A Few Things

Such a glorious weekend. The nice thing about Oregon is that just when you are starting to mope and eat random fried things in preparation for winter hibernation, you receive a few gift-wrapped hot sun days and the world is bearable. Surfing was great, the water was warm, and I still have all my body parts.

But Caitlin is gone. She moved to Amsterdam to be in love. She is already missed. You can still follow her blog. I'm hoping that she will keep us updated on the trials and tribulations of being an expat, as well as all the things we need to know about crazy euro fashion Hammer pants. I hope so.

Also, if you are anything like me, you rely on your friends' vast collective knowledge to keep you updated on all aspects of life. Gabe is my movie friend. He is on top of it. And now he has a blog (Gabe Watching Movies) and it's funny and informative and providing me with an endless list of movies I need to watch now. It's a public service.

And finally, this is incredibly vain, but I have always wanted to be stopped on the street and have someone take my picture because they think I'm fashionable in the manner of the Sartorialist or Urban Weeds.* This doesn't happen because I often don't look put together at all and am wearing jeans I accidentally burned while camping or a dress from Target or multiple prints, leg warmers, and bike grease. But my friend Rian did put me up on her blog, 18th and Hoyt, so let's pretend she isn't a good friend and just some blogger who had to capture the fleeting glory of my style.


* This actually kind of happened yesterday. Huy, Carin, and I were lurking outside the Walkmen show at Pioneer Square and were kind of hanging off the fence. Stretching, kind of. It was awkward. Some girl took our picture. We aren't sure why, but now she has a picture of me and my friends and our armpits.

Breaststroke

I'm going surfing this weekend. Exciting. I have been swimming recently (like, training) in an attempt to develop my subpar swimming skills. The whole thing has awoken some bad memories involving swimsuit malfunction, and created a new one.

2004. I moved to Dunedin, New Zealand for a year. In my first week there, I did the obligatory I'm an American With No Friends So I'm Going to the Beach by Myself Trip. It was sunny, the water was gleaming, I waded out into the ocean with all the screaming children and attempted to body surf for a while. I was wearing a bikini top and a ridiculous shin-length skirt because I'm self-conscious. After half an hour, I was blinded by salt and tired. A pale behemoth rising from the ocean, I turned, and fighting the current and my skirt, began to stagger to shore. I passed a man playing with a baby. He looked away with an expression similar to horror. I continued to pass families, children, and finally some tan snickering boys. The boldest yelped out, "Hey! Noice top." I looked down. My bikini top was not a top anymore. It was a twisted flora-print string under my boobs, tucked away and filled with sand.

I then went a few years without major mishap. One moment on the Washougal last summer but only after diving. That happens to everyone. Most people adjust underwater rather than waiting until they've stood up proudly, blowing water out of their nose, but apparently that's just not me.

And then. The training: Columbia Park Swimming Pool. Lap swim. I got this new one-piece. I want to be a swimmer and everyone knows that serious swimmers wear a one-piece. Liz is a serious swimmer. She has a one-piece, a cap, goggles, and an actual routine. Not just like, make it to that end, cling to the wall for a while, make it back to the shallow end, stand, gasp for breath, repeat. I feel successful if I don't get hung up on a lane divider. Anyway, after lap three, I did my typical shallow end routine of standing up and gasping for air. As did my right breast. In front of another lap swimmer who made a horrified expression and looked away. The one-piece purchase was a total failure.

So, here's the positive. I'm going to be wearing a wetsuit while surfing. It is thick and neoprene and extremely difficult to get any portion of my body in and out of it. The chances of my chest's exposure to open air are directly proportional to my chances of being ripped into pieces by a shark. Which, I think, are pretty small.

Panda Bear Wednesday

So, Jocelyn, Sam and I went to Panda Bear last night. I wish I had some cool picture of him playing his little guitar, twiddling various knobs with authority, and all the crazy projections in the background, but I don't because I feel like a jerk when I start waving my camera around above everyone's head trying to get some average shot of the stage that doesn't look as good as the real thing. So I didn't take my camera and I danced. Unlike most people there. When did things get so somber? At one point we decided to move from our vantage point in front to a place where we had some room. We worked our way through the crowd and everyone was just kind of blank, like they were confused about what they were supposed to be doing. It was a fun show, walls of noise, long awkward moments of discord and apathetic rhythm, and then Beach Boys on acid over a solid bass line. Jocelyn and I danced. We looked a lot like we did in the picture above except we were wearing different clothes and we were in the Crystal Ballroom instead of Jocelyn's backyard. Sam and I finished up at East End. I love that bar.

The Land of Gun Racks

Went out to Idaho for a long weekend with a big crew. We all brought our various skills and I would have to say that we all successfully completed the Idaho Labor Day Pentathlon.

1. Drinking: Yes, there was plenty of this. A shining moment involved Harold's exclamation of Good job Rachel! after I took a large swig of his whiskey. I have heard similar praise and enthusiasm directed towards someone who just aced a math test or peed in the toilet for the first time.

2. Rafting: It was hot on Saturday and perfect for rafting. We negotiated the rapids of the Payette with skill, lost our guide Liz on the first rapid but managed to collect her, and Brian failed on his kamikaze mission to take out Micheal (the other raft guide who continually persecuted us with his well-aimed paddle-splashing). Unlike a true samurai, Brian did not commit harakiri afterward.

3. Eating: Oh. Man. We were overly successful at this. There was a roast pig amongst a million other things to eat. Massive dinners, breakfasts, lunches. I'm still dealing with the aftermath.

4. Singing: The night of the pig roast involved a karaoke machine. That's really all I need to say.

5. Shooting: In true Idaho fashion we went out to the shooting range and shot shit up. I can kill a can at 30 meters. Or less.

Back to School Shopping

I'm not going back to school. But isn't there something about fall air? That unique sunny clear feel to the air in the morning, smell of old leaves, anticipation of new friends, new classes, new clothes. This means I will need to put away my shorts (that I never wear because shorts are unflattering), my sandals, my light-as-air cardigans. I have this mental list of things that I want for fall (skinny black pants, high-waisted skirts, yet another cardigan, boots!) but I am also conflicted.

I have a feeling that this feeling, this special fall feeling and the need to buy things is directly related to my old back-to-school habits which is not actually applicable in my life anymore. Do I need to buy new clothing? Not really. If you could see my closet and my shelving system and my storage boxes and my clothing rack you would tell me that I don't actually need any new clothing. Ever again. I feel like I have fallen into a marketing ploy, like my desires have been hi-jacked by consumerism. It's similar to my feeling of desolate loneliness on Valentines' Day, my desire to live on cookies for the month of December, my desire to be thinner and tanner than ever as directed by June issues of certain lady-directed magazines. There is a reason that the September issue of Vogue is the largest of all the issues.

This year I will fight. I will not go to the mall. I will not start buying sweaters and boots with abandon. I did buy the pair you see above*, but they are it. I'm giving up on shopping.

* They're Bass. They are my third pair of Bass shoes. I don't know when I turned into an old lady, but there it is. Three pairs. To justify, I do feel like they're rebranding a bit and are slightly less stodgy than they used to be.