Last night I started watching the TV Series Firefly. Until now, I only knew the show through critical hype and the theatrical release of Serenity (which I loved, by the way).

The show is great. The characters are human; the writing is smart and quick-witted; the severe moments are palpable; the relaxed times are relatable. It's cowboys-in-space with Gilmore Girls-esque dialogue. You should watch it.

1. SPOGG -- The Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar. Here they manage to promote good grammar, make fun of The Hoff, and incorporate bacon all at once.

2. SPOGG is where I learned about Literally, a Web Log, an English language grammar blog tracking abuse of the word “literally”.

3. Unintentionally funny domain names (literally unrelated to the other two)

The one thing I did Sunday that didn’t involve church, food, sleep, or my getting trounced in word games was my unpacking of my book boxes.

The stack of books is still on the floor, but with them all out in the open like that, I can see what I have, what I’ve read, and I what I should re-read. Here is what I have tentatively added to my reading list, all of which come from my books on hand.

• Catch-22, Heller
• God at Work, Veith
• The Best of Verity Stob, Stob (borrowed book that I forgot I had)
• Wild at Heart, Eldredge
• The Visual Display of Quantitative Information, Tufte
• Envisioning Information, Tufte
• Visual Explanations, Tufte

And here's where I weenie out and beg for mercy in accountability: Sure, I made a list, but don't hold me to it. :)

It’s been pretty warm around here lately... low- to mid-80s F. That may sound like “pansy talk” to people in warmer climes, but when you get soft from the normally mild Northwestern weather, a temperature spike can come as a shock. Sometimes the best thing to do is to slow down and take it easy.

Sunday was another no-clouds day with lots of warmth--perfect for a bike ride, a sail, a hike, hanging at the beach, reading a book, or whatever. After the morning church service, with all of these options before me, I grabbed a drive-through lunch and went home to plan my afternoon. I turned on A Prairie Home Companion, as is my custom, to get my down-home, Midwestern, bluegrassy, dry wit fix. I dosed off during Guy Noir and woke during News from Lake Woebegone. (Fun line from the Guy Noir skit--Scene: car rental counter at a South Carolina airport: “Do you want a dog with the truck rental?”)

Praire Home wraps up, but I wasn’t too motivated to get on the bicycle, especially not after the pastor’s wife’s Friday ride that nearly ended in heat stroke. The sun was out and in full-force... so if I was going to ride, it would have to be closer to evening.

So I unpacked boxes during Car Talk. I don’t have a lot of books, but the ones I do have were still packed away in plain site 5 months after my move. “I will get bookshelves,” I’ve kept telling myself. But I finally got wise to my lies... and now the books are out of the boxes and, um... on the floor. It looks better than the cardboard boxes, though; trust me.

This American Life came up next, and I’m realizing that this is all my day is. The choice as been made to stay in and do pretty much nothing, save being entertained by the radio. My name is Slacker. I was asleep shortly after All Things Considered started, and woke up again during an entirely uninteresting Fresh Air Weekend segment.

I had two thoughts at this point:
1. Two naps in one day. Sweet! Things are going my way.
2. My dear Radio: for this lame finish to a fine, fine day, you have betrayed me.

The grogginess wears off soon enough, and I realize that I still do not have anything on hand that is not frozen and is also not spoiled. Slacker, indeed.
 
Fosteronomo calls me minutes later to invite me over for Scrabble. Things were going my way today, right? I convince myself that today is the day I can beat a guy with a Masters degree in Communication and his book-reading, RN wife.

He gets two bingos in row; Rachel gets one a round later; and although ol’ Jimbo (that is, I) is regularly scoring 20 points or more, he still ends up last. Darn these book readers.

In all, Sunday was one of the most relaxing days I can remember. At least for one warm, sunny summer day, I didn’t have to care about all that stuff on my mind, or do that thing on my TODO list, or do that other thing for that other guy... it was just I, kicking back and letting my body catch up.

That whole “Sabbath was made for man” thing? I’m totally on board.

