Yinzes been to Pixburgh?

Poor, neglected blog!  Pushy graduate school has gotten in the way.  Instead of trying to cover the lost time, I'll just say sorry to the blog and move on.

I really like Pittsburgh.  It is a beautiful, quirky city.  After being here for the past three months, I think Jamie and I have finally moved past the stage of wondering what the f*** about anything and just accepting that things really don't make much sense in the reality that we're familiar with.  Which is pretty neat. 

The culture shock...  Well, when I was in Spain, I satisfied my mystification by telling myself that I was in a different country with an entirely different culture.  Hmm, which doesn't work as well for Pittsburgh, seeing as how it's in the same country where I've grown up.  There's so much weirdness that goes on in this city.  I ask my classmates about it, and it seems as if it's unique to Pittsburgh.  All the more weird, I'd say.

Let's see, we live in an old brick building from the 1920s with crazy radiator heat, which means the colder it is outside, the warmer it is inside.  There a resident mystery mouse (or something) that occasionally takes bites out of cookies left on the counter.  The pantry is the largest thing ever, only surpassed by our ginormous apartment (don't argue with the logic...).

The city is a crazy maze of one-way, curvy, confusing streets--sometimes with cobblestone. 

There's something called Pittsburguese or somethin' that means that there's a strange dialect here where people say "yinzes" instead of "y'all" and "redd up" for "clean/tidy up."  En at.

Goodbye, Northwest

Every now and again I start to panic because...  We leave in less than two weeks!  I can't stop myself from thinking, 'This might be the last time I ever do this.'  Which is absurd, as I will be back here again.  As Jamie has expressed it, I feel like I'm in limbo -- waiting.  I feel antsy and I am ready to move.  It's this waiting that's frustrating.  Especially the waiting in Seattle where I'm unemployed with too much time on my hands but uninterested in cleaning/sorting/packing.  It's much better when I'm adventuring and taking in my last breaths of the Northwest summer.  Jamie and I just took a short camping/hiking trip to Mt. Rainier and visited the meadows at Spray Park to see the wildflowers blooming.  It was stunning (looking beyond the mosquitoes). 

I love that mountain.  I grew up with a magnificent view half a block away from my parent's house in Olympia.  I took it for granted until I moved to Extremadura where there is nothing of the sort.  Pennsylvania?  I don't know, but I think not.

I keep thinking of things I want to do before I leave.  I found out that Jamie had never been to the San Juan Islands...!  Then my mind goes off, planning a bike trip around San Juan, Lopez, and Orcas Island.  And I'm not sure there's time, especially if we go to the Olympic Coast for a few days.  

I'm sad to leave my friends and my family.  I've spent my entire life here (minus traveling and Spain adventure) which, of course, means it's time to leave.  I'm so excited to explore somewhere new and make that place my home for awhile.  We're already talking about what we should do for Labor Day weekend, we've been researching vegan/vegetarian restaurants in Pittsburgh, locating the REI, finding hiking nearby.  But as I'm leaving, I'm liking Seattle more and more.  Why?!  Oh, right, it's summer and I don't work on the weekends so I can go explore with my friends.  Right.  I think I'm also letting the city in and appreciating it for what it is instead of wanting it to be different.  And the beauty?  I'm not sure I can find this elsewhere.  That's what I'm about to find out.

Three weeks ago or so I got this tattoo.  Goodbye, Northwest, for now.

Colorado

Jamie and I got back from our road trip to Colorado a little before midnight last night, having driven from Salt Lake City that morning.  I was excited to sleep in our bed, in our apartment, but now that excitement has worn off and I want to be at it some more.  I'm sure we tried to do too much in those twelve days, but it was a great way to begin this summer.

We stayed with Jamie's friend Alan in Fort Collins, where we spent the fourth of July with few fireworks due to thunderstorms and rain (the best way to spend that day, anyway).  Next we went up into the mountains for an other-worldly experience at the Shambhala Buddhist Center, with the largest Stupa in North America.

We spent two nights camping near Long's Peak, "the Mt. Rainier of Colorado" according to Jamie.  With an elevation of 14,000 feet.  The hike into the site wasn't bad, but the day hike to Lake Chasm (over 10 miles, which we initially added incorrectly, due to lack of oxygen) was probably the worst idea of the trip.  We got back to camp and slept like the dead for several hours.  Really, worst idea for two sea-levelers.

