tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-152393192024-03-20T16:32:06.389-07:00Someday Something Will Happenshmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-5891003022284478462009-04-02T21:03:00.000-07:002009-04-02T21:11:18.752-07:00Good Housekeeping, Part Deux<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_mwtbSq2XDfyTDiAuwrXQDzK0MQcIppgLiDwaoiy-JV039JIYKFmDZ8bXOTlq64LDOrmhFfGz7cE5GNGaFcNluNdaN1BcA1wNPM7P78QeW79AWD4jXNmgIl23ZrGX_3UB7r5/s1600-h/IMG00078.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_mwtbSq2XDfyTDiAuwrXQDzK0MQcIppgLiDwaoiy-JV039JIYKFmDZ8bXOTlq64LDOrmhFfGz7cE5GNGaFcNluNdaN1BcA1wNPM7P78QeW79AWD4jXNmgIl23ZrGX_3UB7r5/s320/IMG00078.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320312832137294882" /></a><br />Drank from the wrong beer. Will keep you updated.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-83557501976405732212009-02-09T15:54:00.001-08:002009-02-09T16:52:31.616-08:00Good HousekeepingPlate of lentils rotting on desk next to bed have comforting smell of yeast.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-23171320825757798482009-02-09T13:59:00.001-08:002009-02-09T14:01:26.092-08:00SharingSometimes, when I have a cold, I lick my hands and then touch all the lids at the coffee bar. If I have the time, I lick some of the spoons.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-44196812907281243932009-02-05T03:48:00.000-08:002009-02-05T03:56:44.344-08:00More to come. Hold your breath. That makes everything happen faster.When it comes to vague projects with no deadline, you can count on me!shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-154865143269785962008-01-28T16:46:00.000-08:002008-02-26T19:45:35.806-08:00Bunnies, Easter, Mardi Gras, Lent. The darkest days of the winter are behind us.I saw this on <a href="http://www.kottke.org">kottke.org</a> last november and it definitely takes away the prize for Favorite Youtube Video of 2007. Sad, beautiful, disturbing, sweet. My favorite death is the final one. <br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZCrGnd3ljqA&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZCrGnd3ljqA&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-62003094047806162462007-11-09T19:11:00.000-08:002007-11-09T19:13:23.251-08:00just wondering...<span style="font-style: italic;">If I were at the Laundromat late one night and someone bonked me on the head as I was leaning deep into the bottom dryer to retrieve that lost sock that probably didn’t have a match anyway, and they shoved my unconscious body into the dryer and set it on “permanent press”, would you laugh?</span>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-44527435677378869682007-07-11T10:40:00.000-07:002007-07-11T13:50:38.885-07:00HeadacheLetters like this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6oABfqasrvj__R8ruGLHtu6BR-nASDiqbFfr4HKXUC8XdPmJUW-ug6RaAhzLxBCJDnyqLBugkkgdQYy9mvHkJxIvWhHSQ7wTJKLSTT4W_EvnYX-TaA3nbwivenSNf-qFRbP2/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6oABfqasrvj__R8ruGLHtu6BR-nASDiqbFfr4HKXUC8XdPmJUW-ug6RaAhzLxBCJDnyqLBugkkgdQYy9mvHkJxIvWhHSQ7wTJKLSTT4W_EvnYX-TaA3nbwivenSNf-qFRbP2/s320/Picture+1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085999280254338322" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Make me want to tear my hair out. I took the other picture down because I suddenly worried that it would appear mean and I most certainly do not want to appear mean.<br /><br />Yes. This post is a cop out. Yes. Angela is just doing her job. Yes. I like to whine.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-39155619436766685352007-05-16T13:55:00.000-07:002007-05-16T13:57:01.389-07:00At the Top of My Game<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUs2FSGejA1vKqN80gGBGROp9wA7xTVomN5YTElAjJUGtRkielud2R5tqJcwEAXEMpsaoS5WweAZX-GD98HWtdtUaxfv8u0lhTdv4r2-WwYJOIGd9DmNMXm5Nq0jpLgEP8lgZ/s1600-h/DSCN3709.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiUs2FSGejA1vKqN80gGBGROp9wA7xTVomN5YTElAjJUGtRkielud2R5tqJcwEAXEMpsaoS5WweAZX-GD98HWtdtUaxfv8u0lhTdv4r2-WwYJOIGd9DmNMXm5Nq0jpLgEP8lgZ/s320/DSCN3709.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064732983541793090" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://subburdenite.blogspot.com/2007/04/broken-duck-and-queen-condor-visit.html">Subburdenite</a> chooses to call it "the Pinnacles". My marine mammal obsessed friend dubbed it "the Pinnipedicles". I am going to opt for the simpler <a href="http://www.nps.gov/pinn/">Pinnacles</a>. It all makes sense to me and it could hardly be important.