It's Just Radical!

Another Case for Less Gives You More

2011-10-05T10:02:00.000-07:00

Writer and designer Graham Hill makes a case for the less is more approach to living. Condensing your space. Only keeping your favorite things. And only buying things that will last many years.

He follows three rules:

1. Edit Ruthlessly
2. Think Small
3. Make Multifunctional

A few years ago, before moving to Seattle, I started my version of All My Life For Sale. I attempted to get rid of all the excess in my life by selling every single thing I owned on eBay and at an apartment sale where I invited complete strangers into my personal space to shop and take what they wanted. I left a fishbowl on the counter and they paid what they thought the item was worth to them.

My project was not nearly as successful as previous versions, including the original by John Freyer, mostly because selling every single thing you own on eBay is, well, an insane amount of work. But I did manage to edit my life from a bunch of boxes I was just moving from apartment to apartment and state to state down to only five boxes of clothing and basic essentials.

As I begin to consider moving into a smaller space and getting a roommate, I am ready to self edit ... edit ruthlessly, even, and follow the guidelines set out by Graham Hill.

Do yourself a favor and take the next six minutes to watch the video above. It's worth more than considering.

Stacking Up Eggs and Eggplant

2011-07-19T09:03:00.000-07:00

Last week I tried to kick start myself into eating more healthy options and less on-the-go lunches and dinners. By Tuesday, I was eating pizza and having a beer. The problem was that I gave up too much at once. No coffee. No alcohol. No carbs.

It was no good.

I decided to give it another shot this week. I figured, if I can make better choices every day of the week, then I can not put so much pressure on my weekend dietary schedule. So, on Sunday, I went to the store and bought about $90 worth of produce and essential ingredients for the pantry. That night I spent a solid hour and a half cutting vegetables and fruit for salads, snacks and the like. Everyone knows having the prep work done in advance is half the battle.

When it came to dinner time last night, I was pretty excited to try something new. This eggs and eggplant stack I came up with was quite a treat. My friend Meloni and I were talking on the phone, and she convinced me the idea of using pasta sauce as a base was not crazy.

In other words, pasta sauce goes well with eggs ... as long as there's eggplant, I guess. I have to say, topping this with some cracked black pepper and fresh basil from my very own herb garden made it feel a little more like my own.

It's looking pretty promising that I'll beat last week's two-day record of eating well during the week. Of course, it still is Tuesday morning.

Striving for Perfection, Again

2011-06-11T12:47:00.000-07:00

I have a tendency to go through phases in my life when I think everything is a wreck. Just a complete disaster. Or, at the very least, a little off balance. It's these times when I frequently refer to myself as a hot mess or the hottest mess.

The truth is these are the periods of time when, more likely, I actually have it the most pulled together. Earlier this week, I entered wave one of hot mess mode. I know I'm in phase one when I start seeking out self-discovery books and resources to get more organized, get more done and just be a better person all the way around. I start thinking about new ways to be able to double my workout schedule, because six or seven times a week just doesn't seem like enough. I start trying to figure out how I can eat less of everything and more of the rest of everything. I want to feel better, look better, be better.

Basically, I'm looking for ways to be perfect. Unrealistically perfect, in fact.

Last weekend, I grabbed my copy of "The Secret" from the bookshelf. It's a book I've never read completely, and it's a book I'll probably never read completely. But I often gravitate toward it, because it was marketed as one of the most comprehensive resources for getting everything you want. I don't know if that includes absolute and complete perfection, though I'm sure it's just a vision board away.

All I need to do is clip out a few pictures from a magazine, glue them on some poster board, and I'll be on my way to living my perfect life. The one I made happen with my craft glue and crude cutouts from Men's Health and Details. One where I'm surrounded by wealth, happiness and a body built by 16 trips or 32 hours a week working on my physique. One where I only eat broccoli and the best protein a vegetarian can find. One where I don't spend money on things I don't need and I don't waste time doing things that impede on my being perfect.

What I really need to do, instead of strive for this perfect state of being, is just make a realistic plan to push myself a little harder ... in just one area. Not look for overall perfection, just better than before. Of course, that's not how I work. But by the time phase two rolls around sometime next Wednesday or Thursday, I'll have enough confidence in myself to just try to work on a few small changes. Or nothing at all.

I'm so predictable like that.

Seattle: More Than Black and White

2011-05-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

This is why I love the city I now call home.

All You Have to Say is Unlimited

2011-05-02T19:27:00.000-07:00

I like to think of myself as a foodie. At least I like to think of myself as someone who enjoys going to one-of-a-kind, more upscale restaurants to try dishes I most likely wouldn't (or couldn't) just whip up on my own. That's the definition of foodie, at least for the purposes of this entry.

In other words, I appreciate the experience of dining out at more local restaurants that may or may not be owned by a celebrity chef and may or may not have been visited by the Food Network. I like trying places that have been around for decades and places that have been around for five minutes ... but have everyone buzzing. So, what I'm really saying is this: I'm not much into chain restaurants.

That used to not be the case at all. Back 10, maybe only five, years ago, I was all about a trip to Chili's. Or Applebee's. Those would have been some of the first choices on my list for nightly dinner options. When that started to change, especially after moving into the heart of the ever-changing face of Seattle's foodscape, so did my choice for where to eat for my birthday dinners.

While I previously would have been perfectly content with a stop by Ruby Tuesday's on my special night, now I'm more prone to go for the quaint, exclusive spot somewhere hidden in a residential neighborhood. I'd say I'm more like to chose a place where courses cost $28 a plate, not $9.95. That's not to say I'm all about the price. I think we all have experienced some high-dollar disappointments at the dinner table. But a pleasantly memorable dining experience often goes hand in hand with the dollar amount on the bill. The more you pay, the more you remember. And not just because you're forced to eat Ramen Noodles until your next paycheck.

Last week, when it was time to choose my dinner destination, I had all kinds of places in mind. For several days, I'd been thinking about the new Tom Douglas restaurants and researching menus at the spots I've heard about but not yet tried. There are dozens on my mental bucket list for restaurants to visit, and my birthday was going to be the excuse to check one off of that list. Staple & Fancy was one I really had planned on choosing, because I wanted to try the "fancy" part. Basically, the well-known chef creates whatever he wants for this multi-course feast. This is a bit risky as a vegetarian (I've heard they don't really appreciate you giving them restrictions of any kind when you order the "Bring Me Whatever" option), but nobody I know has had a bad experience.

When it came time for my actual birthday, last Wednesday, I got asked the big question: "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

Staple & Fancy was the expected answer. Or Crush. Or even the more affordable Boom Noodle, a Seattle spot I frequent. None of those came to mind. Nothing, for whatever reason, sounded like the right place. I just wasn't craving anything in particular that day, and I wasn't in the mood to get fancy (or to try it, I guess).

But a birthday dinner destination had to be chosen. So, I just blurted out the one place I used to go on an almost-daily basis, even though it is the most stereotypical of all chain dining establishments. Almost as a joke, I said, "Olive Garden. Let's go to Olive Garden."

As soon as I said it, I couldn't stop thinking about that salad. And those breadsticks. After all, it's UNLIMITED, which is the main appeal of the place. So, that's where we ended up. At a chain restaurant.

I had eggplant parmesan plus two bowls of salad. And three breadsticks. I wanted to have four, but I stopped myself at three.

As I took a bite of the chocolate mint that comes with the bill, I realized chain restaurants become chains for a reason. It's because they're known for something that works well and has mass appeal. Just ask anyone about Olive Garden. The first thing they'll mention is the unlimited salad and breadsticks. Especially the breadsticks.

Why I Have to Get on the Treadmill Today

2011-04-26T09:29:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I turn 33. Not a special birthday or anything significant other than marking the day I caused my mom some pain back in 1978.

This morning, I was supposed to visit my personal trainer at the gym, but he rescheduled. That's not the worst thing that could happen, since working out with him is about 17 times more painful than going at it alone. (Editor's note: I'm also aware that means working out with him is also 17 times more beneficial than going at it alone.)

When I make it to the gym later today, I may skip my usual weight-lifting routine (something I've been hitting pretty hard for the last 10 weeks) and just log some miles on the treadmill. I feel obligated to do this, just so I can enter my age as 32 one more time before moving to the easier-to-punch-in 33.

Back when I was training to run my first 5K, I spent a lot of time on the treadmill. It was an almost-daily reminder of my weight (and weight loss) and age, since I input both of those figures each time I stepped onto the belt.

Turning 33 doesn't really make me feel any older than my previous couple of birthdays, but I will be more aware because of this treadmill practice. When you have to remind yourself on a regular basis of your age, it seems a little more important.

I guess the good news is, because of my improved health in the last year or so, I feel much better going into this insignificant birthday than I did my last significant birthday ... 25 ... when I could finally rent a car on my own.

Cake Pops: When 'Easy' Recipes Take Too Much Time

2011-04-18T08:50:00.000-07:00

My adventures in baking are usually pretty successful. I grew up spending a lot of time making cakes, cookies and whatever other sweet treats would pass the time between the school bus dropping me off and my mom getting home from work.

Baking beat boredom.

In the last few years, I've significantly cut back on my baking and sweet making. It's been good for my health and good for me getting other things done. But this weekend I decided to spend a little bit of my free time jumping on the bandwagon of a trend that's a few years in the making ... Cake Pops. Even Starbucks has gotten on board with these little treats on a stick.

The woman who wrote the book (seriously, she wrote this book) on cake pops, is well-known food blogger Bakerella. She's made cake pops in simple form (reference what I did) and much more complicated and decorated.

After I watched a Bakerella video on tips and tricks, I went to work. I baked the cake, cooled it off and crumbled it up. I added the frosting, mixed it and rolled it into balls and popped it in the freezer. Just like she said.

Already, I was over this project. Even though I was making them for a co-worker's birthday, I thought about scrapping the whole thing right then and there. I was not even sure I was getting a dozen cake pops from the recipe, which is expected to create twice that many ... at least.

But I carried on and hours later, I was dipping the uncoated cake balls into melted white candy coating. Add some sprinkles, wrap them up and tie them in a bow and finally I finished.

Baking used to be a way I managed my stress. Cake pops, I now know, are not an appropriate project to relieve stress - even if they did turn out looking just right.

They Remind Me of Space Invaders

2011-04-12T21:08:00.000-07:00

You certainly have seen a QR code by now, even if you don't know them by the name QR code.

They're popping up in fashion magazines, in the front window of Macy's and at the counter of sandwich shops like Subway and Jimmy John's.

These codes are something I didn't understand for several months after I discovered them. But I now am finding myself using them for my job as a marketing manager. And, like many technological advances, I see how they could be handy in the future.

But, for the time being, they're confusing to the mass market. For those who don't know, QR codes are computer-generated images that allow you to get linked up to a certain URL or web location by you capturing a picture or scanning the code. On the surface, it's a little like a supermarket scanner capturing a product's price with the associated barcode.

Fashion magazines use them to link you to a certain featured product, so you can point your smart phone at the page and get linked directly to order the khaki's worn by the model. Restaurants use them to encourage someone to "like" their establishment on Facebook and there are many other developments in the works that link to sites with exclusive content and mobile downloads.

In many cases, the use of a QR code is almost a step back. You use a printed format to get directed to an online format ... without all that business of typing a full URL. QR codes, of course, are a handy way to capture information and refer to it later on your mobile device.

And they're also just fun to look at, like the 1980s Atari game Space Invaders. Just for fun, below is the QR code that will direct you to this blog. True, you're already here on the site, but maybe you want to test it out anyway.

All you have to do is get out your smart phone, find a scanner or QR code reader, capture the image and you can read this post (again) on your mobile device.

Dining Down on the Farm

2011-04-11T14:51:00.000-07:00

When I need a little design inspiration, I usually flip through the pages of a favorite magazine. Dwell is one of my go-to guides, because I also can visualize the house I would create if I could just win that pesky lottery.

Even though I live in a small city apartment with all of the 1990s-style features so common for that time (standard white walls, neutral carpet, low-cost kitchen cabinets), I dream of having a large open room where I can entertain a dozen or so friends around a big table set for a fancy feast.

I picture piles of roasted seasonal vegetables, endless carafes of wine and some kind of decadent dessert on the menu. The table where I see this coming to life is what I've really been dreaming about lately. For some reason, I just have my heart set on my next living space having brick walls, a wooden floor and a big, open space for a farm table. Something like this would be perfect:

Once I have the table in place, I want a bench on one side and mismatched, wooden chairs on the opposite side and flanking either end of this oversized table. I see it in my mind, just like a picture inside a homestead perfectly designed for the pages of Dwell.

Like many things in my life, I am stuck on this idea. The dream of having amazing dinner parties has me wanting to move out of my six-floor apartment with a view of the Space Needle for an older building with a more open floor plan.

Even with as much as I hate moving, I have one eye on the Craigslist apartments page for the perfect spot. Of course, most of those "perfect" spots don't have the one requirement I look for in an apartment ... a washer and dryer.

How can I have a fantastic dinner party if I don't have cloth napkins? Cloth napkins require a washing machine. And I require a washing maching that doesn't require quarters.

Time to buy a lottery ticket, I guess.

Ideas Are Everywhere This Morning

2011-03-29T11:08:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the seven shots of coffee, but I'm feeling a little amped up this morning.

My day got off to an earlier-than-normal start today. I attended a social media breakfast, where I listened to experts in the field discuss their success stories for big brands like Jones Soda, Gilt and Seattle's King 5 TV news station.

As I walked from the event location to my office, hyped up on inspiration and my first three cups of coffee, my head was spinning with ideas. A mental to-do list was in the works, and I decided it was time to start making myself accountable again for, well, everything.

When this happens, I tend to try and do everything at once. And I also tend to write a blog post about it, as if that's going to keep me any more accountable. Even though it rarely works, I've decided to make a list of priorities for making life better and knocking out projects on my never-ending list of goals.

Here goes ...

1. Work on my book. This has been an on-again, off-again project for more than a couple of years. I tend to get stalled, because this is my first book. Even though I'm a writer, the idea of writing a book is overwhelming. So I stall. But now I'm going to really, really try and commit an hour a week, at the very least, to putting my fingers to the keyboard.

2. Use social media effectively. I learned a lot this morning, and I realized there's a lot more I can do with little extra effort. I already dusted off my Twitter account, and I am following the speakers from this morning's breakfast. Next up: Work Facebook, Twitter, Foursquare and LinkedIn to my advantage. Social networking works. I know this ... I just need to do it.

3. Prioritize my goals and to-do list. This should start with a calendar of some sort. I'm busy, and I often forget about my plans until right before they're about to happen. If I would just organize these thoughts on that smartphone tucked in the right pocket of my jeans, I could probably be a lot more efficient and effective.

Forget Green Beer ...

2011-03-17T11:20:00.000-07:00

Just give me a Shamrock Shake. I haven't been to McDonald's in months, but I'm hopeful they still sell these tasty, seasonal treats. Today, I'll be celebrating my Irish heritage by indulging in a few hundred calories of this minty deliciousness.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

What to Do When You Don't Have a Pen

2011-03-15T15:46:00.000-07:00

I'm one of those people who watch for the blinking green light on my phone every five seconds. I feel phantom vibrations when my phone is on silent, and I pull it from my right jeans pocket only to find nothing. No blinking green light. I'm addicted to checking for new text messages, e-mail notifications and updates.

My cell phone is in danger of completely taking over my life. Or, more accurately, my life is in danger of being completely taken over by my cell phone. I cannot imagine the olden days when I survived without a mobile device that lets me know when the next bus is coming, buy movie tickets on the way to the theater or settle an argument via a quick mobile Google search for what year a song was released.

Depending on my phone for so many things has made it a crutch for minute-to-minute (really, not even day-to-day) living. Last weekend, I found myself at dinner without a pen and paper. I needed to make a grocery list. Right then and there. I couldn't wait another minute. I didn't want to forget the salsa or the feta cheese (for two different meal plans), and I was in great danger of doing that if I didn't start making the list right there.

Seriously, I thought I might go into panic mode. So, some quick thinking led me to that dependable pocket friend. I did what any sensible person would do - I sent a text message to the friend I was with that included my entire shopping list. All six items, including the salsa and the feta cheese.

When I walked into the grocery store 45 minutes or so later, I referenced the text I had sent. I promptly began filling a basket with groceries that included just about nothing on that list. But that's a completely different issue.

Taco Bell Answers 'Where's the Beef?'

2011-02-28T14:04:00.000-08:00

Just a few weeks ago, Taco Bell came under fire for not using much "beef" in their "beef" products. The fast-food chain known for some of the cheapest eats at any drive-through restaurant, is fighting back ... and probably making a little money on the way.

Taco Bell claims it uses 88 percent real beef and 12 percent "signature" ingredients, which include water, Mexican spices and some other fillers. Seems pretty legit to me. Then, again, I'm a vegetarian. And I can't remember the last time I ate Taco Bell.

But, if I did, I would definitely take advantage of this 88 cent special.

A Reason to Smile

2011-02-25T11:11:00.000-08:00

Friday, for starters.

When I come to the office on Fridays, I know it's going to be a good day. I'm going to have lunch with my co-workers. We're going to laugh at each other, talk about our weekend plans and start winding down the work week.

The sun is shining bright today, which is something else that makes me smile. The mountains are reaching high above the Seattle skyline as I sit 18 floors up from the sidewalk below. Outside it's bitterly cold (something that doesn't make me smile so much), but the city is a gorgeous mix of Pacific Northwest blues, browns, greens and other Earth tones.

Life is good. Really, really good at the moment.

There are few reasons to complain and plenty of reasons to celebrate and be happy. Smiles are abundant.

It's simply nice to feel so, well, nice. That is all.

A Question About Deep Cleaning

2010-12-06T18:21:00.000-08:00

I took a vacation day to get some chores done around the house. Part of that included some cleaning, though not as much as I planned.