We spent the day in Boulder, this mystical city about which I have heard so much.  Everyone who has lived there or even visited raves about it, and I can understand why.  The mountains so close, the sun (except when we were there, as we had apparently brought Seattle with us on the trip). 

From there we headed to Denver for a whirlwind tour of people and sites.  We went on an urban adventure from my friend Bronwen's house (just off the notorious Colfax Avenue) to downtown, experienced the insanely repetitive and touristy 16th Street Mall, walked by the river, and caught the bus back to her house (an adventure unto itself).  Later that day, we went to Jamie's friends' rehearsal dinner in Littleton (yes, Columbine High School), which was followed immediately by dinner with a first cousin I had never met, Natasha, and her family--with much entertainment provided by her daughter, Nina.

Then the wedding!  The event that brought us to Colorado!  I finally met Jamie's friends from college, proof that he says who he says he is.

We drove to Salt Lake City the next day--I hesitated at the turn-off toward Moab, tempted.  Maybe the ghost of Edward Abbey was calling me....?  There are so many other things I wanted to do in the Southwest but Seattle was calling us.  Next time!

Then the thirteen-plus drive back to Seattle (only four states as opposed to six on the way to Colorado).  This entry has taken me hours to write.  I'm still exhausted from the trip.  I'm not sure what I just wrote.

"Do you want a copy of your receipt?" Not!

I only have one more day of work.  And then I'm done. with. food. service. forever.  Forever!  Jamie has banned me from food service ever again, which I whole-heartedly accept.  It's hard to imagine life without it, I suppose, since I've been doing some form of it for most of the past four years.  I'm sure I'll do fine.  I will never again have to be on the receiving end of the explanation "It's for here, I mean, I'll be drinking it here, but can I have a paper cup?"  Not only are these people wasteful, insane, thoughtless, earth-hating individuals, but I don't care where they drink it, I just need to know what kind of cup to put the drink in.  Damn it.  Nor will I stare at people as they ignore me and whisper about the menu.  Or as they continue to stare at the menu as they order, refusing to look at me.  Nor will I have reply, "I'm doing well..." in answer to their inquiry as they interrupt to bark out their order (no doubt in a paper cup to be consumed within the cafe).

So...  Will I like people more?  Will I enjoy coffee again?  Will I still tip generously and glare at those who do not?  I think yes.

And Pittsburgh!  It's feeling more real.  Jamie and I have submitted applications plus deposit for a two-bedroom apartment (in anticipation of many visitors!) in the Regent Square neighborhood, on the eastern edge of the city.  One of the main reasons we picked that area was to be within walking distance to the East End Food Co-op.  Which made me realize how neurotic we both are about food.  But, seriously, check out their bulk section!

I receive two types of responses to the information that I'm moving to Pittsburgh, generally.  The first, most common, is pessimistic in nature.  Sarcasm as to the merits of Pittsburgh (especially from people who have never been there).  Fear about the thought of moving "so far away" and "change".  Disdain about the sports teams (really? do I look like I give a shit about their football/baseball/jai alai team?).  Skepticism about the "return on investment" of a degree in Library and Information Science (this one might be my favorite--unsolicited--from Passive-Aggressive Seattle Guy, a regular at my almost-former job).  The second response, less common but exceedingly more meaningful, is excitement.  Change!  Going back to school!  Adventure and expanding one's worldview and "finding one's self" and living somewhere new!  Clearly, I subscribe to the latter, and thank you to everyone who has been encouraging!

Jamie and I leave for Colorado in a week.  I can't wait!  I'm feeling the need to travel, and barring some crazy international trip (not in the financial picture at the moment), I suppose that roadtrips to the Southwest and hiking trips and moving across the country will suffice.

Dreaming of Pittsburgh

It's so close.  My last day in food service ever is June 30, which means that the end is in sight which means that it seems farther away.  Coincidentally, July 1 is when Awesome Summer begins, so I suppose I can hang on until then.