<br /><br />Damn this place is crowded! Groups of teens, groups of kids, parents with toddlers, and an elderly woman with one knee in a brace, one knee wrapped in elastic, and a cane that was masquerading as a hiking stick who we happened upon, all of us flushed with exertion, at the top of a ridge. It was surprising considering that most of the hikes are graded moderate to the is of strenuous and the heat is intense. *pant pant* Some reputable weather site claims the high was a mere 62 F the day we exerted and I cannot prove them wrong, but I would stake several valuable things on the falsity of this claim.<br /><br />I have been here before. Maybe 6 years ago? It feels like a lifetime ago and if the criteria chosen to measure this were hiking style, then I think few would choose to accuse me of hyperbole. My previous journey was a hike along the Old Pinnacles Trail (at the time I went there was water in the creek) to the Balconies Caves and back. I remember being rather tired and pleased with myself for having exerted the effort. This trip we walked the park almost in its entirety. We missed some of the second halves of the small loops (to backtrack would be silly), but saw everything but Chalone Peak and the 7.0 mile North Wilderness Trail, on which it is suggested that one use topographic maps and be otherwise slightly better prepared than our crew.<br /><br /><br />When I was in Peru, I was driven to climb to the top of Huayna Picchu at the end of a 4 day hike through the jungle by knowledge of the likelihood of my not returning, and an obsession with Herzog, Kinski and the movie "Aguirre, the Wrath of God" (I really wanted to see the stairs from the opening shots of the movie, but was unable to locate them with certainty. Should have researched it before I went, but I thought it would be obvious.). Here I am at the top. It's a little hard to tell, but Macchu Picchu is many many feet below me.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4dGBHdyUrXsTFv4_hpU2w66Vnxy56gwpqasjRiEIMOh66lNJCQjIEV_9DfzPleqkE4SfGyFYK5ydBfIUs3w7LBffl-jmK6Rc8oSLbHDBUzkB9l7D_M3eH-JtmOKGF-3QyOflj/s1600-h/DSCN0845_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4dGBHdyUrXsTFv4_hpU2w66Vnxy56gwpqasjRiEIMOh66lNJCQjIEV_9DfzPleqkE4SfGyFYK5ydBfIUs3w7LBffl-jmK6Rc8oSLbHDBUzkB9l7D_M3eH-JtmOKGF-3QyOflj/s320/DSCN0845_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064731192540430626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />When I went to Pinnacles, my decision to take a left and add 4 miles to the hike back to camp at 6:00pm was driven purely by ego. A decision that was placed upon me by my friend Tom. It drove all of us to take the extended journey back to camp and there is no doubt that it was worth it. Pride pushes me to try a harder with a positive result. On the other hand, the casual statement that I walk quickly and am, perhaps, a natural born hiker is a very proper example of pride gone, um, slightly off course. I sped through the park like there was a fire on my ass. Afraid to lose the lead and eager to not disprove my friends' friendly observations. I took some photos, but I could have lingered a little longer. This is a shot taken in the Bear Gulch Caves, looking up. Initially I thought it looked like a Georgia O'Keefe painting, but now that I have it full size I have lost confidence in this assessment.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6e-oy93TYUPQFVPUuvARdORJoKm_mymw56Hpchn00prSxQPWjfAr4ZWkW1CWgWMnwel2SZ05HpgDjbarXT5m4sIxw7mfN7ch77uhBD3g9oVZXvSBfkuRTj0wEOssAqFf2sUp/s1600-h/DSCN3688.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6e-oy93TYUPQFVPUuvARdORJoKm_mymw56Hpchn00prSxQPWjfAr4ZWkW1CWgWMnwel2SZ05HpgDjbarXT5m4sIxw7mfN7ch77uhBD3g9oVZXvSBfkuRTj0wEOssAqFf2sUp/s320/DSCN3688.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064732107368464690" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And I am pretty sure I saw a Condor, but it is possible that it was just another turkey vulture. We debated the sightings until we saw the final bird. If you go be sure to watch the Violet Green Swallow's flight pattern and to stand on the large rock at the Outlook and make a loud, shrill noise - the echo is awing.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-87061662632881873132007-05-15T00:02:00.000-07:002007-05-15T01:20:58.969-07:00Hit In the Head<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishiFgM28aigMw9F6mTR28bebrLMdX6vk79s2hdL7bfrtswOS27TBJXvf1hUGWv-bhjOqp0pcV2l0n1zh_ETTz4B6389-txnkwu2fiTLx9pOiDdUtRjVCkMaa12L0oY9X9hcJh/s1600-h/DSCN3430.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishiFgM28aigMw9F6mTR28bebrLMdX6vk79s2hdL7bfrtswOS27TBJXvf1hUGWv-bhjOqp0pcV2l0n1zh_ETTz4B6389-txnkwu2fiTLx9pOiDdUtRjVCkMaa12L0oY9X9hcJh/s320/DSCN3430.