Boy, talk about your community involvement:

Folks in Beloit, WI got together and staged George Seurat's "A Sunday on LaGrande Jatte" over the July 4th weekend:



Flickr links here and here. Newspaper story here.

Very stinkin' cool.

A few summers ago I went through a special Seurat exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago that focused on Seurat's preparation for and execution of LaGrande Jatte. Sadly, I have no pictures to show (since the AIC folks were pretty serious about their picture-taking policies).

(Note: cross-posted to xanga.)

I went to get my haircut today.

I kept putting it off, and putting it off some more, as is my custom. But that's a different blog post.

My barber today was Erin. We got to talking, and at one point she asked, "So, are you from around here?"

In my experience, most people in Bellingham aren't originally from Bellingham. It didn't register as odd question in the least.

"I'm originally from Michigan..."

And before I could finish my standard response ("... and I moved out here after college for a job..."), Erin says, "I thought I you might be from the Midwest. I'm from Minnesota."

There's a Midwestern vibe. Who knew?

An ideal water experience for me is when I find myself sitting on a quiet, unoccupied Lake Michigan beach listening to the water snap and fizz as the sun sets over the waves. Or standing on a bluff at West Beach on Whidbey Island while a winter storm comes ashore--the water slams the rocks down below with thundering crashes, and the spray fills the air and dampens everything you thought was still dry.

The calm and power of the sea... both things I crave.

From shore.

I’m not really a water guy. Never have been. I rarely hang out on your typical beach. I’m not even sure I could swim if I had to. It’s not something I learned to do well and/or at all. (Reason #17 why I’m suited to computers. But I digress.)

The weather this past Sunday afternoon was perfect: Sunny, high clouds (if any), 72 degrees. After the Sunday morning service (Today’s you-should-know-this-already-but-you-always-need-a-reminder message is from Phil 2:3-10: It’s not about you; It’s about Jesus), Fosteronomo and family invited me to meet them at Lake Whatcom for a sail.

After Cap’n Dan’s wife and kids got some sailing time in, they headed home for naps and left two old (are we that old?) friends to keel, come about, tack, and move that thing... and the other thing. We'd been out 30 minutes or so when he placed his own life in my hands by giving me the helm. I must have been fiddling with the rudder and stuff (he's the sailing genius, not me) for next 20-ish minutes. I even maneuvered us hard alee a couple times. “Jibing would be our best chance of getting wet,” said Dan, lounging at the bow.

We didn’t have too much wind, and that suited me just fine. Being out in the middle of the water in what amounts to a shallow, masted, fiberglass bathtub is a far, far, different experience than sitting on dry ground near the water’s edge. And I don’t mean that in a negative way... it really is a great thing. What a kick. I can see why people like it.

Justin, Tim, Ben and I did our first ever international disc golf tour on Saturday. It made for a long day, but, as the kids used to say, it was way cool.

We left before 8 am. On a Saturday. That’s all I’ll say about that.

Our first stop was the Little Mountain 9-hole course at Queen Elizabeth Park in Vancouver, B.C. Justin won the course by 2 strokes; Ben held on to Tim’s belt as Tim fished his disc out of the duck pond. I was doing well until the 8th hole when I threw the disc into the only real hazard on that hole—a 10-foot wide wall of cedar bushes that I nailed smack in the middle. For the rest of the day I was extracting my disc from trees.

The next stop was Tim Horton’s. They didn’t take Visa. Weird.

The next disc golf stop was Passive Park in Langley, B.C. It’s an 18-hole course with lots of brush, thick trees, and blind lines of sight. Justin and I tried this course a few weeks ago, and I lost my (then only) disc on the 14th hole. We all put $5 on the line for this tour, and it was obviously all Justin’s by the end of this round.

Next stop: U.S.-Canada Border. The digital read-out on the approach to the Pacific Highway truck crossing estimated the wait time at 50 minutes. Peach Arch’s estimate was 120 minutes, so we took our chances. Our actual time was closer to 75 minutes. Sure, it was a nice and sunny day and everything, but seriously, don’t any Canadians ever want to stay in Canada? (Jacquie says, “we are a people with cabin fever at all times.” I guess that explains that... now what about those funny accents?)

