a later date
(Latest 20 entries) (Calendar) (Friends) (Mitten Artworks) (User info)
Navigate: (Previous 20 entries)
Thursday, July 1, 2004
I've been hard at work on a new group blog - http://martinirepublic.com
It's a venture of longtime e-friends and I'm excited about its prospects. As well as contributing content, I've done all the design work.
It's left-leaning links and weapons-grade drinks. Check it out - and comments about content and design/nav are more than welcome!
Monday, June 7, 2004
So I hear there's to be a National Day of Mourning on Friday. While I really can't bring myself to mourn the president who presided over one of the most corrupt and criminal administrations ever, a friend suggests that instead of mourning Reagan, we mourn all those who died of AIDS due to Reagan's indifference to the epidemic. Or perhaps all those who died at the hands of the Contras, who he funded. Or both.
On Friday, I will mourn these tens of thousands of dead, not the man who whose policies directly or indirectly killed them and whose 'dumbing down' and greed set the stage for the mess America is in today.
Thursday, June 3, 2004
To both my readers:
Pretty please to be visiting Designs on the White House and voting for my design.
I'm a semi-finalist, dontcha know?!
My design has grey 'value' words and then in red: vote your hopes, not your fears. It's in the Pro-Kerry category.
I would really appreciate the support.
Current mood:  giddy
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Ooh ooh ooh - there are workmen roaming the yard, taking up sod to lay out the patio and the walks. I'm so excited.
Working with Craig and his partner Christi is like being in some kind of Good Architect/Bad Architect sketch. Christi sends us outrageous cost estimates, Craig 'fixes' them so that we can afford them. It's hilarious. Craig is very cool and is pretty sensitive to our small budget - he's bringing over some leftover blue stone he had a from a previous job to see if he can work some pieces into the bristol block patio so it's something artful and special. It'll be fine as just plain block, of course, but I love that he's taking the time to try to make it something out of the ordinary.
Current music: Sing Sing Sing - Benny Goodman (with Gene Krupa)
Wednesday, April 7, 2004
Breakfast:
a generous slice of butterkase (a kind of mild cheese)
a piece of toast with raspberry preserves (both low carb)
some chocolate soy milk (also low carb)
Young people don't eat weird shit like this. Old people do. Worse yet, I'm enjoying this breakfast; it's quite tasty.
Maybe I'm wrong - maybe it's not old people who eat this stuff, it's middle-aged people. People trying to maintain what youth they still have through wacky diets and potions and various ill-advised cosmetic surgeries.
I think I prefer the idea that I'm getting old to the idea that I'm middle-aged. I'd rather be old.
Current music: Rufus Wainwright, Want One (yes, again)
Thursday, March 11, 2004
Oh, I'm just not very good at keeping up with multiple blogs.
Let's see:
1. Keith is here.
2. Grandma died.
3. Keith's mother died.
4. I married Keith.
5. Keith got a work permit.
6. We bought a house.
There you have it. All caught up now. Don't you feel better? I know I do.
Now, if I could just figure out how to post to the Ann Arbor Ypsi journal, I'd be all set. Because as best as I can tell, The Tap Room is no longer doing live music. They appear to have put in a pool table. I am extremely bummed.
Current mood:  disappointed Current music: Rufus Wainwright
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Well, if I can manage to figure out how to put my phone through some speakers (any help would be greatly appreciated) I will be broadcasting a conference call from Howard Dean at my house on Monday September 29. It will be an extremely low-key gathering and anyone reading this is welcome to stop by.
You can register here: http://www.deanforamerica.com/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1230&px=1512352
They told me the focus of this event was not fundraising, so I set a really small goal. You can contribute if you want and I would be really happy if you did, but as far as I understand it, it isn't mandatory or anything.
Monday, September 22, 2003
Well, we're in the home stretch. He has his appointment date at the consulate, and if all goes as it should, he'll be on a plane the next day. Which is, amusingly, Halloween.
I'm excited. I'm happy, nay, giddy. I'm also terrified.
We are moving in together. We are getting married. Yes, I know you know that and I know I know that and I know that that has been what we've been waiting for since last year. But, we are moving in together. Like, for real. I don't know Everyday Keith, I only know Holiday Keith. And perhaps more disturbingly, he only knows Holiday Laura...
I can keep a house clean, or relatively so, for a ten day stretch. He's never seen what happens when I don't have 'company.' I also cook for him when he's here, like real meals and stuff. He's never seen the nights when I have a hunk of grocery store cheddar and a fistful of deli ham, or worse, popcorn and a martini.
