Hangin' on the telephone

The best fun can strike when you least expect it. Unplanned adventures and unexpected guests make for warm feelings and excellent stories.

Saturday morning I found myself over the stove making 25+ pancakes for what I thought might be a small crowd. While the crowd rolled in each at their own time, my living room and kitchen was lit up by free Christmas lights and three beams of radiant light and love—namely two friends from out of town and J. We drank endless coffee (and whisky), talked about the symbolism in Leave It to Beaver, updated my Netflix with some incredible music and danced.

The day was exhausting, quite honestly, but the events played out so smoothly. When distant friends called in with some gossip, I had a support system hanging out with me to deflect the silly drama of friends past. If a relationship is built around gossip surrounding friendships and lovers from a different city, in a different time, with a younger me, let's just cut the cord.

Instead of moping, we romped around town, up and over the hill and ate delicious vegan noms. J and I went to his work party after I napped for a solid hour, and I had my mind blown by a) the strange character of his company and its employees and b) my friends and their incredible pop wonder group, Moonlight Bride. I drank, I danced, and relished in the luxury of a private performance. Afterwards, more coffee and whiskey fueled a hike up to another friend's party. God knows what went on there.

Most recently, I'm facing a three-day workweek and a serious craving for The Nerves. J introduced me to them and I can't STOP listening. Christmas shopping is nearly finished thanks to a friendly local crafter. Tonight I'm finally going to tackle the tempeh and potatoes curry I wanted to try last week. Last night I conquered garlicky kale, rosemary potatoes (notice a theme?) and roasted chicken from the G. This delicious, quick dinner interrupted our three-movie marathon, which consisted of some Mystery Science Theatre 3K, Monsoon Wedding and The Lives of Others. I highly reccomend the last two films. Incredible.

Seitan makes it better

There's nothing more therapeutic than breaking ceramincs against a wall.

Heh. Scratch that. But whenever I get that feeling, I know I need to run. As fast as I possibly can till, oh, over Veterans. Sometimes I yell, sometimes I wave my fists around while yelling, and sometimes I run too fast to yell.

Today was one of those afternoons. But after a long run, a quick clean-up around the house and a beer, I decided to make one of Heidi Swanson's genius, quick, vegetarian recipes from her blog, 101 Cookbooks.

Enter heirloom beans & seitan, complete with roasted broccoli, onions and Parmesean cheese. It was divine, and almost better than the first time I made it. My version, of course, per her recommendation, had canned beans and onions. But it's such a simple, filling, delicious dish that I can make in 20 minutes including washing dishes. NOM NOM NOM...

So after a long, tiring, stressful week, my belly is full, my outlook is much more positive and I am far more relaxed.

My Wheels and Gears are Spinning

"Kids, he said, have a better understanding of bikes than I do. He told me about what happened when he assigned his junior high class to draw pictures of people doing things on bikes-'whatever you imagine,' he'd said.

One student drew his father on a superbike, vaulting the border from Mexico. Another drew a comic: Bike riders rob a bank, pedal to evade police, and use the money to open a business.

Evidence of moral weakness? No. Evidence of how powerful the desire to live in the United States, and participate in our prosperity, can be. And of the central role the bicycle plays in that dream.

Ask your friends why they ride. To summit mountains, to swoop along singletrack, to lose weight, to get fit. To see things. To feel free. Francisco Orellano doesn't ride to be seen. He rides to become free."

That's an excerpt from an article I found via BikeSnob NYC's comment section from one of his recent posts. The 2006 Utne article, found here, is a touching one, and really hit on something J and I were talking about over pizza last night.

(The pizza from Lupi's, might I add, had as many vegetables as we could cram on it with feta. The last few bites are still sitting on my desk! Nom nom nom...)

