Pirate Dog PDX

Raw Deal

Once upon a time, I had a roommate who was a wonderful raw foods chef. Chef Anna Masteller offered classes through Whole Foods and other venues in Monterey and Santa Cruz county, as well as potlucks that built a great raw food community and allowed us all to try our not cooking skills out with each other. Yes. We're talking hippies, since you asked. Sparkly, clear-skinned hippies.

Sometimes, Anna let me be her lovely assistant ... chopping and dicing and doing my best Carol Merrill to her creative uncooked genius. She, in turn, provided me with an entire week of raw cuisine for my first year at Burning Man. I've never eaten or felt better.

Then, I started dating cooks. I packed on pounds and though it has all been delicious, as I regain my health, I'd like to do it raw. A little more, at least. To that end, I attended meetup.com's "12 Steps to Raw Foods: How to End Your Dependency on Cooked Food." It was free. (We love meetup.com.) That's the deal part.

Raw food? I hear you. You're afraid I'm going to meet people like this:

So you know, smartie pants, this guy is Viktoras Kulvinskas, cutting-edge researcher and raw food pioneer. For 40 years he's been a raw foods authority. In the 1960s, he founded Hippocrates Health Institute. He's been featured in magazines and journals including "Vegetarian Voice," "Vegetarian Times," "Vegetarian World," "Health Street Journal," and "Alternatives."

I used to have that shirt. True.

It wouldn't be so, so bad if I met people like this.

Meow. This is Dr. Jameth Sheridan (not his stripper name, fyi) who is  a leading researcher on the effect of raw vegan foods on health and healing. He established www.RawFoodResearch.com to publish his on-going research and feature his raw medical hotness for anyone on the fence about raw foods.

I didn't meet him, so you know. Which is fine. But seriously. Look at those arms. That microphone is obviously heavier than it looks.

I looked for a photo of my friend Anna online. There's a truckload of articles about her, but no photos. Which is too bad. Her skin and eyes are also enough evidence for anyone who is considering what a raw food diet could do for them--just in case Dr. Beefcake isn't convincing enough.

Listen, NASA, About the Popcorn ...

If you've been reading along, you know I'm a big flag carrier for Uncle Charlie's research and faculty and the saving of the planet we do on a pretty much daily basis. (Go Slugs!)

We work with NASA on issues like Adaptive Optics (adjusting images from space through supah smaht lens manipulation); we mapped the human genome for the first time (making history, you're welcome); and we partner with all manner of federal, state, and private big shots on saving the environment. Again, your very survival is our pleasure.

We even work with Stanford. Yes. The BIG Stanford right over the hill, with its fat funding from fatter moguls. At Stanford, there's a big banner on new student move-in day that says, "Welcome babies, we are the machine." (No. There isn't, really.)

I love Stanford. Private funding offers a brave world of opportunity, and big Stanford brains can only add depth to the humanity-focused work, we, at Uncle Charlie's place are famous for.

According to Stanford, their economists worked with ours and discovered that popcorn is just the right price at theaters: "The findings empirically answer the age-old question of whether it’s better to charge more for a primary product or a secondary product. Putting the premium on the "frill" items, it turns out, indeed opens up the possibility for price-sensitive people to see films. That means more customers coming to theaters in general, and a nice profit from those who are willing to fork it over for the Gummy Bears."

Thank you, privately funded research.

Portland Squirrel Quest (By Rico)

As you may have heard, it's been a  long, dreary winter. I'd like to share a little secret about how I got through the worst of it. I am a squirrel fan. "Hi squirrels!"

We have a huge, and I mean HUGE squirrel television. Three screens. Here I am watching the smallest screen. I like it because this part of the squirrel habitrail is smaller. You can practically touch 'em! See:

Here, I am watching the show, "Squirrel plays a pan flute." I can't hear it, though, because we live in the city and have double paned windows to keep city sounds out. Instead, I'm wearing a headset, listening to my "Bolivian Show Tunes" cd and it works. Here's the big screen:

As you can see, there's nothing on right now, which is too bad because it's in color. We have RED squirrels and the regular grey ones, too. When squirrels are not to be found on the big screen, however, we go on epic squirrel quests. Very Indiana Jones.

"Oh, great Squirrel Goddess, tell us please, where the best squirrels are. Hey. Are you naked?"

As you can see, a squirrel worshiper who came before us brought the Squirrel Goddess a white flower offering and Cheetos. I'm eating the Cheetos.

In some cities, the squirrels come to you. The must have a Squirrel Goddess that is chock full of Cheetos.
Or maybe, cookies.

We do not live in that city. Questing on ...
 

