The light

Love this song. Love the flowers in Rapunzel's braided hair. LOVE floating lanterns* and their jellyfish effect on the sky. Harmony and hope. If only her eyes weren't so big and his goatee so creepy.


*first time I floated these suckers a tree almost caught on fire. It's harder than it looks.

Getting involved...

I remember a few years ago I was dating this guy who was "into politics." Obama was in his breakout days and we spent our first date sparring over the guy's flaws (mostly me) and merits (mostly him) while accidentally hiking up the backside of Mt. Timpanogos (and mostly agreeing on everything). Dreamy, right? Months later, as elections season escalated and everyone joined the zeal, he surprised me by one-upping the "into politics" fakers who can talk the talk with the help of MSNBC's election guide by supporting his local representative, Don Jarvis, one of Provo's only conservative Democrats. I set up a sign in my yard, talked him up to sound cool, and sadly, came away from the campaign with little else than a t-shirt.

I was excited about the idea of local politics, but had very little idea what that even meant. This was made especially clear to me a month ago when our public policy intern quizzed me on what a State legislator is and does and I failed miserably. The intern was prepping us for a work-sponsored field trip to the Capitol, where we'd go to lobby for hunger relief funding.

Why didn't anyone ever tell me that ONE, You're allowed to just GO to the Capitol and knock on your legislators' doors and TWO, They WANT to hear what you think?

DW, with all your activism oozing from your pores, you failed me.

Ooorrrr maybe they've been telling me this for years (and by 'they' I mean teachers, public service announcers, strangers on the streets with clipboards...)

I wowed the pants off one of District 5's representatives (figuratively, jeez!) and he wants to come by and see what we food bankers are all about. I also ran into my friend Troy who, in an odd turn of events, was there lobbying for some Pharmaceutical something or other.

No need for nitty gritty details at this point but the point is this: local politics rock socks! I could totally get into this. Federal lawmaking, schmoozing and decision-making seem so far away, all wrapped up in the mess that is The Man. Olympia is where decisions are made that affect my day-to-day life. And, though I'm sure there are doubters, I really do believe that I can have an impact on how those decisions are made. Maybe there's a locally-elected position someday in my future.

Good thing that 92 years ago women joined forces with posters like this, Comptroller Knudson has a ring to it...

Mister Blue Sky

This morning I woke to bright blue skies. I lazily ignored my impulse to seize the day and fill the precious hours of brightness with a hike, bike ride, or finagling a rowboat and lake launch site. Instead, I set up shop on the patio porch and soaked in the Vitamin D, just waiting for seratonin to kick in (seratonin = serum + tonic, i.e. happy juice). I lay like the family lab, curled up with a stack of books, my phone and laptop within arms reach. The sun hit my knees, shoulder, and best of all, my cheek, temple and right eye, warming not just the surface of my skin but deep into my brain, an area that rarely receives such warmth. When my brain begins to boil, I move to the shade, and let just my feet enjoy the sun bath. The happy juice has kicked in and I'm pulled together again. My stuffy nose is drying, I have forgotten about 33,000 pounds of rotten onions, delayed apples, and social fatigue. I just need to calm down already. Just a taste and I can handle a few more days of rain.

As long as I have ELO's sweet 'do and shades in my life


Or a little moving on music

I have an ID...a

Pulled out my student ID card the other day - what, this old thing? Helloooo bangs!
and had a bit of a moment when my eyes settled on three sections of the card:

WHAT!

That's like, tomorrow. I almost mourned the expiration of the student status I held for as long as I can remember. It offered discounts, admission, and a free pass to have the world expect very little from me.

Then I remembered the rest of the cards in my wallet and had a little celebration. Let's take a look at my current cards on hand...

Complete with sideswept hair and drop earrings. I'll say yes bulk food, free samples and the BEST DEAL ON GAS YOU'LL GET ANYWHERE.

Perhaps I'm scamming off my mother's membership, but even if she quit, I'd get my own card. Gas is seriously a good 15 cents cheaper here than anywhere else. If you drive much, the membership pays for itself through gas savings alone. Plus, cheap razors and the exclusive feeling of admission to something special every time they check your card on the way in and receipt on the way out. They treat their employees well, their produce is heralded as the best quality around, and I'm telling you people, the gas prices are amazing. Unfortunately the selfish pieces of crap at Corporate don't donate any of their product to the food banks, but still, Go Costco!

I have child-like awe for the giant moving statue man hammering away in front of the Seattle Art Museum. Whoever had that idea wins.
I got a membership late last year and now get discounts at random stores in the area who love art (like the framers I'm planning on using soon) as well as invites to next month's REMIX, described as an "evening of performances, talks, dancing and more at this late-night creative explosion!" Who wouldn't want first dibs on such events?


