3 Things I Love About the Grocery Store

I've complained loudly about the grocery store, more than I ought to have. I don't hate it all. Just the picking out food part. What I do like:

1. Jamming out to aisle music.
Whoever is picking out the music at just about every grocery store I've ever been to is doing something right (How great would it be if it was just one guy who was beyond incredible at marketing himself to major chains. He'd maybe tweak them a tiny bit by geography, patron demographics, and grocery store banner- more pretentious/indie at Whole Foods, more folksy at Safeway. More beats at Wal-mart. The Alberton's by my house should have Hebrew rock opera by that process.) I heard about a guy once who basically called up the Seattle Center and told them he wanted to make their playlists for all their events. They had him intern for a few months but then they gave him a full time job just making music playlists. How cool a job would that be? Maybe it's him making all the grocery store playlists.

2. Watching other shoppers jam out to aisle music. And watching little kids beg/question/throw tantrums and otherwise feel about the grocery store the same way I do.
It's great people-watching. You're in such close proximity to really a very personal part of your neighbors lives. And by neighbors I mean strangers, because how many people do you really know at your neighborhood grocery store? Knowing them takes the fun out of it. There ought to be a Twitter hashtag #seenshopping or #produceaislepeoplewatching. Tonight it was one mom who left her tween kids in hysterics at one of those musical gift cards and another coaxing her daughter out of a variety of well-advertised and brightly packaged but nutritionally devoid snacks. Nothing crazy, but incredibly entertaining in a 'life is a reality show' kind of way.

3. Impulse buying candybars and/or donuts.
Is there any other reason to go?

What to Bring on a Long Flight: 3 Categories of Supplies for My Carry-on

I LOVE LONG PLANE RIDES.

Why?

Easy guess. It means I'm going somewhere. Likely somewhere cool. Because there aren't too many far away places I don't want to go (Maybe Germany? I'm sure it's great, but somehow Moldova is more appealing. [No, I'd gladly go to Germany. There's beauty, history, and fascination in far corners of the world!])

Long plane ride means I have to be ready, though, because an unprepared long plane ride puts a damper on the whole travel experience.

When I am on top of life enough to prepare (hopefully if I'm traveling, I'm at least sort of on top of life) I always bring:

1. Items for Comfort

• Socks. Ones I don't care if I lose along the way. Not too thick or thin. I find trouser socks work well. Thick enough that they are warm, thin enough that they pack well.
• Eye mask. Because it doesn't actually get dark. My current mask was part of a 'Lover's Blindfold' gift I got at my bridal shower, so it's bright red. There's no looking stylish in an eye mask, no matter how subdued the style, so why not red.
• Earplugs. I prefer the kind that are connected by a little rubber strand because, inevitably, one plug falls out my ear while jostling my head side to side trying to find the right angle to lean against those nubs that stick out from the headrest. I've swiped a horde of packets from various food production tours so I'm set for a while, but when I'm out, it appears the only way to buy them is buy the hundreds.
• Eyedrops and Chapstick. Because it's dry and miserable without them, and they make a world of difference.
• Snacks. If you can. Peanuts are good. Fruit snacks are good.

2. Items for Hygiene

• Toothbrush/toothpaste. I had an experience once where I spent the bulk of a 3 hour flight thinking my neighbor had rotten breath and only realized, upon landing, that the bad breath I had been smelling had been mine. GROSS.
• Gum. Because sometimes you can't brush in time. And those Gardetto mixes I think are meant to terrorize good breath.
• Deodorant. Sitting around has an odd way of making you stinky. Hot on the runway. Cold in the air. Hot when you're sleeping (thanks to the socks). Cold all over again. Makes you stinky. Deoder-it up.
• Baby powder. Not always, but sometimes, to soak up greasy hair, if I have to be semi-presentable upon arrival.

3. Items for Entertainment

• Books to read. Purchased or brought. I've got a Kindle now, fully loaded. I like a combo of light reading (chick-lit and quick reads) and the meatier kind that will certainly make me fall asleep.
• Notebook. Long spurts of time with no internet or TV (I will NOT pay for a movie box at my seat) is great for brainstorming business ideas, life plans, writing letters or journals, or travel plans, or travel memories, or tic-tac-toe and squares.
• Pen. Flight attendants are strangely stingy with them.
• Games. Ipad, phone, tablet, whatev. 
• Cards. I rarely make use of them, but good for the boring middle bits. 