I find myself dreaming about Pittsburgh, often.  At work, in my bed at night, walking to catch the bus.  I'm excited to go back to school, to move across the country, do something entirely different from anything I'm doing now.  Besides, Edward Abbey is from Pennsylvania.

Everything school-related is manifesting itself much better than anticipated.  I've been placed in an internship at the Carnegie library of Homestead (slightly outside the city of Pittsburgh), working in children's services.  This comes with a 3-credit scholarship, combined with an additional 3-credit merit scholarship, for three semesters.  Yesss!  Considering that I accepted admission without this information, it comes together nicely.  I'm concerned about finding a place to live, but it's probably too early to worry about that.

I'll be leaving in August, which is quite soon, as I'm realizing.  Before then, I plan to northwest the hell out of this summer!  Hiking, camping, biking, picnicking.  I'm also going to Colorado with Jamie in July, to practice for our roadtrip across the country, of course. 

Can't wait!

Cathedral of Learning

I decided to go to the University of Pittsburgh because, why not?  I received so much advice--mainly absurd and unsolicited.  You know, like taking mushrooms and going on a vision quest or getting extremely drunk and going online, deciding, accepting.  Which makes me wonder:  is that how other people decide?  Shit.  Is that what I should have done?  As always, the decision was anti-climatic.  This can be surprising for people, but I think it's because I had already made my decision about a week and a half ago and was making sure that it felt right before I admitted it to myself and committed to it.  Jamie and I were looking at a map of the United States, talking about the road trip we would take to get to whichever school I chose.  As I traced one proposed path, it ended in Pittsburgh.  Weird.

I am so excited!  Now it feels really real and I can begin to plan, hope, dream.  So soon, my days of food service will be over!  I will take an incredible cross-country road trip with Jamie!  My life will change in crazy, dramatic, subtle, unexpected ways!  It will be the end, the beginning of so many things.  It already makes me nervous, stresses me but it's time.

Plus, the Cathedral of Learning!  Ding!

Bellingham Complicates the Situation

Jamie and I went to Bellingham this weekend and I feel more confused about my looming decision.  I keep telling myself to STFU and decide already but I can't!  We stopped at Tulip Town outside of Mount Vernon for the annual Tulip Festival.  I needed to check this off my "Things to do in Washington before I leave" list.  It was a typical spring day, with unpredictable and blustery weather.  We left after I finished working on Saturday, so we passed most of the crowds as they were leaving and we were entering.  The rain left and the sun came, lighting the sky in that surreal way as though after a storm with a faint rainbow.  The tulips were beautiful, of so many shapes, sizes, colors.

We continued on to Bellingham, where we stayed in a (too) expensive, (too) tacky hotel by the freeway.  I agonized over where to eat and decided on Boundary Bay, if only for the beer sampler.  Yes, the ESB is still my favorite.  The next day--an obscenely gorgeous spring day--we went to the Mount Bakery (vegetarian Eggs Benedict!) and walked around Western.  I had to show Jamie the legendary MHB statue, the fountain where I skinny-dipped after graduation, my favorite study place in the library.  We walked down to Boulevard Park from Fairhaven, lounging in the grass like days of old, watching the undergraduates engage in adorable flirtation and frisbee dates.  We dined at Flats, an excellent tapas bar in Fairhaven that lived up to my memories of the place.

Now for the confusion: I love Bellingham!  I don't want to live there now, but spending time there again reminded me of so many things that I did enjoy about the nature of the town, and many of the things that are lacking in Seattle.  Yes, I did remember some of the things that I didn't like--the incestuous nature of the place (I only saw six people I recognized on this trip), twenty-one-year-olds running around everywhere on Saturday night.  It made me confused about Ann Arbor, which is larger than Bellingham but is probably similar.  This was the largest hesitation toward the University of Michigan.  But on Sunday, sitting in the sun outside the Firehouse Cafe, I wanted it again.  As I've said before, with every day comes a different idea of what I want.

Now For a Coin Toss

I mailed forms declining admission to Indiana, Simmons, and Rutgers this weekend.  I panicked slightly as I pushed them into the outgoing mail slot--am I narrowing my future?  (Well, yes, but I have to choose just one.)   Remaining: University of Pittsburgh and University of Michigan.  The deadline for Pittsburgh has been extended to April 30, giving me more time to not think about it.  I have had two phone interviews for internships in Pittsburgh and should hear back by the end of the week--hopefully making my decision easier.