I don't frequent the library as much as I want to. Fact of the matter is I love the way bookstores are arranged, but I'm far too cheap to buy books at some 20 bucks or more a pop. For my reading goals and increasingly long to-read list, the library should be the way to go. I wish they were organized more like bookstores and less like 'Fiction' 'Non-fiction' 'Magazines.' I was in a good groove last summer but have lately fallen into purchasing books and accumulating them, a chapter or so into each, on the headboard shelf of my bed. Here's to a reminder that renting books is a GOOD IDEA.



This baby isn't new. This card is flimsier than the rest, but far more important. It means that I have made promises with God and that I'm keeping them, and it gets me into the House of the Lord, i.e., the LDS temple. If you're not familiar with what makes this such an important building, check out this explanation. God has offered temples as a sacred place to find peace and guidance and I often take for granted how easy it is to come to God and how close the temple is to me. I love the grounds, I love the ordinances done inside, I love wandering around like I'll stumble upon God himself making himself comfortable in the study. I love the temple.

A few more symbols of my current identity:

I lost my license some 8 months ago and have been surviving airport security and occasional Happy Hour seating ID checks with the temporary paper copy, my photo debit card and the plea that "I just lost the hard copy, will this do?" Works like a charm. The goal is to make it to the hard plastic version's expiration date, just a couple months from now.

The green and gold cherry on top is my business card, which is new enough to me still that I like to flaunt it around like a trophy.

I'm happy with my ex-student identity, even if means fewer discounts.

I bring all these cards with me everywhere (along with a small stack of gift cards I always end up wanting to use the one day I take them out of my wallet). Is it really necessary?

The Monks at St. Marks and healing

Last night I went to hear the monks sing. Every Sunday night at 9:30 the fifteen robed men with angelic voices who make up the Compline Choir at St. Mark's Cathedral chant, hum, and sing peace to a hodgepodge audience of quiet souls who come to hear them. The question I have is, why?

I know why I go- I believe in Christ; I've got a thing for perfect harmony; I like feeling small under high, vaulted ceilings. I know what I believe and can 'amen' most of the words echoing through the cathedral.

I also love people-watching, and during last night's visit I noticed more than ever how many eyes were closed and facing heaven, brows furrowed in contemplation. I can feel their sincerity from the floor seats we share because pews are too crowded, and I wonder, are they praying to God like I am? I have been raised in a church where we are taught what 'We Believe..." until we get to the point where we can testify that 'I Believe.' When am seeking the divine, I know just what I'm looking for, who I am addressing, and most of the time, how I might receive response. But I'm one of some six hundred in attendance, and surely most don't come from my same background. What about the people who are raised to doubt, to question, to disbelieve? And those who are not taught anything? I want to get inside their heads and hearts and see how their process of coming to God is different than mine. Is there something I can learn from them? Many people are not 'taught' religion but feel religious to some degree, whether Christian, spiritual, or otherwise. What are they getting out of the words from the Episcopal Common Book of Prayer?

My Sunday School lesson yesterday was all about healing. In the first five chapters of Mark (and throughout the New Testament for that matter), Christ performs a lot of miracles. The miracles seem to fall under three categories: casting out unclean spirits, healing the diseased, and raising the dead. We don't see these kinds of miracles so much these days, but the categories, I think, remain the same: Christ casts out unclean spirits from us- the disposition to sin. He heals us from our imperfections- spiritual and temporal, any parts of us that are not perfectly Godlike. And to God, there is no lost cause, even the spiritually dead can be healed. No one is too broken to be touched by the power of Christ.

I love that. I appreciate the way my church has helped me articulate how I commune with heaven, but has allowed me room to make it my own. And I'm glad there are places like St. Mark's, accessible to anyone seeking peace or seeking healing.

The Office of Compline from Lucas Anderson on Vimeo.

Oh so cultured

In the last month, I've been to the Seattle Center's McCaw Hall twice (thrice if you go back to New Year's Ever where I watched the fireworks). Once for the opera, the Barber of Seville, and again for the ballet, Cinderella.

I am AMAZED at how people can manipulate their bodies and voices to make something beautiful and somehow make it look SO EASY. Some (and by some I mostly mean my brothers) will argue the value of dance and stage performance as a powerful medium of art or expression, but after this month's reminder, I'm sold. How it is that you can feel Cinderella's pain as she twirls and sways is beyond me. How you can root so hard for the Count to get his girl when you can't understand Italian makes no sense. Somewhere on those inexplainable airwaves of understanding, the audience just gets it. It's a higher price tag than the av-er-age night out but well worth the event.