As I was wiping down the surfaces in my kitchen, it occurred to me the top of my refrigerator always has an overwhelming amount of dust bunnies and strange, stuck-on dirt on it. How does this happen?

While many people consider the top of the refrigerator a spot that only gets touched during those deep-cleaning moments, I regularly clean mine off ... mostly because I'm 6'3", and the top of my refrigerator is eye level for me.

Discuss.

2010 Christmas Card

2010-12-06T14:01:00.000-08:00

My Thanksgiving List: The First 5 Stories

2010-11-25T08:58:00.000-08:00

My friend and former colleague Jan Risher often inspires me. She recently was inspired by another friend who told her about his Thanksgiving List – a list of memories to be written and shared around the annual Thanksgiving feast.

The idea is to write a memory for every year of your life. They can be simple memories or times from your life that have “staying power,” as Jan put it. I’ll start my list with one that involves Jan and Thanksgiving. Then I’ll share only four others, because I started this list too late. Consider yourself owed 26 more stories ...

1. Thanksgiving never was a huge holiday for my family. That has been reserved for Christmas. Since college, I only have traveled home to Kansas once for Turkey Day. So, while living in Louisiana, Jan invited me to the annual Thanksgiving feast she has at her house. She opens the front door to welcome almost anyone and everyone who doesn’t otherwise have plans. Thanksgiving for Jan is Christmas for me. I spent longer at Jan’s house that day with what felt like a tour around the world. There was the widest array of people sharing their favorite dishes and laughing and playing games. It was that day I realized the true meaning and value of Thanksgiving.

2. My parents always made family vacations a priority. Sometimes we’d just make the short trip to Colorado and stay an extended weekend among the mountains. But each trip was special. The most memorable of these vacations happened when I was only 7 or 8. My parents woke my brother and I up, and we packed everything into the camper shell of our Ford pickup. They said they didn’t know where we were going, and we believed them. For two weeks, we traveled through most of the country – at least the parts East of Kansas. By the end of the trip, we’d gone to Nashville and the Grand Ol’ Opry, Disney World, all the way up the coast to New York City and Washington, D.C. We even saw Ronald and Nancy Reagan during our brief time in the nation’s capital. Always and forever, I remember so many more details about this trip than I could share. The memories were endless, and sleeping in the back of that pickup on an inflatable pool float was just the beginning.

3. Smurfs were my life when I was 4 years old. They were all I cared about, really. And I had everything with a Smurf on it, including a Big Wheel plastic tricycle. I loved that thing so much, and I rode it up and down in front of the sidewalk in front of our house in Shubert, Nebraska. My favorite times on my Smurf Big Wheel were when my brother, Wade, would give me a boost. We lived at the bottom of a big hill – one we weren’t supposed to climb without permission, I’m sure. One day Wade carried my Big Wheel up to the top of the hill and pushed me all the way down. I’m sure it was a really bad idea at the time, but I remember feeling like I was going a million miles an hour. The memory is so vivid and clear, and it’s one of the first things I remember from my life.

4. When I went off to college, my mom followed me there in a minivan filled with enough belongings to spread across my half of the dorm room. We went shopping and bought some dorm-friendly groceries – Capri Sun, Little Debbie snack cakes and other things I plucked from the shelf. Before she took off to go back home, we went to lunch at the Pizza Hut buffet. I only ate one slice of pizza, half a breadstick and a tiny bit of salad. My mom said, “You’re nervous, aren’t you?” I insisted I was fine, just not hungry. Of course I was nervous, and I just couldn’t admit it. That day has always been a reminder that moms know best.

5. Before I moved to Seattle, I spent several vacations visiting my best friends here. We would hang out for long weekends, and I would return to back to Michigan or Louisiana – depending on where I was living at the time – and try to figure out how I could move to Seattle. One particular trip started with my arrival and meeting my best friend Heather and her fiancé, Mike, for dinner at DeLuxe. We sat at a table in the bar area and ordered Washington Apple martinis. I can still taste them (and not just because I now live about six blocks from the DeLuxe). Mike didn’t know me very well, but he knew how much Heather meant to me. And how much I meant to her, I soon would learn. As we sat and laughed, Mike asked me to do the honors and perform their wedding ceremony. It was my honor. The next year, another incredible memory was made when I returned to Seattle as an online-ordained minister to perform an outdoor wedding ceremony to marry two of my best friends overlooking the Seattle skyline. Both of these days are ones I never will forget.

One Reason Seattle is Home

2010-11-24T09:59:00.000-08:00

Seattle is a big city. There are skyscrapers. Public transportation carts tons of residents from neighborhood to neighborhood each day. And you can find something to eat 24 hours a day — though not as conveniently as you can in larger cities like New York City or even Houston.

Still, Seattle is much larger than anywhere I have lived in the past. It's much larger than Lafayette, Louisiana, and definitely a metropolis compared to the tiny farming town of Minneola, Kansas, where I still have spent the most years of my life.

I never felt overwhelmed by Seattle's size. I always felt comfortable here. After almost two years in the city, I am convinced this is home. It just fits me.

That point was driven home even more this morning as I made the brisk walk from my neighborhood just up the hill from downtown to my office building. The 30-minute walk takes me through the shopping district in the heart of downtown, past at least 20 coffeeshops (imagine that) and right down 3rd Avenue.

It's a walk I usually make five times a week. I rarely stray more than a street or two away from my standard path — give or take a crosswalk detour to avoid waiting at the curb.

No matter which way I end up going, I always end up walking past a triangle-shaped flower shop that sits just a block from the Wells Fargo building where my office is located. While I never have been inside, I feel like the shop is part of my daily routine. Flowers and arrangements sit on carts out front, and two or three staff members always are busily working inside.

One of them, a bald man with an infectious smile, greets me with a wave almost every single weekday morning. I always peer inside as I walk by and look for him to give me a three-finger wave from behind the counter. If he's there, it never fails I get the wave and smile. I smile and wave back every time, as I did this morning.

It's a comfort to know he'll likely be there, like clockwork, to greet me. I'm not sure if he owns the shop, nor do I even know his name. The only time we've even shared a word with one another was when he was outside one morning and the wave was accompanied with a mutual "hello".

And that's what home feels like.

Snow Day? No Way

2010-11-21T17:40:00.001-08:00

It is not that often is snows in Seattle. This city is far from prepared to handle it, and everything shuts down.

I have not lived in the city long enough to witness this for myself, but I have been told of the snow of three years ago that had city buses dangling like fragile icicles from the bridges above the interstate. My friends talk of the amazing sledding down Denny Way, the street just outside my window.

Today it snowed for hard for five to 10 minutes. It snowed like it does in other places where I have lived. Then it stopped. Nothing stuck to the ground. It was too warm. The rest of the afternoon, the snow trickled down briefly from time to time. Again, nothing to stop traffic.

People got extremely excited. Facebook status updates were screaming with all caps, "IT'S SNOWING IN QUEEN ANNE!" and "IT'S SNOWING. IT'S SNOWING!"

Admittedly, I was a little excited to see the snow fall. And I'm a little hopeful more comes tomorrow. In the end, it reminded me of this beautiful Starbucks commercial that was just released and the incredible song by Matt Pond PA that sets the scene so beautifully. Enjoy.

When I Say 1 Million Times, I Mean It

2010-11-07T14:04:00.000-08:00

Quite often I get musically obsessed with a cover song I find on YouTube. Generally, I watch the video six or seven dozen times and move onto some other bright, shiny object.

This time is different. My latest obsession is a cover of Rhianna's Only Girl in the World, which is a jam I already am at risk of overplaying. But when I heard the Conor Maynard version, I found myself going as far as downloading the free MP3 and listening to it on repeat. (I'm listening to it now, in fact. And likely will hit replay four or five times before I finish this post.)

When I say listening to it on repeat, I mean I went through an entire 90-minute workout listening only to that song. I didn't even know Conor Maynard existed before this video. I didn't even know it was possible to make the song better, but mixing in Kelly Rowland's Commander in the end does the trick.

I really am fast-approaching the 1 million plays. It's a good thing MP3s don't wear out like CDs or cassettes. Otherwise, I would go broke on this one.

So, watch. Enjoy. Obsess.

Sometimes I Make Angry Faces

2010-11-02T11:17:00.000-07:00

When I run, I make angry faces. (See me at left above.)

I didn't realize this until I saw pictures from last weekend's Pumpkin Push, only the second 5K run I have completed in my life.

Unlike my first 5K, which I did in September, this time there were cold and rainy conditions to battle. This is probably why I was making angry faces. That and the fact I had to cross the finish line before the two runners beside me. I did cross before them, beating the woman in the yellow shirt by one second. While I also crossed the finish line before the other guy in the photo, he started the race a few seconds behind me. His overall time was a handful of a seconds better than mine.

Still, I was just determined to beat my finishing time from September's race. I did so by an average of 2 seconds per mile. It was not a huge improvement, but any improvement counts when you don't consider yourself a runner.

Running even two 5K races has made me realize these consistent goals are a good thing for my continued fitness. Now I'm trying to determine if I can run a 5K every month. What that means is you can count on seeing more angry faces in the months to come.

Pumpkin Risotto: A New Fall Favorite

2010-10-16T15:51:00.000-07:00

When you follow a recipe for pumpkin risotto, you should really pay attention. This is something I learned about 20 minutes before I divided up the batch from one 6-quart pan into a second, 4-quart pan.

It seemed at every turn I was messing up this recipe I found on Epicurious.com, and my serving sizes were expanding. It was the first time I was making pumpkin risotto, and I figured it couldn't be that hard. It wasn't, though I was making it more difficult than necessary.

I started with too much onion, which I figured I'd separate before adding the rice. I forgot and started stirring in the rice. Then I realized I could add more rice ... so much more, in fact, I needed 10 cups of liquid. I just carried ahead, knowing I had three other mouths to feed — it's always good to try a new recipe when you have people over for dinner, right?

As I stirred and added liquid, I realized I added too much liquid. I should have held back two of those 10 cups for later in the process. Things were not going as planned, but it worked out in the end. The above picture looks as good as this risotto tastes. Trust me, I still have about 10 servings in my refrigerator.

Memories From the Side of the Road

2010-10-10T11:08:00.000-07:00

Danedri, Jenn and Amy by the Shaggin' Wagon on the side of the road.

It was an unusually warm October afternoon on the side of Kansas Highway 7 near Bonner Springs, Kansas.

This is the start to what should have been a really stressful trip-ruining moment during my extended weekend reunion with three of my best college buddies. Weeks earlier, we planned to reunite in Manhattan for the K-State vs. Nebraska football game. (How did that game turn out, you ask? Well, let's not be distracted by those details.)

As a collective, we are not a very organized bunch. Individually, we are fine. But planning for a group seems to be more difficult than building the pyramids in Egypt for us. We could not coordinate a hotel room in time, and they all were booked when we called. We waited too long to buy tickets to the game, so we had to pay extra via StubHub! Neither of these things were standing in our way.

An ad was placed on Craigslist, looking for anyone with spare room to rent to some responsible, even if not punctual, K-State graduates from the class of 2000. The only two responses we got were from a woman who had bunk beds to sleep "at least 20" in her basement. And a guy who had bought a fixer-upper and had yet to fix 'er up. The water was "mostly" fine, he believed. So, at this point, our options included drinking some Kool-Aid and being carried away in a spaceship or risking a possible skin rash from taking a shower. These options, clearly, were not ones we would take. But we didn't give up.

If we didn't have a place to crash after the game, it was decided we would rent one. On wheels.

Renting an RV to make the two-hour road trip from Kansas City, where we met up, to Manhattan seemed like the best idea we had come up with in years. It was, in fact, a brilliant plan. In theory.

Amy, Danedri, Jenn and I spent an hour packing the rental RV Amy found via a former co-worker's posting at the office. It seemed like it was meant to be. His price was about $100 per day cheaper than renting from an RV lot. His RV, which we had decided to call the Shaggin' Wagon, was complete with mauve carpet, country blue swivel chairs and room to sleep six. This 1984 throwback made our decision to rough it — I don't camp, people — in a recreational vehicle even sweeter.

We had packed enough booze and rations to survive well beyond our two-day excursion, and we were ready to roll down the road in 32 feet of pure retirement-style living quarters. This, for us, definitely was going to be roughing it. Needless to say, we never slept in the Shaggin' Wagon.

About 12 miles from Amy's house, we heard what sounded like shots being fired in big-city alleyway. The sounds a backfiring RV makes when echoing back from the cutouts on the side of Northeast Kansas highways are pretty alarming. I convinced Amy pulling over to the side of the road and calling the owner would be the best plan. He seemed unworried and suggested we fire up the RV and continue forward like an Oregon Trail family with a slight case of dysentery.

Amy turned the keys. Nothing happened. She called the owner, again. He made some suggestions for what could be done to fix the issue. We started the generator. Nothing happened. We broke out some seven-layer dip and a bag of corn chips. We waited for a tow truck. It never came. We made plans B, B2, C and a lot of others that were so extravagant, President Obama would have had to sign off for them to be executed.

After almost two hours, Amy's husband came to pick us up and we retrieved a vehicle to make it to the Manhattan in time for kickoff. We called all of the hotels in Manhattan — there are nine — to find out no cancellations had been made on game day. In the end, we found shelter in the spare bedroom and on couches of a friend Amy and Danedri have known since childhood.

The rest of the trip included a flu bug that ended Jenn's time with us more than a day earlier than planned and a few other hiccups that were not the most ideal. After all was said and done, we got to share some laughs and walk around our old stomping grounds remembering the antics of our younger years.

That's what makes life worth living. That and the plan we already have in place to rent a new RV and try the road trip again. Of course, we will struggle to nail down any plans far enough in advance and more time may be spent laughing on the side of Kansas Highway 7 near Bonner Springs. And I'm fine with that, as long as we are together.

I Still Hate Running

2010-10-05T08:35:00.000-07:00

Just before the race with one of my co-workers and running buddy, Shelby.

My personal trainer has told me many times I will love running. My personal trainer also runs 50K races (yes, five-zero). My personal trainer is, clearly, crazy out of his mind.

Spoiler alert: I still hate running.

For me, a 5K seems like a million and two miles. But having completed a 4K — the one that seemed like a million miles — just a couple of months ago, I was convinced the Seattle AIDS Walk and 5K Run would be the time I knocked out my first 3.1-mile run without stopping. In the end, I was right. Barely.

In just about 27 minutes, I completed the loop through one of Seattle's busiest neighborhoods. Without stopping. Without dying, more importantly. I even sprinted across the line, passing another dozen or so runners in the home stretch. Who am I? My average mile time was 8 minutes, 44 seconds. Not bad for someone who couldn't climb a flight of 10 stairs without breaking a sweat and being entirely winded less than a year ago. (Status update: I now have lost 60 pounds since January 24.)

I'm not trying to pat myself on the back too hard, though, especially since a co-worker and Seattle AIDS Walk and 5K Run teammate of mine finished the race in about 20 minutes. She, in fact, won the women's division, beating every other female across the finish line. Plus, just before that home stretch of sprinting 100 yards or so was an unexpected uphill journey that almost ended this story in a much less celebratory way. That's where the "barely" part comes into play, as well as the "I still hate running" spoiler alert.

When you're not a runner and you're still trying to figure out how there are enough people for Nike to build an entire business empire on this ridiculous sport, you prefer flat surfaces. A slight downgrade would be even more appreciated.

I was running down the very flat street and calculating just how few blocks I had left to achieve this first-time goal when I rounded the corner to see I had miscalculated where I would see those beautiful, 3-foot black letters that spell out FINISH against a white background hanging above my sweaty head. I was quite disappointed to see the race path take another turn, right in the direction of a steep climb to the top of Volunteer Park. If you're not familiar with Seattle, Volunteer Park is like a little mini hill on top of one of the biggest hills within the city limits. It's beautiful, if you are taking a leisurely stroll through the winding paths to an incredible viewpoint at the top.

When you're running the first 5K race of your life, though, it feels more mountainesque than picturesque. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe I was just fresh out of breath and energy. Definitely I was dropping the "f" bomb with every step I took up that hill. Those "f" bombs are what got me through. They took my mind off of what crazy everyday runners see as no big deal, and they helped me get all the way to the top. I was met with that last stretch of flat surface and, as with my last race, seeing the real FINISH line sign unleashed a burst of hidden energy that allowed me to end it as quickly as possible.

Once I finished, I regrouped with the few teammates who already had crossed the line — including the co-worker who crossed it seven minutes earlier. I was winded, no doubt, but my recovery time was brief. I was shocked at how much progress I had made since the previous run. In my state of exhaustion and excitement, I agreed to run another 5K on October 30. Right? What was I thinking?

The truth is, I really do still hate running. As I told my trainer this week, I would rather clean 100 fraternity house toilets. Without gloves. There's just something about that sense of accomplishment that comes with crossing a finish line that keeps me motivated on this healthy life journey.

Pie, Oh, Pie

2010-10-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

The first apple pie I made on my own.

Somewhere on a farm just outside of Petaluma, California, I became an apple pie-making expert. Expert may be a stretch, but I certainly make a better pie crust now than I did before my trip last month. (Disclaimer: I never made a pie crust that didn't come from a Pillsbury box prior to this trip.)

I didn't see it coming, really. I planned a spontaneous vacation to the San Francisco area to visit one of my most gracious friends, Meloni. She's an exquisite baker — Martha Stewart named her one of the best in America in 2005 (click "watch video" to see Meloni teach Martha a thing or two) — and a phenomenal chef and caterer. Her mothering skills are something to be envied. So, what else? She has five chickens in her backyard ... right in the city of Petaluma, just a few blocks from a major California highway. That's where she gets all of her eggs. Because she's actually that cool.