I am tired of receiving advice from people who know nothing about me, or the programs, cities, or all of the above.  I feel conflicted: after a recent conversation with an LIS professor at the University of Washington about the two schools, I was certain (for about twenty minutes) that I should go to the University of Michigan.  Apparently, in the elite world of library science academia, Michigan is more prestigious.  Whenever I mention that it is one of my final contenders, people seem very impressed.  And I like it.  Until I remember that I don't really care about prestige.  I went to Western (anyone who went to WWU and has friends who went to UW understands) and loved it.

My future is starting to freak me out again.  Maybe it's just the decision that still must be made.  Or the huge change that comes with the decision.  When I started this process last summer, I started dreaming about the grand trip I would take before I started school.  Ideas of Russia, Argentina, Japan, or anywhere.  This isn't going to happen, which is realistic and sensible (money, money, money).  The plan is for a great American roadtrip to the school of choice.  Which is good.  But the epic trip seems so far away.

PDX

When I learned that I had an entire (*gasp* entire *gasp*) weekend off, Jamie and I immediately booked Amtrak tickets to Portland for us and the bikes.  I hadn't been there in years, and had certainly never biked it, or navigated it myself.  I love weekends and I love Portland. And trains.

We spent the weekend eating, biking, and doing touristy things in the sun.  We stayed with Jamie's friends, Laura and Jeff (and Clarke and Pot Pie), in Northeast Portland by Alberta street.  The neighborhood felt so comfortable, with adorable 2- and 3-bedroom houses, constantly reminding me of the neighborhood where I grew up in Olympia, and so different from everything I've seen in Seattle.  Within walking distance to their house, we ate at three places and had coffee at two.  Everything was great but the winner: Extracto Coffeehouse.  It's a small roastery...  Their single-origin Ugandan espresso with hints of blueberry...  No one plugged into a laptop...

We biked into downtown, visited the end of the farmer's market at PSU, then went to the Saturday Market, then headed to Rogue Brewery for a sampler.  After several games of Uno with newly-made friends living in Olympia, two samplers and a shot of hazelnut rum, we zig-zagged to Voodoo Doughnut for a vegan powdered sugar doughnut and a bacon maple bar.  Back over the river for dinner with Laura, Jeff, and Laura's aunt and grandmother.

The next day we spent hours in Powells, miraculously leaving with only two cookbooks.  Next to Deschutes Brewery for their sampler and some Black Butte, with lunch, before catching the train, in a less-than-straight motion, back to Seattle.

I knew I shouldn't really ever visit Portland because I would want to pack up and move there (or just never come home).  It's true.  If I wasn't moving across the country in the fall, I would seriously consider moving down the I-5 corridor to the home of Stumptown Coffee.

Names in a Hat

Now to decide.  It's really always the most difficult part: the decision.  Decisions with deadlines.  As it stands, I am choosing between the University of Michigan, University of Pittsburgh, Indiana University, and Simmons College.  I'm leaning away from Indiana University because Bloomington does not seem as interesting/exciting as Ann Arbor, Pittsburgh, or Boston.  The acceptance deadline for both Simmons and Pittsburgh is April 15, before I will be able to visit any of the schools.  Partially, it doesn't matter because all of the programs are good.  But I will be spending two years there (or more) and I want it to be incredible.  But any of the four would be new, different from anything I've ever experienced.  But cornfields or the Great Lakes?  Allegheny National Forest or the Atlantic coast?  It doesn't matter, maybe, because no choice is a bad choice.

What to do, what to do.  This determines my future for the next few years.  Better make it good.  But it's close, nearly tangible.  When I make a decision, it will make it real.  I will be leaving in the fall, going back to school so that I never have to work a minimum wage service job again.  Anything, everything about this is an adventure.  I'm agonizing over the decision, yeah, but it'll be fine.  It's exciting.

Amy and Jamie and Food (blog)

The food blog has just begun.  It will be a collaborative effort between Jamie and myself involving food, cooking, photography, experimentation, failure.  After several months of development (read: brief conversations about starting the blog), we started the blog several days after our self-imposed deadline.  Please read!

In other personal news: I have been accepted into the MLIS program at Indiana University.  Which means (dunh dunh dunh) that I have a place to go in the fall!  I knew it was coming, but there is now an end in sight.  Although this one is still often obscured by the too-bright February sun (spring in winter!) or the foam of one too many lattes, there is an end.  It only follows that I will also be accepted elsewhere.  Even if not, I like the program at IU and will enthusiastically move to Bloomington in August. 

I will also be leaving my wonderful, temporary, frigid basement/dungeon room of the last ten months and cohabiting with Jamie soon.  We've sewn curtains.  Watch out.

Ayyyy, Cochecito

My car now sits in front of my house.  I received a call from the SPD during work, telling me that my car was found about five blocks from my house.  Weird, because it wasn't parked here when it was stolen and... wtf?  Why not joy ride it at least a little further away?  At least out of north Seattle or something.  Nothing was stolen (thank goodness the scuffed cds and old blanket were still there!).  The plastic around the steering column is gone, leaving wires and such indecently exposed.  The ignition doesn't work with the key, but after a little investigation, I figured out how to start it and why it's so easy to steal Civics.  Come on, Honda!  So I drove it home, and I hope it doesn't get stolen again--like a silver, Japanese sitting duck.

It's all strange.  There was barely any gas gone, nothing taken, not even the low quality cd player (that's probably why).  Now I get to deal with the insurance company and getting it fixed. 

My favorite part: the radio was tuned to Kube 93.3.  This makes me believe that it was several high school boys.

Hasta luego, Mexico

Once again, that letdown.  I'm back in Seattle, after an incredible trip, wanting to be back where I was twenty-four hours ago.  Of course, there will be next times, many of them.  As I left one wonderful place after another, I lamented the parting, consoling myself with, "Next time."  It is part promise, to the place, that I will return and uncover more.  It is part promise to myself, that I can find this feeling again.  The sentimentality, so soon forgotten.  I'm not sure if I have time in my life, were I to travel until the end, to experience everything I want to see, and return to the places to which I have whispered this promise.  During each step of the return journey (bus to Puerto Vallarta, airport, boarding plane), Jamie and I looked at each other, daring the other to make the choice not to return home so soon.  At a different juncture, I would not have returned so easily.  Alas, here I am.  How responsible.

I am left with daydreams of overnight buses to Mexico City, mole in Oaxaca, Mayan ruins in the Yucatan, arches on the Baja Peninsula.  Next time.

Guanajuato to Sayulita

Here in Sayulita, Mexican population: 1500; gringo population: 500.  Clearly an exaggeration but there are so many white people here.  I know, I'm part of it (and one of the whitest).  But nowhere else in the trip, Puerto Vallarta, Guadalajara, Guanajuato, have I heard so much English or felt so spring break.  It's grown significantly in these nine years and now resembles a surf mecca similar to those in Costa Rica that I've visited.  Doesn't matter, the beach, the ocean are incredible.  It's a nice way to finish the trip, although I'm very glad it wasn't the whole trip.  Today is overcast so Jamie and I will probably set out to explore a beach north of the city.  The trip here from Guanajuato was, well, long.  The night bus ride was punctuated by screaming babies, often in a duet.  Kinked necks and cramped legs later, we boarded a public bus to Sayulita (the driver was kamikaze, according to Jamie).  Upon arrival we learned that our reservations had been canceled.  Hot and sweaty and exhausted two hours later, we found a place with one room vacancy.  Mmmm, beach time.





[written 01/29/10, unable to post due to internet connection]

Mexico!

