Perhaps Mom's ears are going.
She and my little sister, Chelsea, are visiting for a few days. Last night we wanted to take them out for a nice dinner. We were headed down to Northeast, around 28th, thinking about Navarre.
While driving, I say, "I haven't been there before, but I think it's a tapas bar."
Mom, from the backseat, replies: "A topless bar?"
And to think that she says Dad's the one going deaf.
There's a review up at OregonLive (can't get a direct link to the story working), which raves about the 2-hour-35-minute set I was lucky enough to see last night. Here's the heart of it:
The essentials...
7.20.06, Pearl Jam @ the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in Portland, playing a benefit show for the Northwest Chapter of the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America. David Cross and Sleater Kinney opened.
Thanks to Mike for the set list. And thanks again to Micah for turning up tickets to what is one of the best concerts I've ever seen.
Pre-set, Eddie Vedder solo: You've Got to Hide Your Love Away (The Beatles)
1st set: World Wide Suicide, Severed Hand, Corduroy, Brain Of J., Do The Evolution, Even Flow, Love Boat Captain, Low Light, Sad, Not For You/(Modern Girl by Sleater Kinney), Wishlist, Parachutes, Satan's Bed, Why Go, Blood/(Atomic Dog by George Clinton)
2nd set: Inside Job, Soon Forget, Happy Birthday To You Stone Gossard, Don't Gimme No Lip, Harvest Moon with guest Sleater Kinney (by Neil Young), Wasted Reprise, Life Wasted
Encore: All Along The Watchtower with guest guitarist Johnny Marr (by Bob Dylan), Rockin' in the Free World with guest musicians Sleater Kinney/Johnny Marr/ David Cross (by Neil Young)
2nd encore: Yellow Ledbetter/(Star Spangled Banner)
We were about 20 rows back, but I struggled to get super-sharp pics.
"There's my church, I sing in the choirFinally.
I passed up free tickets to see Pearl Jam in December of 1991 in Norman. I think I had a lot of homework that night or something. Maybe a math test the next day. What a dumb kid I was.
Sean Pruitt, Heather McKinney and I used to listen to the Ten album -- via a Discman plugged into the cassette deck -- as he gave us lifts home after school in his hand-me-down burgandy minivan. We'd stop at Sonic on the way home for slushes, giving us more time to listen to the album and to dissect the hell that is high school. Ken Griffey Jr. was becoming a star in Seattle for my favorite baseball team, grunge was cool and I was just starting to think there might be life beyond Oklahoma.
In my warped little head, the Northwest was a great escape. Every teenager has one. This became mine. It was almost a mythical place that seemed unreachable, beyond my grasp, never to be seen or experienced but always there, on the horizon.
Now, nearly 15 years later, my flannel shirts are gone (OK, I might still have one or two in the back of the closet) but here I am living in the Northwest. I know it is, in many ways, the mythical place I made it out to be. After six years up here, there are still moments when I have to pinch myself. I've been to Seattle enough to know Portland suits me much better. And on Thursday night, if things hold together, it looks like I'll be seeing Eddie Vedder and his mates take the stage a few blocks from my office.
Seeing them in 1991, in Norman, at 14 would've been great. But seeing them in 2006, in Portland, at 29 will mean a lot more.
We're having a garage sale today. Right now, in fact. Been going since a little before 9, will keep going until 3 or so.
It's an exercise in a dozen little reminders of why I love this place. There's a great community spirit bubbling up in our neighborhood, getting stronger all the time. At least 24 other households called Amy to say they wanted to be part of the neighborhood gig that she organized. And it appears that some other families who didn't call are having sales, too. So there's all sorts of foot traffic on our street, on every street it seems, today. We were up early and posting sale signs all over the neighborhood. People were out. Full of energy. Making things happen. Even on four hours of sleep after a bar-hopping sendoff for Speed, my co-worker who is moving to San Jose, I could feel it. Another of those little turning points in the rejuvenation of a neighorhood.
