Month: February 2009

mockorange is here

My friend Turquoise and I have opened a handmade goods store on the shopping site Etsy. We are offering up a whole lot of delightful, affordable, handcrafted goods. I’ve made scarves and screenprinted greeting cards; Turq has handpainted cards, created pincushions, and made a variety of handy little bags.

So, without further ado, here is
Mock Orange: The Oo La La Shoppe of 1-derz!
mockorange.etsy.com

If you have an etsy account, please be sure to HEART the heck out of us (that is, add us to your favorites.)

If you plan to create an etsy account, please put mockorange as your referrer!

Take a gander then let us know what you think! Special orders accepted. We love you.

mockorange.etsy.com

February 28, 2009
pleasing minutiae

Far too rarely do I have a day in which everything flows smoothly, clicks together, falls in place. Last week, I experienced several (continuous!) hours during which the events of my life flowed, clicked and fell. I shall bore you with the details now, my dear diary.

[Some background] I produce podcasts for my nonprofit job and often find myself conducting interviews with various authority figures around my county. People who have known me a long time may find it amusing that I now rub elbows with cops, lawyers, college presidents and parents — the sorts of people the young Hambox would have taken great pains to fear, sneer at, or simply be nervous around. Yet: here I am, jumping the shark of my own life miniseries and landing in middleaged responsible grownup land.

[Back to the story] I had a hard-won interview with the president of a local university, and it went super-swimmingly. Not only did he have a great voice and give good soundbite, but he made it clear that he was going to help me get access to some other, more elusive college bigwigs. I have never been a journalist but for a moment I felt like Intrepid Reporter, Getting the Story. Which led to a fleeting, warm thought about Woodward & Bernstein and Watergate — bonus!

Afterward, finding myself in a part of the county I rarely go, I called a nearby coworker and made a date for lunch. He needed an hour, so I tried to think of errands to run in the meantime. I remembered that Borders Books and Sur La Table were both in this area.

[Aside] This is such a peculiar aspect to living in a area that is stretched out and linked by freeways — one keeps a mental database of stores and services that are in specific areas. In this case, Borders and Sur La Table do not have locations near to where I live, so I took advantage of my proximity.

[Aside] This is what my life has come down to, getting psyched when I’m near a book or overpriced culinary tchotchke franchise.

[Back to the story] Co-worker (hi Shawn) gave me ace directions and off I went. At Borders, I was burning to spend a gift card, since last year’s purse heist robbed me of many dollars’ worth of gift cards I received for Christmas. Gleefully I slapped down full price for a hard-cover edition of Mary Roach‘s latest awesome opus.

[Aside] Mary Roach deserves her own blog post. I adore her writing! How can you not love a person who writes books on death, the afterlife, and sex, and titles them Stiff, Spook and Bonk?

[Back to the story] I then wheeled on over to Sur La Table, wherein I strode with purpose, determined not to give in to what amounts to an entire store’s worth of impulse buys. Ah, gad, gadgets. I stayed strong by reminding myself that I don’t really cook outside of my 5-recipe realm, and bought myself one thing and one thing only:

I needed a plastic drip coffee filter holder thingie since my old one was callously stolen from the kitchen area at my other job. That plastic drip coffee filter thingie wasn’t just a trifle to me; it allowed me to brew fresh and quality cups of coffee for myself , thereby truly improving my quality of life. You can read a short essay on this pressing matter here. Those thingies are harder to find than you may think; I had to make do with naked filters and burned fingers until I could get to a Sur La Table. And did they come through — fire engine red? Yes, please! As you can see, I have clearly indicated that this belongs to Becky of the Physics Department. If I coulda installed a small microchip tracker I woulda.

Shawn was stuck at the post office and was a little late to lunch, which gave me a little time to get acquainted with my new book, which was perfect.

[Aside] I love the new-read prep process. For a book, I like to read the dedication, read the bookflaps, fan the pages with my thumb, determine the page count, stare at the author picture, open the book wide and give it a sniff. For a magazine, I hold it by the covers and give it a shake, loosening the annoying drop cards. Then I rip out the subscription cards that are glued in. Then I rip out and discard all perfume samples. A thumb-fan, another last shake, a scan of the table of contents. and I’m good to go.