"Dude, you are not a squirrel. What? No. I'm not a squirrel. What are you, even?"

This is the guard dog for the Portland Art Museum we talked about Sunday. He hangs out in the sculpture garden, with the "bronze" squirrels. Whatever buddy. I'll bet your squirrels can't play the pan flute.

I tried to discuss Pietro Belluschi and he has no idea who I mean. Not a blog reader, I guess. This is awkward. I'm going home.

Sometimes, the only squirrels on television are stoopid squirrels. In this weather, the only way I'm going to find a quality squirrel-worth-watching is on My Space. That's not epic, I know. But, it's raining. And, I ordered a pizza.

The Hills are Alive, With the Sound of Bloggers

The year I was born, The Sound of Music won the Academy Award for Best Picture. A movie bursting at the seams with Nazis, Mary Poppins in the lead role, and songs we're all still singing--it was iconic and big budget.

Last night, young and talented Diablo Cody won the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay for Juno. How did Cody build her writing reputation?  Blogging.

When did Cody get started?  Gosh ... last month ... last year ... last night, when I got up to get a Dove bar during a commercial break? She's barely 30 years old, for cripes sake.

She wasn't even born when The Sound of Music first appeared on television. When Cody was interviewed about how long it took her to write the screenplay, she said, "About three weeks. It's only a 90 minute movie." As you might have guessed, she's super bright. A graduate of the University of Iowa, my development writer pal Jen, who writes for UI, is probably, as we speak, writing a profile to toot the Diablo Cody horn to donors-a-plenty. I would.

Cody is my kind of pirate. Crazy. Funny. Smart. For example: "Diablo Cody" is not her birth name. She was born Brooke Busey. A former stripper, Cody also has stripper names that include "Bonbon," "Roxanne," and "Cherish."

For the record, my stripper name is "Trixie." Theoretically. I chose it years ago, just to be ready. I would have actually changed it to Sara Sasse, if I didn't think I'd get sued for it.

Though I haven't ever stripped, when my family went to Salzberg 20 years ago, I did The Sound of Music's "Sixteen going on Seventeen" dance in the actual gazebo that Liesl danced with a pre-Nazi Rolfe. Not naked, though. And, I was dancing with my mom. So, it's probably not the same thing.

Cody also worked as a phone sex operator. (Thank you god for allowing me to write thank you notes for a living.) Ultimately, Cody quit the sex industry and got married. They moved to what she refers to as "the 'burbs, where no one strips unless they're taking a bubble bath." Thus was born, her blog.

When asked how writing compares to stripping, Cody said this: "Stripping toughened my hide, but exposing myself as a writer has been a lot more brutal."  And, she doesn't rule out leaving the brutality of writing for a simpler life: "If this whole writing thing doesn't work out, I'll be getting right back on the pole."

I believe Julie Andrews said the same thing about acting. (She didn't really. But, boy, it would have tied this whole post up with a nice little bow if she had.)

Let's assume that an Academy Award means that the "whole writing thing" is working out for Cody. God bless writers. We're freaks. Today, the hills are alive with the sound of Cody.

Portland Buns o' Steel Tour

Every week, at Weight Watchers, we make a commitment to do something to get us closer to our health goals. I committed to doing one of the walks from the book, Portland Hill Walks, by Laura Foster, which the handsome David bought for me.

Unfortunate side note: Upon hearing about my commitment, my otherwise lovely Weight Watchers leader Shelley told the class, "This is a great book. I know Laura. She's from Ohio. We forgive her for not being from here." As a gypsy/pirate, I h-a-t-e "You ain't from 'round here, stranger" regionalism. It was huge in Santa Cruz, too. Except there it was, "Locals only, dude." Shut up.

Anyway.

Today's walk was a 3.5 miler that took me from my own neighborhood through Goose Hollow into Portland Heights.

I started the walk at the Portland Art Museum, where Rico and I have walked many times since it's close to our apartment.

I learned today that the museum was designed in 1931 by the famous modernist architect Pietro Belluschi. Born in 1899, Belluschi was educated at Cornell University. Besides designing this building, he served on the teams that designed some of Reed College's buildings, the Multnomah County Library, and the uber-cool Meier & Frank building that houses the sacred downtown Macy's. Belluschi went on to become the Dean of Architecture at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), so Pietro was something of a smartie pants.

As all people named Peter are. (Start your blog, sweetie.)

Next on the tour was the downtown Safeway. I found it unremarkable at first, since this is my regular market.