A couple down the street brought their stuff down so that together we'd have a good size sale. They're probably about our parents' age. Great fun. Very Northwest. Back when Amy and I would have been toddling around, they sold all their stuff, built a boat and sailed south from Seattle, down to Mexico, across to Australia and up into Asia before running out of money, selling the vessel and coming back to the States. I mean, really, how can you not like folks who do something like that?
So the neighborhood is hopping. And the diversity of people coming up just excites me. We've had everything from the sketchy BMX-riding 40-something dude who had customized his hat with paint so it says, loud and proud, "FUCK YOU". He was buying Dale and Kathy's bag o' flashlights. He even gave us a polite, "Thank you." Our BMW-driving neighbor down the street, who is saving another house around the corner, bought our jute rug and some other stuff. The neighborhood co-president and his wife dropped by to say hi, then came back with a giant sideboard piece for us to sell, with all the proceeds going to the neighborhood association. (We're thinking the next neighborhood picnic could become a kegger.) I just carried an old TV and DVD player to the car for a pregnant woman who spoke only Spanish. And a Russian couple swung by, interested in a fax machine but wanting to know whether it doubled as a printer. (Nope. No sale.) We met a woman about our age who moved back to Washington from Alaska. It just goes on and on. Old hard-core yard sale junkies. Hipster types. Trendy chicks. Cars. Bikes. Walking. Kids. Dogs. Canes. Some dude bought a Zeppelin box set and a collection of classical music.
And Amy's channeling her dad's salesmanship, wheelin' and dealin' left and right. And having fun all the while.
We're not making a ton on it, but we're meeting neighbors, having fun and contributing a little something to part of what makes this place special. Good Saturday.
Not once, but twice did the guy get busted for this: Naked car repairs prompt charges. I know it's hot in Oklahoma in the summer, but it's not that hot.
Seen from the MAX while riding downtown to work today:
A truck passed with a big double gun rack in the back window. You know, like the ones that decorated every other pickup in Amy's high school parking lot.
But here -- in July, in the city once known as Little Beirut -- resting in one rung was not a gun, but a large umbrella.
We had a full happy house last night for the Fourth. All the hard work we've put in on the backyard overhaul really feels worth it when we have 13 adults, two babies and two dogs all comfortably hanging out.
It turned out to be a beautiful evening. The late-afternoon sun got things warmed up for the start of the barbecue. And then when the sun slid behind the trees I lit a fire to keep things comfy. (And just because I like to play with the fire.)
In typical fashion, I forgot to get the camera out while the crowd was here. But I remembered after the gang left. Rather than tromp down with the rest of town to the fireworks show, Amy and I decided to throw another log on the fire and enjoy the sunset. Of course, since fireworks are legal in town, we got a show of our own from the comfort of our backyard.
After the fire burned down, we headed upstairs to find out whether we could see the riverfront show from our bedroom window. Trees across the street block that view, but Amy noticed our neighbor was sitting on her front stoop watching with a clear shot down Columbia. So we headed over and joined her. No long walk. No traffic. And bring your own beer. Pretty good deal.
Here's how it looked from there -- my firework photography skills are doubly lame.
Well, well. We must be on to something.
In today's New York Times there's a great piece on our favorite restaurant anywhere, so far at least. We've rambled and raved enough about it here previously, so check out what Sara Dickerman has to say about the illustrious Vij's and a few other restaurants at the heart of Vancouver, B.C.'s thriving east Indian scene: "Cooking as if Punjab Were Part of Canada"
I may have to make a scarecrow to get the critters to stop eating our strawberries. Everything else, however, is coming along very well here at the McPrince Farm. Although the heat is driving us to the basement, it should give the berries and tomatoes that big final push they need to ripen up.
Cabbage
Cherry tomatoes
Raspberries
BlueberriesAfter months of our complaining, summer's officially here.
It hit 98 degrees yesterday. Hard to beat a day in the backyard -- got our new umbrella up just in time for the heatwave. We sat in the late afternoon shade, drank big glasses of sweet sun tea and listened to the Beavers on the radio in the College World Series.
Most of the Vancouver gang came over later for an impromptu grilled chicken taco night. And, heat be damned, I couldn't resist the temptation of an evening fire. All my pictures of the actual flames were lame, so I'll have to try shooting those again next time.
Gotta love June in the Northwest when you have light until around 10 p.m.
Today it's supposed to hit 100 degrees. This is one of those stretches when I think, "You know, air conditioning would be kinda nice after all." But, since this old house doesn't have AC, we're making due. The curtains are drawn. The house is dark. The lawn and gardens are soaked down. And Wiley and I have retreated to the basement to keep cool. I believe it's a good day for some Netflix.
Maybe the ice cream man will drive by.
In less than three months, here's where we'll be. The pictures at that site highlight several of the places we'll be going.
Our 12-day vacation will take us all over Morocco: Casablanca, Rabat, Chefchaouen, Fes, Merzouga, Marrakech, Essaouira and several other cities along the way. We'll sleep in the desert. Watch the sunrise over the dunes. Play drums in the squares. Stay at a kasbah. Experience Ramadan. And totally unplug.
Can we go now?
Our house is 99 years old this year. In the two-and-a-half years we've been here, we've done a lot to bring it back to its stately old self. And while there's still a lot to do before the grand 2007 birthday, sometimes we just have to sit back and simply enjoy the place.
My favorite picture of this place, hanging on the landing. Nice light on a Sunday morning.
Andrews House, 1907 - Prince House, 2004.We spent the holiday weekend in B.C. with Mom and Dad. Despite the two-hour wait at the border to get into Canada, the trip went smoothly.
Highlights include a fabulous Indian dinner at Vij's, a fun bike ride around Stanley Park, a lot of wine and a quick lunch in a Chinatown diner. We did lots of walking. While at the Granville Island Market, Mom got the idea of having a picnic, so we bought some smoked salmon, gorganzola cheese, olives and dolmas. Made for a nice lunch in the park.
While the food at Vij's was just as great as last time, there was another part of that experience that my mom and I will be talking about for a while. As we sat in the bar waiting for our table and drinking our first bottle of wine, I kept looking at a familiar-looking guy at the next table. Then, I finally realized I knew him from TV. I asked my mom if he looked familiar. Then, just as the hostess came to get us for our table, we realized who he was: Charlie (Dule Hill) from "The West Wing"! IMDB will have to do, we didn't go all paparazzi or anything.
We did have our camera at other points, though. Here are some pictures:
Seth at the totem poles in Stanley Park.
Totem poles.
We call this The Strut. Amy loves the eager "walk" signs in B.C.
More from Stanley Park.
Amy channels her inner fellow Oklahoman, Shannon Miller, by performing a flawless dismount from playground equipment in Stanley Park. Gotta love the bicycle helmet.
Us in Stanley Park.
Tim and Linda in Chinatown.
Amy takes charge of lunch plans. Tim and Linda are probably thinking, "Where are they taking us to eat now?!"
If you don't know who or where this is by now, too bad.
Downtown from Granville Island.Up next: Back to B.C. Taking Amy's parents up during their upcoming visit. And any trip to the other Vancouver means a chance to revisit Vij's restaurant. I'm hungry just thinking about it. Mmmm.
It'll be great to get back north of the border for a while. Amy and I really enjoyed our trip there last fall, so we're looking forward to sharing what we've seen of the city and exploring new parts, too.
We'll post some words and pictures upon returning.
Game Two of the Hough Neighborhood World Series of Kickball was held Sunday. It's such fun the group has decided to play every other week rather than just once a month.
This time, our friend Eric brought his colleagues at the fire department to join us for a few innings between calls. They had to leave on a call at one point, but came back afterward to play some more. Here they are shedding the coveralls in the outfield after stepping off the truck.