The last stop on our tour was our ‘home’ 9-hole course at Cornwall Park in Bellingham. Tim confidently says, “This is my home” just before launching his first disc 10 feet into a tree. “Welcome home,” I say. Both Ben and Justin parred this course; I stopped keeping track of my overall score, except that I knew that I had last place wrapped up midway through Passive Park.

Final Finish: Justin (+6), Tim (+10), Ben (+16), James (+22).

Yep, I got my disc handed to me. Despite that, I’m hooked. See you on the course.

I just received a Happy Birthday reminder [template pdf] from the State of Washington Department of Licensing which contains the following bits of text:

... renewing on-line [sic] lets you skip the trip, the traffic, and the wait in line. ... you can pay with a credit card or debit card!

They care how I use my time and that I should use it wisely? Convenience, ease, and on my schedule? Sweet! The Internet is great for this kind of stuff.

The censors from the State of Washington Department of Removing All Personality from Government must have been sniffing too many Sharpie^(R) fumes one day and let the following attitude-filled line slip out:

If you prefer the trip, the traffic, and the wait in line, you can still renew in person. ...

 

Bright morning, clean clothes, gotta get to work... Got a late start, need a drive-through breakfast... #4 with a coffee, please...

Five minutes later, still driving, as I'm relaxing after a sip, I notice some of the precious liquid dripping off the side.

I see coffee marks in prominent places on my (clean) shirt and (clean) pants. On my way to work, no less. At least I was able to shake off the breakfast biscuit crumbs.

This is what I get for not riding my bicycle.

[Update 10:09am: Fixed spelling.]

You figure every girl is beautiful, you know. It’s our arrogance that makes us think one is better than the other. ... I was thinking about girls the other day and wondering, you know, why some girls just get ignored and others get worshipped, and I really got this feeling in my chest like all of that wasn’t true. Can’t be true. Doesn’t make sense. Like maybe if you can’t love a girl who isn’t all perfect, then you can’t really love a girl who is. Not for real. Not unconditionally.

What Donald Miller's travel buddy Paul said, as recorded in Through Painted Deserts (page 42).

http://www.piratejokes.net -- Not always funny (it probably helps with a bit of grog), and not the only place to find 'em. But it's a great way to annoy your very hard(ly) working co-workers.

Mr. T likes the double shot espresso -- hat tip: Raymond Chen (from here).

Pictures of cats with stuff on them.

I live in Washington, but I’m from Michigan. I do often enjoy games for the sake of the game, but I will always root for, and have strong support for, the Tigers, Lions, Red Wings, and Wolverines. (In my mind, pro basketball stinks.)

As a Tigers fan, this year is much more fun, seeing has how they can win and everything.

I went to see the game Friday with one friend’s church group (Tigers win!) and then again Saturday with another friend’s church group (Tigers win again!). I even bought a cap for the second game. Being tired, slightly under the weather, and running out of church groups, I passed on the third game (when the Mariners finally win). Now, at the All-Star break, the Tigers have the best record in baseball.

This year’s success is exciting, sure, but it’s hard to forget the recent past: 12 consecutive years with a losing record; poor players; bad management. Everyone thought that when Mike Illich (the Little Ceaser’s Pizza guy who also owns the Red Wings) bought the team from Tom Monahan (the Dominoes Pizza guy) Tiger Stadium would be saved and the Tigers would return to their 1945/1968/1984/1987 glory. Eventually, the Tigers moved to Comerica Park and routinely lost games. And Tiger Stadium is now slated for demolition.

I have some very strong memories about the Tigers from when I was young. My first memories were from 1983 when the Tigers made a run at the end of the season, but finished in second place in the Eastern Division. That late-season streak foreshadowed the events of the following year.