Meloni has a lot more to offer than just being an incredibly humble, urban baking mother who gets fresh eggs right from her own backyard. She's incredibly compassionate and came into my life at I time when I really needed some California progressiveness. We both were living in Michigan at the time, about seven years ago.

Meloni ended up writing a column for my section of the newspaper, and she taught me how to live without a microwave. She fed me what were the most gourmet meals you could get in Port Huron, Michigan. Grating your own, high-quality cheese on pasta was not something I would have done on my own. Even seven years later, we still share the same laughs and good times we did back near the shore of Lake Huron. Our visits are not as frequent, but each is met with that pick-up-where-we-left-off spirit.

I have a copy of Joy of Cooking, which Meloni gave me as a gift when our days in Michigan were numbered. On the cover page she wrote, "To my Reed: When you can't reach me by phone — open this up and pretend it's me. Love, Mel." This cookbook, one of the standards in most kitchens, has reminded me how long it takes to hard boil eggs. But it never taught me how to make a pie crust, though I'm sure I could find those instructions somewhere in the book's 915 pages.

When I arrived in Petaluma in mid-September, I knew Meloni had a catering job teaching a pair of apple pie-making workshops on one of the largest organic dairy farms in the nation. Just over the hills, beyond the dairy pastures, the farmer's wife tends to an organic apple orchard. There's a beautiful lodge built on the grounds, and an outdoor oven to the right of the porch. It is such a site to behold, and it's where I learned to make pie crust and apple pie in general.

There were roughly 22 people in each of the two classes Meloni led on the porch of the lodge that soggy Sunday. During the first session, I helped measure out individual dishes of salt and set the tables in preparation for the arrival of eager students. By the time the second class rolled onto the farm, I was playing second fiddle to the well-oiled machine that was Orchard to Oven pie making.

People were asking my advice on whether they had worked the butter properly into the dry ingredients. I just nodded my head, remembered what Meloni had said a few hours earlier and said, "Keep working it. That looks like peas, not sand to me."

For a moment, you would have thought I went on Martha Stewart's show back in 2005 to show off my original Persimmon White Chocolate Bread Pudding recipe.

The entire time I was in California, I didn't make a complete apple pie. I made crust. I cut apples and added just a touch of cinnamon and sugar. But not once did I roll out the dough, add the apple mixture and make impressive, finger-crimped edges around the pan.

Since I returned to Seattle just a couple of weeks ago, I have baked four from-scratch apple pies. I almost have this pie making mastered, though I doubt how it will turn out each time I am working with the crust. It is a lot easier than I would have thought, thanks to Meloni's expert guidance and advice. But the crust still can be tricky every time.

As I think about some of the most memorable moments of my year, I honestly can say learning to make apple pie on a dairy farm will be high on the list. It just felt so rustic, so familiar. It reminded me of the simple things in life and just how precious it can be to share such moments with the people who have helped shape your existence. Thanks, again, Meloni.

Reading Into Things

2010-08-13T17:53:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a Facebook post is just a Facebook post. A random thought. Something that doesn't really have a deep meaning. Most of the time this is the case.

The same is true for e-mail and texts. For some reason, though, I find myself overanalyzing many of these electronic communications. What do they really mean? I have spent a larger part of my life than I should thinking about the hidden or not-so-hidden meaning behind messages sent to me.

This is destructive behavior, and it will drive you crazy. I'm just saying.

6 Months, 52 Pounds, A Shocking Difference

2010-07-27T15:48:00.000-07:00

Today I met with my personal trainer to realize I am 5 pounds from my goal weight. This means I have to make good on my promise to write a testimonial, which I fear will hang on the wall of 24 Hour Fitness for far longer than necessary. I guess I should just be happy with the results — so far.

When Recycling Gets Difficult

2010-07-25T21:00:00.003-07:00

There used to be a time in my life when my apartment was spotless. There wouldn't be a dish in the sink. There never was more than two loads of laundry in my dirty clothes pile. And there certainly wasn't junk mail stacked on every square inch of my countertops.

Today I woke up to a dirty apartment and started compiling a mental to-do list as I tried to sleep for just 15 more minutes. The thought of my messy surroundings had me out of bed earlier than anyone should rise on a Sunday morning.

My first task was to take out the trash and a much larger stack of recycling that had taken over the entire top of my refrigerator and burst over the sides of the two biggest sections of my kitchen counter. It's good to know I've adopted healthier habits for Mother Nature's sake. It's devastating to try and handle paper bags filled with miscellaneous tin cans, empty cereal boxes and months worth of outdated magazines.

After I got the trash and recycling — that took multiple trips — to the appropriate bins, I returned to realize the other counter in my apartment was spilling over with junk mail. Mixed in with non-junk mail. Things I need to sort and recycle and a select few that require action. Bed, Bath & Beyond flyers, Geico discount offers, an invitation to my alma mater's 100-year journalism school anniversary and stacks of home mailers from Chinese restaurants in about a 20-block radius.

My last apartment had a large recycling bin for things like those menus, the Geico offers and anything from Bed, Bath & Beyond right in the mailroom. This apartment does not, so these miscellaneous offers and waste of envelopes that never get opened make their way onto my counter, just about two steps from the top of my refrigerator — the place where all recycling ends up.

I've read in so many time-saving tip articles that going through your mail and sorting it instead of dropping it on a table or counter for later consumption is the way to go. I used to do this, and somehow I've gotten out of the habit.

Junk mail is dreadful, I'm learning. And sorting through it is even more dreadful. That's why an otherwise clean apartment is still filled with stacks of mail and more procrastination of this task is taking place as I type the last sentence of this post.

We Are Obsessed, Too, Dudes

2010-07-11T12:36:00.005-07:00

Women no longer stand alone at supermarket lines or the back wall at Barnes & Noble scanning headlines of Cosmopolitan and Glamour for what they need to do to step up their game. Now they're joined by a much-more-obsessed group of men — straight ones, even — who crave the tell-me-what-to-do-and-how-to-live advice of magazine editors.

As I sat reading my latest issue of Esquire, I realized I was quickest to turn to the Impossible Self Improvements article, a multiple-page how-to guide on quick improvements I can make right here and now. Immediately, I needed to know How To Be More Charming and ... Be Taller (6'3" just isn't enough these days, people) and ... Be Better Looking and ... Breathe Better and ... Be Smarter and ... Be Your Best, On Command (Spoiler alert: The solution turns out to be skipping. Seriously, like a child. Yes, I'll be doing that right away.) and ... Bounce Back, On Command.

It's not just Esquire, perhaps the manliest of all magazines for men, either. I get daily updates in my e-mail from Men's Health that suggest ways for me to improve my life in the gym, at work and in the bedroom. It seems I can't figure anything out on my own without the help of these electronic tips arriving each day.

We are body-image obsessed and constantly trying to make ourselves look better, feel better and just be better. Perfection is out there somewhere and, we, my friends of both sexes, are going to find it. All of us. Because being different isn't a good thing. Unless, of course, the editors at Details tell me to be different. Then, I suppose, it's exactly what I should do ... at least for the fall.

Fashion advice is one thing I think magazines can direct. Having been in the industry myself, I have at least a slight understanding of the influence major magazines have on dressing America. But the day I can justify the Dolce & Gabbana chunky sweater featured on page 126 is the day I'll actually use the barcode right there on the very same page to purchase it with my smart phone. No need to try on a $2,445 sweater, just pull out my phone, point it to the page and "buy."

I picture that sweater arriving in six to eight weeks, just ahead of the time I need to get an even newer, shinier smart phone so I can shop my way through the spring fashion issue and get prepared for warmer weather once again. Luckily I have a bottomless bank account to buy such things.

Maybe it's time I start reading the Target insert that also is e-mailed to me each Sunday. That's a lifestyle I can support ... and realistically afford. If only Esquire would tell me the solution to ... Be Smarter is to stop caring if I fit some mold. But, no, the answer is, shockingly, "buy flowers."

Which Shoe Do You Put On First?

2010-06-17T10:33:00.002-07:00

I was reading a Q&A blog post this morning, and one of the questions was "Which shoe do you put on first?"

Left. The answer is the left shoe.

I thought about my morning routine and realized I'm not sure why my left shoe is the one I always put on first. Is it because I'm left-handed? How does my brain always repeat this cycle?

Then I started thinking about how I put on my pants ... one leg at a time ... but which leg goes in first? Also the left.

Random, yes, but just something to think about today.

It's Pronounced Keen-Wah

2010-06-16T22:06:00.003-07:00

This week I started freaking out about the kinds of protein I have been eating lately. In other words, I wondered if I was relying too heavily on egg whites as my protein source each day.

Eggs and egg whites are a great vegetarian — I'm not vegan, thankfully — option for complete protein. Egg salad sandwiches from Starbucks are not, and that's where I was afraid I was going to slide down a slippery slope. As I worried I was eating too little protein for my intense workout schedule, I looked to the nearest thing possible. That, it turned out, was the egg salad sandwich at the Starbucks in the lobby of my office building.

Full disclosure: I ate one of the 22 gram sandwiches today. More full disclosure: It has 460 calories, half from fat. That doesn't mean it's the worst option, it just means it isn't the best.

So, I decided it was time to try quinoa (pronounced keen-wah), which long has been considered one of the best vegetarian-friendly "complete" proteins. That means it has all of the things a meaty protein has and you don't have to count on two types of vegetarian proteins — rice AND beans, for instance — to get a complete protein.

I went to my friendly, neighborhood Whole Foods and bought some Red Mill brand quinoa, as well as a few other essentials. It cooks just like rice and, when added with a handful of edamame beans (another great protein source), a little sauteed red pepper and onion, it's quite delicious. I also added the zest of one small lemon, as well as the juice, completing the fresh, summer flavor.

Needless to say, quinoa is my new friend. I'm just going to have to watch out for the carbs it also packs. It's a little too much like pasta — it's a seed, actually — for the best of both worlds. Still, I was far overdue for experimenting with this ingredient.

My First Race Didn't Kill Me

2010-06-14T10:36:00.005-07:00

When you work out six days a week, running a 4K shouldn't be too difficult. It is, after all, only 2.5 miles. That's a distance most people would consider a short evening run.

Not me. I was certain a 4K, or a run of any distance, would be the death of me.

Going into my first-ever race this weekend, I felt like the K in 4K stood for 1,000. I'm not a runner, nor have I ever aspired to be one. But losing 45 pounds since January 24 has been a huge motivator to me. As I've watched my body transform on the road to being in the best shape of my life, I couldn't help but think what it would feel like to cross the finish line of a 5K.

This would be a great accomplishment and another goal to set for myself, I thought. Then I heard about the Seattle Frontrunners' Run and Walk with Pride event, which offers a 4K track. This was even better because, A) it still was an official race and, B) it was one whole K less than the standard 5K charity races. It would be the best scenario for a first race.

While I did less than the optimal amount of running preparation in the weeks leading up to Sunday's event, I did keep up my regular gym routine. I knew going into race day that I could finish it without having to slow my pace to a walk ... if I could just keep my head from getting in the way.

Physically, I'm in good enough shape to run such a short distance. Mentally, I get the idea stuck in my head that I cannot go another step because I'm going to die from a lack of oxygen.

My solution: knee-high rainbow socks. Not really, but I'm going to give those things the credit. And my friend Whitney, picture below, who I swear didn't sweat a drop. I officially hate her.

Having Whitney running alongside me, I was able to keep a better pace. When I was going into mental meltdown mode, she was great about telling me I could do it. All I had to do was focus on getting my breathing back on track, and I was good to go for a little longer.

When I saw the finish line ahead in the distance, I really didn't know if I could make it. I turned to Whitney and said, "I'm going to run ahead." I knew it would feel better if I pushed everything I had out in that last little bit of the run. Look at that picture above and you'll see I even passed someone who, obviously, is in way better shape. He looks like a regular runner, yes?

Not bad for a first attempt. Now, even though I said this would be the only race I would ever run, I am planning on signing up for a 5K later this summer. Just don't expect to see anything about a 10K or half-marathon on here. That's just ridiculous.

Feeling Fine. Looking Better.

2010-06-06T14:23:00.004-07:00

It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sipping on a nice cold cup of Starbucks' Iced Americano. There's a slight drizzle coming down outside, but inside is nice and cozy.

Life is good at the moment. It's busy, and that's part of what makes it good.

A year ago, I was experiencing a much different life in Seattle. I didn't have a career job, and I wasn't sure that would come together. I weighed 45 pounds more than I do now, and I wasn't happy about it. Still, I wasn't willing to do anything about it. Moving to Seattle had been a dream come true. The missing piece was getting all of the other stars to align.

As I sit here with a now almost-empty venti iced coffee, I feel full again. I have a career job that I love. I've lost the extra weight and am still working on getting in the best shape of my life — already, I'm wearing the size of jeans I wore in high school. Getting into smaller jeans never was my goal, though that inevitably came with it. Instead, I was focused on better overall health and continued weight management. I wanted to be able to walk up the hills of Seattle without being completely out of breath.

Not only can I breathe more easily, I'll be running my first 4K one week from today. While I'm not a runner, nor do I want to be, making it through the race without walking would be another milestone to attribute to my six-day-a-week fitness regimen.

Feeling better and looking better certainly have made life in Seattle better. And, let's face it, life in Seattle wasn't all that bad in the beginning. Well, maybe the economic struggles were a little tough to swallow. But everything else was way better than just OK.

It's amazing how much better life can be when things start going your way. With a little extra effort in scheduling time for the gym and making that a priority, I feel like I have a better grasp on my career and my future goals. Fitness has changed my attitude at work and on a daily basis. There's no great secret to losing weight — eat better, exercise more, look and feel better. That's the formula.

While I'm still not quite where I want to be, I know I can push myself to that next level ... if the 4K doesn't kill me first.

Is that egg on your pizza?

2010-05-12T20:43:00.008-07:00

There is a stack of 10 to 12 vegetarian cookbooks in the cupboard above my refrigerator. While I cook quite often, it's rare I open any of those for inspiration. The newest cookbook to join my growing collection was a birthday gift from my friend Brad.

From the moment I opened it and flipped through page after page of mouth-watering photos, I decided these were vegetarian recipes I wanted to tackle. I'm not on a go-through-Julia-Child's-entire-cookbook mission, but I am going to work my way through as many of those recipes as possible. This is going to require buying a few higher-end ingredients that I usually don't put in my grocery basket.

The first recipe I decided to try was Fiorentina, which makes four single-serve spinach pizzas with an egg dropped right on top. I splurged on the highest-quality cheese (seriously, $12 worth of fontina and $8 for the tiniest container of premium fresh mozzarella) and, let me say, it was worth it. The picture, taken with my phone, isn't nearly as impressive as the well-styled one in the cookbook. But the taste of my Fiorentina was everything I had hoped ... and a little more.

I'm not sure what recipe will be next, but this journey certainly is off to a delicious start.

Am I Pulling Off the Hat Look?

2010-05-02T18:51:00.003-07:00

A few years ago, vests were going to be me thing. I got one as a gift, and I was convinced vests would be my signature fashion piece. It didn't work. I wore that vest twice and never bought another one.

Before that, I thought it would be hats. I would start wearing the trucker's hats made popular as a fashion accessory thanks to Ashton Kutcher, or so that was the plan. I tried on hundreds over the course of a summer and never bought a single one.

The only fashion thing I ever have really made "my thing" was paisley shirts. I bought at least seven, and I think I rocked them pretty well. I still have a hard time passing up a paisley shirt.

Today, I went shopping to restock my wardrobe with clothes that fit my recently smaller frame, and I came across a wall of hats at H&M. I was with my best friend, who could talk me into just about anything. After trying a few on, she convinced me this one (pictured above) was the one that looked best. So I got it.

I'm not sure I'm pulling off the hat look, but I figure it's really all about the confidence ... and the rest of the outfit. What do you think? Seriously, I can handle it. Am I pulling this look off, or do I look more like a contestant on Tool Academy? I need to hear your thoughts, because I can't get Clinton Kelly on the phone.

Rules for the Gym

2010-04-28T17:43:00.007-07:00

Before I became a regular at the gym, one of my biggest excuses was I couldn't stand the thought of everyone looking at me. I didn't need the extra judgment.

Most people would say, "Nobody's looking at you. They're looking at themselves in the mirror." Still, I couldn't (and sometimes still can't) believe that because ... as it turns out ... I'm the guy who is looking at what everyone else is doing at the gym. I'm looking at the meatheads looking at themselves in the mirror, and I'm looking at the women who actually did their hair and makeup before jumping on the treadmill. I'm judging them.

It's not my proudest feature, but I judge people. We all do. The only difference is I actually am willing to admit it.

So, in the last few months, there have been several judgments I've collected during my trips to the gym. Here are some of them in the form of Reed's Rules and Etiquette for the Gym:

1. Never walk into the front door, past the stairs (about 15-20) and down a smaller flight of stairs (3-5 steps) to get on the elevator to the second level. Unless you're in a wheelchair.
2. Don't stand naked, with your friend, talking and blocking the exit from the men's locker room. Even though you may not believe me, I really don't want to brush against you to squeeze by.
3. Don't bend you naked self over and rub your butt against my leg while I'm getting my things out of the locker three down from yours. You see me standing here, you tool.
4. Never ask me if I would mind moving over to the next elliptical machine so you can have the one I'm using, which happens to be next to the one your girlfriend is using.
5. Never ask me if I would mind moving over to the next elliptical machine so you can have the one I'm using, which happens to be next to the one your girlfriend is using. THEN proceed to talk about your personal life so loudly that even my iPod on the highest volume can't drown you out.
6. Don't continue to sit on a weight bench for 10 minutes, not using it, when it's the only one available ... especially after I ask you if you're almost finished and you say "In a minute." Don't you know you're only supposed to rest for a minute or so between sets?
7. Please don't gather all of the core-building equipment and haul it to the other side of the gym for your later use. That stuff is limited, and it's especially limited on Meathead Mondays and Too-Crowded Thursday.
8. Ladies, they're called sports bras. If you need one, buy one. And wear it.
9. The gym is a place to work out, not make out. I know you love your boyfriend and all, but this isn't the place for French kissing, girl.

