she's just saying...

Lost: mobility. Gained: understanding.

Yes, I'm still in LA. Or as I call it, HeLL A. No, really, it's a wonderful place, especially when you're facing away from it standing on the sand looking out to sea. But I'm really done with this trip, and am having a hard time getting home. It wasn't the terrible migraine last night that did it, it was falling and twisting my ankle at the hotel this morning. As my friend put it: I think I've overstayed my trip.

The ankle was bearable this morning and I got through my morning meetings and lunch ok, though hobbling fetchingly. By the time I was getting back in the rental car, it was clear I wasn't going to be walking much. I decided to get to the airport early and throw myself on the mercy of Alaska Air.

A very helpful ticket agent actually met me at the entrance of the terminal and sat me down, took all my info and tried to get me on an earlier flight. No go (hmm, is it a holiday weekend, maybe?) but she called a wheelchair and got me someone to help me through security. Security is not set up for someone in a wheelchair, by the way. Neither is the terminal waiting area. I was dumped in a chair near my gate and abandoned, though they did leave me the wheelchair. Not having ever negotiated one before, I've been bumping into doors, people, bags, etc. People are pretty friendly and helpful, actually. I find myself saying over and over, "I just twisted my ankle this morning!" as if needing to explain why I'm temporarily not one of the "normal" mobile. Very interesting and eye-opening experience.

Going to the bathroom, finding a plug for my computer, buying water, everything is cumbersome and awkward. Not to mention I'm in pain. I got ice at Starbucks but there isn't a first aid station in the terminal area. I would love to go get a drink but I don't think I should wheel under the influence. Plus I have my overstuffed carry-on as well as a tote bag that I can't maneuver. So I'm stuck here for hours waiting for my flight. What else to do but write it all down and try to get some sympathy?

Thank goodness I'm on the way home and someone's meeting me at the airport. What if I had three more days of travel? One second can change everything, and it's good to remember that anything could happen to any of us. I'm sitting here thankful for the good luck I've had so far in life. But I wish someone would bring me a beer.

(No photo under the circumstances. It's too pitiful anyway.)

LA at night

Goldilocks and the hotel beds.

Here's a shot of our room. That's Dana attempting to emerge from the closet. This post title refers to the bed sizes, btw.

Hi from LA, if that's where I am

I'm in one of those time/space disconnects called business conferences. Endless hours inside a vast conference center under fluorescent lights, sitting in small rooms and trudging through miles of exhibit booths. What time is it? Where in the hemisphere am I? And where's the bathroom?

Occasionally I do get outside to walk back and forth across the wasteland that is downtown LA between our hotel and the conference center. Our hotel is very interesting; not normally an adjective you want to associate with a hotel, really. It's a Moroccan/Mexican fantasy on the first floor, a little romantic in good light alternating with kinda seedy. The room: no romance, just seedy. The room is funky and the bathroom is tiny, even by old hotel standards, and I'm sharing it with a colleague. Luckily we're close. If we weren't, we would be by the end of the week. We're sharing so we can go to the parties every night and not bankrupt the museum.

After 15 years in Bend, it's as if I never lived here before. We're definitely the out-of-town yokels, goggle-eyed at menu prices, the width of the streets and the weirdness of our surroundings. We haven't gotten out to the beach yet where I'll feel more at home, though I'm sure Venice has changed a bit in the ten years since I was last here.

As usual when I travel, I don't find the time to blog, so bear with me and you'll hear more when I return.

Why is leaving so hard?

To those of you hoping for a relationship update, sorry - this is about traveling.

I'm headed to LA for a week (aww, poor me) for a museum conference, which should be a lot more fun than it sounds. Lots of big parties after-hours at various museums, we're staying in a fabulous hotel,  and hopefully have some time off to enjoy ourselves. The only obstacle is that I have to leave town.

For a single mom with pets, traveling is a pain in the patootie. Organizing myself is hard enough, not to mention being gone from the office for a week while continuing to manage projects. But organizing an 11-year old, two cats and a geriatric dog for a week on their own is like planning a military invasion.

