Monday, August 1, 2011

Plug for Brad!

I don't think Brad reads this blog...likely because I'm so manic with my posting frequency, but he's one of my best friends and a pal for life. He's also a talented artist who just graduated from U of O's Allied Arts Program this spring. Currently you can find him grilling up a mean burger and other various foods at the Rogue Brewery in the Pearl.

Last night, one of this pieces was featured at Church!, an event that happens the last Sunday of each month in Portland. It was a lovely evening of good local food (gorilla meats), good beer (Hef and a Widmer IPA), sweet beats, and awesome art. Brad was one of three artists featured. Below is a picture of his installation, which I won't take away from by trying to tell you what the greater mean was behind. But there was one, and it was awesome. You should ask him.

He'll probably be a famous very sought-after artist someday. He also makes stickers...if you ever are in need of that!

My Weekend Camping

I went camping this weekend with Chris, Celia, and Russ. Oh, what a time we had! We roasted hot dogs, drank heavily, floated on Detroit lake, slept in tents, rummaged the forest for fire wood (and sequentially made a, pretty good fire), rented a fishing boat and boated on the lake, etc. etc.

The weather was perfect, the company was superb, and I look forward to doing it again soon!

PS- A Bota Box is a kind of boxed wine I HIGHLY recommend. It was four bottles in ONE box, is easily mobile and delicious. Beats the hell out of Franzia.

PPS- On this trip, for the first time in my young life, I killed an animal while driving. Actually, Chris killed the baby bird while driving, but it was traumatic for me nonetheless. But murderous story doesn't end there! After driving over the bird and mourning for the appropriate amount of time, which I deemed to be 3 minutes, I went on with the evening. Then, when I woke up the next morning and went to the car, I saw two tiny birdy feet and some feathers peeking out of the bottom of my license plate. Yes, my friends, the bird had gotten stuck under my license plate. It's like the universe wanted me to REALLY feel bad about the road kill we had created. Next time I'll know--3 minutes isn't long enough to mourn.

And some pictures!

Weirdos. At Mongold State Park eating lunch.

Sorry Chris, you weren't read. But I'm posting anyway!

Another Birthday--Beats the Heck Out of the Alternative!

Birthdays. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, it happens to everybody once a year. I’ve always been a fan as I think it’s nice we celebrate someone on the same day each year by showering them with presents, eating a piece (or three) of cake in their honor, and singing them a Happy Birthday song—the same song that has been sung for generations. Now that I think about it, I have no idea when the “Happy Birthday” song originated, but I’m going to say generations because I feel it evokes sense of tradition I’m trying to get at here.

Sometimes I wonder: “Hey, why am I buying you a present just because you were able to continue to live and breathe for another 365 days?” And then I remember…because it’s just what we do, and I scold myself for asking these questions, which of course have no suitable answer.

My birthday is in the smack-dab middle of summer—July 16th.  And each year on that day, my mother will tell a varied version of my day of birth 1987. She’ll regale me with the details of when she went into labor (early in the morning), not to mention our house was being re-roofed and the downstairs bathroom was being remodeled. I’ll spare you the rest of the gory details.

 This just-concluded birthday was the big 2-4. 24 years went by much quicker than I thought. This year I went home, spent time with my family, and went to Salem’s Art Fair at Bush Park. The Art Fair is an annual community event and one I hold in high regard. Though I’ve never actually bought art at the art fair, I have purchased my fair share of sno-cones, greasy noodles, and beer. 

The next weekend I celebrated the big day with my friends in Portland, where the highlight of the evening was seven women (that’d be us) went to a parking lot of an empty office building and set off fireworks.  Unfortunately, there’s some skiddish folk among us who got too concerned about a potential noise complaint and we cut off the ‘works at about 10:30pm. Call it an aftershock and/or muscle memory from high school—AKA authority is scary.

Oh! On a final note, I got a crock pot as a b-day gift. Can’t wait to make some crocky-rocky meals.