My last day in Guanajuato.  I'm waiting around in a cafe with tenuous internet connection for the night bus back to the coast, to Sayulita, for the last part of the trip.  I love Mexico.  I've been here once before, in Sayulita in fact, about nine years ago for less than a week.  I've crossed over the border in San Diego/Tijuana and Nogales with my family for an afternoon.  That's all.  Why?  This wonderful country, so close to my own but absolutely dissimilar.  Jamie and I have spent four days here in Guanajuato, a city of callejones and colores vibrantes, exploring.  The city is in a bowl, creeping up the sides of the surrounding hills, colorful house stacked upon colorful house--colors, red, orange, yellow, blue green purple pink, as the only divider.  A city of Legos, built by some imaginative child in the hills of Mexico.  Every time we set out, we somehow complete a huge circle and end up back where we started even though we began climbing westward and didn't seem to turn the other way at any point.  Yesterday, Jamie and I adventured into the hills to find La Bufa, a shrine marked by a cross at the top of one of the peaks.  With vague information from the internet and vague directions from the tourist booth, it took us over an hour to find the trail.  The entire trip was mostly sketchy, with many-a "Uhh, this way?".  It was one of those hikes that only happens in Latin America.  Sweaty, incredible.

Today we went to the famed (infamous?) mummy museum.  So extremely creepy, I can't begin to say.  Desiccated bodies--men, women, children, amazingly preserved.  I've seen mummies in museums before, but they've been wrapped in cloth.  These were simply skin, bone, cloth, most were naked, some clothed.  The skin was so thin, delicate.  Their hands were like claws, their mouths contorted in what the living would perceive as pain.  There were babies, by far the most disturbing.  I now understand why there are mummy horror movies; I did not want to turn my back on some of them.  The museum was fascinating and (as Jamie pointed out) provided a momentary glimpse into Mexico's relationship with death, something we Americans can only try to understand.

I have that feeling again, where I've begun to fall in love with a city, and there's a small heartbreak when I leave.  San Sebastian, Sarajevo, Leon, Dublin, Guanajuato.  The trip is going too fast.  Already, too many "next times".  I must return.

"You boys like ME-XI-CO!? Yeeeee-hawwww!"

(Kudos to those who get the reference.)

Procrastination, of course.  Instead of packing or finishing my Simmons application or preparing for my trip or worrying about my car, it's time to blog because...  I'm leaving for Mexico tomorrow!  Jamie and I are flying into Puerto Vallarta, quickly trading that city for Guadalajara, Guanajuato, and the coast.  It hasn't sunk in yet as I've been working on and worrying about applications for the last several weeks.  I have three to submit before I leave.  All but one are done.  Also: my car was stolen several days ago so I'm dealing with that situation too (not dealing like mourning but dealing like police and insurance, etc.).

Anyway, poorly written.  My mental powers--what's left after this long week of 5:30am shifts and grad school apps--are still reserved for this last one.  All day I've been fretting about getting it all done.  It's almost there.  It's closer than I think.  Tomorrow at this time, I will be sitting, exhausted, in Puerto Vallarta somewhere.  I can't wait: the food, the smells, la lengua (figuratively, or literally as you can never be sure what you're eating). 

The beach.  Twelve days away from Seattle and my job and the winter and school applications.  This will only whet my wanderlust, I fear.  I promise I'll come home.


....update, one hour later.
I submitted the application.  Pre-packing ritual: clothing, toiletries are spread around me on the floor, the bed.  The dryer hums, with intermittent zipper.  Harvey Danger's Private Helicopter.  How to pack for twelve days?  I'm taking nearly as much stuff as when I moved to Spain, or traveled in Central America.

This trip may offer salvation, for the time being.  I hadn't succumbed to wanderlust for months.  I kept it at bay, fending it off with promises of exciting future plans (like graduate school).  But, lately.  Everywhere I turn.  I went to Ocho, the Spanish tapas bar in Ballard this week.  Shit, I want to go back to Spain.  Jamon serrano?  No!  I want jamon iberico!  The tortilla espanola was, to say the least, disappointing.  Dry and flavorless, when compared to a true tortilla.

Within the last week, I have had several conversations with different customers at work about travel.  The first was with a couple who had done the camino.  That, with the tapas bar, made me yearn (yearn!) to go back.  To contemplate which camino to do next.  The camino portugues?  Tackle part in France?  As far as Istanbul?

The next conversation was with someone who had recently returned from Russia.  Russia--I want to go.  It's been the back of my mind for awhile, but then he gave me a ruble that he found in his bag and a pass from the Moscow subway system. It's my next big trip, this summer.

Then, a customer had a pile of travel books.  She was planning an eight week trip to Egypt, Israel, Turkey, and Eastern Europe.  We talked about Bosnia.  Please, let me go.  Just let me go.

