No Chaser

Block Houses

I just noticed a post on Profgrrrl which really took me by surprise -- the surprise you feel when you see your own memory played out on someone else's screen.

She shares a picture of herself as a young girl laying next to a house constructed of blocks. Okay, everyone plays with blocks, but in my case, this is so deeply part of who I am and who I have become, that it feels very much my own.

I too was obsessed with building houses with blocks very much like this, always with different floor plans and layouts. This picture feels so familiar, the same blocks, same carpet. Profgrrrl notes that her interest lay in creating and maintaining coherent patterns. For me, it was about creating and altering the layout of the space, working always to find new possibilities. As I got older, I switched media. Other kids drew horses or robots; I drew floor plans, houses, and furniture. I also changed my room aound a lot. When I had exhausted my possibilities, I would move to a new room, trading with my brothers, moving in with them, moving into the den, sleeping in the living room for a few months.

When I moved out on my own, I did the same regular rearranging and the same regular altering of the use of various rooms. I moved often. I spent a lot of time changing paint, furnishings, art, curtains, etc. Eventually, I met a partner who likes to do the same kinds of things and who has even made much of our furniture and created entirely new spaces for us, see most recently the kitchen remodel.

My scholarship even veered into this realm, and for the last maybe ten years, I have been seriously contemplating the various uses and meanings and representations of domestic space.

What people who know me in the grubby squishy world are by now chuckling over is the rather large tattoo on my back, one I got almost a year ago (after several years of waiting to see if it was the right thing) -- a perfectly reproduced and very detailed floor plan.

posted by: NoChaser at August 31, 2005 18:14 | link | comments (3) |

Mexico Dreaming

Some friends have asked that I imagine myself in Mexico and fantasize literarily about how I might respond to homesickness. So, I spent some time this morning considering that scenario. I recalled my trip to Europe, during which I had some of the best cravefood items -- pizza, falafel, and even peanut butter -- I've ever eaten. I'm guessing those might not be so great in Mexico.

But, in Europe, there's something distinctly American about eating peanut butter that is fueled by a war history Mexico lacks, so I imagine it would not have the same punch there. It's kind of the same reason Mexican food holds so much power for me in these new places that are much more segregated, more white and whitebread than my "motherland," California.

I'm thinking also rye bread (on which I like to eat my peanut butter) would be something I'd miss. Probably vegetarian staples like tempeh and tofu and Soyrizo would be hard to come by, but that scarcity really just fuels homesickness and doesn't take me anywhere in imagining what might comfort me.

Certain styles of beer that comfort me, since they tend to do lagers there, could be replaced with tequila which reminds me of both my mother and my grandmother, so it's doubly powerful.

Music? Probably jazz, funk, punk, or ska. I really don't know. Maybe bossa nova.

Ultimately, I think maybe I might feel very comfortable in Mexico. Lots of conditionals in that sentence for all the obvious reasons, but who knows? It should certainly be a stop.

posted by: NoChaser at August 28, 2005 04:50 | link | comments (2) |

Comfort Food

So, I realized something last night as I was cooking dinner: I have been craving and cooking Mexican food far far more than usual since I have been in "the Heartland." At least twice a week, I have been finding myself making some kind of tacos or beans & rice or similar dish. I bought a huge package of corn tortillas a few weeks ago, and I've got three tortillas left. I made homemade salsa, something I never had to do on the West coast (and was frankly a bit cost-prohibitive on a grad student salary). And, last night, I perfected my vegetarian Chile Verde.

I had only attempted this dish in a vegetarian version once before with unsatisfactory results, but my desperation here has forced me to new levels of culinary creativity. Chile Verde is a dish that requires long cooking of pork with chiles and tomatilloes. Somehow, I couldn't get out of the stewed meat paradigm with the recipe whenever I thought about it. I chopped all the onions, anaheims, jalapenos, (no poblanos alas), and garlic and sauteeed them until they were a bit carmelized. I added the fresh tomatilloes, added a can of Herdez green salsa, and cooked it down until the tomatilloes began to liquefy. Then, it was cumin, coriander, and oregano (no cilantro alas), and a nice simmer until I had a very very good sauce. I sauteed a nice fake meat product, to which I added the sauce at the end, and served all in corn tortillas with guacamole. The carmelization of the aromatics added the right complexity you lose with the seared pork. The fake meat product was a far better substitute than tempeh too as it has it's own meat-ish flavor to add. It was delicious, and it was just what I needed.