Why do I ride a bike? Because it's fun, efficient and gets me to work and other places with relative ease. I don't seek the responsibility that comes with a car. I simply want to be free of maintenance, fees, care and, well, fees. Regardless of the desire or lack thereof for a car, I too reek of the snobby cyclist, always wanting more "gear," a fancier bike and some sort of intangible (or tangible) recognition. Bike lanes, no bike lanes, folks who slow down, folks who wave, folks who blow by. As I finally realized last night, none of those things matter. It doesn't matter if I try to sway people into riding more often, or riding at all. Riding a bicycle, for me and for many people I know, is enjoyable, effective and gets them places, as I said before. And I think I should leave it at that.

I started reading the BSNYC this summer. The guy really has a way with words, I won't lie, and makes some legitimate cracks on all kinds of cycling-related topics, cities, "cultures," and ideas. But at the end of the day/ride, isn't my indulgence in that type of humor similar to my over-indulgence in "gear" and fancy STUFF? When really what I like most about bicycling is it's simplicity?

...

So these thoughts have been tumbling around more than usual. So have recipes for curry tempeh, a co-worker's buttermilk biscuits and dinner with my parents tonight. That Utne magazine story was wonderful insight into the luxuries I am afforded as a greedy American. I feel my innocent and angry zest has grown frosty this December, and it seems like a good thing.

late Southern dinner

Today was rough. A 1,000-word packed day with a hard mid-day workout left me crumpled on the couch after work, mindlessly browsing the Internet for Christmas gifts and ordering my Dad a calendar I made in iPhoto. J came over, and right before we headed to the grocery I found some delicious curry tempeh recipe. I only needed potatoes and cream to complete the list of ingredients.

We got in the car to head to the grocery, and the temperature had already dropped what felt like 10 degrees. I quickly realized if I wanted to make curried tempeh and eat before midnight, it would have to be another day, as I tend to be a slow shopper and especially slow in the kitchen when it comes to new, unusual recipes.

I've found my apartment—and more significantly, my kitchen—has put me head-to-head with a lot of firsts. As J and I wearily trudged through the grocery, both grumbly about our equally glum work days, I started throwing out suggestions for dinner. It's perfect weather (and season) for kale and eggs, and I could make both of those things with equal speed and success.

As we meandered through Bilo, scooping up necessary items and searching for "luxury" items that will never be found in Chattanooga, we decided to add a sweet potato to the menu for the evening.

So in place of curry tempeh, I whipped up a delicious, beautiful twist on traditional Southern cuisine. The quart of buttermilk I so desperately wanted to use for biscuits this weekend also loomed over my head, too.

The menu?

Lightly sauteed red kale, baked rosemary sweet potato fries, fluffy scrambled eggs with cheese, and my favorite cornbread.

The cornbread recipe, taken from the original Moosewood Cookbook, was the first baked item I remember making "on my own" in my Mom's kitchen. It was the first recipe I accidentally switched the amounts of baking soda and baking powder; and consequently this evening, it was my first homemade cornbread in my first cast iron pan.

And god was it a delicious combination. I think I like this cornbread more than a lot of cakes. It's sweet and fluffy, and the cast iron gives it just the hint of crispiness on the bottom that makes cornbread perfect to me. I used local eggs, honey and buttermilk from the Cruze Dairy in Knoxville.

Moosewood's Cornbread

1 c cornmeal
1 c white flour
2 t baking powder
1/2 t baking soda
1/2 t salt

1/4 c honey
1 c buttermilk
1 egg
3 T melted butter

Preheat oven to 425. Mix dry ingredients. In seperate bowl, mix honey, buttermilk, egg. Combine wet and dry. Use melted butter to coat cast iron. Bake for 15-20 minutes, depending on the size pan you use.

Now my house is warm, the dishes are washed, thanks to J, and I can eat cornbread all week. Maybe I'll even make some for the company potluck this Friday and put that buttermilk to good use.