[Back to the story] And, lunch was great. And that was the end of a short, satisfying workflow of the machinery of my little tiny existence.

[Plaintive addendum] If you’re reading this, and feel like you can, please comment. I have absolutely no idea that you read this if you don’t tell me once in a while. See how good Cloudy is? See? I write this blog for myself but when the comments mysteriously dry up it’s suddenly a lonely, windy tor. I’ll wait while you look up tor. Thank you.

February 23, 2009
lonely teenager born years too late

This video [direct link] is “A Day in the Life of Abbey Road,” a time lapse movie in which people pause and pose on the crosswalk as the Beatles for their album cover. Clever! It reminds me of a photo I saw once, similar to this one, that depicts several tourists posing for pictures, pretending to be holding up the Tower of Pisa. But the picture is shot without the Tower in frame, so it looks like the people are doing some kind of puzzling Italian Tai-Chi. This appeals to the meta in me.

But back to the subject. Here are some other random Beatleness.

I went to a Beatles fan conference in 1978 in Los Angeles. I remember that Klaus Voorman (Beatle friend from the early days and designer of the Revolver cover. sheesh, you should have known that) did a Q&A session but abruptly walked out when someone asked him if John Lennon ever did heroin.

I just heard an anecdote on a radio show about a guy and his family running into Paul McCartney in Branson, MO a couple years ago. Paul and his girlfriend had been spending a few weeks driving Route 66 and generally being tourists. Paul played with this guy’s kids, whipped out a harmonica and played a little tune. The guy noticed that Paul was wearing a beaded “Beatles” belt, obviously handmade by a fan. I find that whole story utterly charming, and I have thawed my attitude towards Paul (which, I’ll admit, was quite frosty and a little dismissive.)

George Harrison was such a curmudgeon! Witness: “It’s shit. You can be a multi-millionaire and have everything you can think of in life, but it’s shit — you’re still going to die.” I love him.

I remember reading a (different) interview with George in which he mentioned he wore his Sgt. Pepper’s costume to a Halloween party in the 1970s. Can you imagine!

My sister was working in a fabric store in the late 70s when this guy walked in, wanting yards and yards of satin. He was making the Sgt. Pepper costumes for Boston cast of Beatlemania.

It shocks me that Beatlemania is still going on. I saw it on Broadway, um, several times during its first run. Again, in the late 1970s.

Hoo boy, I could fill an ocean with blog posts about the Beatles. I’m restraining myself from doing so, releasing evidence of my obsession out slowly, like letting the air out of a balloon in squeaky little shrieks.

Addendum. One of the reasons the Beatles popped into my head today is that it is the birthday of my good friend Tamar, who, though we did not meet until our late 20s, lived a parallel life to mine in many ways. Not the least of which was a slight preoccupation with the Beatles during our teenage years. I’d love to share a story, and Tamar knows what story it is, but it may make us look a little too crazy. So we’ll leave it unblogged! I love you, T.

February 20, 2009
this is what happens when you don’t spray for them

Yesterday was gearing up to be a beige, beige day, one of meetings and presentations and talking, talking, so much talking. And not by me, because that would be a great day, me being the motormouth and all.

I showed up to the first meeting at 9, feeling distinctly uncute in a dumb, in-a-hurry outfit. The day, which had promised to be chilly, got warm, fast. As I removed my sweater during the meeting, I realized the shirt beneath was inside out. One of my superiors, noting my bedhead-hiding knit cap and thick glasses, asked if I was going to sing some hippie tunes on a guitar. Yay!

This was a meeting of several nonprofits and the office that provides their funding. This is a regular meeting; recently, budget cuts made it a coffee- and treat-free affair, lending extra drabness to the flickering-fluorescent, whiteboard, stain-fighting feeling.

This gathering was a bit different; one of our group was retiring so there was some potluck goodwill going on (thank god, complete with coffee). Flowers. Short speeches. But still, you can’t spice up a drab, windowless meeting.