Stop and Smell the Roses

2010-04-26T09:13:00.003-07:00

You likely have heard that saying more times than you can count. Still, you probably could count on one hand the number of times you were strolling down the sidewalk and actually did stop at a rose bush to take a whiff.

I've often said life gets in the way of living. Everything in our lives piles up if we don't take care of it: laundry, garbage, bills, e-mail.

My weekends usually are filled with activities meant to diminish these piles, but not this one. Going into the weekend, I had planned on doing my usual three loads of laundry, emptying the dishwasher and spending time weeding through the thousands of messages sitting in my e-mail inboxes.

Instead, I stopped and smelled the roses, or tulips, as was the case Sunday afternoon.

A Saturday evening pre-birthday dinner and drinks with friends reminded me of how lucky I am to be surrounded by incredible friends. There were no roses, but I did smell the bouquet of some delicious wine. And I shared laughs and good times and left my e-mail accounts without checking, letting the Viagra spam pile up in my junk folder.

No harm done.

Sunday I quite literally stopped and smelled the tulips at Pike Place Market, where I went to pick up some flowers to make centerpieces for a baby shower I planned. The flowers were the finishing touch I needed to complete the afternoon soiree to honor the upcoming arrival growing inside my best friend's belly.

Another one of my best friends and I joined forces to pull together the party, complete with tender moments. Going in, we were a couple of amateurs when it came to planning such an event. This was our first.

We might not have been expert baby shower planners, but we were experts in what would make the mom to be feel special. Pink tulips were part of that equation.

As we sat around the table with other friends and neighbors, I couldn't help but soak in how special this day was for many of us. Laundry piles were sitting unwashed at home, but I didn't think about it once. Instead, I piled up memories in my mind of how much fun we all were having as sunshine flooded through the windows.

Spring is here. Summer is around the corner, and I was taking time to stop and smell the roses. If you haven't done that lately, you should.

A drink worth remembering

2010-04-21T20:40:00.004-07:00

It's called a Cucumber Mint Fizz - Spiked, and it's one of my favorite specialty drinks. The drink is served at Boom Noodle, which happens to be a favorite restaurant of mine in Seattle.

I had the drink tonight with dinner and, for some reason, suddenly realized this is something I should be trying to recreate on my own. It's just mint and cucumber muddled in some sort of concoction — a simple syrup, I'm guessing — a squirt of soda water and a shot of vodka, of course.

Doesn't it look tasty?

Expressing first impressions

2010-04-11T20:31:00.009-07:00

I spent a little time looking through some Word documents I have started in the last several years — unpublished columns from my newspaper days, unspoken comedy routines and one-liners lost in the virtual piles of files and a list of quotes I thought may be good for a yet-to-be-published book or, for now, a blog post.

In that list was a quote I made note of a year or so ago after chatting about first impressions with a group of relatively new friends from Louisiana. One of the women from the group said this upon recalling our first meeting:

"When I first met you, I thought, ‘He’s kind of cute.’ And then you opened your mouth."

It should be noted the person who said that is one of the most articulate young women I have met in my life. She's someone who I respect for a lot of reasons and, without knowing exactly what she meant, you might think it's quite a rude response. Of course, I know what she meant and to what she was referring. That wouldn't have been the case a decade or so before that conversation.

As I re-read that line this weekend, I had to laugh. It's funny, and it reminded me of her absolutely bomb-dropping sense of humor. It's flattering, sort of (Only "kind of" cute?), and it made me think about how I base my opinions on first impressions.

Every day we meet a new person or see a stranger walking down the street and think something — dare I say it's often rude and/or inappropriate? — that sticks with us and is triggered the next time we see that person ... if there is a next time.

The lesson here? Don't judge me, because I'm totally three steps ahead of you. (Seriously, what are you thinking with that shirt? I can't believe you left the house ...)

One among millions of reminders

2010-04-04T16:34:00.007-07:00

When my mom died the November before last, I was beyond out of my mind. I didn't know how I could make it through the day of her funeral. Or the first Christmas. Or any day, really.

It was the first time in my life where I really understood that numb feeling people use to describe the loss of a loved one. Life would not be the same after November 2, 2008, and I knew it. Little moments were going to be forever changed. And big moments, too.

In the last 17 months, not a day has passed without several thoughts about my mom and her influence on my life. Visual reminders at the grocery store or seeing vehicles that look like ones she drove send my head spinning into endless memories — some happy, some sad. Almost every big decision I make comes along with considering, "What would Mom say about this?"

While getting groceries yesterday, I stood in the checkout line next to a huge display of Easter candy. It was an instant trigger that reminded me of the annual purchase of Peeps my mom would make for my Easter basket, even though she knew I never ate them. Having the sugar-covered marshmallow birds and bunnies in a basket also filled with tons of other candy and gifts was part of the tradition.

I really hate Peeps. But my mom loved them, so she would give them to me knowing she could have a few of them without me caring. An Easter without Peeps just wouldn't be an Easter for my mom.

Seeing those Peeps at the grocery store was just another little reminder of how much my mom contributed to making my life a full and happy one for all of the years she was here to enjoy. I miss my mom every day, and I'll never forget the little things that made her so special, including her love of some of the most disgusting holiday candy ever made.

28 Pounds is No Joke

2010-04-01T12:03:00.003-07:00

Things that weigh 28 pounds include:

1. 4 average-size newborn babies
2. 5.6 5-pound bags of flour
3. 28 guinea pigs

Things that weigh 28 pounds less than they did on Jan. 24, 2010:

1. Me

When I started my journey to a healthier me, I planned on not blogging about it. I didn't want the written pressure to be hanging over my head. What if I failed? What if I actually gained weight after writing about how well my plan was working?

Fortunately, my weight continually has been dropping as my healthy habits have taken a front seat. I know I have been losing weight - I see the numbers getting smaller on the scale - and I can see my body transforming. This is the best I have felt in quite some time, but I still struggle with those not-quite-there parts of my body (hello, spare tire) that I obsess about while staring at myself in the mirror.

Things may never be perfect - the magazine-cover perfection even I strive to achieve - with my body. But progress should be celebrated, as many of my friends have told me. It's just how do you, when you look day after day, really know when that progress is significant enough to celebrate? I'll tell you.

It's when you finally realize the clothes you are used to wearing are hanging off of you in a way that's not at all flattering. You go to the closet, pull out a $150 shirt (I don't want to talk about it) that you only have worn once. It's that shirt you bought because it was so impressive and unlike anything you ever had seen before that you actually justified the insane pricetag ... even though it was a little snug around the midsection. Plus, it was 50-percent off. Yes, at one point, this particular shirt would have cost someone a cool $300. Not a bargain shopper like, me, of course.

You slip the shirt on, one sleeve at a time, and you slowly button from the top to the bottom - opposite of your usual buttoning routine, because the top of the shirt never has been the problem. When you're five buttons down, you realize it's about to happen. This is the day you can button the shirt entirely down the front and still have room to raise your arms without feeling like you're strangling your belly button.

I was on the phone with my best friend while trying on my "skinny shirt." It turns out I have quite a few skinny shirts hidden in the darkest part of my closet, tucked behind my tuxedo and winter coats.

Four shirts later, I realized my wardrobe has gotten a serious upgrade. The best part? I didn't even have to pull out a credit card to make it happen. All I had to do was get motivated and drop the equivalent of the average 2-year-old child ... plus three pounds.

Fearing the lisp

2010-03-02T22:10:00.002-08:00

You know when you get so nervous your hands start to shake and you could swear gravity has taken control of your guts? Yeah, well, that happened to me today.

I was required to host a Webinar in which I had to introduce people via speakerphone. While none of these people had names that started with the letter S, you would swear the presentation was brought to you by that very letter. When I was forced to listen to the recorded version back for editing — I hate listening to my voice more than sucking on a lemon — I could swear there were six thousand slithering snakes taking over the audio.

I'm not sure why hearing your own voice is such a cringe-inducing activity, but I know I'm not alone. I'm not alone, right? I know the words sound just like doctor and director and presenter to everyone else, but to me they sound like ssssdocssssstorssssss, sssssdirsssssectsssssssssorsssss and ssssssspressssssssentersssssssss. It. Was. Awful.

Maybe my personal mental block has something to do with the two or three years of regular speech therapy I went through as a child. Or maybe I really do lisp in a way that sounds are processed by my ears — the ones that want to bleed at the sounds that emit from the mouth splitting the difference between them.

More likely, at least I hope, is the fact I'm like every other warm- and/or cold-blooded American. I just can't stand the sound of my own voice. But, if I do have a terrible lisp, please just lie to me and say I don't. Either way, I won't believe a word you say.

Tastes like chicken!

2010-02-22T20:30:00.005-08:00

Since the never-ending battle to becoming a healthier, more fit vegetarian got back on track last month, I've been looking for more protein alternatives than my usual high-fat dairy products. (Note: I love the cheese. Emphasis on love. And cheese.)

My personal trainer — I know, right? — was a vegetarian for about seven or eight years, and he suggested I bring tempeh into my own kitchen. I've had tempeh before, but I never prepared it before this week.

He suggested slicing it (see the photo above) and browning it in a little olive oil. He said that would make a great sandwich. Instead, as you can see in the picture, I added a fair-sized portion of chopped shiitake mushrooms. Together, with a little marinara sauce on top, this made a tasty post-workout meal. With about 16 grams of protein in the 150 calories worth of tempeh you see in the pan, I was plenty full.

The most interesting part — and I'm not even kidding — is this stuff tastes eerily similar to chicken strips/nuggets. That's pretty surprising since tempeh is made by "a natural culturing and controlled fermentation process that binds soybeans into a cake form." (Thank you, Wikipedia, for that definition.) Sounds delicious, huh?

More of that, please

2010-02-21T19:13:00.003-08:00

I'm exhausted. Let me just get that out there.

My weekend plans got more interesting than originally planned when my cousin Tim posted a proposal on my Facebook page Wednesday night. He had the weekend off, and he was thinking about making his first trip to Seattle. The next thing I knew, it was Thursday and Tim was walking into a hotel restaurant to meet me shortly after my work day had ended.

Tim lives in Minneapolis and works for Delta/Northwest, so he often can hop on the next flight to just about anywhere without much effort. It's a perk he takes advantage of quite often and, since he had the weekend off, he made this last-minute trip one that included seeing me.

The last time I saw Tim was at my mom's funeral. Before that, it had been a few years. Before that, a couple of years. Before that ... you get the point. We don't see each other all that often, and we didn't even when I lived in Iowa City and he was just 100 miles away in Des Moines.

Tim is four years younger than me, making him my closest cousin in age. When he was born, I remember being really excited — like most every 4-year-old when a baby comes along — about having another kid around. One of my favorite childhood pictures is of me sitting, legs stretched straight out, in a chair so I could hold him. I can just imagine my mom and aunt Tonda preparing me as I climbed in that chair. I was a wiggly little one (yes, me), so I'm sure they were explaining the importance of sitting still and holding his head just right.

It always has been rare for me to see Tim. A Christmas here or funeral there, but not many times in between. As soon as he arrived, I put on my tour guide cap and planned trips to the usual suspects — the Space Needle, Pike Place Market, my favorite bars and restaurants. Our weekend was anything but filled with down time.

Hanging out with Tim this weekend brought a big smile to my face. We laughed at episodes of The Office and bonded over terrible reality TV (i.e. Jersey Shore). This weekend may have been exhausting, but it gave me hope Tim and I may actually build a stronger bond in our adult years. That's something I wish to do with each of my family members. Our family may be small, but we're a bit spread across the country. And getting together isn't something we are the best at doing.

Having family members come to town ... more of that, please.

If only they would have added an e and the apostrophe before the r

2010-02-14T14:03:00.005-08:00

I found myself in a bakery yesterday, where I also found some bad use of grammar on Valentine's Day cookies.

Sometimes you just have to fly

2010-02-09T19:23:00.004-08:00

One of my friends is turning 30 this month and celebrating with a trip to Las Vegas. I got the invite a couple of months ago, and I just never committed to joining in the Sin City weekend. This week, I realized, was crunch time. (The text message she sent me inquiring about my status helped.)

I had to say, "No, I can't go." That would be the financially responsible thing to do. But, I thought, being able to meet up with friends I haven't seen in two years — at least — was worth something. There's not a financial value I can put on being able to make them smile and sharing a weekend of laughs in a city that uses that much wattage. The bright, shiny objects really do it for me.

So, I didn't say "No." I decided I would go for the weekend portion of the trip — leaving Friday after work and returning Sunday — arriving two days after everyone else. Then I went to book the flight, and I thought, "How silly to spend the same amount of money for half the time in the other city that never sleeps." So, I booked my flight and made plans to just take two vacation days.

Why not? I don't really have any other vacations planned for the year, so this seems like as good of a reason as any. Plus, the only thing holding me back is a list of other things I think I need to be doing that weekend. Those can wait. Vegas, however, cannot.

Mark this down as another check on my list of goals for 2010: Take advantage of opportunities. Don't just let them pass you by.

When Google rules the world

2010-02-07T19:59:00.004-08:00

Just when I thought Google had dug into the pop culture landscape as much as possible, the No. 1 search engine went ahead and dominated Super Bowl commercials.

As is the design of the Google landing page, the Super Bowl commercial was clean and simple. The message was simple, too: Google is the one search engine you need to navigate every single step of your life. But the way it was presented, telling the story of life, love and family, well, it brought a tiny tear to my eye. That's good ... no, that's brilliant branding.

I don't imagine I soon will forget the Google Super Bowl commercial. As someone who goes to the site multiple times a day, including on my mobile device, I appreciate the company's added entertainment value. It was like a little romantic comedy all wrapped up with real-time typing mistakes and a he-gets-the-girl happy ending.

The Super Bowl is one of the few times I watch commercials anymore — thanks, DVR — and this one took home the trophy for me.

Cheese & Spinach Stuffed Portobellos

2010-01-24T20:40:00.004-08:00

One of my New Year's goals was to try at least one new recipe a week. I have stayed solidly on track for the first few weeks of the year — most people keep their resolutions until Feb. 16, remember — and even have exceeded this goal.

I have been trying to cut back on complex carbs, as well, considering another one of my resolutions is to drop a good amount of weight. (That's also where my joining the gym by Jan. 31 goal comes into play. I checked that goal off today.) Being a vegetarian, though, carbs almost have to be part of your diet.

Because I was cooking for one, I more than halved the recipe. I did use more spinach and less than even half of the cheese to try and increase the stuffing and cut the calories a bit. These things were so tasty, but I forgot to take my own picture. Surprisingly, the one here is almost exactly how my version looked. And that never happens. I had sliced cucumbers and tomatoes on the side, and it was more than enough to fill me up.

I'm keeping this quick-and-easy meal in my mental recipe box.

Oh, life. Why are you getting in the way?

2010-01-23T10:43:00.002-08:00

Do you ever have one of those days when you want to get so much done, but there just isn't enough time to do it all? Welcome to my today.

I have had a fairly productive day, actually. I folded some laundry, did the dishes and have started and finished some graphic design work that was creeping up on deadline. Getting up before 7:30 a.m. helps. And forcing yourself to go to a nearby coffee shop to focus on the computer-based tasks keeps you from wasting too much time on Facebook ... well, it helps.

Now I feel all kinds of motivation to keep it going. I feel like I could finish the 15 million things on my to-do list, but I have plans to see a play this afternoon with friends. I am excited to take advantage of a matinee, and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, really. But I also feel like tomorrow will be Sunday, and a giant case of laziness is about to set in.

Take this blog, for example. I am supposed to be in the middle of writing a daily blog about strangers for 45 straight days. I keep meeting strangers and not taking the five minutes to write about them. If I would, my task list would drop to 14,999,999 things. Until then, I'm going to prepare for an afternoon with friends and an evening with even more friends.

See you soon ... maybe?

A smile, courtesy of my friend

2009-12-07T20:35:00.004-08:00

If this doesn't make you smile ... at least a little ... I don't know what to say. My amazing friend Jenn always knows what it takes to make me grin — especially on days like today when the weather outside really is frightful.

Christmas card ideas

2009-11-29T14:12:00.005-08:00

Every year I try to create a special Christmas card — they used to be newspaper themed — and this year I was planning on doing something inspired by Seattle. I went to my rooftop deck and attempted to take a skyline photo similar to the ones I saw on Christmas cards selling for $17.99 per box of 12 at the Hallmark downtown.

I could create this greeting card on my own, print them for less and include my own personal message inside. The problem: I don't have the photo equipment I used to have, so my little digital camera just wasn't bringing out the best in the photo. Then I realized I could buy the image for about $6 on a stock photography site.

Six bucks later, I own the photo above. The new problem: I just came up with what I think is a brilliant, more interactive and definitely much more "me" idea for this year's holiday greeting. So, you get to enjoy the photo above and sit wondering what will arrive in your mailbox soon ... unless I don't know you or don't have your address. In that case, you probably won't be getting the card ... unless you somehow get that address of yours to me in time for my mass mailing.

Until then, enjoy the Seattle skyline photo above. The Christmas tree of lights on top of the Space Needle is even more glorious in person. It certainly has put me in the spirit.

A traditional Midwest Thanksgiving ... almost

2009-11-27T08:04:00.006-08:00

Thanksgiving never has meant that much to me. But I always seem to overdo it on the cooking, even though I sometimes feed just a handful of people — at most.