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064695411167887634" border="0" /></a><br />I was having one of those days. Maybe it was one of those weeks. Maybe it was a month. Maybe it was one of those phases. Those times when you make plans and then wake up in the morning and want to cancel them. Those times when you make plans to do things that sound interesting and can't muster the enthusiasm to see it through or you get there and realize it's just okay. Stuck, bored, uninspired. I'm not going. Out. And your friend talks to you on the phone and says, "stop, we're going". And you know that exactly what you need is to let someone you trust take control of your decision making for one moment instead of playing the "I Will Listen to Myself" game. And it works. I made it to the <a href="http://bampfa.berkeley.edu/">Berkeley Art Museum</a> on a gray sunday for the one of the last few days of the <a href="http://bampfa.berkeley.edu/exhibition/grapefruit">Yoko Ono exhibit</a>.<br /><br />I have little knowledge of her art. I know the story of how she and John met (look it up if you don't know it). I have seen bits and pieces and always found her intriguing. The retrospective consisted predominantly of the instruction paintings from her 1964 book "Grapefruit". There were some glass cases which I do not recall distinctly and the telephone, which I believe is commonplace at yoko exhibits. If the phone should ring, you should answer, for it will be she.<br /><br />The walls were painted a lovely baby blue with white text. Apparently my photos are a copyright violation (got in a wee bit of trouble). In order to make the images legible I had to unforgivably uglify them, so I will not post any of them. Instead I will quote.<br /><br />Cloud Piece<br /><br />Imagine the clouds dripping,<br />Dig a hole in your garden<br />to put them in.<br /><br /><br />Mirror Piece<br /><br />Instead of obtaining a mirror,<br />obtain a person<br />Look into him<br />Use different people.<br />Old, young, fat, small, etc,<br /><br />The Yoko Ono exhibit was nicely complemented by the <a href="http://bampfa.berkeley.edu/exhibition/nauman">Bruce Nauman exhibit</a> of some of his early works that we saw afterward. He has a good sense of humor. "Self Portrait as a Fountain" made me giggle and all who know me know I enjoy giggling. I also hear that he is important and influential, but my story will end here. The photo was taken at BAM/PFA and is not related to any of the aforementioned artists. Also, when we went to look at the asian art, M fell over in a paroxysm of hunger, so we had to race off to eat chili cheese fries served in a giant bucket.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-60559123820000954592007-05-14T22:44:00.000-07:002007-05-14T23:34:00.783-07:00ExodusThe jumping Teddy Bear Cactus is a fierce beast with spines that poke out in every which way meaning it doesn't just stick into the skin, but lodges in with ferocity. I had to walk, trembling, toward help and operation dislodge. No blood, but it did indeed hurt. The vision of butchered skin lurking underneath the sleeve of my shirt was vivid throughout the 3 minute long experience. They loom large on the horizon.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhU5jZE-2kwvpz32RVE0MTiP0b55jg0hywkprx4jfBOmhvL1aaNE9WLWZTyN8Cj2VP4Q_sklNHxE9RctOYSp2aLCOaLt5sZtqCnQw0ZgDy-ZK8uneWgWLEozH48ZaWM63BHWI/s1600-h/DSCN3535.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhU5jZE-2kwvpz32RVE0MTiP0b55jg0hywkprx4jfBOmhvL1aaNE9WLWZTyN8Cj2VP4Q_sklNHxE9RctOYSp2aLCOaLt5sZtqCnQw0ZgDy-ZK8uneWgWLEozH48ZaWM63BHWI/s320/DSCN3535.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064663748668981410" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />But in the end...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv79r-xujqt4zLI6FoMwyiJepQImLGWaHTGOAfEcKclFqlBamdpVglbRcbW866m6Qgd4QBvPcLXKYyCHNijJ6ADbQ2cmDfNYaN4BhAHVmw76M1ndY-Iuyy6aadFc-Bbn-XIJ_0/s1600-h/DSCN3539.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv79r-xujqt4zLI6FoMwyiJepQImLGWaHTGOAfEcKclFqlBamdpVglbRcbW866m6Qgd4QBvPcLXKYyCHNijJ6ADbQ2cmDfNYaN4BhAHVmw76M1ndY-Iuyy6aadFc-Bbn-XIJ_0/s320/DSCN3539.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064664757986295986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />They were no match for me, recently aligned with my inner giantess.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijuuiDIElwzqJ_gabLmtvjMYYTma_7g-A-d17D5kQItb0hIdmQSJqt9ngDpiwyangRfCrhFjzr_2vfSFynvkOWyQ39VsUYRmwLMhdugZhe3-LMCEBxT9p7g6EL748hfNY43ZXS/s1600-h/DSCN3541.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijuuiDIElwzqJ_gabLmtvjMYYTma_7g-A-d17D5kQItb0hIdmQSJqt9ngDpiwyangRfCrhFjzr_2vfSFynvkOWyQ39VsUYRmwLMhdugZhe3-LMCEBxT9p7g6EL748hfNY43ZXS/s320/DSCN3541.