Night Time is the Write Time

This space and mindframe is reminiscent of some early spring nights I spent out in Suck Creek, overlooking the river and pouding heavily on my keys. Tonight, waves from the citronella candle wrap around me, and noise from my rowdy neighbors three houses down blends with the summer chirping from across the way. Air conditioning units whirr, and my house, though occupied, is quiet.

Sundays used to create such a dead space, or leave a hole in my weekend. I would actively seek something to do, or for some sort of distraction, to take my mind off the impending week. Today, though I looked, my Sunday evening fell in my lap. Bike basket more full than it's ever been, after leaving the grocery store and farmer's market, I did very little beyond cook a simple meal and straighten my home. Still discovering my solo living space, it's simple pleasures and solitude, I realize, that while the season and temperature remind me of a different time and place, I am only here, right now, watching the signs of life on Tremont dwindle on a Sunday night—and very far away from the river and it's happenings some 4 years ago.

A year ago, to the date, Amy, Tommy and I kicked back in the grass at the Les Schwab Amphitheatre in Bend as we enjoyed a Wilco show. I spent the week harnessing my renewed infatuation with summertime in the Northwest and travel. Then later that week one year ago, I found kindling and newspaper scraps that would fully ignite my drive to move across the country. One whole year.

It feels as if so little time has pased, yet the hurdles I've crossed were so impressionable and had such a personal impact. Wheras I felt at once hungover from the rainy winter escapade in Portland, my desires have steadied, my sails have been lifted.


****
After the arrival of my Dad's platform creation this evening, my bedroom looks more like a complete space and less like a closet. Yes, the clothes still lay in piles, strewn about like they always have been (and will be), without a home. But the bed is made, an appropriate-enough picture ready to be hung over it, and a tired, happy Laura Jane ready to get into it.

feedback

Can I post my musings here, my wandering, 8:30 a.m. thoughts? They don't come at this "late" hour of 9:30 p.m., but I'll transcribe them for the sake of relating my current state, dear readers.

A brush with Knoxville bicyclists this July 4 reminded me of RADICAL, beautiful beings that collect there. Now if only I could find honest work in Knoxville. To write freely and to travel — that is a goal of mine. Travel ranks pretty high up there, too, as does literary adventures. Not an assessment, pre se, but more of a reflection. Holding mirrors up to ourselves to see things we may not always want to see, as the company's personality test consultant told me last week. Yes, I had a personality assessment last week. I won't lie — it fueld a lot of reflection.

How do I get this traveling outfit together? I guess I'll need a car soon, or at least while I'm working in this job. And room for my bike — maybe a roof rack. Something reliable that needs little service and can otherwise optimize my freedom to roam. I am going to go beyond what is expected of me, and beyond what I expect of myself. These growing pains, these changes are so beautiful.

In some ways, I feel like my personality test results set me up for big things and bigger ideas.

So while I'm here, I want to become a collector:

a collector of words, stories, ideas, good writing, better boks, marketing ideas or other profitable outlets, love notes, fonts, color schemes, inspiration, a good savings account balance, and definite travel agendas.

I want to observe, to drink in the South and keep learning how to better describe places with feelings. How do I tap those emotions in others? That compelling piece? How do I grab the essence?

It is one thing to be a wordsmith; but it is far different to use the skills of a wordsmith and expand them to a breathtaking work of art. I want to instill in those around me the sense of homliness that has been instilled in me. Like my ecclectic, powerful, independent female friends and family members who NEVER cease to amaze me, the random encounters with soulful strangers, good tippers and great kissers....

I like music because it is an escape. Live, a full-body experience that overwhelms my senses and my ears. Then I dance, I sing, I jump, I shout. I don't like to read as much as I like to write, or should like to read, so who says I'll produce books? Articles may be more fitting.

I have so much to learn.

Musicians are interesting when they master their craft and when they embody the spirit of their work; it's becoming of them, and should be. These days I write something soulless that may influence someone down the road, or so I was told. How can I fine tune my low-challenge thinking to train myself to want more, to read more, to write more? And to exercise till I'm happy? Can't I substitute sensual desires for geeky skills, just for a year, and channel sexual energy into exercise? Why not?