Oh well. I imagine it's going to be a rude awakening for both of us. Upside is that he is a totally cool guy and I love him to bits and I'm just so pleased that he's agreed to be my partner.
Current music: Stereo Total, 'Rare Songs'
Wednesday, September 3, 2003
8:19PM
This mofo headache is looking at those little Motrin molecules I ingested and laughing. Not only are they ineffective against this fucker, I think they're actually running scared and have congregated somewhere in my left pinkie toe, hiding out like the wusses they are.
No, it wasn't the gin I had last night. It's this gawdawful PMS, which is the most supremely stupid name possible for this monthly bullshit. Pre?! Um hello, you male doctors who have nary a clue - it's pre AND during AND post. But simply Pre?! Ha - you wish. Or more, accurately, I wish.
Current music: Etta James
Monday, August 25, 2003
What a gorgeous word. Oh, there's still a pile of red tape to be dealt with and more time to wait, but the fiance visa has been approved. YAY YAY YAY!
Current mood: giddy Current music: MC Solaar 'La Fin Justifie les Moyens'
Sunday, August 17, 2003
Last Night, The Mar-Keys
Kiss, Prince
Ya-Ya, Buckwheat Zydeco
Yes, Morphine (sex sex sexy)
sugarcube, Yo La Tengo
Your Lips, Olu Dara
You Go to My Head, Billie Holiday
You're the Boss, Brian Setzer Orchestra
Essence, Lucinda Williams (do me, baby)
Castanets, Alejandro Escovedo (from behind)
Baby I Love You, Aretha (does one even need to put in the last name?) Franklin
Sleepwalk, Santo and Johnnie (the definitive version)
(Why isn't there a little box for "What I'm Drinking?" If there were: Tanq and (diet) tonic)
Friday, August 15, 2003
Within 30 minutes of buying the power adapter for the cellphone, the power was back on at home. 24 hours. Could be worse.
Current music: Massive Attack (on WDET)
Monday, August 11, 2003
Spent the weekend in Toronto. Saw a BlueJays game: boxscore and stadium. There's more, but frankly, I'm shagged out. (Pick a meaning, any meaning.)
Current music: Pernice Brothers, The World Won't End
Sunday, July 27, 2003
brilliant
innit
pants (not as in 'undies' but as in 'fubar')
go-on
and most favorite: shattered
Current music: Blur, Parklife
Friday, July 25, 2003
I’m eating peanuts. They’re in a little bag marked Spar, which is the name of a grocery chain. Spar? Groceries? I guess Kroger isn’t any more evocative of food than Spar, but it still strikes me as odd.
But the tiny Spar grocery store in Inverary was my first food experience in Scotland, aside from a chocolate bar, purchased a la carte along with the tiniest can of coke you’ve ever seen, on the plane. The grocery wasn’t much bigger than what we Midwesterners would call a party store, and was a storefront right on the main drag, which wasn’t much bigger than what we Midwesterners would call a lane. We purchased provisions for our ‘self-catering’ cottage there – some ham and cheese, cookies, some tonic and yes, gin.
I didn’t mind the self-catering, except that I never got to experience a full Scottish breakfast. Full English is a bizarre treat – a plate packed full of food, and not necessarily food you’d think of for breakfast. Oh sure, there are eggs and toast and sausage, but baked beans? Tomatoes? Mushrooms? It’s a trip, to say the least. Full Scottish, alas, remains a mystery.
We only took the self-catering so far, eating most of our meals out. ‘Out’ was not always what you might think, though. ‘Town’ took on quite a different meaning in this part of the country. Places named on the map were often no more than a handful of houses at a bend in the road. If there happened to be a post office or a grocery as well, it felt practically urban.
So our first dinner was in the ‘town’ up the way, which actually had a gas station and a couple bed and breakfasts. We had our supper at one of the b&bs which had been recommended to us by our landlady at Torrisdale. It was not cheap, but we were feeling flush and the sample menu left in the cottage looked luscious.
On arriving, the man of the house greeted us and ushered us into the sitting room for drinks, raising his eyebrow and telling us there was a bit of a ‘floorshow’ on that night. Floorshow indeed. As it turned out, the b&b was occupied in its entirety by the McDougall family, all 15 of them. As the extended family settled into the room, I don’t think I spoke more than a word or two to Keith as I actively eavesdropped on the proceedings. Absolutely fabulous. Clan McDougall consisted of a father, several grown sons and their families. One son had married a French woman and the older of their two sons was quite the snacky young man, lean and dark and very European looking. Grandma was there too, demure but persistent in her drink orders. She put back quite a few.