 In 3 days and 20 hours in a plane, I'll be in THAILANDDDDDDDDDD!

Music Monday: 3 Music Trends I'm Over

1. Auto-tune
Seriously. What is the deal? I'm all for auto-tuning the news and for other JOKE viral videos. Just not in real music. There's plenty of coverage out there about auto-tune killing music. Forget about the purity of the human voice. It just sounds bad. Just 'cuz Cher does it, doesn't mean you should. It sounds bad when Fun does it, when Britney does it, and Sufjan Stevens, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING. YOU SOUND AWFUL.

2. Rap interludes
I get it. Rap feels cool. The beats are fun. The rappers are (usually) hard-core-looking. I'm not a hip-hop hater. A well-placed rap interlude (that's three links there to rap interlude genius) can give an only okay song a little oomph, something memorable. It's just that not many people can pull it off. And there is something unsettling about a mid-forties rapper making even an 30-second cameo in a 15-year-old's quick hit song. Beebs, Maroon 5, Robin Thicke. The songs are generally better on their own.

I'm not so opposed to rap songs with a musical interlude, so it's not like rap and non-rap don't belong together, it's just shouldn't be a fall-back when you can't come up with another bridge and you've got to extend the song another minute fifteen. [Quora has some thoughts, of course]

3. YouTube joke songs people think are real songs.
I'm looking at you, Fox (and Gangum)
It's like Weird Al 2.0. Sure, it's music, but only sort of.

3 Resolutions for 2014

Better late than never:

1. Get a handle on my work ethic.
I'm not a slacker. I'm not. But I believe I have an overly developed sense of, we'll call it perspective, on the the things that matter in this life. So some things that aren't really, in the scheme of things, all that important, I don't give too much attention or energy to (some mistakenly may see it as being a slacker). Problem is, there's I recognize the value of accumulated efforts towards things that don't, on their own, seem to have a lot of weight. A lifetime of putting off tasks and hobbies because they aren't really that important, makes for a person who doesn't know how to see something to the end, really put her nose to the grindstone, and relish in the ultimate success that comes from tumult and labor (more on that later).

2. Get a handle on food.
Seriously, how can my least favorite thing be deciding what to eat? I am so incredibly, above-and-beyond, over-the moon grateful that I (at my current age and metabolism) don't have to worry about weight. Most girls my age, no, most women at most ages stress about the weight aspect of food and spend thousands of dollars and hours of soul-crushing magazine and blog reading to figure out what to eat. My problem? Well, not that. But it's something. A lack of craving (most of the time). A lack of regular meal planning. I like food plenty (most of the time). I just don't like thinking about it. Planning for it. Buying it (unless I'm browsing, aimlessly for an hour in the grocery store. But not a regular grocery store, one that's got interesting things going on like Uwajimaya or Grocery Outlet).

3. Get a handle on being dissatisfied.
My life is amazing. Perfect almost. But there are these little things that get me all picky. Like I hate my jewelry, my all-purpose grey boots are falling apart, my car smells like fuel, or coolant, or perhaps some other burnt chemical, and that there's not enough color in my living room decor. So what are you gonna do about it, Kambam? Fix it, or forget about it. I've got the time and resources to fix most all of my pesky annoyances, so I should. Stock up my jewelry, replace those grey boots, take your damn car to the auto shop, and pick a color scheme and live with it. And if I don't want to, move on already.

Music Monday: 3 Songs that Calm Me Down

So it turns out I'm kind of a mess sometimes. Anxiety is my poison and as with many moods, music can be a cure. So when I'm all worked up, I frequently turn to one of the following:
 
1. Age of Worry by John Mayer 

This song tends to the anxieties particular to those who seek to find themselves: timing and missed opportunities, paving your own path, achieving dreams and botching them. Been there, felt that, happy for the refrain: "Alive in the age of worry. Smile in the age of worry. Go wild in the age of worry. And say worry, why should I care?"