Because I would overlook the beauty in how men and women—women and women, men and men, every combination—how PEOPLE interact. How we flirt, exhibit power struggles, fights. What makes me group of lady friends so perfect, so well matched and special? What grounds my sense of place, and from where does my sadness come? I'm begining to see that it comes from a blurred vision of my self—my definition of self.

LAURA JANE is a name. My body, my beer belly and freedom thighs, they are merely a vessel; my blue eyes merely a window, a channel for surveying the world; my body allows me an avenur to experience the world.

but me, my SELF. My self wants people to smile and feel better; my self wants to reconnect our habits with our bodies and consciousness, to close the loop and find the right peace of mind. My self wants big picture thinking, a world full of sensations and beauty. My self likes reality with a healthy dose of idealism.

My Self needs creative, established, achievable goals.

And me, my SELF, Laura Jane, needs to set them. I need a sense of worldly adventure on at least a biannual basis. I need change, and I need grounded, somewhat conservative means for getting there. I need assurance. I need to recognize that these NEEDS will only be met by ME and my self.

Funny, or not so funny, alll of my rainy weather clothes lay on the floor at the end of my bed, out of sight. I don't know if they decided collectively to gather there, or land in that specific pile, or if I had them all together at once.

I'm going to Knoxville this weekend. And I'm listening to Dixie Dirt now, loving the South, loving life, and loving the growth.

Revisited

In my open embrace of lowering my caffeine consumption for optimal health, I have dropped the a.m. espresso. Yes, I did indulge in a second cup of coffee at Chattz this morning. But I feel much more stable and alert throughout the day without the peaks and valleys espresso brings to my day. Soon enough I can get back on the French press and solve all my problems.

Dad and I biked to work this morning, and it was GREAT fun. I'm glad we had that move of solidarity. This was his first ride to work all year. ONE MORE BIKER means ONE LESS CAR. And one less car means one less accident to go down.

"New South." What does that term mean to me? New South...does it embrace new ideas? Or new change? What makes it new? OK, so it plays off "Old South." I want to explore this more thoroughly. I still want to read that Old Money, New South book, as well.

On the same page, it is still 80 degrees and 90 percent humidity when we roll out the door in the a.m.

I feel like I have embraced when I deemed "isolation" a few weeks ago as another cycle of self discovery. It's time to re-examine how I treat relationships, and the new ones I allow in my life. Beyond that, the ones I let FLOURISH, the ones I actively feed and nourish in my life. It's beautiful to think about and consider...that I go months and years without seeing some of my dear friends, yet we still catch up and mark our personal growth, share our latest stories and pains, new jobs and old boyfriends.

To consider, a few months later, how sad and stuck I felt, how stagnant I felt for that brief stint in Oregon... is bizarre to me. It's a complete 180 degrees from where I stand now. I'm finally able to visit Knoxville with the appropriate amount of appreciation and love. I look forward to catching up with my family and dearies there, and participating in some events that --coughcough-- haven't quite infiltrated Chattanooga culture.

Summertime and the livin is easy/hot

I'm so tired tonight, and I can rest easy without my morning espresso and afternoon cup o joe. I must hold out tomorrow morning, too.

I've reflected on this job transition LOTS, just typically on paper, in the morning with said coffee. I shy away from my laptop after work where spend 8 hours on the old iMac at work -- she's a slow one compared to this little whiz kid. Soon to complement my music collection: an iPod Nano! Then I can listen to my music without lugging the laptop everywhere. And I want a purple one. Purple or yellow.

I sat on the front porch and tried to notice a pattern in the fireflies' flashes in the yard, but I couldn't pick one up. Their flashes were too scattered, my attention span too short. I've been thinking a lot of the mystical Northwest. A year ago I was gearing up to take my trip out with Amy and Tommy. A little less than a year ago I met Shane. And two months ago I moved back to the South after a rainy, cold season in Portland.