Yesterday, my friends Brad and Erika joined me for what I considered to be a mostly traditional Midwest Thanksgiving. Brad grew up in Michigan, where the holiday fare was similar to that of folks who lived in Kansas. That's where Erika and I were raised. The land of holiday "salads" made from a Cool Whip base. The only green in those "salads" was from the coloring of pistachio pudding mixed in with crushed pineapple and the thawed-out tub of Cool Whip.

While this Thanksgiving meal was void of Cool Whip — I actually made cinnamon whipped topping from heavy whipping cream, powdered sugar and a dash of cinnamon — a few of the side dishes were the standard Midwest favorites.

As we sat around heaping plates of food, the three of us discussed the commonalities of our Thanksgiving offerings growing up. Green bean casserole made simply by combining a can of cream of mushroom soup with green beans and topping with French's crunchy onions. Check. Sweet potatoes right next to the mashed potatoes. Check. More desserts than anyone ever eats the rest of the year. Check. That crazy Jell-O "salad" filled with shredded carrots and topped with, yes, Cool Whip. Check.

My menu included the green bean casserole we all agreed was a favorite. I made stuffing that was pretty close to that my mom made when I was a child. I bought pre-made dinner rolls, made a pumpkin pie and sweet potato casserole topped with a crunchy nut topping. No mashed potatoes, though it was tough for me to leave those out.

While I was used to having my cranberry sauce shaped like the tin can in which it was purchased, I opted for making the fresh stuff. I never knew it was so easy. I grabbed a bag of cranberries from Trader Joe's and mixed them in with a cup of orange juice and a cup of sugar. It was so much tastier than that canned business.

The star of my 2009 Thanksgiving feast, however, was the Tofurky. I have been a vegetarian for about seven Thanksgivings, and never before have I bought the meatless alternative to the big bird. It seemed ridiculous and, quite honestly, not the most appealing option. Usually an acorn squash stuffed with a wild rice and stuffing mixture would be my centerpiece.

But this year I thought it would be fun — funny, really — to cook my first Tofurky. What I didn't know is that it actually takes quite a bit of time to cook and prepare the vegan alternative. An hour and 25 minutes total cooking time. And that's after you prepare the baste and chop up some vegetables to cook alongside the Tofurky ball, which is only slightly larger than a softball. It serves five.

As a vegetarian, I thought I knew what to expect. So did my two non-vegetarian friends. This was going to be gross. But we could laugh about it. That's not at all how it turned out. I was shocked. The finished bird alternative tasted eerily like the real thing. The texture was a little more like that of a turkey TV dinner — when they were packaged in aluminum trays — but it was delicious.

Brad agreed. So did Erika. And that's saying something. Really.

You don't believe me, do you? You think Tofurky would be disgusting. Well, fix it just as it says on the side of the box, surround it with all of your favorite Midwest-inspired side dishes, and it will feel — and taste — just like every Thanksgiving you ever have had.

Halloween costumes matter

2009-10-27T15:10:00.006-07:00

There are a few things in life I tend to overanalyze: everything, everything and Halloween costumes.

I always have seen Halloween — my second-favorite holiday — as a chance to be competitive in a way that ends with my silently saying, "In. Your. Face!" Having the best Halloween costume is like winning the Super Bowl for me. I take enormous pride in having a Halloween costume that is extremely original, slightly (extremely) offensive and always gets a laugh from those around me.

This year, I will be in Florida for Halloween. And I only will know one person — my amazing friend Jenn — so I don't feel the need to use one of my ideas to impress the crowd. This year I will be pulling some things from my archive of Mardi Gras wigs and clothing to put together a less-than-original costume. Just something that will allow me to blend into the crowd. Plus, the last time Jenn and I spent Halloween together, we ended up never even putting on our Grey's Anatomy-inspired costumes. Aww, New Orleans.

My costume idea-generating sessions usually start with some events from the year in pop culture. I try to think of something people may or may not understand, but once they are told what the costume is they believe it to be clever.

My big idea for this year, while I'm not using it, was to make an old-school ghost costume by cutting two holes in a white sheet. Think Charlie Brown's The Great Pumpkin. I then was going to carry around a wheel-spun piece of pottery, finishing off my understated costume — the ghost of Patrick Swayze. It's a bit of a stretch, which is why I like the idea. Feel free to use it. Certainly, it will be better than all of the Kate Gosselin wigs you are bound to see. That is said to be the best-selling costume item of the year.

Pop culture influences many top costumes. I am sure you will see plenty of people carrying around eight toy dolls and portraying Octomom. Or maybe you will be at a party with Lady Gaga. Here's the recipe for that costume:

Lady Gaga Halloween Costume
1 blonde wig with severe bangs
Metal, orbital headpiece
Long, black fake eyelashes
Fishnet stockings
Tight-fitting outfit with huge collar and short skirt
Something that sparkles, shines or has lace
Pinch of crazy

Mix all ingredients, and top with pinch of crazy. Act bizarre all night. Serves 1.

Use this Lady Gaga recipe, or create one of your own for a fantastic Halloween this year. Just make sure you use these last few days to get everything together in advance. And know when to say when on the details. Because, if you're anything like me, it's five minutes before the party and you find yourself running around the mall looking for the thing that makes you go from second place to the guaranteed "In. Your. Face!"

My continued obsession with Snow Patrol

2009-10-25T20:39:00.003-07:00

For me, life has been good. I got a new job (yeah!), I got a new roommate (Brad) and I have been fortunate to see some pretty incredible entertainment recently. Among my favorites — OK, it has been the highlight of my year in entertainment — was catching Snow Patrol at The Paramount in downtown Seattle.

The concert was Oct. 14, and I have checked YouTube every day in hopes of being able to relive that night of incredible music. This seems to be the one time when cell phone recordings of the band are lost completely to the noise of the audience surrounding the recording device. I'm not sure why it matters, since I can listen to all of the music all of the time. I do own every CD. But there is something about knowing that is exactly how a song was performed when you heard it live. Because it is from when you heard it live.

And that's why, if not for the hours and hours of entertaining archival footage and humorous clips, YouTube remains a daily must-visit for me. Now, if I could just get some more folks from the Oct. 14 concert to post videos with stellar audio, I would be back in my happy YouTube place.

There is something about every single song Snow Patrol sings that just really hits home in some way or another. There is not one song on any album from the band that does not grab my attention. And I really would like to be able to have that night captured in a way where I instantly can call upon it for that deep-in-your-gut happy feeling.

Fortunately, I have been having a few of those in my life lately. I hope it continues.

Fire drills taught me nothing

2009-10-20T09:06:00.003-07:00

This morning I woke up to a sound different from my alarm clock. It was the fire alarm.

I had been having a really pleasant dream that involved me saying goodbye to my fellow sitcom cast members at the wrap party of our first season. Apparently I was starring in a sitcom that looked and smelled a lot like Saved By The Bell: The Midlife Crisis Years. Some of the original SBTB cast members were on the show, as well as a few random sitcom stars. But that was a dream, and this fire alarm was a reality.

I really needed to use the restroom. Isn't that the first thing you need to do when you wake up in the morning? So, I did.

Then I somewhat quickly put on my jeans, socks and shoes before surveying the apartment. I stared at the very laptop on which this blog is being written and left it behind. I grabbed my jacket — and wallet and keys and cell phone — and barreled down the stairwell to the bottom of the apartment. Right after I locked my front door.

Outside, I was met by a crowd of my neighbors and employees from the Trader Joe's on the first level. They all were standing right next to the building. The one that may have been on fire. So, I did the only logical thing and stood right there with them. A couple of times I considered crossing the street, a safer distance from this could-be tragedy. I never did.

It didn't appear there was an actual fire, though the fog outside my window could have been mistaken for smoke. Firetrucks — sirens a blazin' and brimming with firefighters — pulled up to the side of the building, right where we were standing. By this time I was certain there was not a real fire, but I still was annoyed I had not grabbed my laptop. At the very least.

My laptop is my link to the outside world. It has a lot of important documents saved on it, including all of my freelance work. Most of my files are not backed up. Not that it matters in this case, because I did not even take time to grab anything important to me. So, should a back-up drive or disc exist, it would have been left for the flames.

Within 10 minutes or so, it was determined some electrical box switch flipped itself or something. There was no fire and everyone was told they could climb the stairs back to their apartments. I immediately updated my Facebook status, and now I'm writing this.

Now, let's review my mistakes:

1. I took time to go to the bathroom inside a could-be burning building.
2. I carefully considered which pair of jeans should replace my pajama pants.
3. I put on socks. And tied my shoes.
4. I never put my hand on the door to make sure the fire was not directly on the other side.
5. I locked that door.
6. I stood right next to the building.
7. I don't have a back-up drive or disc, nor do I have plans on getting one. Still.*

I think those things, not even considering the chance for other mistakes I am certain I made, would not make my elementary school teachers happy. Fire drills must have been lost on me.

* This is not something you learn during school fire drills. It is something I am, one day, going to learn the very hardest way possible.

Creating for a cause

2009-10-13T12:13:00.005-07:00

I recently began volunteering my time to assist with the branding and marketing efforts at Gilda's Club Seattle. The organization, named after the famous Saturday Night Live alum, offers support programs and classes for those touched by cancer — that's everyone, really.

This is a poster I quickly created for the upcoming Kai Leamer Night, which supports the Seattle clubhouse and scholarship fund for the club's annual essay contest for teenagers.

Even though I am just getting started with the organization, I am proud to support the efforts of such an incredible cause. The directors of the Seattle club are some top-notch individuals dedicated to making even the smallest difference in the lives of cancer patients, survivors and their families and friends.

If you're interested in getting involved, I encourage you to do a quick Gilda's Club search in Google to find a chapter near you.

Spelling counts

2009-10-12T21:27:00.004-07:00

I always have been the guy who edits menus at dinner, looks for misspellings on signs and gets crazy when there are mistakes.

So, in an effort to try and help the world of grammar and spelling, here is another mistake I found. The word caramel was spelled incorrectly on a sign outside of a cupcake shop in my neighborhood. The sign said "Carmel Apple Cupcakes."

Caramel, people. Not Carmel. That's a place in Indiana.

P.S. The "carmel" apple cupcakes are almost good enough for me to excuse the error.

A funny inspiration

2009-10-05T13:26:00.003-07:00

My last few months have been spent making goals for myself. One of those has been to try and read a book a month. I consistently have been about a week or so behind on this goal.

But today I finished a book by my comedy hero, Kathy Griffin. Kathy's best-selling Official Book Club Selection is a book I have anticipated reading since I heard it was being released. While I did finish it in less than a month from the time I bought it, it was my September book. It is Oct. 5, in case you forgot. I'm not beating myself up about this.

I don't need to go on and on about how much I think Kathy Griffin is a genius. And the hardest working funny person in the business. And someone who deserves every great success she has achieved, which is something I believe even more after reading this book. I have written Kathy two open letters in newspaper column form, and I believe she even read one (it was given to her by one a show promoter). But I never got a response (not very D-List), and that's OK. I realize I am just another fan.

But after reading Kathy's book, I feel I know a little more about this woman I admire. Even though some of her real-life moments appear on the Bravo series, My Life on the D-List, the real Kathy Griffin has a much deeper story ... obviously.

My interest in reading about some of her more difficult moments is no different from my interest in reading about other celebrity lives. I am just curious what makes people tick and how events change their lives — especially famous people.

I always have said everyone has a story, and I am glad Kathy has shared part of her story with us. I especially love the chapter of e-mail correspondence between Kathy and the Woz. Hysterical and down-to-Earth stuff.

In the spirit of Halloween

2009-09-29T14:06:00.005-07:00

You know how Target always has the coolest Halloween stuff on the planet? I remember their theme last year involved some kooky skeletons made from a mix of bright oranges, greens and purples.

As I was looking at a Halloween decoration I have with the skeleton theme, I decided to spend a bit of time creating some kooky seasonal characters of my own.

They are not too complicated — and I realize they look a bit like South Park costumes — but that was the idea. I created these little monsters in just about an hour. Maybe one day I will use them for a greeting card line or Target will find them and hire me to create future holiday campaigns. I wish.

Overheard on the bus

2009-09-25T14:04:00.002-07:00

There was a time — maybe a month ago — when I thought it would be fun to start a Web site where people could report strange, funny and generally entertaining things they heard other riders say on the bus. I have yet to start that site, mostly due to laziness. (Now, at least, if someone else starts this, I can say it was my idea first. At least in theory, since the domain overheardonthebus.com still is available.)

This afternoon, I rode the bus with a woman who could singlehandedly keep overheardonthebus.com filled with content. She commented on almost every single person on the No. 10 bus. Everyone except for me and the woman sitting behind me. More about that woman in a bit.

Sitting near the front of the bus, across the aisle from her friend, this woman literally was saying out loud everything that came into her head about the other passengers. She had absolutely no censor, kind of like thoughts popped into her head and immediately out of her mouth. Right in front of each person's face.

The first person she commented about was an older man, mid-80s perhaps, sitting next to her friend across the aisle. "He's cute, isn't he?" she proclaimed. A perplexed look came across her friend's face, though she didn't verbally respond. "The old man sitting by you," Ms. Outburst continued. "Look how cute he is."

Uncomfortable. Party of one. Your bus seat is now available.

I was squirming a bit in my seat. I thought it could not get any worse. Or better. Then a Paul Wall look-alike (mostly just the grill on his teeth) stepped to the front of the bus with his girlfriend. Paul Wall (probably not his real name) stood right in front of Ms. Outburst while he was waiting for his stop. "You sure have some shiny teeth," Ms. Outburst, a black girl likely in her 20s, told Paul Wall, a white guy who visibly has spent plenty of time inside tattoo parlors.

Paul Wall responded, "I work at (insert store name I can't recall here). It's platinum."

It should be noted that "insert store name I can't recall here" is a store that, based on the name I can't remember, obviously specializes in making teeth covers, aka grills or grillz. I could go on and on about how I thought this short-lived trend had ended right after Nelly and Paul Wall (the real one from Texas) had a hit song called, you guessed it, Grillz. That was 2005. This is 2009. But back to Ms. Outburst.

As soon as the Paul Wall (the one on my bus) exited with his girlfriend, Ms. Outburst said aloud, "I wonder where his girlfriend works?" Seriously? Is this happening?

At the next stop, a guy with a serious case of bed head and a really unfortunate haircut — think Kate Gosselin meets Dracula — walked to the vicinity of Ms. Outburst's seat. "Whoa! That's emo," she said, though not directly at the guy, just loud enough for him and everyone else to hear.

"Are you talking to me?" he said, mumbling something else about his hair and overall appearance.

"Yes, your hair, I like it," Ms. Outburst proclaimed. Emo dude got off the bus. "I saw that hairstyle on the Internet," she continued, as if anyone doubted her true love of the look.

Even if you were not on the bus, you were not safe from Ms. Outburst's continuous banter. "That white girl is so skinny. She's just bones and skin," she said looking out the window, pausing half a second before adding, "If I was white, I would be tan and have long, blonde hair."

Nobody. On. This. Bus. Cares. Including your friend.

This was when the woman behind me realized how ridiculous the situation had gotten and chimed in, under her breath, "Let her say something about me and I will shut her up. She won't be able to talk after that ..."

I can't lie. I not-so-secretly hoped Ms. Outburst would have had something to say about the woman sitting behind me. Maybe something about the giant herpes growing on her top lip, slathered in Vaseline. Or the filthy white (when it was new) shirt she was wearing.

Things failed to get that interesting. Ms. Outburst got off the bus at my stop. And I followed her up the hill only to hear more free entertainment. She had not a word to say about me. It may have been the first time in my life I hoped to be insulted or given a backhanded compliment.

One man, many sounds

2009-09-23T15:47:00.003-07:00

As per my usual YouTube searches, I have stumbled across another interesting vocalist. Sam Tsui has some incredible skills and, yes, that's him on stage in multiple places. Great work on the video and, mostly, just an amazing talent.

Question(s) of the day

2009-09-22T13:39:00.002-07:00

Am I aiming for perfection? Why not just try for being content? Wait ... don't answer that. Or do. Those are my questions today.

Another thing I love ... Aunt Reva

2009-09-17T13:12:00.006-07:00

My previous post included a list of 100 things I love. Of course, there are a ton of other things I love, as well.

My Aunt Reva, for example. I point to her, specifically, because she sent me a message asking how I could leave her (and my other relatives in Nebraska) off the list. It was a joke ... I think.

I do love all of my family members, even though they tend to be some of the wackiest people on the entire planet. Most of them would argue I am the wackiest of the whole crop.

Reva is pretty wacky, too, and that's a good thing. She has unmistakable red hair and an infectious laugh you can recognize from a mile away. Hearing her laugh instantly puts a smile on my face.

She is my mom's mom's sister, making her my Great-Aunt Reva, actually. I always have called her Aunt Reva. The great is implied. While she lives in Nebraska now, she did spend much of my childhood living in Garden City, Kansas, just about an hour from where my family lived.

Reva's immediate family moved to Kansas shortly after my family left Nebraska, if I remember correctly. I was five at the time of our move. Before then, I have vague memories of Reva at birthday parties and holiday gatherings. What I remember most is her giving me haircuts in the basement or on the back porch while I sat in a special metal chair that brought my little head up to a comfortable hair-cutting level.

When our families lived in Kansas, we saw each other less frequently. Sometimes it would be only once or twice a year. This seems a little odd, considering the proximity. But I always knew I could count on seeing Reva on Christmas, when she would drive to our house for dinner. The scalloped corn she usually would bring along remains one of my dad's favorite dishes, I believe.

I always was one of those kids who tried to hang around the adults. I didn't want to miss some piece of juicy gossip. Plus, when the adults gathered around the table, you had a better chance of hearing Reva laugh. And once it started, it was my goal to keep it going until other noises would make their way into her one-woman musical act.