It was 1984, and I was in Mrs. Greene’s fourth grade class. Those were the days of Chet Lemon, Sweet Lou Whitaker, Alan Trammell, Lance Parish, Kirk Gibson, Darrell Evans, Larry Herndon, Tom Brookens, Dave Bergman, Jack Morris, Dan Petry, Milt Wilcox, Willie (Guillermo) Hernandez, Roger Craig, Sparky Anderson. The list goes on, but these are the names I remember. :) George Kell and Al Kaline did the TV play-by-play and color commentary, respectively; Ernie Harwell and Paul Carey were the radio guys. Ernie Harwell says, "There's a looong fly ball, deep... and that ball is.... looooooong gone!"

The Tigers started 35-5 (and then departed Seattle 35-8). Jack Morris threw a no-hitter on national television against the White Sox the first Saturday of the season. In about the 6th or 7th inning, he walked the bases loaded, got a 1-2-3 double play, and then a strikeout (or something) to close that inning. I was pumped.

The Tigers owned the Eastern Division that year--they pretty much had it wrapped up by the All-Star break and clinched in early September (I think). They beat the Royals in the ALCS to win the American League Pennant, and then went on to win the World Series by defeating the Padres in 5 games, losing only the second game.  Alan Trammell was awarded the World Series MVP.

That was also the first year I went to see a Tigers game in person. Much of my mom’s extended family banded together to go see a game August 20, 1984. I saved that ticket stub for-stinkin’-ever. Jack Morris was the starting pitcher, and the Tigers totally smoked the Oakland A’s 14-1 (the A’s only run coming on a wild pitch). We sat in the upper deck at Tigers Stadium along the third base line looking at left field. At one point, there were 3 waves circulating the upper deck at once.

More random memories about the event: We caravanned from Ionia to Detroit and stopped to eat in Brighton. As I recall, that was also when McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets was a new product. I think I got a 6-piece.

 [update 12:10 pm: fixed spelling. Sorry, Larry!]

My recent trip to San Francisco inspired the title for my entry in my employer's annual Chili Cook-off:

I'm still not yet a "throw whatever in the pot" kind of cook. I still like to follow a recipe at least once to see how it will turn out, and then tweak the recipe as I see fit after that. The basis for this recipe came from Alton Brown's I'm Just Here for the Food. The listing here includes some of my (very slight) changes:

Ingredients

• 2 lb chuck steak, cut into ½ inch cubes
• kosher salt
• black pepper
• 1 tsp chile powder
• 2 T olive oil
• 1 ½ c finely diced onion
• 4 cloves garlic
• 2 Serrano chilies, split, seeds removed, chopped
• 2 jalapeno chilies, split, seeds removed, chopped
• 2 roasted red bell peppers
• 1 chipotle chile in adobo
• 4 oz diced tomatoes
• ¾ c beef stock
• ¾ c “delicious beer”

Preparation

1. Roast the red peppers. Procedure: cut peppers from top to bottom, place skin up on a sheet pan, and place under the broiler until the skin the blackened. Remove peppers and place in a plastic wrap-covered bowl until cool. Peel off the outer skin.

2. Season the beef with salt, pepper, and chile power. In a large skillet, brown all the beef in the oil.

3. In a large pot, sweat the onions and garlic until tender, but not browned. Add the remaining ingredients (but not the beef, yet) and simmer for 10-ish minutes. Puree the mixture.

I used a stand blender because that's what I had. Alton suggests a stick blender (because it’s easier, cleaner, and cooler, and you don't have to spoon out everything from one pot to the next).

4. Add the beef and cook over low heat for 45 minutes.


Miscellany

• Next time, to get a more "chili" flavor, I would add more chile powder and/or cumin. Lots of cumin.
• I used Serrano and jalapeno peppers rather than what the original recipe called for (andro, california). Neither of the two stores I visited were selling fresh andro or california peppers.
• The judges (my coworkers) voted by chili 6th best (How's that for looking on the bright side?) out of 13 entries. Eli won with his Chilisaurus Rex.
• I tripled this recipe for the competition.
  