2. Keep Breathing by Ingrid Michaelson

I have a tendency to think I'm not doing enough with my life, with my days, and my moments. It's an altruist overachiever's obsession with the idea that one person can make difference to the world. But I don't make a difference, sometimes. Sometimes I just want to sit in my bed and stare at the wall.

So I hear "I want to change the world, instead I sleep" and feel a pang of guilt. And the mantra, "all that I know is I'm breathing. All I can do is keep breathing. All we can do is keep breathing, " repeated and escalated is a good reminder that I can do what I can do, and what I can do is just fine.

Plus this scene from Grey's Anatomy is just heart-wrenching, ain't it?



3. How Firm a Foundation

This was my mission anthem. Riding bikes down the street at a million degrees, stressed and tired and emotionally invested in the hearts and lives of people whose decisions I had really no control over. The best is the third verse: "Fear not, I am with thee, oh be not afraid/ For I am thy God and will still give thee aid!!" It's almost shouted (hence, exclamation marks). It's especially memorable in Thai, where that last line has a strongly phrased (and rhyming) "Rao ben Pra Jao" (I am thy God) that just oomphs right out of your mouth. The declaration resurfaces in my mind and out my mouth from time to time, usually when I feel more frantic than melancholy (where the other two come to aid).

3 Great Things About Being Married to an Entrepreneur

As the child of an entrepreneur, I may just be pre-programmed to love with all my heart small business and the power that comes with the toil and autonomy of self-employment. My dad is a lone wolf, an eccentric in the eyes of those who thrive on (or put up with) suits and commutes, a creator by nature, not content to wait to live life until after retirement. (Enough descriptors there? I'm apparently overdue for an I Heart Dad Blog Post, but that will have to wait for another day, this post is about something else.) It was great being raised in the home of an entrepreneur and it's awesome being married to one. Why?

1. Flexible schedule 

Almost three full months in SudAmerica last year, a trip made possible by the fact that people hate running in the rain and winter so Porter had no races ( and my employer's  very generous vacation policy based on the fact that November through January nobody wants to talk to me. Nobody.) Also comes in handy for errands, chores, and mid-week mid-day lunches (we don't do those enough).

2. It's a Ride
I don't know what Porter's going to be doing 5 years from now. In a good way. He can flex around his interests (and mine) and we can plan our lives around what we want, not what boss wants.

3. Joint stress, joint success
 The Mustache Dache was this weekend, a screaming success, not just in Seattle where the sun was actually shining, but in the 10 other expando cities basically franchised out from the idea. That's right, MY idea. My hubby's hard work. My encouragement. Porter's tweaks. My help. His direction. There's nothing that makes me more proud than seeing all the crises along the way worked out and all the crazy ideas come to fruition. The things I wouldn't have seen if his office weren't across from the kitchen and I didn't hear conversations and fleshed out details from pre-dawn til post-dusk. Porter is an exceptionally hard worker, to a degree I honestly have a hard time wrapping my head around. And I get to be part of the fun (in a level of involvement more comfortable to my work ethic). 

Entrepreneurs win at life and races!

3 Ways to Identify a Great Steak House

The other night, my good friend and colleague Reg treated me to a fancy steak dinner at the Metropolitan Grill, one of Seattle's oldest and most masculine restaurants I had never heard about before last week. Steak houses aren't really on my radar, so I accepted the invite not realizing what I had coming. I ended up with a delicious meal and a crash course in the trimmings of steak house greatness.

Basically, I'm an expert now. So I can tell you a steak house is great if:

Do you even need menu?

1. There's a display case of cuts in the entry.   You know how bakeries display pies and cakes? A good steak house will show you what their meat looks like. In case you had any question about what you're here for or what it looks like. The display ought to be sparse- no frills, no garnish, unevenly distributed cuts even. Because frills are for Outback and just like good steak doesn't need steak sauce, a good raw meat display needs only a slab of beef and a golden sign describing it. "Filet" says it all, doesn't it?