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064664981324595394" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The famed Joshua Trees have a lot of personality. They were blooming (this one isn't). This one is a little bit lonely. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkV1H_8wWDamI_2kOXVij59gw-ZjMX-sCcSpHEiMho23hpu0Jk1Szkq6bBHrl5qDxuHfMpRSTr03wbFQ-hitpRF70yvOWYAx_ZfhN0R_uUvSDcTse-cHS12XpwfEjOYTSiLEzD/s1600-h/DSCN3493.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkV1H_8wWDamI_2kOXVij59gw-ZjMX-sCcSpHEiMho23hpu0Jk1Szkq6bBHrl5qDxuHfMpRSTr03wbFQ-hitpRF70yvOWYAx_ZfhN0R_uUvSDcTse-cHS12XpwfEjOYTSiLEzD/s320/DSCN3493.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064670246954500306" border="0" /></a><br />I went to the desert about a month ago. I love it there. It heightens the senses and places the mind into a hallucinatory dreamlike state. It's also very photogenic. Traveling with two avid photographers was great inspiration for me to play with my little point and shoot more than usual. Patience (mine), photographer's eyes, and kind words of support are wonderful things. By the way, if you drop something, rest assured, my friend <a href="http://whifflingthrough.blogspot.com/2007/05/joshua-tree.html">Doug</a> will find it.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-3469090597380665102007-05-10T20:34:00.000-07:002007-05-11T00:07:59.336-07:00Why me why me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrzNxEVfm4nFPCixPOfb8IuB1FKJS-uA_QkdVD7i09vvfIbmEdqhN0GyFuyCWfEEpKtQ-iqXjdCzcSRtYkmXCfZp-CjvuRLMS4p9DJyoZ3ibhmITZMopagNUmRPjHf8afwNKPK/s1600-h/DSCN3678.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrzNxEVfm4nFPCixPOfb8IuB1FKJS-uA_QkdVD7i09vvfIbmEdqhN0GyFuyCWfEEpKtQ-iqXjdCzcSRtYkmXCfZp-CjvuRLMS4p9DJyoZ3ibhmITZMopagNUmRPjHf8afwNKPK/s320/DSCN3678.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063192262808600722" border="0" /></a>All I did was stop at the Chinese Restaurant for the really average $4.50 huge pile of food lunchtime meal deal which I'm not even sure was what I ordered because I opted to order something new and vaguely named (5 spice chicken) and when I got back to the office wasn't even sure that I had gotten what I ordered. It tasted fine, but was suspiciously sweet and sour pork like. All I did was open the fortune cookie (break in half, take two bites, remember I do not like, then throw away) and got this little gem. Neurotic miser doomed to never quiet the inner critic. Darn. what happened to "you will be recognized as a community leader". I guess both things are possible.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-74450103133749865352007-04-30T12:38:00.000-07:002007-04-30T12:54:40.257-07:00Self Affirmation<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:180%;" >I am a wonderful dinner date.</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/196/478606006_c61fa4037f.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/196/478606006_c61fa4037f.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-size:180%;" >I eat</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/174/478605946_0b3fe1eb2f.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/174/478605946_0b3fe1eb2f.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:180%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:180%;">with enthusiasm<br /></span></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/180/478624225_9f854b8b32.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/180/478624225_9f854b8b32.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">(and shine)</span><br /></div>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-10116822667006073462007-04-18T00:56:00.000-07:002007-04-18T01:01:45.889-07:00Shrimp from Long John Silver<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/j3LLpNLo864"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/j3LLpNLo864" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-87322353675212444132007-01-11T23:29:00.000-08:002007-03-23T16:20:57.857-07:00holiday post postwell, it seems that everyone but me blogged for the new year. Me? I was busily surveying the bounty of the christmas season, thereby realizing the disproportionate amount of lavendar scented home and beauty products. a candle, potpourri, soup, and a microwaveable eye pillow. i feel a little told without the telling.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-37629931581679193142006-12-15T14:00:00.000-08:002006-12-15T14:23:04.041-08:00Worth the price of admission?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.flickr.com/129/322899883_806b3bbf73.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://static.flickr.com/129/322899883_806b3bbf73.