These days, I see Reva more infrequently than ever. When I do, it is that infectious laugh I really cherish. Thinking about it now puts the biggest smile on my face.

100 things I love

2009-09-15T15:55:00.004-07:00

Just now I was thinking about how much certain things (Diet Coke, mostly) can make me happy in an instant. I then thought, I wonder if there are 100 things that make me as happy as a Super Big Gulp from 7-Eleven?

So, let us see:

1. Diet Coke
2. Grilled cheese sandwiches
3. Getting letters in my mailbox, not just my inbox
4. Cheese pizza (I promise not to focus on cheese-based foods too much on this list.)
5. Discovering new music
6. Vacationing with friends
7. Puppies
8. American Idol
9. Seeing Broadway musicals
10. Christmas
11. Mardi Gras
12. Making someone laugh
13. Dancing in my living room (preferably when nobody is watching)
14. That post-workout feeling
15. Teeth whitening that works
16. All things Kansas State
17. Paisley shirts
18. Honey (dripping from cheese, if possible)
19. Meeting celebrities
20. Reuniting with friends from the past
21. Live concerts
22. Halloween
23. Making a difference
24. Finding money
25. Performing stand-up comedy
26. Bringing friends together for parties
27. Visiting my family in Kansas
28. Broadway musicals
29. Awards shows
30. Red carpet TV coverage
31. Getting dressed up
32. Creating costumes (See No. 11 and No. 22)
33. Wine
34. Finishing a task
35. Art galleries
36. Dance recitals
37. Pistachios
38. TV on DVD
39. Beaches
40. My niece
41. Watching YouTube videos
42. Finding a funny greeting card
43. Red shoes
44. Striped socks
45. Low thread count sheets fresh from the package
46. Christmas lights
47. The smell of clean laundry
48. Soft white bread with butter
49. Being surprised
50. Video chatting
51. College football
52. Baseball games
53. New technology
54. Old video games (Ms. Pac Man)
55. Funny t-shirts
56. Taking naps
57. Peach pie
58. Wedding cake
59. Getting a haircut
60. Candlelight
61. Warm French fries
62. Sunflowers
63. Fires on the beach
64. Playing volleyball
65. Singing in the car
66. Singing in the shower
67. Air conditioning on a hot day
68. Garden-grown tomatoes
69. Baking
70. Reading magazines
71. Writing
72. Seattle
73. Chicago
74. New York City
75. The perfect sunglasses
76. Soft ice (the kind found at Sonic)
77. Macaroni and cheese
78. Rice Krispie treats
79. Board game nights
80. Target
81. Sushi
82. Getting organized
83. Rain
84. New experiences
85. Staying in nice hotels
86. Street performers
87. Parades
88. Ice cream
89. Home videos
90. Purple ink pens
91. Winning anything
92. Matinee movies
93. Tall grass
94. Polka dots
95. Glitter
96. Perfect-fitting jeans
97. Specialty adult cocktails
98. Random greetings from strangers
99. Bowling
100. Celebrity gossip

OK, so this list has some similarities (hopefully no repeats), but it was a good exercise in thinking happy thoughts. Now, off to see a concert. But not until I meet up with a friend and have a specialty cocktail. And maybe make her laugh as we talk about the past. Whoa. It's going to be happiness overload.

Another band to love

2009-09-14T10:43:00.002-07:00

They are called the Autumn Film. They have been compared to Fiona Apple meets Snow Patrol. I am mesmerized. Seriously, folks. How can I have not discovered music this incredible and touching until now?

Reviving some favorite recipes

2009-09-09T14:59:00.005-07:00

This week, I have been home at lunchtime. The new schedule has me reviving my culinary skills to make some of my favorite dishes.

Yesterday I made cheese and onion enchiladas with a surprise element — black olives. It wasn't much of a surprise since I was the only one who ate them. And I finished the leftovers at the end of the night. No worries. I only made a total of five enchiladas.

Some people have a hard time cooking for one. Not me. I just make smaller batches and, if there are leftovers, I eat them until they are gone.

Today, I dug around my brain to revive a potato soup recipe my mom used to make. I
never have had a real recipe, but I knew just the right amount of potato and celery make it just right.

Instead of flying solo for today's lunch, I invited my friend Sam (a fellow vegetarian) to enjoy in the spoils of my kitchen creativity. The picture above, including a shredded cheddar cheese topping and plenty of garlic bread, was the result.

I ate two bowls. So did Sam. There still are plenty of leftovers. Hopefully my at-home cooking will keep me from preparing the same quick-fix meals (burritos, mostly) that keep me from expanding the ingredients in my cupboards.

In case you are interested in making this potato soup, here's the recipe (from my head) I used:

POTATO SOUP
4 large potatoes, peeled and cubed
6-8 stalks of celery, sliced into pieces
1/2 white onion, diced
2 sticks of butter (oops)
3-5 cups of milk
2 T flour
Celery salt
Salt
Pepper
Shredded Cheddar Cheese (optional)

Drop potatoes, celery and onion into pot of boiling water. Return to boil and cook for five minutes. Drain half of the water from the pot and replace with 3-5 cups of milk. Add butter and seasoning to taste.

Continue cooking vegetables another 8 minutes. Add flour and continuously stir soup until vegetables are completely cooked, about 5-7 more minutes. Soup is ready once vegetables are cooked to desired tenderness.

What? Not even a chord of classical?

2009-09-08T12:49:00.002-07:00

Music has a way of sneaking up on you and getting caught in your head. While you may not know it, music plays almost everywhere we go.

So, as I just made the long trip up to the fifth floor in my apartment elevator (the slowest elevator in the city, I believe), I was wondering why there was no music playing.

The silence was deadly. And shouldn't there be music? This being an elevator and all.

Terrible elevator music — the kind people always complain about but never actually hear in an elevator — was absent. The world outside the windowless walls inside the closed-off vessel was moving around me at rapid speed in comparison to what it felt like waiting for the doors to open at R3. (Side note: R3 is the fifth floor in my apartment. Why? I have no clue.)

I started wondering why dull music has become referred to as "elevator music." Why not mall music? Or downtown street tunes? Places where random, satellite-fed music actually does play. I can't remember the last time ... or any time ... I have been in an elevator with music.

Just a thought.

The big squeeze

2009-09-01T14:42:00.003-07:00

People usually have a strong opinion on things like this. Toilet paper, for example. Some think it should be put on the roll so it comes over the top when you roll off the sheets. Others think the individual pieces tear more easily when you let the sheets fall from the underside. (Those people are crazy, by the way.)

But when it comes to toothpaste, I can't help but wonder what the squeeze you put on the tube says about you. These are the serious topics that consume my constantly running mind.

Much like the decades-old toilet paper debate, some people actually roll up the end of the tube as the toothpaste is used. (Those people are crazy, too.) Not me (see picture above). My tube gets squeeze from the bottom, then the sides, then the bottom and sides, getting every last drop out at the end. What, with toothpaste being like $3.29 a tube and lasting only an entire month or so, how can I afford not to use the very last glob?

Sure, I waste money on other things — forgotten vegetables rotting in the crisper drawer, for example — but I always make sure I get the full value from my Crest.

The real question I wondered when I went to brush my teeth this morning was why my toothpaste tube looked like I was strangling it. The sides are curled up like I have used all the force in the world to get one length of paste onto my toothbrush.

I have yet to do any real research on this topic, but I would venture to guess someone would conclude I am taking my frustrations out on my poor Crest Extra Whitening.

Reading more (or making goals I have a hard time keeping)

2009-08-30T10:21:00.004-07:00

Like exercise, reading books is supposed to be good for you. But like exercising, I find it difficult to find time — i.e. make time — to make it all the way through the final chapter.

I have tried to make it a goal to read at least one book a month. Serious reading, like Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea. Hey, it was a best-seller, and I actually finished it in my goal time.

My latest book attempt is I Was Told There'd Be Cake, a series of essays by Sloane Crosley. It seems I have a thing for books with food and beverage items in the title. Or is it that food and beverage titles work well for comedic writing? Not that it matters.

Crosley's writing style is not much unlike Handler. She writes about life in the big city and mishaps around every corner. I Was Told There'd Be Cake is the kind of book I have been working on writing, but likely never will complete. Both that statement and my book really are the story of my life.

In the opening line of the book (the one in which I have two days to finish to make my August goal), Crosley opens with this sentence: "As most New Yorkers have done, I have given serious and generous thought to the state of my apartment should I get killed during the day."

When I read this line, I stopped reading. Before I returned to Chapter 1, I spent about 10 minutes pondering the state of my apartment. An empty pizza box on the counter, recyclables overflowing under the sink. A pair of once-worn jeans hanging over the back of a chair in my living room. Unopened mail on the counter. Shoes piled just below.

My apartment is not a mess, really. Still, I told myself, "I immediately have to get home and take those empty pasta sauce jars downstairs to the recycling bin." I was getting consumed by the idea of someone finding my empty Ragu containers and judging my culinary taste.

I have finished three chapters — 52 pages — of Crosley's book. It has 228 pages, so you do the math on my reading rate for August. It's not good.

It is August 30, 2009, and I don't think I am going to finish in time. And the empty Ragu jars still are under my sink.

Tweets officially are an official source

2009-08-23T10:10:00.003-07:00

This morning I woke up, did the dishes and checked CNN.com for the latest news. The first headline I clicked?

Miley Cyrus spotted 'full-on making out'

You know, because I need to keep up on the really important news of the world. As I read through this deep investigative report, I realized half of the context was taken from the pop tartlet's Twitter page. Her supposed relationship with Liam Hemsworth, a much lesser-known entertainer than herself, is followed through her Tweets about taking him to Cracker Barrel and staying at home to watch terrible Jim Carrey movies.

As if using Twitter posts as an "official source" has not already done enough to discredit the work of journalists, the lead of the story quotes actor Alex Emanuel talking about how standing near the couple in an airport during the headline-making event. Alex told the reporter Miley was acting "as giddy as a schoolgirl."

That's interesting since Miley is 16. And, if she wasn't famous, she would be a schoolgirl. I now should go and hang my head in shame that I have spent even more time focused on talking about Miley Cyrus' romantic life.

Enough about you, back to me

2009-08-22T20:08:00.003-07:00

Whenever I hear someone say, "There's no 'i' in team," I immediately realize this is why I prefer individual sports. Because, when you scratch deeper than the surface, it really is all about me. Or you. But not really you as much as me.

I am OK with being called selfish. I embrace it. Yes, I am quite considerate of others. I sometimes put them first. But not usually. Because if I don't look out for myself, who will put me first? Nobody, that's who.

There are a lot of facts about life, and one is that everyone is out for themselves. My friend Katie, one of the most admittedly self-centered people I know (aside from me, of course) sent me an e-mail forward with a list of comments and random thoughts. Along with it, she sent this note: "My friend, Aaron, told me that #2 is TOTALLY me. It immediately made me think of you — cuz I'm pretty sure that #2 is TOTALLY you, too."

This was No. 2:
More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

This is especially funny to me since Katie is the friend I spent hours upon hours with in front of the fireplace at Olive Garden in Fort Gratiot, Michigan. Olive Garden is the place we would go for lunch day after day. Sometimes five days in a row. No joke. We ordered the same things — Eggplant Parmesan or Soup, Salad and Breadsticks for me — and whined at the end of the hour (or hour and a half) about having to return to the office.

We would crank up the tunes, dance in her Jeep and, sometimes, stop at a drive-through window for coffee to extend the lunch hour a few more minutes. But the thing that really made those 60-minute (and 90-minute) lunches fly by was our, "That reminds me of a time when almost the same thing happened to me ... only it was bigger and/or better" stories.

As much as I hate e-mail forwards, I read this one and laughed. It made me miss Katie, who is living the good life in Chicago. And, of course, now I have to find a better e-mail forward to send Katie as a one-up reply.

Memories from summer camp

2009-08-21T16:35:00.003-07:00

Horn Creek was not somewhere I ever expected to go. But I did make the trip the summer after finishing eighth grade.

I had doubts about going to a Christian summer camp. Not because it was a Christian-themed camp — I was going to church every Sunday that summer — or because it was in the Rocky Mountains where I could get eaten by a bear. I just never had been away from home for such a long time without my parents, and the camper I had planned on sharing a cabin with got sick and canceled his trip the night before we left. His replacement turned out to be someone from my class, so I knew I would not be forced to spend a week in a cabin with only strangers.

Plus, my friend Denise was going to Horn Creek with us. And she had been at least one summer before that year, so she had convinced me it was going to be a blast.

Summer camp in the Rocky Mountains with a couple hundred pre-teens and teenagers did seem promising. I had hopes of making new pen pals — I had watched a lot of Nickelodeon — and lasting memories that I could carry for the rest of my life.

Mission accomplished. Sort of, anyway.

The three or four pen pals I made are not people I talk to now. In fact, I cannot remember a single one of their names, though I have vivid memories of their faces. However, the other memories of my only summer camp experience are endless.

We were allowed to take snacks into camp cabins to share with our fellow bunkmates. I had gone to a wholesale bulk food store to load up on jaw breakers and two flavors of the kind of taffy I would buy for a quarter at baseball games.

Within half a day of arriving at Horn Creek, one of the taffy boxes was emptied and had become a “cuss box.” Every time anyone in our cabin swore, we had to put at least 25 cents in the box. At the end of the week, our counselor would be driving into town and buying pizza and root beer with the collection. It seemed like an odd thing to do at a Christian camp, but I am pretty sure it was my idea. And getting rewarded with pizza for cussing, well, that worked out for everyone.

As the week was drawing to a close, we realized there only was about $8.50 in the box. So we spent the night before our pizza party eating taffy and trying to one-up each other with cuss words and phrases sure to make a minister blush. So many dollar bills were being thrown around, you would have thought we were at a bachelor party for our camp counselor.

Horn Creek also was where I learned that hiking five miles in one direction is not something I really enjoy. I could not understand why anyone would want to spend half a day away from the main campgrounds to “discover nature.” I had spent several of my childhood years on a farm surrounded by evergreen trees and rattlesnakes. That was more nature discovery than I needed for a lifetime.

After we survived the torturous hike — something I likely would enjoy very much today — our reward was a game day on the lawn in front of the dining hall. It was complete with every camp stereotype possible. There were three-legged races, potato sack races and that tradition of taking turns shoving your face in a whipped cream pie to dig out Lifesavers with your tongue. It was all quite sanitary. And it was, somehow, supposed to bring me closer to God.

My time at Horn Creek ended with the pizza party, funded by the potty mouths of young boys from around Colorado and Western Kansas, and a banquet where campers got dressed up and gathered in the dimly lit dining hall for a boy-girl mixer. I was wearing the same silk shirt I had worn for one of my junior high graduation events, and I have no clue how or why I remember that night or the outfit.

Somehow, Horn Creek changed my life. At least a little bit. Maybe it was the discovery of Crystal Pepsi at a convenience store in rural Colorado, which was the best souvenir I brought back from that week.

13 things clogging up my mind

2009-08-11T23:03:00.004-07:00

My mind has been racing all day. All week, actually. Yes, all two days of it. I have so many things on my mind, I figure I might as well share them with the world. And by "the world," I mean the handful of people who stumble onto this blog. A few of you on purpose. And I thank you for that ... did I mention my mind has been racing with random thoughts?

Here are 13 things I have thought and/or have been thinking about recently.

1. I can't believe Paula Abdul is not returning to American Idol. I'm not sure what it means for the show ultimately, but I do know I have gotten HUNDREDS of e-mails from fans who think my blog WatchingAmericanIdol.com is the official show contact. It is not. And, on a side note, I cannot update my blog for some reason. My password is not working. I have put in a complaint ticket, but no word yet.

2. I have a ton of entertainment coming my way in the next week. Wednesday night (that's tomorrow), I am going to see the Tucker Max-inspired movie, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, at a premiere event. On Saturday, I am going to see Catch Me If You Can, the musical version, for the second time. It closes this weekend here in Seattle. As I have mentioned on previous blogs, I cannot get enough.

3. My entertainment week is turning into the upcoming months. In November, I will be seeing Rufus Wainwright and Snow Patrol — my favorite band — within days of each other. I. Cannot. Wait. Seriously, is it November yet?

4. Applying for jobs almost seems worthless at the moment. I have applied for more than 150 career-style jobs since moving to Seattle. Um, it's tough out there, folks.

5. A co-worker at my part-time job and I passed some downtime today by playing a made-up game of categories. It works like this: Choose a category (i.e. Things People Believe Are Facts About Seattle, Even Though They Are Wrong); take turns sharing an example; and start over when you realize you are repeating things that already have been said. I believe this could be an inexpensive way to entertain ourselves during the continued economy.

6. I bought Dr. Scholl's insoles for my shoes. Waste of money, if you ask me. But insoles are not exactly a product that easily can be returned. Bye, bye $13.99.

7. Pizza is a far-too-frequent craving for me. I could eat pizza every day.

8. Why don't I own a watch? Oh, yeah. I have a phone that serves multiple purposes, including informing me of the current time.

9. Folding laundry is not hard. I just hate it. That's why there always are piles of clean clothes sitting on a chair in my living room.

10. Facebook may quite possibly be the devil. Seriously. I'm more addicted to Facebook than pizza. And that's when you know I'm not messing around.

11. I have met so many interesting, random people in the last few days. Fellow K-State fans, fellow writers and journalists wishing for constant work and a spattering of random people who just have interesting things to contribute to my life.

12. A few nights ago I had a dream that I became Anne Hathaway's personal assistant. I'm not sure how this popped into my head and led to such a dream. But it was the most vivid dream I have had in some time. I don't know what to make of it, and I can't stop thinking about the deeper meaning of the dream. In reality, it probably was just that I saw Anne Hathaway in a magazine before I went to bed. It would be cool to be her personal assistant.

