to mediocrity again. Look - I'm not winning any of these races (Hi, dad. I love your optimism, as misplaced as it may be.), so I take my satisfaction in races completed without accidental homicides rather than by way of traditional age group awards. I guess I'm just unconventional that way.

There's also the case of the Muddy Buddy I had so wanted to do this year, with me on the run and Bubba on the bike and the two of us murdering people in the giant puddle at the end under cover of filth as we clamored to a shameful victory, except that it lands on a weekend that's already triple booked.

How is that possible? For a weekend 10 months away to be triple booked already? That is some impossible bullshit right there. How can so many different people pick the exact same weekend for such different activities. You think there'd be a law, but no. Friend's wedding, fishing weekend, mud race - all the same weekend - all in different states. And you know the first to get the no-no is the race because the race directors aren't going to be sending us guilt-trippy notes inside ugly Christmas cards for the next 20 years because we flaked on seeing them speak their marital vows and then drink banquet beer from a red cup.

Lame.

So what races WILL I run this year?

Not sure. I skipped the first trail race of the year because I thought the weather was going to be shit-tastic and it was, so that's gone. There's one tomorrow that I totally blanked on and then the next one is at the end of the month at the exact moment when we'll be pulling into Steamboat for a week of snow orgies.

The first one I can see coming to pass is likely the Diablo Trails Challenge in March, but it's already filling up, so I'll have to pull the trigger on that sometime soon.

The important thing that I've decided, however, in all my planning and scheduling and filling in of tiny cloud cells, is that there is one race that I had on the "I'm totally doing that race in 2011" list that I'm so totally not doing: the Seattle Rock n Roll half.

Yeah, I thought I was only taking 2010 off from half marathons, but what really happened was that I took 2010 off from half marathons while also realizing that I'm kinda over road running for a while. Sure, I'll do the duathlon with its run portions on roads and trails, but that's going to absorb all the 2011 Interest In Running on the Roads I have to offer.

To put another nail in that coffin, when I was last out at Sanborn Park punishing and then rewarding myself with that mountain's steep ass climbs and downhills, I actually threw down the dough for an annual parking pass so that I wouldn't have to scrounge up $6 from Bubba's wallet (KIDDING. I take it from the disabled kid's jar at Safeway.)(KIDDING. I take it from our laundry change jar.)(Seriously. It's all in nickles and quarters. How pathetic.) every time I wanted to run there.

So now the challenge is to make use of that pass so that I don't feel like a baboon's red ass at the end of the year. My calculations tell me that will mean I need to run there once a month to break even. And *that* tells me that running on the road just became an expensive and boring alternative to running in the mountains at any of the parks we have around here.

And all that tells me that I didn't need a spreadsheet to organize my running plans for the year. I could have just put it right here: Run in the mountains as much as possible. Run any trail races that don't conflict with any other bullshit that's somehow already on the calendar. GO.

Well, *I* feel better.

:: Random side note here is that I dislike how Blogger doesn't recognize "duathlon" as a word. It comes up on the spellchecker and offers a slew of other -athlons like biathlon, triathlon, decathlon, but acts like a duathlon isn't a real thing and I take offense to that. Suck it, spellchecker - it IS a real thing and I have the cheesy pictures to prove it. And just to spite you: duathlon, duathlon, duathlon, duathlon, duathlon, duathlon. Ha. 

I win. ::

Book Club: The Lost Continent. Travels in Small Town America, Bill Bryson

You'll be glad to know that this post will take on less of a Book Report vibe and more of a Brief Summary of My Totally Random Opinions vibe since I can't quote from the book directly (gave my copy to Shelley while I was in Italy) and the idea of a book report is a little too homework-ish and that's boring.

When I read the title (obviously skimmed right over the sub-title), I didn't think this was going to be a book about Bill's travels around central and eastern US. To me, the US is about as un-lost a place as I could imagine. Mostly because I live in it, and am therefore able to put my finger right on it and say, "See! Here it is. The US is here. Not lost at all." But, as usually rings true, there's more to a book than it's title, cover, etc. And if you happen to read the subtitle you can bypass a lot of confusion altogether, I suppose. And then, too, it's about other things America has lost; like fit adults, safe streets for walking, taste for food that is not fast, culture in general, etc.

The "lost"-ness of the continent was about the little cities that get lost between his hometown of Des Moines, Iowa and 38 other east-ish of Iowa locales. Don't hold me to the exact states, because as I said before, my copy of this book now lives in Rome with it's adopted Italian family, eating better than all of us and learning to swear with its hands, so I'm unable to do my anal-retentive fact checking so you don't make fun of me and leave mean comments. So please, be gentle.