Dinner was served by the host and his daughter, having been prepared by the lady of the house. It was fantastic. I had scallops, tender and sweet, fresh off the Carradale fishing boats just down the road. I think Keith had lamb, but he started with haggis. Yes, haggis – and it was extremely good. It’s a sort of peppery sausage affair, but not in a casing, with overtones of organ meats. It came with a whisky cream sauce. Delish.
We overdid that night, both in terms of culinary excess and monetary outlay, but that wasn’t the case for the entire trip. We ate plenty of pub food, although I don’t know that I ever managed to get a ‘toasty’ (toasted sandwich). I did have a ‘cheese salad sandwich’ which consisted of shredded cheese piled on a ‘bap’ (bun) with tomato, lettuce and mayo. It was odd, but very tasty. That was in Rothesay, where I had my first taste of chips from a chip shop. This was after The Proclaimers concert (and several ciders) and is apparently the food of choice for the drunk. The chips were cut thicker than the Belgian frites I had in Paris, but were perfectly fried and were just as light and sweet inside as their skinnier cousins. Quite a pleasant thing to walk down the street along the bay, hand in hand with the love of one’s life, eating chips from a brown paper bag and giggling.
We also had handmade chocolate and more haggis (not together!) while on the Isle of Arran, a ‘kipper’ – a whole smoked fish – for breakfast, a langoustine salad from a little shack near Skipness Castle and some weird Scottish drink called Irn-Bru which is orange in color and flavored with, you guessed it, iron. I had fish seemingly everywhere – being right by the sea it seemed a prudent choice – and somewhere along the way there was a tasty peach and strawberry cobbler too.
There was one other splurge meal of note, one that we stumbled into on the way to the Isle of Bute. I was hungry, and if you’ve ever been around me in the middle of the afternoon, on the road, when I haven’t had much breakfast, you’ll know that getting some food into me is A Good Thing. I get a little, well, shall we say, single-minded about eating. So as we passed through Tighnabrauich, a sign in front of the Royal Hotel reading ‘Langoustine’ caught my eye. Mmmmmmm, shellfish. Oh yes, langoustine. And they turned out to be the biggest ones I’ve ever seen, too. A dozen, straight out of the sound, steamed and plunked an enormous platter. Keith normally finishes his meal before I do mine; in this case it was even worse than normal as I cracked and picked and sucked my way through all that delicious shellfish. They were by far the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot of excellent shellfish in my life.
It was around that part of the week that I realized how at home I felt in Scotland. I have been many places where I thought the scenery was beautiful or that I thought I might want to come back to time and again. This was the first place that I was moved to actual roll-down-my-cheeks tears by just looking at the landscape. It was as if I belonged there, as if some ancient set of genes had been stirred in me by a return to their place of origin. Being a born and bred Midwesterner, I have wondered at my passion for seafood, shellfish especially, and the sea. The romantic in me believes that those fancies are rooted in my ancestry. Scoff if you will – I won’t be swayed. I know what I felt when I was in Scotland. Home.
Current music: New Pornographers, Electric Version
Thursday, July 24, 2003
You remember The Proclaimers, don't you? And I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more... And more recently, their song 'I'm on My Way' was used in Shrek. Anyway, I'm quite enamored with them - to me, they're like Scottish Everly Brothers, updated.
Before leaving for Scotland, I happened to visit The Proclaimers website, seeking some discography information. Big banner on the front page announcing their 5 Island Tour, with dates falling within our travel dates. Yeeha! I told Keith about it, and he picked up some tickets for the first stop on the tour: the Isle of Bute.
The Isle of Bute was a fair drive from our home base, involving two ferry rides, even. More spectacular scenery. Most of the roads run along the coastline, so you're constantly seeing water and mountains and green hills. The main town on Bute is Rothesay, and that's where we stayed - the last ferry was well before the concert would be over, so we had to stay overnight.
Upon arriving in Rothesay, we drove through town looking for the hotel. Keith is driving slower and slower as we head past town, clearly thinking we've missed it. I ask if we've gone 3/4 of a mile past the pier yet, like his directions indicated. "I don't know." Roll eyes. No matter, there it is - just ahead. He parked in front of the hotel, next to a van. As we're getting out of the car, we look up and who is coming out of the hotel and into the van but Craig and Charlie themselves. I was stunned. I smiled. He (Craig) smiled back. Still stunned, we went into the hotel.
So not only are we seeing The Proclaimers (swoon), in Scotland (double swoon), but Keith has managed to book us into their hotel. Does it get any better than this?!
We did a little sightseeing that afternoon, having been told to check out the Victorian Toilets near the pier. The boy’s side was very cool, with a tiled fountain-style urinal in the middle of the room. The girl’s side was a bathroom. Yawn.
Supper at a pub (cheese salad sandwich and half pint of Guinness), a drink at another and then off to the concert. It was in a hall which looked like it was designed for the tea dances of yore. I don't know if there was any tea available, but there was cider. Apple juice with a punch. Good stuff. There were chairs and tables around the edge, but the main floor was left for standees.
The opener was okay: a girl with a guitar whose accent was thick enough that we couldn't really understand her lyrics. After a bunch of recorded music, including the Bay City Rollers, The Proclaimers eventually did come onstage. They were absolutely great. The crowd clearly adored them and everyone sang along with everything. Lots of people dancing, lots of different age groups, everyone friendly and having a good time.
At one point, after a number of ciders, they did 'Sunshine on Leith' - a sappy love song which is one of my favorites. Keith and I, who were standing at the back of the hall, were sort of swaying together, side by side, when a woman came up from behind and threw her arms around us both, swaying along with us. She was a riot, singing along and introducing us to her friends, who ended up pinching Keith's bum. It was all very funny and while it occurred to our inner cynics later that she was probably a pickpocket, I prefer to believe that it was just a couple inebriated friendly Scots having a laugh with a couple inebriated foreign tourists.
After the show, we stopped by the pub in town again and then walked the rest of the way home. Well, there was a stop at a chip shop with a cheeky chip guy who teased me a bit about American fries. We decided to duck into the hotel 'pub' (a comfy room with a bar staffed by the hotel owner) before bed and there were The Proclaimers again, gathered around a table with their crew. We drank scotch and enjoyed the brush with celebrity.
They were at breakfast in the morning, too, and checked out at just the same time we did. I had my camera out to take a pic of the hotel, and Keith insisted that I simply had to ask them if I could have a picture. No no no no no. Way too shy. Way way way too shy. So Mr. Impertinent asked for me. It's here. They were very nice, although I was way too stunned and freaked out to think of getting a pic of them with Keith too. (Sorry, baby.) I'm still kinda stunned, to be honest.
Current music: Neko Case, Blacklisted
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
[I recently traveled to Scotland and have written up some of my thoughts about the trip. This is the first of three posts.]
It wouldn't have been a real trip to Scotland without a wee dram of the water of life, now would it? We limited ourselves to the purchase of a mere 5 bottles of various single malts, plus an assortment of little tiny bottles, nearly the lot of which were consumed in the lovely gatehouse/cottage we were staying at.
Oh yes. Where were we, you ask? In a region called Kintyre, on the west coast of Scotland. We had a cottage on the estate of Torrisdale Castle - it seemed to be the gatehouse. Across the road was our beach (on Kilbrannan Sound), and beyond that, a view of a mountainous and dark isle continually shrouded in clouds, even though we had sunshine on our side of the sound. To us, it seemed that those foreboding hills must surely be Mordor, although we found out later that it was the summer-cottage-strewn Isle of Arran.
But let’s go back to the whisky, shall we?
The first distillery we visited was the Springbank Distillery in Campbeltown. Keith drove, as the single track road intimidated me. Just one lane, so you must pull aside as you meet oncoming traffic. Or sheep. But neither were in great abundance, the ride was smooth and the scenery gorgeous. We stopped at the tourist information office in Cambeltown, got the sweet Scottish lass behind the counter to make us a reservation on the afternoon tour and headed off for some lunch and shopping.
The distillery was obviously old. Buildings of many shapes, sizes and uses, all cobbled together with a network of little alleys and walks. This was the real deal, folks. Springbank whisky is made start to finish, all on site. Most distilleries subcontract their barley malting these days, but Springbank does it in-house. As we looked over the malting floor – wall to wall barley, 4-5 inches deep, each kernel adorned with little whiskers of germination – I found out that my intended is a most excellent companion on tours of this sort. “Do you have a problem with mice?” he innocently yet shit-stirringly asked. The tour guide glared over his forced smile and confidently told the group that no, they don’t have a problem with mice. Yeah, right.
The rest of the tour showed us the whisky-making process and the guide crowed about their old world methods and small batch system. Only 175,000 bottles made each year. I took home a bottle of 15 year old, and some tiny bottles of 10 year old. I didn’t open the big bottle – it was a spendy treat for special occasions – but the 10 year old is very good. Extremely smooth, only a hint of peat, almost sweet – tastes of sea air, too. Keith bought another bottle in the shop – a cask strength Cadenhead somethingorother, from a distillery somewhereorother. Fiery!
Distillery number two was the venerable Oban Distillery, which was rather a hike from our homebase. But we had been out on the Isle of Bute the night before, and that cut some time off the drive. Oh yes – I drove a fair portion of this one as it was mostly on a two lane road. Keith didn’t say a word about my driving, but the white knuckles were a giveaway. I turned over the wheel as we reached the town of Oban; I’m not yet ready for in-town driving on the wrong side of the road.
Oban was a much more commercial establishment, although the guide seemed very proud of their small size, bragging that they only made a million bottles a year. Seeing as that was an order of magnitude bigger than the last, we giggled to ourselves. It was a much bigger facility and it was interesting to note the slight differences in method; a few degrees of temp here, a few percentage points of alcohol content there. Mr. Impertinent stirred shit here, too, asking why each and every step of the distillation process was locked up tight by customs and excise, yet there was essentially an open hose out of the still in the cask filling facility. The guide smiled a much more wry smile than the Springbank guy, saying that there was ‘always’ a customs and excise man hanging around so it wasn’t a problem. I think he might have actually winked when he said it.
This guide taught us much about the different styles of whiskies and also about the effects of water added to whisky. Just a few drops change the character of it so dramatically! (We tried Keith’s fiery buy with a little water when we got home. It was delightfully more drinkable that way. He tells me the bottle may not make it to the States with him.) Unlike Springbank, Oban gave us a free dram. Well, they gave us coupons worth the price of admission – which we used on a bottle of Cragganmore (a sister distillery) and a bottle of Oban 14.
The next day we took the ferry to Mordor, er, Arran. The ferry ride was chilly, but it was remarkably sunny and pleasant when we got there. No gloom, no doom, just winding narrow roads, incredible vistas and summer cottages galore. The distillery itself was surreal. It is the newest distillery in Scotland, opened in 1995. (Whisky must be 3 years old to be called scotch whisky – are you counting?) The tour began with a video shown in an oddly Disney World-esque room decorated with various ‘authentic’ props. There were only three of us on this tour, and Mr. Impertinent did not make an appearance. Shame, really, he’s a fun guy. The distillery had been designed specifically for tours and all the production was carried out in one room. It was a marvelous juxtaposition of old and new – modern architecture, old style whisky production with wooden washbacks and everything.
Being new, they couldn’t really trade on tradition so they had a gimmick. You see, after whisky has spent its time in the cask aging, the contents of many casks are mixed together to make a consistent batch and then that batch is watered down to bottling strength. Sometimes a distiller will bottle some whisky at cask strength (see the fiery bottle above). Well, the fine distillers at Arran decided to pull a cask, set it up in the gift shop and let people bottle their own, cask strength. They carried the gimmick so far that we even had to write the label and stick it on. The guide took down our information (provenance, dontcha know) and assured us that whether we chose to drink it or save it for auction, we would be delighted. We had had a chance to taste the 6 year old they're selling now (incredibly smooth for its young age, with lime overtones) and we were pleased; the one we bottled was nearly 8 years old, so it should in theory be even better.
We left Arran on the next to last ferry, picked up a langoustine salad to add to our fresh trout supper and toured the centuries old castle nearby before the sun started to set. It was our last night there. But the 5 bottles will linger, at least for a while. That’s my kind of souvenir.
Current music: Lucinda Williams, World Without Tears
Sunday, July 20, 2003
I have been cleaning up and cleaning out, in anticipation of moving another whole person into my life and my household in a few months. In this process, I have discovered that my DVD collection consists, in its entirety, of the following:
Mr. Arkadin (Orson Welles)
Waking Life
Speed Racer, Limited Edition
While I am in no way ashamed of this meager collection, I do wonder what it says about me.
Current music: Massive Attack, 100th Window
Saturday, July 19, 2003
You all really don't want to know about my life, do you? It's incredibly dull. I've sat on my ass all morning, surfing fotolog.net, reading The Well, and fixing a glitch in Keith's blog which was bugging the shit out of me which I don't think anyone but me noticed.
We're going on an expedition today. Where, you ask? Brace yourself, you're going to be shocked and amazed that I would dare to take 2 young boys on a journey of such magnitude and danger: Sam's Club. Yes, such are my weekends. We're out of peanut butter. That's a Red Level alert on the Grocery Security Advisory System, you know.
Then, later, for a treat: baths for everyone! Wheeeeeee!
Current music: All Girl Summer Fun Band
Navigate: (Previous 20 entries)
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
agentmitten's journal