13. iPhones are becoming more appealing and hard to resist each day I live. I cannot stop thinking about all the cool apps my Blackberry just does not support. My dedication to phone companies is holding me back, and that's probably a good thing.

I warned you these were just going to be random thoughts. Maybe I'm using this post as a way to try and clear my head. Hopefully, considering it is almost time for bed, this doesn't lead to me dreaming about using a new iPhone at my job as Anne Hathaway's personal assistant ... a job that leads me to constant entertainment venues and meetings with random people. A combo of the 13 random thoughts above my be the only thing more bizarre than the random 13 thoughts themselves.

One reason I love Broadway

2009-08-02T20:57:00.003-07:00

Broadway musicals are one of my favorite forms of entertainment. So you can imagine how excited I was when I found out the musical version of Catch Me If You Can was having its world debut right here in Seattle.

I was there last week on opening night of what I'm certain will be a huge success when the show hits New York. I expect Tony awards to follow. One of the most impressive parts of the night was Tony nominee Kerry Butler's big solo in the second act.

Here's Kerry singing the song for a preview performance on Sirius satellite radio. Enjoy.

My 'Awakening'

2009-07-24T12:55:00.005-07:00

In those days we finally chose to walk like giants and hold the world in arms grown strong with love and there may be many things we forget in the days to come, but this will not be one of them.
— Brian Andreas

This quote is written across a piece of artwork titled Awakening by artist Brian Andreas. It hangs in my kitchen, and I read the words daily. They are a bit nonsensical, really. But the message — likely the only run-on sentence I support — means quite a bit to me.

The artwork was a gift from friends I married, thanks to my online ordination, just about two years ago. The wedding took place in a tiny park in Seattle's Queen Anne neighborhood. It marked the first time I really felt like this should be my home.

Now when I read this message, the one hanging in my Seattle kitchen, it means even more. Today, I share it with you.

The day I met actor Hal Sparks (aka today)

2009-07-18T22:50:00.004-07:00

Sometimes I arrive at my part-time job as a Space Needle tour guide only to tell hundreds of people the bathroom is through the yellow door and down about 20 steps.

Maybe I offer directions to my favorite Tom Douglas restaurant, or I explain how to find the gum wall near Pike Place Market. But today was a lot more interesting. Sure, I directed visitors to the bathroom and told them where they could find the first Starbucks. I explained where the limited number of scenes from Grey's Anatomy had been filmed, and I pointed to the general area of the famous houseboat from Sleepless in Seattle.

And then one of my favorite actors of all time walked off the elevator. Before I even saw him, I recognized the voice. It was the voice of Michael Novotny, a central character from Showtime's Queer As Folk. I looked up and, sure enough, Hal Sparks was standing right in front of me.

Word spread like wildfire that the former host of Talk Soup was in the building. Let's be honest: I was spreading the word like butter on warm toast. But I was nervous and anxious, and I didn't know how to approach the star.

A little before he was getting ready to leave, it was apparent dozens of Space Needle employees were standing nearby to catch a glimpse. And I needed to make my move, if I was going to have face time before he left the building via the blue elevator.

Casually, I walked up and made a joke about how everyone was following him around at a safe distance. I asked if he had any questions and thanked him for taking time to visit one of Seattle's must-see tourist attractions. He half-jokingly said he wouldn't mind taking the super-secret employee entrance to the rooftop. I explained even I hadn't been higher than the Observation Deck's 520 feet, we laughed and shook hands. He made a joke about how he would just have to wait until he got his key to the city.

As I walked away, I hoped I had not been a bother. Truthfully, I did want him to know I could answer any questions or, as monotonous as it would be, direct him to the bathrooms through the yellow door and down about 20 steps.

Today, Hal Sparks made my day a little brighter. And I probably will remember it for a long time. So, thanks, Hal. I appreciate it.

When spelling does not matter

2009-07-15T23:59:00.003-07:00

I ate at Taco Bell today. It was one of those great Taco Bell/KFC combo restaurants. As I sat eating my 430 calorie bean burrito, I realized the spelling on the sign outside had a couple of issues. It took my mind off of the fact I was eating a high-calorie meal.

I have a problem copy editing every sign or menu I see. This sign made me realize not everyone has this issue.

A rant about fashion

2009-07-10T09:24:00.003-07:00

I am not going to claim to be some sort of fashion expert, but there is one thing I know for sure: Ed Hardy shirts are not cool. At all.

What is so strange to me about the popularity of these overpriced T-shirts is they seem to be a clothing item one wears to stand apart from the crowd. But far too many people wear them, and not just people living on the Jersey shore. Thus, the idea of individuality is ruined. (Editor's note: Ed Hardy shirts are not cool even if you do live on the Jersey shore. I'm just sayin'.)

This is where I reveal a secret that I had an Ed Hardy-esque phase in my life. It was what I now refer to as my No Fear years (aka the mid-'90s). I couldn't resist adding to my collection — I had a shameful 42 No Fear shirts circa 1995 — but I try to blame this lapse in judgment on being a teenager. And nobody else really had a lot of No Fear shirts. Yes, I now realize that should have been a sign. But that is not the point.

The point here is that, no matter how you slice it, Ed Hardy shirts are not an acceptable way to add to your summer wardrobe. Shiny, gold accents or not, these tattoos-on-shirts scream, "I'm trying so hard!" And that is just not OK.

P.S. Crocs are still high on my list of things that never should be worn in public. I don't care how comfortable they you say they are ... you look like a tool.

Remembering pop culture icons

2009-06-25T15:58:00.002-07:00

There's no doubt Jon and Kate are angry. So are Heidi and Spencer.

These are the days of headlines being overrun by news of reality TV stars who do and say outrageous things. Marriage and divorce among these D-list "celebrities" warrant magazine covers, except for today.

With the deaths of iconic model and actress Farrah Fawcett and "King of Pop" Michael Jackson on the same day, there's no doubt journalists are scrambling to pull together highlight clips and information about these true celebrities.

After Farrah's death this morning, one that was expected following her fight with anal cancer, news agencies were making plans to provide retrospectives on the icon from Charlie's Angels. Entertainment Weekly likely was planning a special commemorative cover. And then Michael Jackson was rushed to the hospital.

The 50-year-old singer gained extreme fame throughout his music career, and his unexpected cardiac arrest just after noon, turned the tables for media outlets. Early reports of his untimely death started appearing on TMZ.com and at the L.A. Times Web site. CNN and other major news outlets were holding out, lacking the proper confirmation from sources.

As Farrah spent her final days resting after extensive treatments, Michael Jackson was preparing for a serious of major shows in London. There is no question Michael Jackson will be making headlines for weeks.

And it's much deserved. I, for one, will be glad to not have to look at Kate's terrible haircut for at least a little while.

Rest in peace, Farrah and Michael. You will forever be remembered by your fans.

A blog post about numbers

2009-06-23T11:09:00.002-07:00

There are at least a million reasons I don't blog seven days a week. One of them is the fact I have about 15 ideas running through my head every 60 seconds. But enough with those numbers, already.

For me, there is one number that is as memorable in pop culture as the word supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (spelling not checked). And no, it's not 867-5309.

My pop culture number to remember is 525,600. As in minutes. It's how I measure a year.

If you are anything like me, you already have burst into the popular song from the musical RENT. It happens to be one of the most magical musicals of all time, if not for its poignant message, because it broke records and helped define my generation.

There are people who love RENT so much they follow the national tour around the country. They stand in line for more than a day for the RENT Rush, which allows them to purchase a limited number of $20 tickets in the front rows. They made continuous trips to see the show on Broadway, before it closed last year. They are RENTheads. I am not quite that dedicated. I am just an average fan who will go a little bit out of his way — a couple hundred miles, at most — to see the show live.

Last week, I was fortunate enough to catch one performance of the week-long run at The Paramount here in Seattle. The special thing about this national tour is that Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp, originators of male lead roles Mark and Roger, returned for the tour. There also are several other cast members in the current tour who are reprising their roles from the Broadway run or have long been attached to the show.

Seeing these performers on stage who have sang these songs and told these stories so many times — 525,600, perhaps — giving a performance that feels just as passionate as their first night in character was a real treat.

For whatever reason, RENT has captured my attention and kept it. I frequently listen to the soundtrack. I have watched the movie version more times than I can count. I even bought the final Broadway performance on DVD. I have watched it twice.

My count for seeing RENT live is now at six. And every time I see it, I want to jump out of my seat and sing along with that powerful title track. I can't wait for the solos and my favorite songs. I still get choked up by the emotional ups and downs of the story.

I probably could give 525,600 reasons I love RENT. Maybe I will save those for another post.

Purple dryer lint and other reasons I need to expand my wardrobe

2009-06-10T13:52:00.003-07:00

A pile of clean clothes is overflowing from a chair in my living room. The pile of mostly t-shirts has one thing in common — most everything is the same shade of K-State purple.

Being a proud graduate of Kansas State University, my casual wardrobe tends to be overpowered by t-shirts that proclaim, "Willie is my homeboy!" or, simply, "K-State." The white printing on the royal purple shirts have been a mainstay since I enrolled at the university in 1998. Even my dressier clothes tend to come in various shades of purple, plum and anything else you get when mixing red and blue hues.

Today, before heading out for a quick lunch, I grabbed one of the many t-shirts from the pile. This one, I have come to realize, leads to dozens of complete strangers adding their thoughts. It's as if the shirt says, "Well, what do you have to say?"

In reality, it simply says, "I MISS MANHATTAN." I saw the t-shirt on a fellow K-Stater when I was back in Manhattan last fall. She told me she had gotten it from this Web site, and I immediately placed my order. It's one of my favorites.

But wearing this shirt today prompted at least one person on every single block — and I'm not exaggerating one bit — to comment. I stopped at the bank where one of the employees asked, "Are you from New York?" No, "Kansas," I said.

"I didn't know there was another Manhattan," another teller said. I wanted to launch into my usual explanation of how Manhattan, Kansas, aka The Little Apple, is home to Kansas State University. I wanted to tell her it was where I met some really amazing people and made some even more amazing memories. Thus, "I MISS MANHATTAN."

Instead, I said, "It's where I went to college." And I left it at that.

Within the next block, a homeless man told me he wishes he never would have left New York. At the crosswalk a few steps away, another guy, a recent college graduate, tried to strike up a conversation about his native Staten Island. I couldn't contribute.

By the time I had finished my lunch and made the half-mile walk back to my apartment, no fewer than five others proclaimed, "Me, too," and one man turned his head, pointed East and said, "It's that way."

I got the feeling he wanted me to keep walking, all the way to the East coast. Little did he — or anyone else today — know, that walk only would have been about half as far as he'd expected. Because "I MISS MANHATTAN," as in Kansas. Not New York. Though that Manhattan is lovely, too.

A shirt this simple shouldn't cause such conversation. It's not like I am making a political statement or proclaiming my hatred for any other place on the planet. I am quite happy with living in Seattle, really.

Proclaiming, via a t-shirt, that "I MISS MANHATTAN" is the equivalent to missing your first car, that clunker that had an 8-track player, or the dog you had when you were a child. It's not like saying, "I AGREE WITH (FILL IN THE BLANK)" or "(FILL IN THE BLANK) IS STUPID."

But, just like people in Seattle tend to let outsiders believe it rains here all the time, I will continue to let people think I miss Manhattan, N.Y. Because, when someone looks at me when I'm wearing this t-shirt and asks, "K-State grad?" it makes all the misdirected comments worthwhile. I know, in those cases, Willie likely is their homeboy, too.

Jamie Foxx is taking over the world

2009-05-28T09:37:00.002-07:00

He's an actor. A comedian. And an amazing singer.

Jamie Foxx is so much more than a Hollywood triple-threat. Don't believe me? Watch the video above from the ACM Artist of the Decade presentation. Jamie, a native of Terrell, Texas, was the only non-country artist to perform a tribute to honoree George Strait.

And he killed it.

As Ray Charles in the big-screen film Ray, he proved he was a musical genius. On American Idol a few weeks ago, he proved to be the most impressive celebrity mentor of Season 8. And now this.

You can just tell Jamie Foxx is a genuinely nice guy, too. He's now at the top of my "dream list" of celebrities I would like to interview. Sitting down with him for just a few minutes would be an absolute honor. I can't imagine how much more we will see from him.

I will continue to watch. You should, too.

My hometown

2009-05-27T13:17:00.004-07:00

Watch Minneola, Kansas in Faith Videos | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

(Editor's note: I just found this video online. It's from the mayor of Minneola. I think it's amazing Minneola has a commercial. I used to dream as a child that I'd grow up and they would put one of those signs at the edge of town that proclaimed it was my hometown.)

Minneola is a tiny place.

The small Kansas town is a place where the only grocery store will be open during stretches of four or five years, then closed for a few years before another hopeful entrepreneur breezes into town with the idea of reinventing the Main Street shop.

Minneola is like a lot of places in Southwest Kansas. Teenagers graduate from classes of 12 students, move away for college, then on to their first job and, next thing you know, they are rarely looking back. Holidays are about the only time they return to the farming town, where the local grain elevator is the closest thing to a skyscraper.

That has been my story, since graduating 13 years ago. I since have lived in Iowa, Michigan, Louisiana and now Washington state.

Growing up in Minneola meant getting pizza from the only stable restaurant in town, one operating from a converted two-car garage. No delivery available. It meant driving 20 miles to get to the closest Wal-Mart, which was about the only major retail option for another 30 or so miles. A "real" mall meant driving at least a couple of hours past open fields and endless lines of irrigation pipes. You definitely see more cows that cars when driving through that area of the country.

Minneola requires knowing everyone's business and everyone knowing your business. It just happens that way when there are only 700 or so people claiming the area as home.

When I recently was asked to identify my hometown for my part-time job as a tour guide, I had a bit of an identity crisis. I haven't lived in Minneola for 13 years. And I haven't lived in my first residence, Shubert, Neb., an even sleepier town, for 26 years.

But the places I lived in Iowa, Michigan and Louisiana only were my permanent address for a few years each. And Seattle, where I now fall asleep each night, hasn't even made the three-month mark.

So, "Minneola, Kansas," I said. I now am reporting to work at the Space Needle, Seattle's most recognizable structure, with a nametag that declares my hometown. Already, several tourists have questioned, "Where's Minneola?"

I tell them it's likely nowhere near anywhere they have visited. But if they ever get there, that pizza from the garage is some of the best in the world.

Finding life's purpose. Or what in the heck am I doing?

2009-05-12T15:44:00.003-07:00

Purpose. I've been on a mission to find mine.

A newscast today made me think about it, again. A mom and dad were talking about their son's purpose. He died just shy of turning 20 from a prescription drug overdose. They now promote programs to properly dispose of unwanted or unneeded prescriptions, all in the hopes of preventing another family from going through similar tragedy.

I'm not sure if this counts as the son's purpose in life — it seems more like the purpose of his mom and dad — but it had me thinking about my own contributions to society. What, when I go, will be my greatest contribution to the planet or the people who call it home?

We all have a purpose, or so many people believe. It's kind of like the idea that everyone longing for love will one day stumble upon "the one."

Not to get all philosophical, but, um, I just don't know how this can work. I guess the simple answer is that everyone has a different purpose. And not all purposes are created equal. But as I think more about this — and blog the random thoughts in my head right now — I can't help but worry I won't have done enough when the end comes for me.

So, what the heck am I doing? Or, more specifically, what the heck am I supposed to be doing? The stress of a declining economy has made me think much more about the opportunities in my future. Now, when I really have a clean slate, is the time to rally the troops and make that huge difference for which I've always dreamed.

Then, again, I find myself spinning in circles trying to nail down exactly where to start. I guess finding life's purpose is like finding "the one" — you may be better off waiting for it to find you.

Hiking in my neighborhood ... almost

2009-05-10T20:55:00.006-07:00

There are plenty of days — OK, every single day — when I complain about having to "hike" up the hills of my neighborhood, Seattle's Capitol Hill.

While there are some steep inclines in the neighborhood, complete with panting and sweating when I'm walking up them, nothing really compared to my visit today to Snoqualmie Falls. My friend Tony has been in town for the last few days, and I wanted to make sure I showed him some of the great outdoors of Washington State. That happened on the eve of his departure when we visited Snoqualmie Falls with a couple of my other friends. The site is beautiful (see photo above), but the hike down and back up to the bottom of the falls is, well, a complete nightmare.

In reality, it's not that terrible. But it's certainly making me realize the inclines on Pike and Pine streets in my neighborhood have nothing on this little slice of happiness in Snoqualmie. The beautiful views make it all worthwhile, though. So, no matter how much I complained, I will return many more times. Plus, I'm convinced today's hike will come in handy when I scarf down a pint of Birthday Cake ice cream from Molly Moon.

(Editor's note: I should mention Molly Moon just opened a location at the halfway point down the hill from my apartment. So, that means a workout always will be in order when I grab another pint.)

Questioning security questions

2009-05-04T12:57:00.002-07:00

Today has been spent updating the bazillions of online login and password pairings for my credit cards, e-mail accounts and all such nonsense. It's something I started when moving, but I just wanted to make sure everything was in order and properly updated.

Through the process, I've learned it's apparently not OK to be single. Or unmarried. At least not in the eyes of Yahoo! In a forced update of security questions for the e-mail account I've had for more than a decade, I struggled to find two questions I could answer in case I need to retrieve my password.

The first two questions were:

1. Where did you spend your honeymoon?
2. Where did you meet your spouse?

Um, I need more options. Not having a spouse means I haven't had a honeymoon. These questions go a little too hand-in-hand for me — and a good percentage of other Yahoo! account holders, I imagine.

As my eyes scrolled down the list of about a dozen questions, there were a couple of usual suspects:

1. What was the name of your first pet?
2. What is your favorite teacher's last name?

But I also noticed most of the other questions wouldn't apply to that same group of Yahoo! users who had not been married or on a honeymoon.