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">post lunch fortune. Maybe I should buy a lotto ticket. I might win a dollar.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.flickr.com/129/322899883_806b3bbf73.jpg"><br /></a>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-43134385525235289372006-11-12T20:48:00.000-08:002006-11-12T21:35:39.608-08:00ConclusiveThere were suddenly more witnesses to my death than I would have liked. I was strolling home from work, crossing the street. I looked up and noticed the red light but felt like i could keep going and somehow as I stepped off the curb I forgot what I was doing. I noticed an approaching car, turned back, then turned to cross again ruminating over whether I should hit the reverse button on my <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ipod</span>. It was a particularly monumental track that sweeps me up every time I listen. Then someone honked and I looked up and realized again that I was crossing the street. Against the light, cars zooming at me from both directions. It was the same split moment when contemplating my <span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">imminent</span> death that I noticed the convenience store guy smoking his cigarette and watching, the couple with the dog, walking down the hill toward me, the towheaded fellow with the glasses on the opposite corner crossing on the green and both of the oncoming cars. At the inquiry there would be no one to deny my stupidity.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1161578944250008982006-10-22T21:38:00.000-07:002006-11-13T21:03:43.421-08:00Bologn-azyI was inspired by my dear friend and his gurgling, eyes rolled back, rhapsodizing over his wife's meat sauce to try my hand as well. If I lived in Texas I would have invited myself over for a sampling, but since I live miles away (into the hundreds) I was forced to try my hand at it all solo. I opted to make Bolognese sauce. Mostly because I like to say it and partly because it sounded greasy and unctuous and I like that.<br /><br />Anyway since this was a last minute study evading/forcing (3 hour simmer time) tool I merely did a cursory search on the internet for a recipe. Normally I would have been at the library with 5 cookbooks fstacked in front of me so this was really a step toward a new more laid back me. Back to the topic... Debate a plenty cos it's got milk and wine that gets reduced as some point in the recipe and maybe has a little tomato as well. I settled on the wine reducing after cooking meat before tomato sauce and finishing with the milk. Mostly I did this because of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bolognese_sauce">wikipedia</a> entry and partly because I'm an idiot and reference wikipedia much more often than I should. (thanks to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/alreadythere/">alreadythere</a> for gently pointing this out to me over a pina colada) The food turned out kind of eh.<br /><br />That may have been because in my research I found a paraphrased Marcella Hazan recipe (lady knows her stuff) and she reduces the milk very early on. I suspected that perhaps this was because the enzymes in the milk helped to soften the meat in the dish, but I got misled by a my grandmother made it this way entry. This morning I went to work to find people reiterating my initial thoughts about the milk. Then I thought. My mother is a great cook (really, and not just in the subjective sense - well, i suppose it's all subjective but maybe you know what i mean) and I have been to plenty of homes where mamas cooking is doughy pancakes or condensed milk marshmallow fluff jello blobs (a horrendous experience). I feel that this is perhaps something that does not improve with age. So I got misled and added the milk too late. This probably affected the texture. Plus I used pork and beef and I definitely felt it could have benefitted from a little veal. Regardless I will be eating this for the next week (or longer).shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1154802740416352692006-08-05T11:26:00.000-07:002006-11-12T20:42:37.875-08:00Peek-a-boo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.flickr.com/88/206377867_7168242df7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://static.flickr.com/88/206377867_7168242df7.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1154061009333576452006-07-27T21:27:00.000-07:002006-11-12T20:42:37.758-08:00Lunch Hour<div style="text-align: justify;">It's hard to not have fun in a photo booth. Bling and Photos courtesy of Marc Jacobs store on Fillmore street. Free!!! (well, not the bling)<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.flickr.com/61/198562954_7537aef23b.