Aged and clean

2. High booths and a color palette that won't clash with the whiskey.
Doesn't this look just lush? It just screams "expense account" or "high end crime" (not to be confused with the fancy Chinese and Italian restaurant mafia crime vibe). Mahogany (or whatever nice deep reddish brown wood that is), class, and deep, moss green upholstery. Green curtains go great with whiskey.

Here, Vaughn dresses my full loaded baked potato right at our table

3. Waiters dress in butchers coats (or tuxedos).
At first I thought they were chef's coats and thought that was a clever way to show you they meant business. Because a restaurant with no waiters, just chefs bussing tables and recommending meals must be full of only amazing food. When I realized the coats were classic Butcher's coats, it clicked again. It's not about the cooking - the chefery - it's about the meat. And who knows meat better than the butcher himself. But in a world where butchers don't live in restaurants, we have to settle for men dressed as butchers, who, presumably know just as much about Filets and have less blood on them. And they are named things like Colton or Clayton - names that are somehow both a rugged cowboy in from the range and a high class Englishman, the kind you call by their last name in the way that makes you think it's their first name (what was that all about anyway. Did Darcy even have a first name?)

Back ups (bussers, I assume, or those who have not earned their whites) dress in tuxedos. They were almost swarming our restaurant, doing what looked like nothing important, but making me feel like I should tip better in the presence of such fine attire.

Who are we kidding, I didn't pay for the tip. I cringed at the $11 I paid for parking. Which is why fine establishments like these are such fodder for my curiosity.

3 Dates, one weekend

I always kind of laugh when people recommend date night as the key to a strong marriage not because I don't think it's important, but because at this point in my marriage, almost every day is date night. I'm sure it will change as bebis come along, and it's for sure not always that way (not in race week, especially), but Porter and I spend a lot of time together. A lot. So planning dates is an afterthought. It wasn't until last night I realized we had three dates this weekend.

1. Olive Oil and Vinegar Tasting
At a schmancy shop under the Magnolia Bridge. They suck you in with a free history lesson and taste test of a half dozen each of fancy olive oils and vinegars (any more than 6 of either is a bad idea for your taste buds. The other man in the session maxed out at I thinke 3 or 4 olive oils and 2 vinegars. Weak sauce). The ulterior motive, no surprise, is that you drop a small fortune on something you could get in change at a regular grocery store (maybe not change, but scrounged loose bills at least). We caved, of course, and bought the cheapest expensive vinegar they had, plus another fancy ingredient that will likely be part of Christmas.

Fun fact: the French historically didn't have many olives, so they 'buttered down' their olive oil to stretch it out. The result today is that French olive oil is processed to have a more buttery taste, now preferred by many.

Fun fact number two: Vinegar lasts forever. Doesn't go bad at all. Eat your heart out food storage.

2. NMN
Movie night counts as a date night, right? We don't watch many movies in theaters or at home, so it's always a special occasion when we do. This time it wasn't Redbox or library check-outs, but the other usual, illegally downloaded torrents. Because Redbox doesn't usually have it (they do have an inordinate amount of horror movies and action flicks I've never heard of every time I check) and the library takes too long. Saturday night's movie was Drinking Buddies, with the guy from New Girl and one of my celebrity girl crushes: Olivia Wilde. AND Anna Kendrick, who I'm pretty sure all girls think they could be best friends with if she was in their neighborhood (I do). And the guy from Office Space.

The movie was pretty good, done in the style I found out they're calling Mumblecore, which means it sounds less scripted. In this case, it's because they didn't have scripts, they just had scene ideas, and surprisingly enough, it totally worked. Way more alcohol than I ever anticipate seeing in my entire life, but an interesting and enjoyable look at that blurry line that is friends with people of the opposite sex. Roger Ebert HATED IT. Go figure.

3. Couples Massage class
The great benefit of there being a bazillion online deal sites, is that they all seem to offer credits to sign up. This one gave me $50 bucks to start so the 2 hour class was only 10 bucks. Win!

There were some 12 couples and 12 massage tables in a trendy-looking yoga studio in Georgetown. The first hour I practiced massage on Porter, then second, he on me. The teacher's shtick was pretty routine, but we volunteered to be the demonstration couple, so we each got double the massage, one from someone who was actually good at massage, one just us practicing. Double win.