1. What is the last name of your best man at your wedding?

And ... wait for it ...

2. What is the last name of your maid of honor at your wedding?

Seriously? Among the many problems I have with these questions, especially the "best man" question, is this — it's not that secure ... at all. For example, I was the best man in my brother's wedding. Hmmm, I wonder what his best man's last name would be?

Some of the other ridiculous questions that were choices included:

1. What street did you live on in third grade?
2. What street did you live on in sixth grade?

This, folks, is online security at its finest.

My favorite kind of rain in Seattle

2009-04-27T10:33:00.003-07:00

When I moved to Seattle, I was looking forward to many things: New opportunities, living near some of my best friends and Kiwi Strawberry Talking Rain. And not necessarily in that order.

Much like Crystal Clear Pepsi did when I drank it in junior high, my first sip of Talking Rain changed my order of favorite beverages forever. Specifically, the Strawberry Kiwi variety.

Sweetened with Splenda, this 5-calorie drink is a sparkling water juice beverage with vitamin C. All you need to know is that it's tasty. And hard to find.

But as a birthday gift, my friend Mike found six cans of the oh-so-delicious drink. He calls it a "champagne cocktail." I call it the best non-alcoholic drink I've had in my life. In fact, when he told me about the gift, I said, "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me." I was only exaggerating a little bit.

Unfortunately for those who don't live in the Pacific Northwest, you'll have a hard time finding such deliciousness. But, fortunately for me, I have five cans left in my refrigerator ... and the chance for more is, hopefully, right at my fingertips.

Thank you, Mike. And thank you, Talking Rain Beverage Company. I'm thinking about applying for the Marketing Manager position you have open in your Sales & Marketing department. Clearly, I am a fan of at least one of your brands.

Site design

2009-04-21T09:10:00.002-07:00

Today, I decided to mess around with the site design. I didn't get far, and I'm already out of steam. What's wrong with me? Maybe it's because I don't have any good ideas for a new direction.

I need to get out and enjoy the nice weather, look for inspiration and get back to the drawing board (i.e. Photoshop). Then, again, I'm not sure why I need to spend too much time on a redesign. I can't seem to be consistent in posting here. Geesh.

Life is hard.

I'm still mesmerized

2009-04-16T08:03:00.001-07:00

I heard about this video last weekend. I can't stop watching it. Apparently, I'm not alone.

Salted Caramel Cupcakes

2009-04-12T22:16:00.002-07:00

I didn't have a chocolate bunny to nibble on this Easter. But that wasn't going to stand in my way of having a tasty treat to enjoy with my friend at dinner.

After a weekend of not feeling so well — maybe the flu? — I decided it was time to get in the kitchen and cook up a multiple-course meal. I made a dish of macaroni and cheese and planned for a side of asparagus.

For dessert, I was determined to try something new in the form of my favorite new flavor, salted caramel. I have had salted caramel ice cream a few times, and I recently ate a salted caramel cupcake from one of Seattle's cupcake chains. Could I recreate the magic?

I started with a simple chocolate cupcake (secret: Duncan Hines), and I did a Google search for "easy salted caramel icing." I found this recipe, and it was delightful. It made chocolate bunnies a thing of the past.

In fact, I'm pretty sure I'll never look at cupcakes in the same way. Because, if you ask me, all cupcakes that aren't frosted with salted caramel icing might as well be a bowl of rotten brussel sprouts (which I actually do like, if they're not rotten).

I wish I had a river ...

2009-04-09T23:00:00.004-07:00

When I should be thinking about dying eggs, somehow I am in a more Christmas mood. It's because there just aren't any good Easter songs, I guess.

As I mentioned last week, the MTV series Taking the Stage really has caught my eyes — and ears. Specifically, cast member Mia Carruthers, a teenager singer/songwriter. You can count on her having a big career, because she has mounds upon mounds of talent.

This girl is beyond American Idol. She's ready for a big-time deal, in my opinion. So, as I was searching YouTube for a possible glimpse of what Mia has been up to lately, I stumbled across a video of her performing River, a holiday-timed song written by the great Joni Mitchell.

In the video, Mia and a fellow musician have a gentle argument about who has the better rendition — Joni Mitchell or James Taylor. At that instance, it occurred to me that I think the best rendition goes to one Ms. Sarah McLachlan. And that's why I am sharing that video.

You may not be in the mood to think about the holidays right now, but this song is crazy beautiful. I could listen to it on repeat, and I probably will.

Chocolate or cheese?

2009-04-07T08:07:00.003-07:00

It's a question posed to me recently, and the answer is one I can give without any consideration.

Cheese, please.

If you had to choose one or the other, which food would you choose? You may think you couldn't live without sweet, delicious chocolate. But think about all the savory foods that wouldn't be the same without cheese in its many forms and flavors.

I've noticed this choice isn't a tough one for most people. They either are hardcore chocolate lovers or dedicated to cheese. In fact, I think most everyone is willing to give away one of these "food groups" without much thought.

So, what will it be?

It's not just the red nose

2009-04-06T21:44:00.003-07:00

Clowns really do freak me out. They're not my biggest fear (we'll get to that in a bit), but I get extremely uncomfortable when any human is dressed in an unrecognizable costume or their face is covered with makeup that makes them not easily identified as their true self. Drag queens can sometimes fall into this category.

Today, I was reading this story in The Stranger, one of Seattle's alt-weekly newspapers. It's a satire piece by one of the paper's favorite (and sometimes most-hated, apparently) writers, Lindy West, titled "The Different Kinds of People That There Are." It's some truly hysterical writing, I'll admit. I really did LOL.

One of the kinds of people Lindy cracks on are "People Who Claim to Be Afraid of Clowns," i.e. me.

Lindy claims, "These people (and they are numerous) are attempting to cultivate a cute quirk, but they are really just aping a cute quirk cultivated by thousands of cute-quirk-cultivators before them in a giant, gross, boring feedback loop."

I blame Stephen King. Because, even if you haven't seen or read It, you likely have seen those scary-as-hell images that promote the book and/or movie. There's so much uncertainty with clowns, especially that one.

Even happy clowns, which I used to love growing up, frighten the bejeebus out of me. Among my many "when I grow up" career choices was rodeo clown. I was inspired by one of the most famous rodeo clowns of all time, Leon Coffee. As a child, I got to meet Leon a couple of times. The meetings made me nervous, but not scared. There's something about the partial makeup rodeo clowns wear that make them seem more approachable. You stand a chance of recognizing them behind their painted-on lips and eye decorations.

Unlike full-on makeup used by most clowns — a face completely covered with white greasepaint really gets to me — rodeo clowns don't seem like they'll kill you ala that damn character from It. I'm even freaked by the ones from the circus, who I am convinced are out to hurt small children and their parents at three-ring performances.

I used to have dreams about clowns in parades chasing me down the streets to try and give me candy. My heart beats fast just thinking about that vision. Yes, I realize I'm 30. And I also realize I'll probably be having that dream, again, tonight.

Ridiculous or not, my uncomfortable fear of clowns just can't be shaken. It's not nearly as deep or sweaty-palm inducing as snakes — on a plane or otherwise. That, without question, is my greatest fear of all time. Snakes are ... ugh. Eww.

But, no matter how funny it is to Lindy, clowns are no laughing matter. I'm glad to know they bring happiness to some people, because those people can continue to distract them whenever I'm around.

When things seem normal to you

2009-04-03T15:05:00.002-07:00

I grew up in a tiny Kansas farm community. To me, grain elevators were a part of everyday life. Every town up and down Highway 54 has one.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago — years after I'd lived in several other states around the country — that I realized not everyone knows what happens at a grain elevator. To me, I never really thought about it.

During my relocation drive from Louisiana to Washington, my friend Brad and I stayed overnight in my hometown. When we left the next morning, Brad mentioned the "tube building." I didn't know what he was talking about for a few minutes. Then it hit me — tube buildings equal grain elevators to people who grow up near Detroit.

That little moment made me realize I need to take a step back and be aware of my surroundings. Because, now that I think about it, I don't know if "tube buildings" have existed in any other cities where I've lived.

The only time I ever had just one slice

2009-04-02T19:18:00.002-07:00

Pizza is my favorite meal. You can't go wrong with cheese and bread, the two most important food groups.

When I was growing up, we ate pizza on many Sunday nights. I still usually eat a few pieces of pie at least once a week. Cheese or veggie pizzas are my favorite. But there is one time in my life where I just couldn't seem to stomach much stuffed-crust goodness.

The day I went off to college, my mom and I unloaded my belongings on campus and went to find somewhere to eat. In true mom fashion, she wanted to make sure her baby was taken care of before she drove away.

As per our usual, I couldn't make a decision of where to eat. "You're nervous," my mom insisted. I said, "No, I'm just not sure where there is to eat here."

Of course, there were more options right at my fingertips than anywhere I'd previously lived. But, finally, we settled on Pizza Hut. A buffet of cheesy, doughy options would be the perfect "goodbye meal."

We sat in the booth, ordered our drinks and took our trip to the buffet line. I returned to my seat with a plate filled with very little. I had two breadsticks, a tiny slice — they're all miniature on the Pizza Hut buffet — of pizza and a couple of things from the salad bar.

"I'm so full," I claimed before I'd even cleaned the plate.

My mom laughed. She knew pizza, for me, was like Lays potato chips — I can't eat just one slice. "You're nervous," she said, for at least the second time that day. She had a smile on her face, and she was laughing a bit.

"No, I'm really full," I promised.

We settled the bill and left to go back to the dorms. After my mom left, I had this empty feeling in my stomach. Yes, I was nervous. But that empty feeling was more likely from not eating enough pizza.

Lesson learned.

The anniversary of what could have been

2009-04-01T11:02:00.005-07:00

Growing up, I dreamed of being famous. (We've covered that, right?)

Country singer. Actor. Comedian. In fact, I'm still searching, though not as actively, for my 15 minutes.

Exactly one year ago, today, I got a call about what could have (but not likely) been a way to chip into my 15 minutes. Tyra Banks was doing a show on people who go to extreme measures to rid their lives of clutter.

They found me through Brian Thompson, who had done the All My Life for Sale project before me. He contacted me through my blog, I returned an e-mail to him with my phone number, and a producer called me from the show a little while later.

After I got the first call, I met some friends for lunch. They couldn't believe it. I couldn't sit still. I was, maybe, going to be flying out the next day for a quick trip to NYC for an appearance on Tyra's show. I was in the running toward becoming America's Next Top ... well, I was going to be tapping into my 15 minutes, if you want to call it that.

The producer already had talked to Brian, who was going to be on the show, as well. They were going to talk to him about his sale and talk to me about my plans for the sale, which was set to begin soon.

Junior, the producer, asked me several questions like, "Why would you do this?" and "What are you going to do when you don't have anything?" He wanted to talk to a friend who thought this was ridiculous and would go on the show and, if Tyra asked, would say I was crazy out of my mind.

That friend was my boss, Shannon. She thought the AMLFS idea seemed pretty ridiculous, but she admitted she didn't think I was crazy out of my mind. She knew me too well, and she knew this was something that seemed like me. Still, she agreed to answer Tyra's questions with the kind of gusto she would expect, once we arrived on set.

I would be the crazy guy trying to rid himself of serious collections of junk, while she would be "friend of crazy guy." Arrangements were being made with Shannon's family to take care of her children for the two days we would be gone — our flight would leave the next day.

We had to send photos of ourselves. I had a professional headshot (of course) to send, but I had to take a photo of Shannon to e-mail. Junior asked for our measurements, in case the clothing we took to the set wasn't camera-friendly.

Someone then questioned the entire thing as an April Fools' joke. I had thought about it, briefly, but I knew it couldn't be the case. There's no way any of my friends knew how or would contact Brian, which is how it all got started. And I didn't know Brian well enough for him to waste time pulling off such an elaborate joke.

Plus, there were several phone calls, and other people were being dragged into the situation. It was determined, quickly, that it was not a joke. Tyra Banks or, more accurately, her producers, really wanted me/my story on the show. It was a perfect fit.

Then it happened. Once, again, my chance of getting some small-screen exposure was washed away. Junior called me at about 10:30 p.m. that night to say the topic of the show was tweaked, and my story didn't fit. He still had an interested in what I was doing, and he thought it would be a great angle for a future show. For now, Brian and I were out. But he would call back.

I never got the callback.

Reality didn't ruin my MTV

2009-03-31T17:04:00.002-07:00

Since it burst onto the scene as the home of music videos in the early 1980s, MTV stood for one thing — music television.

Then came The Real World. And Road Rules. And later Sorority Life, The Hills and a laundry list of other reality-based shows being played instead of the music videos that used filled hours of airspace.

Fans of MTV shared their distaste. To this day, many people still say, "Remember when MTV actually played music?" But I have to say I don't mind the natural progression. In fact, I love it quite a bit.

Here are some of my arguments:

1. MTV as a corporation never really abandoned music videos. They just moved the video programming to new stations, starting with MTV2. That station now plays many shows like Cribs, instead of videos. But MTV Jams, MTV Hits and a handful of other new stations still focus on the music.

2. The Real World is much better than seeing repeat after repeat of Coldplay's latest single. Chris Martin walking in the sand only goes so far for me, I guess. Yes, Real World has had some not-so-exciting seasons, but the latest in Brooklyn has renewed my faith for a show I thought I maybe had outgrown.

3. There is plenty of other reality programs on MTV worth watching. The Hills is loved by many of my 30-something friends, and I am hooked on Taking the Stage. The show is based on the life and times of a handful of extremely talented students at the School for Creative and Performing Arts. Among them is Mia, a singer/songwriter who has gobs of talent.

4. Some argue MTV has lost its relevance. I'm not going to argue that making the cover of Us Weekly is relevant, but it certainly is an important part of many people's daily lives (mine included). And MTV has launched many a faces to appear on the cover. Not just musicians — Britney, Christina, Beyonce — but Heidi and Spencer and, most famously, Lauren Conrad. If you can be credited for launching careers for people who, otherwise, never would be known outside of their California roots, well, you get the point.

5. MTV is returning to more music video programming. Tune in for the morning AMTV, and you'll get the latest from Lady GaGa, Lil Wayne and the dozens of other artists climbing the charts these days.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to Taking the Stage. I'm getting anxious to see if Jasmine aces her Juilliard audition.

What this economy means for marketing

2009-03-30T16:02:00.004-07:00

If all else fails, blame the economy. Or use it to your advantage.

That seems to be the trend of many businesses, I've noticed. Every retailer seems to be offering the deepest discounts ever. Now is the time to buy just about anything you need, if you can afford it. But it's not just retailers.

This week I saw a TV commercial for Allstate Insurance, playing up the tough times to its advantage. The ad talks about how the agency was established in 1931, certainly not a good year, and how it has survived and thrived in 12 recessions since its founding.

I thought it was a bizarre tactic for the company that, most often, uses its advertising dollars to talk about how much better its rates are than Geico. Then, again, it's probably a brilliant tactic in a time when all anyone is talking about is the economy.

I'm not going to switch my insurance provider, because I've had the same company since I became a legal driver. But others, especially those in search of a provider, certainly may consider Allstate. Why? Because the company seems to understand this financial downturn, or so they make it seem on the commercial.

This may be among the first in a landslide of similar campaigns to hit TV and print media in the weeks and months to come. Of course, companies may also completely cut out marketing and advertising — a huge mistake — in order to keep one or two more employees from standing in the unemployment lines.

You say "grammar snob" like it's a bad thing

2009-03-26T15:12:00.003-07:00

This is not the first time I've covered this topic. And it still makes me nervous to even attack it. Why? Because I am certain this will be the time I mess something up and make myself look like a fool.

But, seriously, folks. Is grammar not important to anyone?

I just got an e-mail with the subject line: "Your invited!" If you don't see the problem with this, well, stop reading right after the third-grade grammar lesson in the next paragraph. Otherwise, I certainly will offend you.

It's not "your invited." It's "you're invited." Or "you are invited." Or "Please come to my event. I'm going to avoid using the 'y' word, because I can't use the proper one."

Idiots.

Maybe I'm the only one who gets crazy and annoyed by common mistakes such as this one. I know I'm not, though, because all of my journalism friends (call us geeks if you want) get red-in-the-face mad about this topic. And we can discuss it for hours on end, as if we're solving world hunger.

The long dash is a very serious topic for us, too. We're quite passionate about the use for it and when it is appropriate to replace other punctuation marks with the longest of all dashes. But that's another topic for another day. And, chances are, you hope that day never comes.

George, er, Abe is in my pocket

2009-03-24T15:14:00.002-07:00

It has been a few years since I've seen a bill stamped with such directions.

"PLEASE, try www.wheresgeorge.com. It's FREE & FUN! NO PURCHASE REQUIRED."

So, I did it. I logged on to www.wheresgeorge.com and entered the series and serial numbers on the $5 bill marked with the directions. Yes, I, too thought it was sad since it's not George, but Abe, who's on the bill I now have stuffed into my wallet.

The idea of the site is to track where money originated and where it has gone. Instead of depositing these specially marked bills — "banks hate this," many users comment — you are asked to circulate it at a local store or save it for your next vacation.

My particular $5 traveled to Seattle's Public Market from a Wendy's in Broomfield, Colo. I don't know if it made any stops between the fast-food chain and where I picked it up, Mee Sum Pastry. But I am interested in this project. I always have been.

I just don't have the dedication to get too involved — I haven't created an account, and I won't remember the series and serial number to track the bill after I release it back out into the world.

I do think it would be fun to save my Abe until I can take it far from my new city. But, I'm sure I'll be thirst for a coffee or beer long before, and I'll likely leave it behind in lieu of hitting up the ATM.