(Bugs Bunny's got nothin on this)

(Pay no attention to slipper squeaking, Cinderella's overbite or Prince Charming's oh-so-spandexed behind)


In an entirely different vein, but in the same neighborhood (the King Cat Theater [thank you thank you thank you for passing up the surely tempting alliteration possibility there], I also attended Ignite Seattle. The tagline reads: Enlighten us, but make it quick! and is just that: a night of speakers who present 5 minute speeches about... anything. It's a super nerd fest, but only the best kind of nerds (i.e. my kind) because attendees are people who love to learn about... anything. The Art of Karaoke, The Benefits of House Sharing, The Guy Who Impersonated Neil Patrick Harris on Twitter, Geo-tagged Photos and Their Presence Online, Open-Sourced Participation in Local Politics. The list goes on.
Here's an old one:

You get the idea. Geeked Out. But so great!

The San Francisco Treat

Makin my way down the West coast (LA, here I come!), I got to go to San Francisco last week for work. I swear, we don't travel much, us food bankers, but January has been a month for the road. The guys who do what I do for the Bay Area put us up at the Mandarin Oriental, a fancy schmancy worldwide hotel I've seen only in Thailand, where all the hi-so (high society, duh) Thais and visitors gather. I celebrated my travel arrangements by preparing for my sunrise-view, California King bed by dancing around in the buff both before and after my luxurious scented bubble bath. I do miss nice big apartments in the city.

The conference was fab. Just 10 or so of us food sourcers representing hunger relief agencies throughout the western US, ripping it up, so to speak. I can't praise the group enough. Dedicated, talented, and a comfortable barrel of laughs, especially after an outrageous Chinatown banquet or a down n dirty talk about produce and how it is we're going to get it out to hungry people with it all overpriced or rotting as it usually is.

As luck would have it (coupled with my pleading persuasion), my friend Mike also had business in San Fran and met me there. We spent the weekend trouncing around a bigger, wider-streeted, cleaner, wetter, warmer, foggier, blue and grayer, hillier, more public-transportation-friendly, Chinese, and finance and tech company-filled version of Seattle. The vibes of the cities are really pretty similar, but anything that could be exaggerated about Seattle is. Except for maybe the green and the mountains. But I hear these aren't far. Seattle also doesn't have Alcatraz, which is well worth the steep $26 buck a pop ticket price. The tour is well done and the view of the city spectacular.

It's not as good, however, as the experience biking across the Golden Gate Bridge. From the Ferry Building, past Fisherman's Wharf, rounding the bay and right up over big red herself, then a glorious downhill into sleepy Sausalito. On a perfect bright blue day. There was a moment about halfway from downtown to the bridge that we coasted through a park that, I'm not kidding you, was so picturesque I think actually sparkled.

Some random pics of site-seeing San Fran and Palo Alto (thank you, Mike for proof that we were there)(and for being a perfect travel buddy!)

Portlandia

Go Portland, being ironic enough to merit its very own new show from an SNL alum.

"Portland is a city where young people go to retire" Let' meet this winners:


Pretty sure this show is gonna be great.

Oddly enough, growing up just 3 hours north of this soon-to-be iconic city, I didn't ever spend much time there. But fate intervened by staging a food processors conference there last week (nothing says a hoot like food processors, right?). I met up with a friend from Seattle, a good friend of an ex-boyfriend, who, in an odd turn of events, was temporary roommates with a good friend of the subsequent ex-boyfriend, and stayed at my sister-in-law's grandparent's house, who, in an and even more odd turn of events, live in the same neighborhood as the next ex-boyfriend after that. Go figure. This is my life. Rest assured, no ex-boyfriends were contacted during the trip.

I spent the weekend prior to the conference trouncing around downtown, poring over Powell's extensive collection, and eating well beyond my heart's (and stomach's) content. In fact, since the only thing I keep really coming back to when people ask about the city is the food, I figure I might as well immortalize each dish.

Habibi (Lebanese) - Artichoke Heart and Pork Shwarma casserole, with pita. Seriously drool-worthy, every bite.
Henry's Tavern - Okay, no food here, but good, cheap pool, and lots of men.
Street carts (Thai) - khaw khaa muu - life changing. Took me back to Thailand. Worth a three hour trip just to get back to this tender pork, sweet hard-boiled egg, and pickled something. DREAM COME TRUE.
Fire on the Mountain (hot wings) - They've got 16 different sauces. And tots to die for. Deeeelissh.
Voodoo doughnut - A Portland visit is apparently incomplete without it. I skipped maple bar n bacon and some of the more creatively named donuts for a butterfinger-topped ring. Yum.
Southpark Wine Bar - I don't think I'll ever be able to eat crab cakes again. Nothing will ever compete.
3 Doors Down Cafe - homemade pasta in a shape I've never seen before. Fancy schmancy and worth the price in cash and tummy damage (pasta and I don't usually agree).