I had had a horrible day, and the dinner saved me. The cooking it, the eating it, the smelling of it. It's a dish I learned from my mother, who cooks the best Chile Verde I have ever eaten. But, more than the link to mother that is a key component of all comfort food, Mexican food and music is home to me. When I first moved to Seattle in the early 90s, I would listen to Mariachi and Canciones on my Walkman whenever I was homesick. On my East coast sojourns, I did the same, and cooked tons of Mexican food, until I became more comfortable in my surroundings. I always forget that I do this, but every time I am homesick, I turn to Mexican culture.

I wonder what I would do in Mexico?

posted by: NoChaser at August 23, 2005 05:12 | link | comments (2) |

An Evening of Song

Last night Clonk and I played the DJ game, which we play only every three or four months. It happens when we can't decide what to do on a given evening, and we mainly feel like lounging around, drinking beer, and not much else. The game generally begins with one of us playing a CD track that is goofy, in our heads, or refers to something we were talking about. Then, we go from there, pulling CDs out to try to follow whatever track we just played, thematically and musically. Sometimes you get stuck, but then you realize that there are maybe two or three ways out of a certain song, and you might have at least one of the songs you need.

Last night, Clonk began his turn with a weird remix of Michael Jackson hits that he bought for laughs at a garage sale and began a theme of failed relationships which ended many songs later with Nirvana doing "Where Did You Sleep Last Night." The last being difficult to come out of, I suggested Morphine, Clonk suggested Robert Plant, I added "Black Dog," none of which we have on CD, so I decided to make a major leap to Bessie Smith, and from there it was just a short few songs to Fairground Attraction with which we ended the game and took the dogs for a walk.

I like this game because it's silly and relaxing and makes us take time to attend to music, which we don't do often enough. And I like it because it always surprises me how easily and quickly you can progress logically from Michael Jackson to Nirvana to Fairground Attraction.

Then, I put on my new (used) sax and called my brother and played for him (badly). Fortunately, he'd already been drinking -- I in fact caught him at a bar -- so his only comment was, "You need to work on your overtonics," which indicates just how very badly I was playing. I asked Clonk if he wanted to try it out, and he blasted our eardrums for about ten minutes with his impersonation of John Zorn. By the time he was done, one dog had fled to the basement, the other sought shelter under a table, and I was asphyxiating from laughing so hard.

And, while I'm on the topic of musical fun and adventure, let me take a moment to note that only a few years ago Mr. B at Fluxion and I became stupified by our advanced age when we suddenly realized _London Calling_ was released (gulp) twenty years previous. I bring this up because yesterday was Mr. B's 40th birthday. Let's all give him a round of applause. Way to go old man. You jam econo. :)

posted by: NoChaser at August 20, 2005 07:40 | link | comments (4) |

Summer Quizlet!!!

Hey kids! Summer vacation got you down with its lack of knowledge evaluation opportunities? Try our mini quizlet on for size.

Question 1:
The Midwest summer weather is conducive to which of the following activities?
a) early rising for long morning walks
b) long mid-day naps
c) completing your chores early in the day
d) drinking beer on the porch in the evening
e) a and c only
f) b and d only
g) all of the above

Question 2:
If you are a small dog, summer is best spent pursuing which of the following activities?
a) early rising for long morning walks
b) long mid-day naps
c) lounging around the house early in the day
d) begging for beer on the porch in the evening
e) b and c only
f) a and d only
g) all of the above

That's the end of our quizlet. If you answered "g" to both questions, you received a 100% score and can just relax now until school starts knowing your intellect is still finely tuned.

posted by: NoChaser at August 07, 2005 13:17 | link | comments (1) |

Block party

I am not sure why I have failed thus far to blog the block party we attended last weekend, but the time has come to broach that dear-to-my-heart topic.