I know. Very little sympathy from you all. So I'll move on from whining to packing.

We have five work days including a fairly important meeting, three big parties plus relaxing time. All in a carry-on. I've been fascinated by a slide show on the NYT website in which a flight attendant demonstrates how she packs. It's all about rolling. You tightly roll everything you can, and you fit much more in a bag. She supposedly fits the following in one carry-on for a 10-day trip:

"...three pairs of shorts, three pairs of dress pants, one skirt, three pairs of casual pants or jeans, three nightgowns, three bathing suits, one sarong, three lightweight sweaters, four dresses, 10 casual shirts, six dress shirts, a clutch, toiletries and two pairs of shoes. She’ll wear the third pair of shoes, as well as jeans and a longer sweater."

Hmm. First, I don't think I own that many clothes. Second, she must be a size 0. Third, I frankly don't believe it. And who needs three swimsuits, three nightgowns, 11 pairs of pants, four dresses and 20 shirts/sweaters for 10 days? Are you kidding me?

But I've been carefully watching her technique and am going to try it. Here's my meager collection so far. I just can't find room for the sarong. Maybe I'll wear it on the plane.

finally Friday

It's Friday! Frylet, anyone?

From Mybigbro, but really from I can has cheezburger:

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

The year without spring

What's that white stuff drifting down through the sunshine out there? Volcanic ash? Really big juniper pollen? Why no, it's snow!

Yes, snowing on May 20th. Welcome to Central Oregon, on the High Desert. We're actually so used to it that it didn't cause much interest. And it is sunny, so it's not that bad.

Next it will turn in the space of a week to a hot dry summer. Our seasons change rather abruptly here. When I first arrived (15 years ago this month), I was so dismayed at the short planting season that I stopped gardening for a year or so. 

This is a post about the weather because the two other fascinating topics I thought up in the car have already fled my mind. Have I talked about how I have no memory? I can't recall. Anyway, I don't. Have any memory. I've tried to hide it for years, but now I just tell people straight out and I'm off the hook. Sort of a charming eccentricity, is how I like to see it.

And don't tell me to do crosswords. I've lost many precious hours of my life that I'll never get back puzzling over Sudoku squares. What worries me is that I still have 40 more years to go, if my parents are any indication. So please wear a nametag when you come to visit me in the old folks home. And when you run into me in the supermarket, it would help if you gently remind me who you are.

I'll post again when I remember those other two topics. I do recall they were really good.

Top Ten Tues: Things I can't live without

I just got a hair iron which I'm in love with and which has changed my life, if a new hair style can change your life, and I do believe it can. I already can't imagine life without it. So that made me think of the other things I use every day that I can't live without. (Actually things I think I can't live without, but have and could, of course.)

The criterion I used is whether I'd replace these things if they break. And I already have with many of them. Plus, this doesn't count computers - they're like the stove or something.

So here's my list.

1. Hair iron, of course
2. KitchenAid stand mixer
3. Insta-Hot instant hot water dispenser
4. Clothes steamer - no ironing!
5. Tivo, at least one
6. Garage door opener
7. Canon PowerShot SD 1100 IS Digital Elph (is that a confusing enough product name?)
8. MLB.TV (baseball games on my computer)
9. Palm Pre, though I'm weakening on this
10. Hot tub

       

Only her hairdresser...

Stash

It's an old joke with knitters that we collect much more yarn than we have projects for. We refer to those bins, bags and piles of fiber as our stash. The Yarn Harlot (a knitting-humor celebrity) has written hilarious bits about stash management, including how to hide it around the house and what happens if your stash outlives you.(Gratuitous celebrity photo here).  

Like any obsessed collector, I like to spend some quality time with my stash. It's a pleasant way to spend an early weekend morning, sorting it, reviewing amounts, thinking about potential projects, and just kind of playing with it.

I've talked about Ravelry a bunch - it's an online community of knitters (and crocheters, though I don't fraternize with them much) with a hyperlinked inventory system of yarn, patterns, people and ongoing projects. We photograph our stash and projects and post them in our notebooks for others to search and explore. (This is where hours of my life have been whiled away, and no, it's not a waste of time.) One of the best uses of stash listings is to find that last critical skein needed to finish a project, then swap or purchase.

It's a thrill to track down the needed yarn and make a trade. It's also satisfying to fulfill another knitter's desperate search with some odd skein in my stash.

For example, here is a pic of a happy transaction. I had one skein of this sock yarn, not enough to make a pair of socks. 

I found the one person in the world who still had this yarn and was willing to part with it. Now my skein has a twin and everyone is happy.

Keep your balls cozy

Look! I knitted a softball cozy!

It's supposed to be an apple cozy but it came out a little big.  Kathi D, do you have any baseballs needing sweaters?

Sure sign of spring: farm stand!

For those of you reading from below the 44th parallel, you must be wondering why we're still looking for signs of spring. Maybe it's the snow we had on Monday or the frost this morning, but we don't seem to quite be there yet. I'll take any sign that spring is returning to Central Oregon, and have spotted the best so far: the farm stand on my street has opened again.

You may remember my embarrassingly gushing post about my farm stand (I like to call it "my" farm stand, though I'll happily share it). But over the winter I watched concernedly while changes were happening to the closed stand. It was painted in bright yellows and orange, a new name was posted, the shack got a little construction work. It looked like new owners had bought it, and my heart sunk. 

Well, it's been open for a few weeks now and I've avoided it, afraid to see what out-of-town ag conglomerate had taken it over. (Okay, so I'm a little paranoid. It's my farm stand!) Yesterday on the way home from work I was hankering for a head of lettuce so pulled in and prepared to face reality. And there was my pal Adam!! I honestly can't tell you how relieved I was. It made my day.

It's now called Paradise Produce. Adam and a friend have leased some organic farm land and are getting serious about bringing in fresh-picked organic produce. As Adam said today, "We cut 20 head of lettuce this morning and it's all gone already!" 

There's a list of about 60 different products they're carrying.  The stand is mostly organic, and they've started a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture for those of you who avoid vegetables, and I'm looking at you, YrBigSis.)

I'm planning to volunteer my mad marketing skillz in exchange for peaches and tomatoes, so expect to hear a lot more about it.

Twelve kinds of tomatoes: I'm obsessed.

Pink is Love

Pink is Love, by Henry Hochschild

Happy Mother's Day, all!

A Bread Revolution

These days Henry and I are enjoying freshly baked homemade bread right from the oven several times a week.

Unbelievable, you say? Has Melissa traded in her knitting obsession for a baking one, spending hours mixing, kneading, raising, punching, raising again, baking? Why, no! I have found a book that promises and delivers "the discovery that revolutionizes home baking."

The book is Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoe Francois. (Her name has both an umlaut and cedilla neither of which I care to figure out how to type here.) As described by the New York Times, "Soon the bread will be making itself...The crusty, full-flavored loaf that results may be the world's easiest yeast bread."

The idea is that you mix a fairly wet dough and store it in the fridge without kneading for up to 10 days. Every time you want bread, you pull off a hunk, form it and let it rise (takes about 40 minutes) and bake it. Done. Craziness!

The book takes a one page explanation and recipe and spins it into 242 pages which is a publishing miracle in itself. (They've also built a robust website as well - I sense a marketing mind behind this.) All variations of the same recipe, plus adding eggs, honey and butter to make brioche dough for pastries as well, which I haven't tried yet. I really don't need brioche dough around the house.

All the purists may scoff (because what else do purists do?) but it really works. I may never knead again! 

Okay, I'm not a food photographer. But doesn't it look a little like the book cover?

Hair Play

Another account I worked on in LA was the Mattel advertising account. I only worked on one small part of it, as it was a vast empire made up of divisions such as Matchbox, Large Dolls, Boys Toys, Polly Pocket and of course, Barbie. (I worked on Boys Toys including some weird air hockey puck, WWF wrestling dolls and the Ren & Stimpy Talking & Farting Dolls. Ah, those were the good times.)