If you've read any of Bill's other books (Do you like how I call him Bill? Like he's my next door neighbor or something) you know the gist - he hops in the car (or on a train, bus, etc) and roams from town to town. When in town, he seeks accommodations and then goes about the town on foot to find their local pub, restaurant and tacky shopping establishment. During these standard activities he finds one million heart-stopping hilarities to comment on, while also giving himself a good rib and concluding with a summary on the town that may or may not deduce that the best thing to do in the town is to fall asleep in a hotel room while watching reruns and eating peanut butter cups.

I'll go right on and admit that this particular volume of Bill's travel stories wasn't my fave. But that's because I appear to have started with his newer stuff and worked backward. Which is kind of disappointing in the same way that turning on the WB to watch Simpsons reruns is when you realize they've caught up to the newest syndicated episode and now are starting over from #1 where Homer's voice is weird and Bart's face is all long.

But I did love Bill's description of his portly hometown women, the deadpan reviews of his father's thrifty family vacation tactics and the way he could always find something to remark upon about a town, even if it was just the wideness of their Wal-Mart aisles. I didn't find "Lost Continent" as enthralling to read as, say, "In a Sunburned Country", but that's probably because he was writing about Australia instead of Kentucky, and let's face it, I'd rather be down under than down south. Plus, everything is scarier, and therefore funnier, in Australia, and I felt a little more inclined to honk with laughter after I realized Bill's life might have been in certain danger during the writing of that book. Basically, I still found lots of funny nuggets to get me cackling in Lost Continent, but his voice was weird and I could tell his face was all long.

As a gesture of confidence in my theory I have already ordered his latest book which I anticipate to be at least as as funny as the other later works I've extra loved. And as a gesture of my proven laziness, I will note for you Bill's event calendar, and then tell you that as I'm writing this on 10/23 (pre-emptively reviewing since I finished the book about five minutes after I started book club) I'm not going to attend his 10/24 visit to SF because the mere thought of driving into the city after work makes me despondent and vaguely nauseous. And, really, I doubt he'd sign my boobs anyway.

What I will do is declare the next book in the club as his latest book (yes, the one I just ordered), The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, since it's on it's way and I know I'll throw down my current read of his that is suffering from Old Simpsons Syndrome as soon as it arrives.

And if you're bored of Bill already and want diversity in your reading, I will say that our *next* book will not be a Bryson, and might be fiction. So, if you want to hang out with me and read along through one more Bryson, YAY! And if not, well, you can do a lot of things that I won't spell out for you, but one of them has a bad word it in and rhymes with bite me.

Now, for the club-ish part of this - you guys fill up the comments section with your own summaries/comments/tales of public embarrasment so that we can all regale in the joy that is a shared read. Also, vote on the book (on the right ----->) and tell us what you really think.

AND in 6 weeks time, on 12/15, let us gather again to share our comments on the newest episode of Bill's, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid.

Oh, and Happy Dress Up Like a Freak Day.

It's official - I'm a child.

Neckdown Long Hooded Cardigan
by Diane Soucy for Knitting Pure and Simple
Yarn: Blue Sky Alpacas Dyed Organic Cotton in Graphite
Needles: Circular 9 (24"), 9 (16"), DPN 9 & 7, tapestry needle
Raveled here

So, I started another sweater.

Even after last time when I had an emotional break down with the Hourglass Sweater pattern that turned out like a pile of horseshit thanks to a bunch of different and evil issues.

I don't want to talk about it.

But, I went back into the water with sweaters anyway because I have always wanted to knit myself a sweater (like, a good one that I'll really wear, not a big fugly one that'll just be so I can *say* that I knitted a sweater - you know) and also because Philigry, who is chaperoning my re-entry into knitting, managed to knit up a sweater so excellent and allegedly so quick and easy that I felt safe getting back on the water skis for another trip around the harbor.

Or whatever. You've seen Jaws, right? You know what I mean.

So, with shaky hands, I went on to Jimmy Beans and ordered myself up a scary large amount of organic cotton (for my supah sensitive wool-hater skin) and then Yarnmarket for the needles I didn't have in my I'm So Anal Retentive Needle Case (I'll have to show this to y'all someday - it's silly) and then sat there on my couch and quietly freaked out about trying to knit another sweater.

Because of the Fear of Horseshit Knitting.

Don't mock me - it's a real thing. And I have it.

I then entertained the idea of what if the yarn doesn't show up and I don't have to tempt failure and maybe feel like a loser, but then the yarn showed up in, like, the blink of an eye, and by some miracle I'd also finished the Crazy Ass Knee Socks, so I had no choice but to dive in and hope for the best.

And also No Sharks, please.

Thankfully, this pattern started off super easy like Sunday morning. Cast on like a mutha and GO. And then, basically, keep going for a long time - making some INCs here and there, and do try to stick to your one cocktail maximum so that shit doesn't start falling off the needles as can tend to happen after cocktail #2. Or so I hear.

I was loving it a lot. I was moving fast. I had a HOOD, for godssake! Things were great - there wasn't any horseshit in sight! But, deep down, I was still worried. Eventually there HAD to be some snag. Some insurmountable disaster. Some pattern acronym unknown to man and inexplicable in the natural world.