That is, until the mariachis showed up!

[direct link]

Until I moved back to Southern California, I was all pfft, mariachis [insert eye roll here]. Maybe I just didn’t get them, living in San Francisco. I’d seem them heading to my restaurant table in the Mission and I’d cringe, not wanting to do that awkward freeze-and-smile thing and scrabble up some dollar bills.

What a crank I was! They’re excellent for ramping up the whoopie! factor. I got their business card, so brace yourself, next time we meet up!

The rest of the day descended into beigeness once more. Later, while tethered to my phone and computer, gritting my way through a webinar that was rife with audio problems, I tried to manifest a wandering group of wonderfully cheesy troubadours to appear in my home office. But alas, I webinared alone without a group of men with awesome vibrato, belting out ¡Ja ja ja ja ja ja ja! ¡El mariachi loco quiere bailar!

February 13, 2009
white winter hymnal

Part one of this narrative got the intrepid MM and me to the foothills of the Sierras, en route to a lodge at Sequoia called, strangely enough, Sequoia Lodge. Upon seeing the sign commanding us to use chains, I obediently pulled over so that we could crawl in the slush and get our rig set up. However, a dude with a truck pulled over (lots of dudes with trucks around here, and they are always ready to pull over and be helpful. So manly!) and told us we wouldn’t need them, that the warmth of the day and the just-plowed road would be fine to drive on. And it was, even when I had to brake for a coyote, who nonchalantly stepped in front of the car. He watched us go as we pulled away. Nature!

I will never, ever forget the drive. It was scene after scene of lacy, white, delicate, soft. The Fleet Foxes accompanied our journey, which enhanced this remarkable feeling of being pulled into a fairy tale.

I know! Ridiculous! Careful now, I’m about to actually spout lyrics.

Wanderers this morning came by
Where did they go
Graceful in the morning light
To banner fair
To follow you softly
In the cold mountain air

By the way all these pics and videos (and more) are on a flickr photoset if you want to see them all at your leisure.

[direct link to video]

[direct link to video] In the video above, you might be able to hear me say uh oh as we pass a park ranger. I thought he might ding us for not wearing our chains, but no.

Later that day, we went snoeshowing. After a rocky start, we found our rhythm and followed tracks far into the woods. Molly made Cornish pastys, which we stood and ate while listening to a stream burble somewhere below us. We were atop feet and feet and feet of snow.

[direct link to video] You can hear that satisfying snowcrunch as I tromp along. It started to snow just as we returned, and snowed and snowed and snowed.

[direct link to video] This is the view outside our room. If you look carefully, you can see it really coming down.

We’ll skip description of the distinctly unfine meal that night. It was amusing, however, to see that the ski instructor that we saw in the woods earlier in the day was now our waiter. The Lodge is pretty great; it’s new construction but it has enough wood and rock and ersatz Indian details to feel like Americana at its best.

The next morning, the car digout was quite entertaining. I lacked any proper scraping tools, so I made do with a saint encased in a block of lucite. I call him St. Otto (since he lives in my car) and I’m grateful to Violet for gifting him to me!

Chain-putting-on-ing is dirty work and quite tricky. I was told that there are more modern materials and methods these days, but not around here, honey. I do feel proud that we got ‘er done.

We have already made plans for going back in May. Sequoia rules, or haven’t I made that clear? Uh oh here come some more lyrics!

In the quivering forest
Where the shivering dog rests
Our good grandfather
Built a wooden nest
And the river got frozen
And the home got snowed in
And the yellow moon glowed bright
Till the morning light

February 10, 2009
running up that hill

sequoia trip merit badges i presented to molly during our trip (click to see enlarged image): making coffee on a campfire, putting up with my snoring, bear sighting, tent fire (artistic license taken for that one), and getting lost.

I just got back from an amazing trip. There’s a pencil-size muscle in my upper hip that is a little spasmy and my sinuses are athrob from too many altitudes, but overall I am just agog from everything I done saw and done did.