But it's like I'm cruising right now. Or rather, there is a collective calm in my daily activities that is so peaceful. I've been reflecting on long-term goals, short-term realities, folks I like talking to. I find it eases the nostalgia, which never seems to be a healthy thing for me.

hum drum

Knoxville this weekend and next, if I can manage. Which I can. Cause baby, it's summertime.

unedited

You know, I posted a few blogs in the "regular" font size with the intentions of fewer folks having to squint while reading. Then I realized, you know what Laura Jane, no one reads this that doesn't mind the occasional squint. Maybe in the next step of my personal branding campaign I can find an ideal blog font size, too.

This weekend was incredible. I hit the ground RUNNING AND SCREAMING after my first, short week of work, which I will get into later. I skipped out the door and, of course, hit Happy Hour, ate a hot dog, grumbled about Critical Mass before taking off around town on my own with my friend Howell, beer, beer, more beer, whiskey, music, backporch grumbling. And then I fell asleep at the studio.

The heavenly sleep situation led to beautiful things Saturday morning...and somewhat of a hangover, but I know how to tackle those. I rolled over to the GLife to slurp down lots of coffee, watch YogaMoms from NorthshoreYoga sit around and chatter in their expensive yoga outfits, and otherwise gaze at Northshore happenings with my shades on, still comprehending what happened Friday night. This is pretty typical; what happened next, however, was so fortuitous.

I made a few phone calls to catch up with people I hadn't spoken to all week. Sequatchie Cove Farms distributed its beautiful produce to shareholders or subscribers, and I spotted an old friend. He filled me in on a choice ghost from my past -- I say ghost because we really did share an encounter, but I doubt I will ever, EVER see that person again -- who was in town that particular day. Said ghost had moved to California soon after I moved to/from Portland. Funny how people cycle through times of their lives....and how those cycles overlap. Chance encounters, I suppose, aren't really left up to chance.

That was the first one. I said hello to a new painter friend who works at the orchid farm up on Signal Mountain. I've seen his stuff before, and I wanted to call one of the paintings "bike porn." This sprouted a whole different chain of thoughts in my head about having a bike porn store, what that would entail and exactly what customer/artist that would attract. Anyways, I digress. I rolled around Frazier feeling somewhat accomplished on my hungover morning; I bought some T-shirts and realized I looked absolutely terrible. I headed up the hill.

Just as my heart started pouding, my breath sounded like a freight train and my legs started to burn, I spotted a yard sale. Sweet relief, I say. Sure enough, this chica was having a HUGE sale before moving to Caifornia. Sure enough, she was selling loads of cute, professional-ish clothes. Sure enough, we were about the same size. Almost an hour later, I had three bags of nice clothes, a coffee grinder, a few plates and a yoga mat ready to go to my home. After a trip to the ATM, where I stumbled into yet another friend, my pops rolled down the hill and threw my yard-sale jackpot winnings + me + bike in the truck. I never would have made it up the hill, even without the loot.

Thus began my weekend on the boat. A few beers and no less than 15 coats of sunscreen later and I was about to fall asleep around seven Saturday evening. It was heavenly. Knowing me, I pushed it a little bit further and decided to roll down the hill. STRAIGHT down the hill, over the Market Street bridge and down on Main to eat with Keith. Two tamales later and I was fixin to fall asleep again. I had some emotional baggage to be claimed from the evening before, so the evening rounded up with that, and lots of laughs at the tuxedoed, drunk fucks trying to hoard their skanky girlfriends into vehicles. There was a lot going on last night, apparently.

And today, I awoke feeling refreshed, replenished and all around amazing. We spent a solid five hours out on the lake, me somewhat avoiding the sun with a giant hat and gobs of 'screen, and I helped pops start peeling the old name off his boat. A big dinner later and I'm ready to collapse...