I wish I got pictures of each dish. Seriously. Maybe I've got a foodie deep down that's just screaming to get out.

Portland, oh Portland, you know I'll be back.

RIP Lenovo, and all you meant to me

My computer died a bit ago and the moment the broken video card became a reality, I burst into tears. It's a cry I already feel silly about, especially since all I really used the thing for is Facebook, blogging, and Netflix. I'm not much of a crier so it's always a little bit of a surprise when something just a little emotional opens the floodgates. [I sometimes wish I was more able to process inner turmoil through tears. There's an amazing cathartic power in just letting out whatever is festering inside and not worrying about mascara, puffy eyes, or pathetic sounds and faces that are inevitable through the process. I'm working on it. The death of my computer was good practice.] But really, the death of my laptop was about more than my computer.

The laptop was given to me by a boy who was crazy about me. He was the kind of guy who didn't go gaga over girls, but for a minute, I had something like that effect on him. And he certainly did on me. He let me into his usually very private world and it was great. It's both scary and wonderful to have someone let you in where strangers aren't allowed. I've never been very good at opening those doors, even a crack. I came out of that place with a new appreciation for dedication, pride (the good kind), faith, and whatever it is in a man that makes him an admirable leader. I felt in a way that I hadn't in a long time, or ever before.

It was an unusual relationship that ultimately dissolved into an extended back and forth, with a lot of miscommunication, pride (the bad kind), and hurt feelings. There are a lot of things that probably could have been done differently on both sides, but in the end it's something that I just needed to let go of for a lot of reasons. I made that decision months ago. But I still had his computer. It still had his bookmarks and it represented, I think, some evidence that the gaga was real, at least for a while, and I wasn't quite ready to entirely move on from that I guess. How strange that no matter how on board you are logically with an emotional transition, the emotions sometimes just take a while to catch up. Slowpoke emotions, seriously. The death of my computer was a healthy cut of that last thread. What good is a computer that hums as if its working, but will not function properly to its purpose?

There's hope in this borderline traumatic experience. I know what I want and I know what I don't want, making computer shopping all the easier. It is guaranteed that whatever machine comes next will be better for me than the one before. The same goes for a man I know more about what I want; character traits I need, how I want to feel, qualities to avoid. Whatever is next, will be better. For me. For sure.

Now, on to laptop shopping. In the meantime, I've dusted off the old Firstline Dell (also a hand-me-down) that still has Napster bookmarked and is miraculously functioning at full capacity despite a few cosmetic damages (i.e. the entire frame of the screen is hanging on by just a hinge).

Just a rebound, 'til I can find a dreamy replacement :)


Not many people can cover John Mayer and not sound amateur. YouTube diva, Melissa Polinar does this sweet rendition of his song Heart of Life. Really skip to 0:48 to bypass her blah blah talking.

I do know the heart of life is good.

Traffic JAM

Some people have a problem dealing with this every morning:

It's dark, it's wet, it's sometimes slow (though sometimes not, for no obvious reason). I don't mind it too much most days, mostly because I am empowered by the following praise, given to me daily by a billboard near my office:

I - am - the BEST - singer - - - in the WHOLE - WIDE - CAR. Preetty impressive, I know, right? I have all sorts of proof of my in-transit accolades, difficult to document unfortunately, so you'll have to take 76's word for it.

My billboard was replaced a while back with an ad for Hennessy liquor (stylin') so I forget sometimes how good a front seat performer I am until a real jam comes on and my inner diva comes out. Then it all comes back. Enjoy the show, fellow drivers. I learned these moves in Katie Teddy's big ole' Expedition to the Bring It On Soundtrack back in the days of Kirkland waterfront rounds and gymnastics sugar highs. Moves like this just don't go away. Don't you wish I had my windows down?

Today's party was inspired by the one and only MJ. It worries me a little that Michael is now getting play on the 104.5, the oldie's station. How is it possible that this hunk of sexy moves in FULL SEQUINS gear (I need those boots)(and high waist leggings) (AND the bedazzled crew neck) can share air time Etta James and the Monkees. They didn't have laser lights in the high pelvic thrust during 'the Oldies' era, they just didn't. Though let's take a minute to picture that all up in Etta James and enjoy the moment...
Now, join me on my ride into work today:

Which brings up one of my new favorite guys, Seo Jorge, a Brazilian and his amazing, totally stoned-out version of Michael Jackson's Rock With You. Bring on the Samba for the rush hour home: