Monday, June 6, 2011

Oh Dear! Contenders, where have you been?!

Good afternoon (although it is morning),

It has been far too long since we have posted. 2 months! What did we do 2 months ago that would cause such shame and silence to settle upon our dear blog?

We bought a house! And here are some never before seen photographs (I took them 5 minutes ago!) for your hungry eyes.

This one makes me feel real warm and fuzzy. See oliver in there?!
















that lamp takes a strange type of lightbulb that
I haven't found yet. 



















"whats your favorite kind of animal?"
 "Oliver."























dogs!!!!




















So, we are going to have a housewarming party, don't you worry. I am going to post about our growing garden in the upcoming weeks, it is a big work in progress. In fact, when we started this blog, my first thought was "oh I can post about my garden!!!" Good thing we write about other things, because I wouldn't want to bore you with that. You are probably thinking that wouldn't bore you but it will. I have been gardening so much that when I close my eyes, I see seedlings growing and leaf formations.

We are going to Colorado tomorrow for an Epic Wedding Week, please look forward to the resulting pictures and blog entry.

-Pea

Sunday, March 27, 2011

3 days until moving,












Who wants to cook when your kitchen has been packed into boxes? Moving in 3 days calls for Wegmans Sushi, miso soup, and a six pack of Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA. Fishy Omega-3 fatty acids for the brain power you need to organize, and beer to lube the reminiscent cleansing of an apartment you've lived in for 3 years.

It's strange how you finally appreciate the white of the walls when you are deconstructing a home and you experience one last Era. The light seems brighter, the air smells clean and organized. You notice a bird's call, native to your neighborhood, for the first time.

You are poised for movement.



For some reason, all this stress about moving gets me laughing hysterically at the weirdest things.

For example:

(the cleverness is just too much)












Remember when we went to London in May 2009 with Robby, and we went to the Tate Modern?

this piece is quite reminiscent
of my most philosophical thoughts












Stress is odd.

 I must admit--I like it at times.

Geoffrey....

Maybe our Kitchen should be clementine-colored?

Friday, March 25, 2011

I'm generally a lot more pleasant than Tracy makes me out to be.

   Today, like all days, ended like most would expect a chilly, grey Rochester day to end:  With a "Y".

"Y?" I ask myself, sleep drawing nearer like a creeping soporific gas, "can I not remember something so simple as the name of a beer I had but a mere two hours previous?"  Ah, the implications are obvious.  The beer was successful for its purpose: removing the memories of those shameful social interactions in public.

Wait, I believe I began this entry by insisting I was generally pleasant.  In fact, I appear to have entitled it thus.

The truth is, I'm a "dick".  Yes, I daresay, it might not at first glance seem to be a proper appellation for me.  After all, isn't my flowery prose rather pleasant to read?  Therein lies the rub:  I'm only pleasant in text.

You gasp!  Unless, of course, you know me personally, in which case, you release a puff of "scoff" through your nose.  "At least he's self-aware" you say with only the movements of your tensed jaw.

Yes, it's true, I am a "dick".  I joke around, I say things ironically--which is to say, I LIE and laugh at the comedic results of my clever ruse.  "Haw!" I crow.  "Haw!  Haw!"  I will personally see to it that, during the span of our conversation, you are never entirely sure "which end is up."

This isn't always because it amuses me, understand.

It's not because I don't like you, and would rather not be genuine in a conversation with you.

It's just that...

...see...

...I'm a dick.




I'm a dick.

I'm ashamed.

I'm ashamed because we went to the Tap and Mallet tonight, intending to take photos of our beers and meals, and Geoffrey was going to write a blog entry about it, but I only managed to take pictures of our beers.

They dimmed the lights not 30 seconds before we got our beautiful beers, and my resulting pictures feel juvenile. I took a few minutes composing each, and felt sheepish when the waiter approached while I had my camera out.

Some blogger I am.
















Anyways, I had a classic Scotch Ale, which is always amazing. Deep, caramel tones whisk me away, and on a hot summer night, I can barely move after a single glass. When it's cold out, I can drink two. Definitely my favorite beer, and it's clear that the Tap and Mallet knows how to store their beers; it tasted garden fresh. There's really nothing like a scotch ale on tap.