...only to prepare for the deuxieme semaine at my pub job! I had such a good first week: I think I'll get the hang of the process quickly and be speedier in no time. I work with some happenin folks, in a happenin place, where I believe I can balance my life/passion with my work. And no, they don't have to be the same thing. I could wax poetic and get into the metacommunication of this all, but hey, it's only week two. Who knows what will become of it/me.

My sheets make me feel a bit dizzy, I have sea legs/head from boating all weekend, my sun avoidance worked good enough so I don't have a burn, I have planned for this week: potluck, friends, Lookouts game, boat at Riverbend, biking to work... at least TWO days.

Aaaand... SLEEP.

Ch Ch Ch Changes

I think this Monday build-up is far more nerve-wracking than the first day of school. The feelings and anticipation surrounding my first day of work mirrors those late August days before school. The summer had ended, afternoons on the lake and big thunderstorms subsided to a regular schedule. I realize the summer has yet to begin; my season off work, however, is ending.

It's a significant change in my life. Working at the newspaper, I often felt that a full-time job never was part of my future. Of course it would be fun and "neat," I always thought, especially after my short, full-time stint at HGTV. I also clung to an ideal that I had to LOVE what I did to make money, and that work would become my main passion. I can even see it in the cynicism and negativity I harbored against my employers and the bureaucracy that enraged me. This seems like a pretty typical response for a fresh J-school grad though.

So I packed up my few belongings and skipped across the country, looking for that ideal job, that ideal city with those ideal bike lanes. Portland is "so cool," according to...everybody, apparently. It was cool, but it wasn't for me. Not yet at least. Living 3,500 miles away from my dearest family and best friends helped me realize the loves of my life. I like the challenges still apparent and on-going in the South, the ones that once enraged me and drove me so far away. Portland was full of passionate people. The environment there, the volcanoes and other seismic activity, and the culture attracted folks of all colors, backgrounds, and with different interests. Portland made me feel a little apathetic and a little more moderate than I had imagined. My passions lie elsewhere.

In the meantime, though, to complete my exploratory mission v. 2009, I road the rails across the country. I was still chasing some dream, which for two seconds was to teach little people. I met lots of young kids who were on a similar adventure, retired couples who were vacationing, folks who were laid off and taking time off, farmers, mothers, babies. I saw beautiful landscapes, incredible mountains and the great plains. I rolled into Chicago, and a few hours later landed in the homeland of New Orleans where two precious friends awaited my arrival.

Somewhere in the mix of all this talk, travel and living, I realized it is not what I do to keep the lights on that makes me passionate. I am fortunate enough to have landed a position that will help me be the best writer, another fear I've held since J-school. And I'm passionate about writing and publications, something I lose sight of at times. But it's the Chattanooga visionary efforts, the music scene, the great friends and conversations and renegade bike rides that make me feel complete. The main stuff. The celebrations, the reunions, the cycles and patterns and folks who swirl in and out of my life and mirror what is going on in my own. That is the change I look forward to and the change I embrace on this Memorial Day, May 25, 2009, the day before I re-enter the workforce as a copywriter in downtown Chattanooga, Tenn.

So break out the style book! Round up your favorite pens, and lay out your outfit for tomorrow, Laura Jane. It is a new day, and my Tuesday will be filled with new faces, lots of names, a new building with history, more early mornings, more battling wrist issues.

up and outdated

It's a cloudy, overcast Saturday here in the Chattanoogie, and I'm about to head to the northshore for Hip Fest (?) and Who-Fest, which I know is an arts event in Renaissance park. Furthermore, Greenlife is having a beer n brats tasting and sale. The G is def. one of my priorities on this lovely, grill-friendly holiday weekend.