This was my third trip to Sequoia National Park in the past couple years. Once in the spring (the birthday episode), once last summer (the bear episode), and this one, in winter time. This would be the snow episode.

I had a vague notion that I would need “chains” if it got “snowy” but really had little grip of what might be going on in those Sierras. And what was going on was a whole lot of snowing. And road closing. And some monkeywrenching that kind of screwed up our plans on Friday night. Molly was coming from SF and I was coming from the south and because of the delays and our newbie status on all things snow, we decided to stay in Visalia for the night and trying to make it up and outta the foothills the following day, hoping for a clearer, warmer window between two big dumpings of our friend the snow.

Which was great with me: I love Visalia, that weird little town, and have wanted to spend a little more time there. We shan’t talk about the stinky Days Inn, but shall concentrate on describing the Friday night feast. The Visalia Visitors Bureau lady, when we asked her the good eats, said “you might like this one place? It’s in an old jail and the bartender has a handlebar mustache and he makes up the cocktail menu…” Imagine that the lady found that she was talking to a Molly and Becky-shaped cloud, so fast we hied. Custom booze in a novelty setting? Did we have a choice?

Jack & Charlie’s (careful, auto-loading audio) delivered. I had what they called “The Perfect Manhattan”, which indeed was so perfect, I might have to retire the Manhattan’s number (at least for a while) and MM had a grapefruit vodka thing whose glass was rimmed with jalapeno sea salt and was incredibly complex and delicious. Oh and the food was expensive and VERY good. MM had the rabbit! Dear reader, if you know me well, you can guess what I had from the menu. (Note: oops, it’s not there right now, but still, I KNOW you know what I had. The comments are open.)

The next day, there was indeed a clear window of opportunity to get up that big hill known as the Sierras. We learned to chain my car from dude at the Chevron station in the last-stop town of Three Rivers, then headed on up. Destination: Sequoia Lodge in Wuksachi Village.

More later!

February 8, 2009
slog v. , slogged , slogging , slogs

It’s positively shitting down rain today. Yes, I know “we need it” (the tiresome mantra of every drought-aware Southern Californian,) but the rain is deciding to come down all at once, forcing me to figure out how to work an umbrella again and to drive the hair-raising streets and highways. Half the population down here creep along in their cars, dazed, as if they’re Richard Dreyfuss and the damn spaceship is hovering right above. The other half pay absolutely no attention and blaze along at screaming speeds — until, of course, they plow into a semi and ruin the commute for the rest of us.

Okay, so you got it: raining. I have to admit that rainy afternoons at home freak me out a little. Or, more exactly, I’m prone to being scared more easily when it’s dim and windy and stormy outside.

Witness an account from an earlier post:

I saw Don’t Look Now about 12 years ago on video, on a rainy day in San Francisco, with a boyfriend. It got to us, big time — one big mindfuckapalooza. K I clung to each other while watching it, and it took a long walk outside and several beers in a nearby bar to get back to “normal.”

Definitely, something about the movie in combination with the storm outside made the experience terrifying. I’m fine when it’s dark and stormy out, usually — for some reason, a grim, gray afternoon light really gets my hackles up.

So. I happen to be working from home today and it’s early afternoon. My anxiety has fairly low-level, that is, until my computer started talking. I think I pick up truck dispatch radio signals through my computer speakers every once in a while. Usually it’s just a few unintelligible crackly bits. But, a few minutes ago, as I sat at my desk, going through a stack of papers, a tinny and fully ledgible voice came through:

This is looking like it’s going to get ugly.

Arrrgh. Please, devil-voice, don’t hurt me!

If I don’t get killed by trees coming to life or by tiny people that live in the computer, I shall be departing tomorrow, in the rain and eventually the snow, to Sequoia National Park to have some high-mountain lodge time with the divine Miss MM, who will be coming from SF.

Apart from the heebie jeebies I’m currently experiencing, this week has been so much better than that last one. Thanks to everyone for the kind words and commiserations. I’ll bring you a pine cone! Bye!

February 5, 2009