Bonus

deeply relaxed

teacher's pet

And between it all we squeezed in a walk around Lake Union!

Dates are fun!

3 Lessons Learned from Replacing My Car Engine

First off, I'm an idiot and, full disclosure, did not change the oil in my car so my engine exploded. In my defense (a little) I think there was a mix-up last time I took it in to get serviced, but it's a pretty lame defense even still since that was long enough ago I should have had my oil changed since then. 

1. Change your oil.
For real. Before the oil light goes on, if possible and you are on top of life enough to track miles or months. Whatever they say on the Jiffy Lube commercials. If you don't track time and the reminder sticker they put in the corner of your windshield is still somehow confusing (guilty), change your oil when the light goes on. Don't wait a day, or 3 like I did, then try to drive in 90 degree weather up a mountain pass. Your engine will explode, dousing dirty, nasty, filthy oil all over the parts of your car that can't handle the goo and it will haunt you.

Also, when your car is getting fixed, don't tell anyone it's because you didn't change your oil. You sound like an idiot and most people will rib you for it in that well-meaning, not hurtful, just annoying way. It gets old fast, making self-deprecating comments about car maintenance. Just say it's a mess enough times and people will stop asking why.

2. Pick a mechanic near you. A nice one.
I made two huge mistakes when replacing my engine. One, I purchased an engine from a shop 40 miles from my home (whose main guy had a thick Japanese accent and condescending attitude). And two, the guy I chose to install my engine was, found on Craigslist, 45 miles from my home. The Craigslist part didn't turn out to be such a problem in terms of quality or know-how, but the guy was not trained in the art of customer service, or really human communication. Run-on sentences in emails were full of terminology and grammar I couldn't understand, and talking in person was a headache. Doable, though, because I got enough of a deal of an install. Problem here was that it takes at least 45 minutes to drive to the shop or the guy's driveway, meaning any time I needed to inspect it, I had to slot in an hour and a half of my precious time, and any time I needed to pick up the car (because oil ruins not just engines but other parts too, and you don't always find out til after you've driven away, because cars are the worst invention ever), Porter had to do it too.

For my final inspections, I took the car to a third mechanic, a 15 minute walk from my office, 2 minutes from a bus stop, a 20 minute public-transit commute from home. Not only was this guy polite, respectful, and helpfully instructive, he was the easiest person in the world to get to. And I will take all my business to him for the rest of my life (as long as he's still close and nice). I sent out a mass email to everyone in my office to go there I liked him so much.

3. Walking is great
Silver lining time. Over the last several months of back and forth between mechanics and replacements and tune-ups, I have been bound to foot-traffic. Porter works from home, so I could use his car sometimes, but the appointments he has are in random places at random times, so I commuted a lot by bus. I love where I live- just 10 minute walk from a major bus stop. The walk in the morning always cleared my head and got me ready for the day. There were a few days where I had random appointments where I had to track down bus routes and make transfers and that part I'm not so good at or fond of (and somehow almost always ended up on crowded buses standing up near the front. How could I almost always be the last one on??), but walking from point to point was GREAT.

There's tons of research out there (you know there, in the world of research and the internets) that talks about how weight-lifting is great, and aerobic exercise is great, and both are important for an elevated level of fitness, BUT if your main goal is a high quality of living (mental health, emotional health, physical well-being, etc), the very best thing you can do is walk. Walk a lot, regularly. As fast as you want (briskly is good, but power-walking isn't necessary). And it's totally true. I felt great breathing in late summer and early fall air. And I should continue to do it even though I'm back behind the wheel.

Ugh. I just counted the days between car disaster day one and final car return last week (Summer and Fall) and I feel mad and embarrassed and disgusted all over again. Maybe I should go on a walk.

3 Seattly things

This weekend my good old friend Trent finally gave in to Porter's and my regular invitations (or demands, depending on how you listen) to come up from Portland and give Seattle a proper tour. Trent has come with us on all three of our kayak weekends, but has only been to Pike Place Market. And as great as the market is (especially if you love wildflowers), the city has more for Trent, and for everyone. We only got him for a day (a foggy one at that), but it was dry and very Seattle. 