Well, sorta.

So - I'm simple. Like, in the head simple. After knitting the hood and doing a jillion INC rows for the shoulders and back and starting to feel like HEY I'VE TOTALLY GOT THIS DOWN (I should know better, yes) I came to the increases for the armholes and nearly lost my shit trying to figure it out.

Again, I'll remind you that I'm simple in the head.

Specifically, the pattern says "Cast on 12 for the armhole and knit across the back stitches" or something to that effect, which is totally innocuous and not scary which made my sudden but complete failure to comprehend the process all the more alarming.

I started to Cable Cast-on, but it was leaving this bizarre connector thread dangling across the armhole that was

1. Wrong and
2. Wrong

Then I tried the so-called Knit Cast-On which produced similarly aggravating results. It's possible that I was doing both of these methods wrong, even though I've done them both before without issue.

My mind was boggling. Also, I was saying a lot of bad words and, in my last attempt at getting a Cable cast-on to work - I snapped the working yarn.

FUCK ME.

Oh yeah, I said it. Just like that. And I woke Bubba up in the process from the couch across the room. NOT a good moment for either of us. Thankfully the dog had gone to bed so she didn't have to be there for mommy's melt down. Rocket, however, looked up from her butt cleaning in alarm. How dare I?

Anyway. I knew it was time to get out the big guns and solve this once and for all. The sweater was going so well that I wasn't prepared to admit defeat with less than 1/4 of the sweater actually done. My only hesitation was that if I went for the big guns and found that they, too, were useless, I would have to go crawling on my knees to fellow Ravelers and beg for help due to my simplemindedness.

To be clear, Big Guns = My Big Vogue Knitting Book.

For those of you knitters who don't own this book, please stop everything you're doing (even if you're knitting at this exact moment) and go get this book. It will save you a lot of pain and suffering, especially if you refer to it BEFORE you overwork yarn to the point of snapping, like a normal person might.

And even if you do abnormal things like I mentioned earlier and only resort to it in a fit of anger and frustration, you'll be rewarded all the same with answers to your every knitting question. For instance, if your question is, "How the fuck do I cast-on 12 stitches with only one tail without creating a bizarre and unworkable connecting thread?" your answer will be on or around page 54 where it outlines the very simple process known as the Single Cast-on Method.

Oh.

The Single Cast-on Method. The one that goes like this and only requires one tail and is the "best way to teach a child" how to cast on stitches as they "learn to knit" or something similarly insulting that made me not want to use it. In the end though, I tried it and HOLY it totally worked.

And just like that, I was back on track.

Albeit, I was a "child", but I was back on track all the same and didn't have to admit defeat to my sweater which is a wonderful and enlightening thing. And it makes it easier to go to sleep knowing that a ball of string hasn't triumphed over one's very soul.

So, yeah, I'm knitting a sweater and it's going pretty well so far, minus a short diversion in which I said every bad word. And I hope to have this enormous beast done sometime in the next decade because, despite its fast and easiness so far, it's still ruuuuuuuuuuully long and so will probably take some real deep down wanting in order to finish.

Wish me luck. Please. And also no sharks.

It's out of my hands now.

It's really a relief to have so many gifts off to their proper new homes because now I can't special them up against my will.

I mean, sure, it's nice that they're off warming the bellies of my beloved friends, but mostly it's just nice because now I can't go wrapping special fabric around the jam or tying bows onto the bags or whathaveyou because they're mostly gone.

And, because I'm an anal retentive freak that requires order and consistency in all my projects and endeavors, I won't special up the gifts that have yet to be distributed because they would then be different from the ones already Out in the Field and I can't have different looking gifts all traipsing about the Bay Area as though they're part of a grand master scheme when they're not. They'd be impostors, which is something else of which I'm not a fan.

Yay! I'm a psycho!

Also, here's the ridiculous holiday wrapping color/etc scheme I put together:

Yeah, so it's not 4th of July, but I failed to recognize that when I chose blue bags and red and white string. Whatever. Happy 4th!

And so there's my handwriting in ballpoint pen and you can still see the Ball logo under my store-bought label? What?

It still kinda looks special even though this is just basically a paper bag with a sticker and could be any 2nd grader's lunch. Right?

The important thing is that the contents are edible and the recipients made an acceptable amount of cooing and yummy noises when they saw what was inside. It's also good that they all know to expect handmade gifts from me and go as far as saying (well, one person did) that they look forward to seeing what I come up with for holiday gifts.

Whether they mean that in the rude way or the nice way is of little importance to me. I choose to believe they like my unexpected handmade weirdnesses and so I'm choosing to think that they're not making fun of me right to my face.

Because that kind of thing should be kept behind my back on a blog somewhere where strangers can read about it and judge me and I can go on thinking that I'm awesome and make good jam that people like.

Remember! Crazy lady!

Happy Holidays.