In fact, I was there last night when a man with no teeth told me that I could take his place in line, even though I had as many groceries as he did. When I said, "That's okay," he said, "Don't you know that Deepak Chopra says you should accept gifts?" So I thanked him and took his. While I checked out, he told me "3:10 to Yuma" is his favorite movie. I told him I saw the first one (from 1957), but not the new one with Russell Crowe. He said the old one was better. Glenn Ford was a teensy baby when he made the movie, and, in fact, it was very good.

The guidebook states that "This is not your mother's Safeway, with suburban parents carting their toddlers around. The customers are a bit more eclectic here." Indeed. Quoting Chopra and all.

Besides dispensing historic and "not-my-mother's whatever" facts, I love that this book reveals secret staircases that lead walkers from one neighborhood to the next. Here, Senor Suave revels in 158 steps of freedom.

The book also brings celebrity to countless microdots on the planet, you'd otherwise miss. This tree was planted in 1910. It is called by the book, "a giant curb-eating sequoia."

The house whose curb is being eaten used to contain Nan Wood Honeyman, who was a gal pal of Eleanor Roosevelt and in 1937, she became the first Oregon woman in the U.S. Congress.

Next on the tour is a cool house at 2030 SW Vista Avenue. Built in 1885, it's the oldest house on the street.

AND, it's for sale! For a mere $1.7 million, you, too, can own 6,000 square feet of 12-foot ceilings and fancy molding. I must have it. Shiny, shiny.

It's right around the corner from an "authentic ruin."

This is the antique brick gate house for the city's reservoir that was deemed insufficient for the city's use by 1895, when it was abandoned. Still, cool.

Not in the tourbook was this cool public sculpture.

And this private one--honoring Christmas, Easter, and Fourth of July.

It belongs to this house.

I only bring these last points up because it's the microdots on the planet that make walking in Portland worthwhile.

Like San Francisco, it has painted ladies and gorgeous cityscapes. Like Santa Cruz, it has natural beauty. (That's Mt. Adams in the distance. I gotta learn how to shoot volcanos.)

But, it's not either of those places. And, these walks reveal details about Portland's specialness that leads me to understand why Shelley is such a protective native. Still, I'm staying.

And, I'm telling everyone.

Plan B

On the off chance that HGTV doesn't see fit to set me up in my Hemingway house, I may have mentioned that a live-aboard boat is my (far more likely) plan b. Currently, the objects of my affection include a hottie Beneteau in Washington state (which I linked to, yesterday) and this 31' Hunter.

Oh hey, we don't have to rely on the broker's page, WE got to sail on it with OWSA today.

Our skipper is Sharon, the broker representing the 31' Hunter. Here we are listening intently. (You can't tell that I'm listening intently, because I'm taking the picture. I should be wearing a bib, I'm drooling so much over this boat.)

Susan and Linda are pulling in the fenders as we head out on a gorgeous, not raining day. May I just say, that on days like this, I never want to leave Portland.

That's me! More impressively, that's Mt. Hood off the port side. It's about 60 miles away, and covered with snow, so against the blue sky, I haven't been able to get a great photo. In person/mountain, though, it's beautiful. We are surrounded by snow-capped volcanos, and it's 60 degrees. Ah, Portland.

Okay. The great thing about sailing on my dream boats is that I'm learning what I don't love. This boat has a furling main. That means that the mainsail rolls up into the mast like a window shade. It makes for a purty boat line, and a  minimum amount of flaking (stacking) the sail onto the boom.

However, as this photo shows, it also means that the sail isn't attached to the boom so wind is pouring out the bottom between the sail and that metal stick across the bottom. Theorhetically, that means I'm losing power that could be pushing me to my next port of call ... bar ... shower (depending on the sail).

Also because it's a furling main, the sail can't have "battens." Those are sticks in the sail that keep the sail stiff (I said "stiff") when the wind blows against it and therefore allows the sail to be larger than the triangle line between the mast and the boom.

Because the whole Hunter sail rolls into a tube, you can't have sticks in the sails--which sucks because it means my sail is little. I hate sail envy. And, being slow.

Anyhoo, it was a great day. And I learned a lot more about sailing and the boat I may or may not love.

Another key bit of news, this bad boy would cost more than $100,000. That's not much for a house, I know. But, it's a big loan to take on when so many shiny things are tempting me this way and that.

Ah, to be anchored.

Pirate Dog Dreams

There are two kinds of people in the world. (Don'cha just love boiling down humanity to two choices? Me too.)

First, there are the "I know what I want to do until the day I die" people.  There is a sub-category of these folks that includes the people who end up doing the same thing for their whole lives because they have kids or, you know, a sense of commitment and focus. Generally, I date these people.