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://static.flickr.com/61/198562954_7537aef23b.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1152128072998228712006-07-20T17:22:00.000-07:002006-11-12T20:42:36.759-08:00I'm kind of youngI'm not sick. I have no plans to move to another city or neighborhood. I have loads of free time. This all does little to explain my commitment to returning to the same breakfast spot over and over again. I get up twice a month with a ghastly hangover at 9am and sadly realize as i stare at my ceiling, or perhaps the inside of my elbow, that to lie in bed longer would not restore my soul and physical being efficiently or through the path of least pain. So i bravely get up, get dressed, grab a book and head out the door in search of a "novel" experience. open door, turn left, turn left. wonder where to go, reach mission st. Pupusas? South American Stew only served on weekends? El Salvadoran? Greasy Spoon? Random Street Tamale served ina Safeway bag? My eyes are wide with anticipation. Turn right. walk walk walk walk walk . Red Cafe. Damn. mediocre eggs, mediocre hash browns, pretty good fried plaintains. they recently repainted the walls brown! (from a lovely white) they have a counter and the coffee is too hot to drink so only one cup is downed over the course of the meal, if you are lucky you make it to one refill. It ain't cheap. These are all good reasons to go to a restaurant every 6 months or so cos it's in the hood, but my reluctant fervor I cannot understand. I will butt my head on discontent for as long as the object is willing.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1153376836049458242006-07-19T23:22:00.000-07:002006-11-12T20:42:37.514-08:00While StudyingI killed a bug on the coffee table with the point of my pen knowing full well the stranger sitting across from me was watching. I wondered if he wondered whether i would finish the job with my 0.3 mM inky dagger, repeatedly stabbing it's flailing body, or finish the job quick with a piece of paper or simply my thumb. Then I wondered whether he wondered what each choice revealed about my personality. I know I did.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1150416895359789522006-06-15T19:15:00.000-07:002006-11-12T20:42:36.661-08:00I am a Happy PersonNo more unsavory photos for a while. I'd just like to comment on the joys of learning calculus for the third time. It's not fresh and exciting like it was the second time and it makes me feel stupid. If i was looking for an ego stroke via review I am certainly not getting it from that 10lb blue math book that I've been hauling around with me for the past couple weeks. It all used to be so easy, back when i was young and before all the intellectual inactivity took it's toll. I knew I should quit wearing anti-perspirant and just didn't heed the warnings. I will be sitting in my underlit apartment inhaling stale air, fitting large objects into small trash cans (sub, the solution is so simple!! Thanks for the tip!) , and attempting to continue my "love affair" with Mathematics.shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1150416096756713102006-06-15T17:01:00.000-07:002006-11-13T20:44:20.222-08:00Valentine Test KitchenLately I reek of failure. Tasted worse than it looks.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5552/1404/1600/DSCN2046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5552/1404/320/DSCN2046.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1150262866417035772006-06-13T21:36:00.000-07:002006-11-13T20:43:47.715-08:00Adieu Joe CoolBought with irony and then worn with love. I spent one last day with a favorite pair of socks. We went to work. We looked at clouds. (well, i looked at clouds, they came with me)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5552/1404/1600/DSCN2036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5552/1404/320/DSCN2036.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I got a painful callus on my heel. I threw them in the trash.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5552/1404/1600/DSCN2042.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5552/1404/320/DSCN2042.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15239319.post-1150219330376657062006-06-13T10:18:00.000-07:002006-11-12T20:42:36.326-08:00Sleepless Nights<div style="text-align: center;">I suppose this might be one of the reasons. Impressive, in sad way.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5552/1404/1600/DSCN2017.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5552/1404/320/DSCN2017.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>shmathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17121435717445445902noreply@blogger.com0