And, as predicted recently in this space, I went yard. That's right, home run. To right center. The firemen would have needed the ladder truck to get high enough to catch that baby! OK, maybe it just barely cleared the guy's head, but I still touched 'em all. Sadly, this grand moment in kickball history will only live on in memories and steadily embellished re-tellings for future generations. Amy was helping chase down the ball rather than taking a picture.
Here the giant blue Scooby Doo ball momentarily becomes stuck on the head of the woman playing first base. Neither Scoob or Jackie were injured. Play quickly resumed.
One of the firemen, realizing I'm bringing the heat from the mound, asks someone else to please take his place at bat. Or maybe he was just being polite and asking one of the women if they'd like to go. Nah, I'm pretty sure it was about my intimidating presence.
Steve, our neighborhood co-president, is one helluva switch kicker. Possibly the only such ambidextrious player in existence. Here, kicking right-footed, he gets air down the left-field line.
And here, kicking left-footed, he goes deep to right. Look at that follow through!
We're making a lot of headway overhauling the backyard from the landfill it doubled as for the previous owners to a relaxing space we'll enjoy hanging out in this summer and beyond.
We don't have any digital pictures of what it was like when we moved in, but it was bad. Really, everything about the place was bad on the surface. But that was the beauty of it. It was ours to save.
In the back pasture, as we called the itty-bitty space, you couldn't put a foot down without stepping in dog crap. Beyond that, there was trash everywhere, particularly broken glass. Weeds had overrun the lawn, and what landscaping there was had overtaken its spaces.
There was a medium-size, well-worn, partially rotted deck. It was covered in grease stains from a couple of grills. And the entire structure was topped with a flimsy plastic sheeting that had moss growing on the top side, leaving it really grungy looking.
Luckily, a month after moving in a massive ice storm hit. Someone built a particularly top-heavy snow ho at a bus stop down the street. Much like that creation, some of the uglier bushes buckled under the weight. With that, we were on the path to demolition. I have to say, I'm good -- really good -- at the demolition side of things.
Fast forward through lots of litter pickup, landscaping and stump removal, lawn rehab and repair, and digging out a couple hundred square feet of new flowerbeds. Then we sat back and said, "OK, what next?"
That big old deck hulked over the space, making it feel smaller than it was. Amy, the vision part of our home-remodeling team, said, "What if we tore down the deck, blew out the driveway, extended the yard and built a new fence?" Sure, it'd be a lot of work, but it'd solve our needs:
1. Make the space feel bigger with that deck/covering out of the way.
2. Add about 200 square feet to the yard by taking out a section of the driveway. The circa 1907 garage is really too small to park a car in anyway.
3. Define the larger new space with a fence that was actually secure and nice looking.
So we started. First, we got the property surveyed, the driveway jackhammered out and a fence put in. Then I tore down the deck -- again, I love doing demo work. Me and a crowbar make for a happy afternoon.
We started sketching out what we wanted instead of the old deck. Because the house doesn't have a fireplace, I really wanted some area in the new backyard where I could enjoy a small fire. Finally, we came up with plans for a roughly 10'x22' patio area, with a 5' diameter fire pit extending from the leading edge. We'd run parking strips through the old driveway area to meet city code. And we'd get started, finally, on the herb and vegetable garden we'd been waiting to put in.
So we called in help where needed and did the initial excavation.
That left us with this in April. It was a swamp when it rained. Got a patio contractor lined up, hashed out the nitty-gritty on the specifcs of the plan. Waited.
And now the patio is in. Put a little chimenea in the fire pit. Got a new picnic table. Wheeled the trusty grill back out of the garage. Cracked open a couple of beers and started up a fire.
Of course, the first two nights we burned fires were the two hottest days of the year so far. And there's still some more leveling work and cleanup to do. But we don't care, we'll get those wrapped up soon. We love it. That's the garden in the background. We've got rosemary, lavender, strawberries, sage, thyme, mint, tomatoes, squash, cabbage and some other stuff.
Now if we can just get that grass seed to take hold.
C'mon over. We'll throw another burger on the grill, another log on the fire and another beer or two on ice.
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