1. Water Taxi to Alki Beach
Porter lends some of his race equipment to the Salty Half Marathon -- used to be Salty's Half, but uppity Salty's Restaurant didn't want to participate anymore. It's not a huge race, but Porter runs it every year, and for the last three we've done brunch after (what is it about West Seattle that makes me want to have brunch?). Trent and I arrived for the finish line (Porter got 5th place after not having run much for the last 6 months due to an Achilles area injury, which simultaneously makes me very proud and totally grossed out that he can just up and run 13.1 miles like it ain't no thang.)

I took the well-placed finish line as an excuse to finally get around to taking the Seattle Water Taxi, which, at a whopping $3.50 each way, is cheaper than the Bainbridge Ferry, and, at 15 minutes across, a whole lot quicker too. The water taxi leaves from right south of the ferry terminal and, at least on this foggy Saturday, looked totally abandoned (it's usually a commuter ferry)(Seriously, what a sweet commute would that be- living in a condo at Alki Beach - one of the only sandy beaches in the area - and hopping a quick 15 minute floating bus to downtown. I may have just changed some life plans just now). The ride was whelming at best, but had pleasant views, salty air, and was way better than driving through the industrial district to get to the beach.

2. Underground Tour
I don't know if I should be ashamed to admit that I haven't ever been on any Seattle city tours. No Duck, no Pike Market, no Underground Tour. All are pretty famous for tourists and locals alike, so I figured with Trent in town I ought to make myself a whole lot less embarrassing and pick one. The Underground Tour is all about Seattle's very beginnings - the Dennys, the Mercers, the people who streets are named after - and how the town was essentially flooded with sewage, then burned to the ground, then was finally rebuilt a story higher than sea-level. The result is 20 some odd square blocks of underground tunnels criss-crossing under Pioneer Square. The tunnels themselves are uninteresting (and filled with piles of rubble and old machinery dumped over the last century), but the stories are pretty great.

In an odd turn of events, one of my best friends from 5th grade and only 5th grade because her family moved away by 6th, happened to be in town with her boyfriend, so they came too. There's not much like catching up with someone you haven't seen since you were 11. Facebook is the greatest. How else would I know her hobbies, profession, and travel history and how else would you have anything to talk about?
 
3. Relish in ethnic diversity (Marrakesh and Chinese Massages)
Stephanie, the 5th grade friend, commented how much diversity there is here, a compliment (is that a compliment?) I deflected, noting that we have a fair number of Asians, but we're still pretty white. Stephanie's from Kansas, and to her credit, we are pretty diverse. Case in point: dinner eating lamb and cous-cous with our hands (just as hard as it sounds) with a belly dancer and tented ceiling. and a late night Chinese reflexology massage. Both of these I've actually done before, but loved them enough to recreate them.

Marrakesh serves a 5-course meal, and only a 5-course meal. You choose the entree from about 10 options, but the rest comes to you whether you like it or not. Egg, chicken, and almond in phylo-dough with powdered sugar was not my thing, but I dug in (sans silverware) anyway. My lamb could not have been more tender, the salad curry thing more perfectly balanced, and the mint rosewater tea with honey- oh my goodness I can't stop thinking about it.

My reflexology massage, unfortunately had reverse success. Head and face massage- amazing. Foot and leg massage- pretty good. But then my masseur (I got a man. Porter and Trent got ladies. Weird?) couldn't get my skinny jeans rolled down after the foot massage part was over, and it went all downhill from there. He offered to cut them off, as if I was in some sort of emergency and he was an EMT saving my life. My calves are disproportionately large for the rest of my body, plus expansion from a hot water foot bath and all sorts of improved circulation (isn't that what massage is all about?) which I'm well aware of so I shouldn't have rolled the skinnies so high, but really, cut them off? We finally got them down, and he continued on to massage my shoulders, but by then all I could pay attention to was him chewing gum. And I swear he burped once.

Gross.

But isn't Seattle great?