Then, there are the "Oh, hey, THAT's shiny over there" people. I am one of these people. Moreover, I tend to be friends with and/or related to these people.

I don't need to go into the litany of all that has been shiny for me, but today's agonizing choice includes these diametrically different career/life paths:

1. Ernest Hemingway, Sans Alcoholism/Tragic Death

I've been slogging down this very happy, surprisingly easy path for several years. Uncle Charlie is tolerant of my gypsy ways and really, explorations into uncharted territory, like online content, has yielded few unmanageable hazards. Oh sure, I'm new to the domain world. My biggest sin: Having only worked for dot orgs, the idea of having dot org in my site didn't phase me.

However, according to my writer pals, using dot org isn't necessarily the best idea unless I REALLY am saving the gay, black whales for Jesus. I comfort myself in that it's not the worse offense. The worst offenders don't consider what happens when their clever names are smooshed together in a single word url. Like these guys:

• www.speedofart.com (An agency representing artists. Stinky artists in banana hammocks.)
• www.whorepresents.com (This is a search site to help you find the agents in charge of celebrities. And, maybe a pair of thigh high boots for that special someone.)
• www.expertsexchange.com (This is meeeting site for computer programmers seeking advice from one another. Special computer programmers.)
• www.therapistfinder.com (Find a therapist. You probably need one right now.)

Ultimately, my Hemingway dream includes a great home where I can write and pull in a sustainable income beyond what I make on thank you notes and a philanthropic advice column. Sadly, writer money isn't exactly what you'd call fat, pimp cash--a.k.a. homeowner income.

That's where winning the HGTV Dream Home (pictured above, with Rico's own "Canine Cabana") comes in. If I win that, we'll arrive, poste haste, at Hemingway Central, since the home is actually in the Florida Keys. Close to my dad, his lovely wife, and potentially fabulous enough to lure my mommy down, it has lots of shiny pluses. Of course, there's the needing to win it.

Option B for my Hemingway home is a sailboat to live aboard. I've been checking out the boat porn, in between sailing lessons, trying to get there, too. Again, though, I gotta make with the moolah.

Then there's this shiny new lifepath option:

2. High Powered Save-the-Planet Executive, Sans Insanity

If you've been tuning into the Pirate Dog "live" show for the last 14 years, you know that we've already managed a series of nonprofit projects, with considerable mental anguish to show for it. Yet, like the mafia, charitable work pulls me back in. Without knowing how it all happened, I found myself on the board of OWSA. And now, the Girl Scouts of Oregon are promising a challenge that I could really enjoy. Or hate. I can't tell.

God. They'd have an actual corporate structure, rather than "entirely volunteer and at the erratic whim of 80-year-olds" structure. The mission is awesome. Plus, I love working with teams of women AND the potential to impact gobs of people. All that appeals to me. And cookies. Free Samoas for life could be really, really good ... or really bad for a chubby pirate.

In pirate dog dream world, wouldn't it be cool to make this one happen?

3. Professional Fill in the Blank

Then again, I could be a fireman/ princess/ ballerina. Or Elvis. I only thought of that last one because my other favorite "two kinds of people in the world" humanity slicer is the Elvis people vs. Beatles people (from Pulp Fiction).

I'm an Elvis person. Thank you very much.

Bummer of a Birth Sign, Hal

Last night, the full moon was in Virgo.

There's a joke about Virgos that they'll let you walk all over them, but they'll be compelled to tell you about your untied shoe as you tromp across their chest.

Full moons, from a hippie-dippie/astrological perspective, are emotional intensifiers--especially if they're in your sign. If you're a Virgo--considered perfectionistic, critical, analytical, organized, discriminating, scientific, empirical, and calculating--the full moon is a punishing moment of "the problem with you."  (For the record, Virgo is also the healer, the doctor, the nurse, the teacher, the therapist, the worker, the researcher, the scientist, and the engineer--lest you think we're total downers.)

In hippie terms, this Virgo full moon is considered a time of healing and service. You are welcome, everyone.

Though I don't always subscribe to all information astrological, I have to say, when I waited tables, the weirdest stuff always happened on full moon nights. Of course, when I waited tables, the restaurant where I worked, called "The Inn of the Seventh Ray," had a lead waiter who would proclaim that the restaurant had just been cursed by "harbingers of doom" (crows) on nights he predicted would be bad. He was always right. Spooky. But, in retrospect, it made for an interesting pre-shift meeting.

Anyway. Aside from being intense for those of us born in Virgo, this particular full moon is a good thing. Apparently, this is the ideal full moon to start a weight loss program (or step back from a week of restaurant indulgences). Virgo rules a desire for purity and cleanliness. (sparkle) The Full Moon in Virgo reflects a tremendous desire to throw off unhealthy habits that create sickness and sadness in our lives. This Virgo Full Moon also gives us all an opportunity to make friends with our inner critic; that slave driver who can be either a helpmate or a hindrance. This is the Full Moon to tame the perfectionist living inside your head. You know… the one that says, “Nothing I do is good enough."

Which, as I catch up with my backlog of posts, this one is. Good enough, that is. So there.

BTW, the lovely Linda, Uncle Charlie's most talented Virgo, gave me this refrigerator magnet-version of the Broad in the Moon. We love her.

"Red Sky at Night, Sailor's Delight."

Here's the red sky from tonight's first lunar eclipse of 2008. Word on the street is that it's the last total lunar eclipse of the decade. With luck, it's not the last clear night of the decade in Portland. Please, god, no.

The moon looked like this (though I didn't take this photo, for the record). It's from a NASA site. This is what it looked like at 7 p.m. when I was walking Rico.

For my pirate pals, it's worth noting that this isn't the kind of red sky at night that predicts a nice day tomorrow. In order to understand why the pirate term, “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning” means something, we'll need to pirate talk about weather.

First, the basics. Sun: Sets in the west. Rises in the east. Weather moves from west to east, blown by  the westerly trade winds. This includes storm systems. Good. Now that the short bus kids are with us, we'll move on.

The colors we see in the sky are due to sunlight being split into spectral colors as they pass through the atmosphere and bounce off sky schmutz. At the earliest and latest parts of the day, when the sun is lowest, it transmits light through the thickest part of the atmosphere.

Red sky at night, sailors delight.
A red sky suggests an atmosphere packed to the gills with schmutz. We see the red because the longest spectral color is the only color capable of breaking through the buckets of space schmutz. Shorter wavelengths are totally screwed. Ain''t no way they can make it through all that thick stuff. It's such a high concentration of schmutz when high pressure is present. High pressure usually brings great weather. Ta da!

Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.
If the morning sky is a deep fiery red, it means a high water content in the atmosphere. So, rain might be on its way. Less ta da. But, still. It's cool, huh?

Pirates are supah smaht.

Creme de la Meme

You know those email chain letter emails that ask you to fill in the blank: favorite movie, color you're wearing RIGHT NOW, food currently working its way through your intestinal tract, etc? Pass it on.

I hate those. I am especially not into the ones that end that not only request that you sully your friends, but demand that you prove you love the sender, by sending your answers back to them. Aaaarrrrgggghhhh, the pressure! I love you! Don't make me prove it by filling out a form that asks me to reveal my favorite movie quote.

Except that, because I do love you all, I'll tell you that my favorie movie quote is a tie between The Godfather's "Leave the gun; take the canoli," and any line from Young Frankenstein, like, oh, say, "Tafetta, darling" or "Could be worse. Could be raining" or "Abby Someone" or ... good gawd, I love that movie. It's surprising how often those quotes were appropriate when I was a waiter.

Anyhoo. Among my loved ones is Rekabek. She recently tapped me in the blog version of a chain letter, known as a meme. She, in turn, was tapped by Palinode. The challenge is this:
   1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
   2. Open the book to page 123.
   3. Find the fifth sentence.
   4. Post the next three sentences.
   5. Tag five people.

Shit. Rekabek clearly doesn't have an emotional investment in whether we post or not, since she also tapped Pierre who is currently pretending not to have a blog. Yes. Dude. We see you.

But, here's the surprising bit. Both Palinode and Rekabek's closest books are smartie pants books.  Palinode is reading Douglas R. Hofstadter's Gödel, Escher, Bach, a "crazy 1979 "metaphorical fugue on minds and machines in the spirit of Lewis Carroll." Rekabek is reading Anais Nin's Delta of Venus--lyrical and naughty.

I'm less brainy. I like travel books. The closest book to me right now (Portland Hill Walks) rendered a page 123 with only three sentences, so I'm using them:

"Before returning to your car, you may want to check out the Contemporary Crafts Gallery at 3934 SW Corbett, two blocks north of Lowell. It was founded in 1937 by a group of women whose mission was to foster an appreciation for fine craftsmanship while providing a market for artists. The atmosphere is mellow, and the art and crafts, in both permanent and changing exhibits, are superb. Most items, except in the permanent exhibits, are for sale."

Okay, Herb, BIAZ Bonnie, Wendy, and Innkeeper ... tap,tap. Get on with it. Prove your love. Peter, I'm tapping you too, because you clearly must be shamed into getting your art out there.