So it wasn't all sitting in the car cramping our legs. We took pictures. Herewith, a few more of those pictures.

The first night in the car when we're all still fresh and slightly giddy:

Clockwise from top left: Naomi, Shelley, Justin, James. James should learn to smile more.

In fact, he was accused of being too happy by a gentleman in San Francisco who just wanted our attention long enough to sell us opportunity to give $$$ to a just cause. This man's attention getter: "Excuse me, sir. I'm going to have to fine you... for smiling too much." If you find yourself down by the WWII submarine at Fisherman's Wharf, beware the guy with the "I heart San Francisco" stickers.

Windmills near Stockton, CA:

Some people got tired walking up all those San Francisco Hills (photo by Naomi):

The traffic cop at the base of Lombard Street wasn't enjoying his job this day. Even the flowers couldn't cheer him (photo by Justin):

The Engrish on this awning cracks me up (photo by Justin):

From left to right: Girl, Good Friend, Girl, Girl

One more of the bridge (photo by Justin):

This is the Siltcoos Beach on the Oregon coast, Monday, July 3rd, at about 7 am. Check out how I look all introspective (photo by Justin):

From a Starbucks paper cup, The Way I See It #89:

Recipe for happiness: an insatiable curiosity, a joy of discovery, quick to forgive, hold no grudges, love without condition, stay loyal to the  death, see the best and ignore the rest -- wow, we can learn a lot from man's best friend!
    -- Nick Bolletieri, Tennis coach and founder of the Nick Bolletieri Tennis Academy

Nice try, but I'm not completely buying it.

How about the negative examples of "man's best friend"?

• drinking from the toilet
• butt-sniffing
• face-licking

To these I prefer sipping a frothy pint, a smile and a hearty handshake, and a big bear hug or a gentle caress from someone I love, respectively.

I'm sure that if I were in to face-licking that my Match.com profile would get more action. But sacrifices must be made, people.

• 2040 total miles
• 36 hours driving
• 6 tanks of gas
• 3 states
• 2 golf discs lost in the water
• 1 cool hostess

We left Friday night just after 6 pm. Even though it was sunny and nice, and we get that combination in the Pacific Northwest about 5 days a year, we were determined to coup ourselves up in a car for the whole night. But what a payoff. Here's a not-so-brief summary:

Final Destination: Dublin, CA. We didn't have the luxury to take our time, so we stayed on the major freeways for the entire trip down. Total travel time, including gas stops: 16 hours. We arrived at Jana's place Saturday morning just before 10 am. We made good time, no?

Justin and I made a special trip to play disc golf in Berkeley. The score was tied going in to the final hole. When I laid up my second shot next to the basket, Justin made a play for the win. And instead of putting me in my rightful second place, his missed the pin and nailed the water. Double bummer.

We followed the Saturday evening church service with a most tasty trip to In-N-Out Burger. Praise the Lord and pass the ketchup! Get a #2 with a chocolate shake. Onions? Yes, please.

We let ourselves sleep in Sunday morning. (We really needed that.) It was then off to SFO to see the Wharf area, Lombard Street, China Town and parts of Little Italy (now at the top of my gastronomic experimentation TODO list: cannoli). Dinner at The House of Nanking included the best calamari ever along with a gloat-filled phone call to Bob.

We drove to the city so that we could start our trek home via the Golden Gate. The air was clear; the sun was waning; the photo ops were plentiful. Did I mention that the air was clear? :)

We arrived back home (in one piece! still as friends!) 19 hours later via the Oregon coast (Note to sociophobes: the beach is empty at 6 am). I think I got a total of 90 minutes of sleep that night and then another 120 minutes or so between Vancouver, WA and Bellingham.

The trip was a lot of driving. We averaged more than $3 per gallon for gas. Despite the tales here, we subsisted mostly on breakfast bars and peanut butter. The car wasn't spacious; we all suffered from sleep deprivation.

Would I do it again?

Just tell me when and where and hand me the keys. I'm ready.