An older couple, who we know mostly for their comings and goings (always replete with grabass and giggling) in a red convertible, gave us a flyer to a party at their home. "Come meet your neighbors (again)" it said, as well as, "bring your swimsuit and a salad, side, or dessert." Lemonade, hot dogs, and hamburgers would be provided. At first, I was delighted by this invitation. How kind, how quaint, how neighborly. Of course we would go. About ten minutes later, I registered the anxiety about such events more true to my nature and realized my first reaction was simply the pleasure that comes from reading about and imagining something conceptually quite nice but not so great once you get concrete about it.

Nevertheless, I steeled myself and we attended. We had to. There was really no excuse, and it is the kind of neighborhood in which not attending would initiate a slow accumulation of resentment about one's unsociability. This assumption was borne out at the event, during which the absence of others was accounted for as legitimate or not. "A & B are in major city this weekend, but they may be back in time to stop by later on." "The C's couldn't come because they have a family event today." And, even our presence was a topic of conversation. People we had never seen told us about ourselves in great detail and asked us to fill the gaps in their information. Clearly, we had made the right decision to attend; I'd hate them to fill the gaps themselves.

We brought a rather large fruit of the melon variety which I suggested we cut before bringing, but Clonk thought would be just as well whole (perhaps more dramatic in presentation). When we arrived, he set the fruit on a table laid out with drinks, but the melon rolled so precariously toward opened bottles of beverage that Clonk quickly grabbed said rolling dessert and placed it on the ground, next to a shrub, out of trouble and, verily, out of sight. We were offered beer immediately, which Clonk accepted and slugged down and which I declined being more likely after guzzling beer in the heat to faint away than to become more sociable.

I paid due respects, quite politely in true Mary Ingalls fashion, to the prairie folk surrounding us. Yet, I quickly settled in, feet dangling in the pool, next to our lovely lesbian neighbors who I had been wanting to chat up in the hope I would find them more my kind. I was not disappointed. We talked sympathetically on several of my favorite subjects, including food and beer. I received new restaurant recommendations and a promise of introduction to a local homebrewing maven. We also discovered that we share the same favorite pub in town, which is Shakespearean in decor but is the only place to get a multitude of very good beers on tap. And, really, one doesn't mind feeling a bit like a drunken Elizabethan actor while one is imbibing the sweet hoppy nectar of Queen Mab.

Other highlights included being told by at least three people that the former owner of our house, who lived here many years until she had to move into a retirement home, drives by regularly and inquires of some of our neighbors, who she meets at church each weekend, what the hell we think we're doing to the house by putting a fence in the backyard. Another interesting moment occurred when I introduced myself to a young man, who seemed nonplussed at my utterance and promptly jumped into the pool. Probably two-thirds of party attendees were wearing swimsuits, and we were asked several times why we were not wearing ours. When we left after an hour, the very kind host tried to entice us to return later in the evening for beer pong, a sort of pingpong drinking game "for adults only." Hmmmm . . .

One of our next-door neighbors is quite cranky and very nosy and was not at all pleased at the appearance of our African American neighbors at this event. This is the woman with the Sambo statue in her backyard, so her response was not surprising despite being unsettling. This woman is particularly cranky right now because of a health problem that is temporarily disabling. She's generally much more active and chasing around after her two young teenagers and going to the tanning parlor and getting blond highlights and who knows what other sorts of mischief. I tried to be friendly to her at the party, but she basically ignored me. I left the party feeling that she was the one neighbor I really didn't like.

Nothing seems to have changed in the neighborhood after the party although I imagine there is something roiling under the surface that I am unaware of. But, I feel more at ease. I even found myself walking over to Ms. Cranky's to chat with her on her porch about her medical dilemma two nights ago. Not because I really wanted to know, but because I wanted to be neighborly.

posted by: NoChaser at August 05, 2005 04:08 | link | comments (1) |