Since Geoffrey is too distractable and mad at me for the lack of dinner photos, I guess I'll have to write about his beer for him. I can't even remember the name of it! Oh the shame he'll endure when he sees this. It was a crisp, sharp IPA with a rich, skunky smell to it. I had more than my fair share of sips, and it was really incredible. A mellow, sweet IPA--perfect with his rich, meaty meal.
Geoffrey Loves a good India Pale Ale, and I love him for it, and love myself a good IPA too. When I'm feeling romantic, I might even say it's "our beer."
IPAs are so different than your standard sweet and smooth beer. The flowery and bitter flavor is unmatched by any beverage I have otherwise tasted. The flavor cuts through the grime of the day, leaving you feeling well scrubbed.

Comparable to an IPA is the Italian Chinotto soda. If you are into bitter flavors or just want to feel cool, I recommend trying it. When you consume something bitter, you must hold it on the middle of your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and open up your sinuses. If you take it in like a candy or soda (quick and fast across the tongue) you will never be able to appreciate the way bitter flavors encapsulate the most rewarding sugary tones.

For dinner, I had my Tap and Mallet standard--the Black Bean Wrap. I generally feel more poetic about beer, but this is a Good wrap. It's entirely fresh (no soggy lettuce or limp tortillas) with pico de gallo and a whole lot of cilantro. I plow through the plate in a short amount of time, as I am usually starving when we get there.

Our photo taking/professional blog writing this evening was interrupted when we spotted Rachael and Jake at the very same restaurant, and they sat with us and we all had a very lovely time.

Perhaps Geoffrey would like to elaborate on his meal this evening? In all honesty he can't remember the name of his beer either.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Childhood trauma

Tracy's post reminded me of a moment in my childhood which shall haunt me forever.

When I was a wee lad, my mother used to get me little packets of 


For those who aren't acquainted with this toy, I shall explain:  It's a water-soluble gel capsule which holds a small chintzy wadded-up sponge in the shape of an animal.  When you put it in water, the cheap sponge gets bigger, and the resulting animal-shaped sponge can be treasured for moments on end.

One day, a surprise!  My mother had gotten me a BIG BAG of these guys.  But, there was one caveat!  My mother said that each day, once a day, the two of us could pick one and put it in the water and watch it grow together.  I was a little sad not to get my immediate bag o' satisfaction, but seeing that my mother valued her time with her son, I acquiesced.

The hunger burned at me, however.  Reasoning, eventually, that one or two capsules from this massive bag couldn't go amiss, I clambered onto the sink (remember, I was a little kid, stick with me here.)  I collected two of the precious gems and, happily, soaked them.  They were a stegosaurus and a pterodactyl.  Suddenly, my mother came into the kitchen.

"What are you doing--" she began, only to let her voice falter when she saw the bag next to me.

In my haste to satisfy my base urges, I had negligently been splashing water out of the sink, onto the counter.  Aswim in a puddle and washing over the edge of a soaking countertop, were nearly a dozen half-bloomed Magic Capsules, tiny dinosaurs of tragedy plopping like the dropping of my mother's heart to a yellow linoleum floor.

Years later, I was once drunk enough to ask my mother about this moment, a darkling little pit of betrayal I had gnawed over for nearly two decades.

She didn't remember.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Spectacles, Specs

Have you ever thought about eye glasses?

I don't mean just wondering if you need glasses and having your friends crowd around to see how well they can read a sign's various text sizes a few feet away, or idly noting that everyone in the room has glasses on.

Have you thought about how strange they are? Have you tried to envision how glasses would look to aliens?

(grandma, aunt, sister, grandpa, mom, 1980's)











I think they are wonderful. Throughout my life I remember noticing glasses all the time. I wondered if I needed them. I thought about how odd they are, and wondered what archaeologists in 1000 years will think of them.

(check out wikipedia if you also wonder where they came from)

I highly suspect that my heightened childhood awareness had to do with the styles of the 80's and early 90's. Big, thick, yellowy glasses burned into my mind--grown up eyes peering from behind them, teaching me how to be human.

My mom firmly stated, "I always choose big glasses so I can see more."

She had a point.














I was destined to need them, of course, and now I don't know how I would live without them. I savor the twice-a-day thorough eye rub, though occasionally I have spicy food on my fingers and it makes things worse.
I feel naked and self conscious when I have to clean my glasses in public. I consciously started the habit of pushing my glasses up my nose, just to see how it felt.

My two eyes have significantly different prescriptions and I consider this a positive and unique trait. The nose pad on one lens is missing, though I find at the end of the day that side of my nose is actually less irritated.


Which pair is the real pair?











I find myself thinking about eyes and glasses a lot because seeing is important to me. It is my world and though my actual eye balls are crippled, I find my visual cortex to be satisfyingly educated.

What do you remember about glasses throughout your life?