Adventures in Veganism

I continue to struggle to define exactly what I eat.  I was a strict vegetarian for ten years, followed by a binge of pork and other sometimes indeterminate animals while in Spain.  Currently, there is a broad spectrum with anything-and-everything-as-long-as-it-smells-good while traveling on one end, and healthful vegan fare on the other. 

While I was readjusting my focus for the new year (some may cry, "I smell a New Year's Resolution!"), I considered eating strictly vegan.  Just to see.  Just to taste.  Just to say that I'd done it.  To become more aware of what I eat.  I thought about it for over a month and decided that I don't need to prove it to myself.  I don't know how much I would gain from that type of dietary restriction.

With vegan on my mind, I threw myself into vegan creations.  Even more than vegetarianism, veganism has negative connotations for many people.  Based on comments, I can only assume that these [ignorant] people view vegan dishes as tasteless piles of vegetables.  Or maybe these people don't understand spices and smother meals in cheese to make them palatable.  Some meats and nearly all cheeses are wonderful, I do agree.  But part of the beauty of cooking vegan is the creativity that it requires and inspires.  For Christmas I received a 500 recipe vegan cookbook from my brother and a 1,000 recipe vegan cookbook from my roommates.  So if I make two recipes per day, it should take me slightly over two years to... 

I have come a long way since my first year(s) cooking for myself.  Bland tofu with poorly sauteed vegetables and pasta with tomato sauce and a mountain of cheese during my sophomore year of college.  Slightly more adventure in the two years following--but mostly as a prep cook for Sydney, the epic chef with whom I lived.  I didn't know it then, but I learned so much from watching her cook.  It wasn't until after I came home from Spain that I truly began to cook and experiment.  While in Spain I realized how absurd it was to fear failure in the kitchen.  I'm pretty good at most things I want to do well [tongue in cheek], so why would cooking be any different?  Upon return, I started small, with a simple, foolproof cookbook (the "Cancer Cookbook", thus named by Em) and constant moral support.  I cooked weekly with my friend Jeremy, taking turns picking recipes and buying ingredients.  We giggled our way through many a recipe--almost always creating something delicious and nutritious (except for when the bulghur didn't cook and that failure of a stew that was my recipe choice--I was banned from stews for period).

This past summer, my roommate and I subscribed to a weekly community supported agriculture (CSA) box.  In the beginning, it was a bit of a challenge to incorporate the random vegetables into meals ("What the $hit is a kohlrabi?!").  When the CSA box ended in mid-October, I was desolate for a few days (this can be partially attributed to the unpalatable rutabaga spice cake I made with the second-to-last rutabaga of the season).  I can't describe the forced creativity the box fostered in kitchen.

Then, aha! the year-round Sunday farmer's market in Ballard.  Currently, the pickings are a bit slim but it still amazes me that this produce is still available locally.  Another joy of this whole vegan kick is that my gentleman friend Jamie is as excited as I am about these vegan experiments with local produce.  There is a plan for a food blog in the works.

...I set the cookies on the table.  Before anyone can say anything or reach  for one, and with barely contained excitement, I exclaim gleefully, "And they're vegan!".

This is the New Year

Last year, I was flying to Costa Rica.  Now, I'm sitting home on this wet and windy January day--definitely Seattle.  I didn't go big last night to celebrate the new decade.  I mostly slept on a couch and tried to ingest any kind of food that didn't make me nauseous.  At work today I had the same inane, repetitive conversation about the new year, New Year's Eve, blah blah blah.

"So how is the new year treating you?"
"I dunno, feels pretty much like last year."
"Yeah, but without the snow and ice!"
"Yeah."  Just so I didn't have to explain that I meant last year as in yesterday as in who cares because it's just another day?

Maybe I'm just bitter because I was working and this dolt wasn't.  I wish I were heading somewhere exotic.  There's a possible trip to Mexico in the works.  The application process appears more positive (if only I could motivate on my end now!).  I haven't really had a chance to reflect on the year past but I've gotten much further toward future goals.  This year could be the year that I start graduate school.  I feel unmotivated and uninspired but that's probably the mild flu talking.  As with every year, 2010 promises adventure.  I'm building up to being ready.