One of my favorite things about the account was the unique language used (love weird niche vocabulary). For example, to brief the creative team, we had to identify the wow factor of each toy. And the Barbie and Small Doll folk frequently discussed the intricacies of Hair Play. 

I am reminded of this lately because I'm engaged in some Hair Play myself. I've been growing my hair longer and have hit the level of Below The Collar Bone, the longest I've ever had my hair. I've always been a short hair person, and am having a bit of adjustment to being a long hair person. Do you put it inside your shirt collar or outside? In front of your shoulders or back? How often do you wash it? How do you style it? All questions I never had to deal with before.

It was looking more and more like cotton candy and not in a good way so I got it trimmed this week. My hairdresser is so good that I hesitate to give out her name.* We've been together 14 years. I'm not the best advertisement for her because I've got weird hair, fine but wavy and regrettably frizzy. But she always makes my hair look fantastic for the first couple of weeks.

She did it again Monday. She got out a hair iron and "product" (another word I love) and totally changed the texture of my hair. It's silky. I've been tossing my head like a hair model, running my fingers through it and flipping it around. Barbie's got nothing on me this week. At least in hair play.

Before

After

*But I'll tell you anyway. Traci Klune at Salon Indulgence. Tell her Melissa sent you.

Remembering Kent State

Thanks to Ten Bears and MyBigBro for reminding us of this 40th anniversary yesterday, both quoting the same song.

In case you don't know what I'm talking about, here's some history for you:

The Kent State massacre occurred on May 4, 1970 at Kent State University when students were protesting against the invasion of Cambodia and the Vietnam War. The Ohio National Guard fired 67 rounds into the crowd, killing four students and wounding nine others. Several of those shot weren't involved in the protest, but just changing classes.

Neil Young wrote a song about it, singing:

Tin soldiers and Nixon's coming
We're finally on our own
This summer I hear the drumming
Four dead in Ohio

Gotta get down to it
Soldiers are cutting us down
Should have been done long ago
What if you knew her
And found her dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?

Since it's still Tuesday somewhere...

I can sneak in a Top Ten. This one is not really a "top" per se, it's just a Ten.

Ten Things I Had in My Purse Today

1. A cork
2. Hair silicone
3. A decal of the flag of Tibet
4. Three pairs of various glasses
5. A puzzle made of quilt blocks
6. A small paintbrush
7. A skein of yarn
8. Three different to-do lists
9. Chap-Stick, lip gloss and Carmex
10. Pad Thai

I know comedy

Back in my glamorous Hollywood ad agency days, I worked on the Gallo account for a few years. At one point, we were introducing a new product into test market, a clear malt beverage to compete with Zima (remember Zima?). It was named Kypler's for some reason and was a resounding failure.

However, the concepting and production of the commercials for the brand were a lot of fun. No expense was spared, typical of Gallo (though you couldn't really say that about their products, IMO). We hired a high-end production company and director who specialized in comedy and proceeded to produce a bunch of spots. At one point this led to me being kissed by Rodney Dangerfield which was actually not a high point, but memorable.

Anyway, after we shot all over LA, the team began to edit the spots, which is always tricky but especially so for comedy. During editing you end up seeing the gags 100 times at least. Nothing is funny after you've seen it 100 times except for the sneezing panda video below which brings me to tears but I digress. 

We were showing the edited spots to the creative director, who's a comic character in his own right. His family was involved in show business, including his brothers Super Dave and the director Albert Brooks. This led to him saying "I know comedy! I come from comedy!" a lot. At key moments while screening the spots, he would say "I'm laughing...I'm laughing..." in a totally flat voice, indicating that the gag was working. It was kind of funny in itself.

So that's how I'm feeling these days. I'm laughing...  I'm laughing... . You may not know it to look at me, but really, it's all working.

This video has been seen over 60 million times. I'm not kidding. A couple hundred views are by me.