This week I've had my idealism dashed in the sand, shared great conversation over wine with a friend, gotten the party and pizzaz out of my system*, found a lead on a house off N. Market Street, and pulled together a somewhat-professional wardrobe for my fancy new job. I address and mailed some necessary thank-yous, twittered probably more than I should have and indulged in my favorite time of day, the Happiest Hour.

Best of all though, I was reminded of a post I wrote a few weeks ago. Regardless of what folks do, say or think about the ChattanoogaSTAND initiative, an group of volunteers who ask questions and enable and engage folks in conversation is A GOOD THING.



*for the next 45 minutes!

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world," wrote anthropologist Margaret Meade. "Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has." An excellent example of that occurred during America's Revolutionary War against England from 1775 to 1783. Of all the men in the 13 colonies who could have fought for freedom, only 16 percent did. I hope that gives you encouragement as you seek to fix a glitch in the status quo. You and your band of allies have more power than you know.

Rob Breszny on Leo's fabulous horoscope for the week of May 21, 2009.

workin lady

Joy of all joys! Fists shakin, eyes pointed to the heavens!

I AM EMPLOYED!

I recieved an offer to be a copywriter with True North Custom Publishing, a local company that produces healthcare-related magazines and newsletters. I graciously accepted that offer, of course, and I start work next Tuesday.

This followed yet another day filled with the usual stresses of unemployment: I continue to spend money I don't have, flail around town for no reason on my bike (notably, a favorite hobby), and otherwise network and shamelessly promote myself. Really, my current living situation was the biggest daily nag. While I am so gracious to have a place to live, I look forward to my own apartment. And guess what? I get to live somewhere. ALONE. I want to live in a flat place, as well. While climbing Mt. North Chattanooga gives me the biker butt and legs I've always dreamed of, it severly limits my accessibility to things I love to do in town.

What's that, you say? Hardcore biking, not for me? Yes, friends, this is right. I would much prefer a set-up similar to the slow, short cruise I had from Fourth and Gill to downtown Knoxville. It enabled me to ride home late at night instead of dealing with the worries that fill my head when I consider riding up Tremont or Boylston streets. Not to mention the quick climb up North Market/Old Dallas, where, upon moving back to Crestwood, had me wondering how and what I should write in my will.

(Wendy Walker, attorney-at-law in Knoxville, Tenn., advised me on our brief Mother's Day encounter that I can write my will on paper, in a journal or somewhere you folks would find it, and it will be considered as my final wishes.)

Regardless, I would prefer to live in Andrae McGary's 8th district. McGary recently won a run-off for the city council seat, and while I am still wholly uneducated on Chattanooga politicking, I want to pay my rent where I work, spend my money and hang out. Downtown Chattanooga, here I come.

Did I mention I get to work on 8th and Broad? This will include extensive bike riding to and from work. It will include free parking for that car I don't have. Maybe there's a fancy shmancy bike ride around the back of the building. Who knows. Maybe I'll have a bike-to-work buddy at True North. And financial stability. And a portfolio! Let the Laura Jane branding campaign begin. Fonts? Layout? Webpage? Yes, please.

research topics

Overcome by a week of interviews, excitement and joy, Monday opens with a determination I have not experienced in some time.

Tonight I'm attending volunteer training at STAND. Are you a Chattanoogan? What do you want our city to look like in 20 years? Concerned about schools, intergrating communities, public transit? What the Volkswagen plant will change? How would you manage that? Give us your two cents in four easy questions. Then tell your friends, tell your barista, your bartender, your cousin, your former English teacher, your bus driver.

Pulled into the mix by Grace, plus hometown gusto and enthusiasm, I want to help reshape the community. I want to use my networking skills, my smile, my brains and writing for the greater good. And I want to hear about what you're doing. How you got started. Where you got published. Shall we collaborate?

Last week after bouncing around downtown I ran into said former English teacher, Marie Daly. Her low-lighted, comfortable classroom and creative writing influence during my stay at Notre Dame High School are unforgettable. When I recognized her, I dropped a phone call and started talking. She and her husband are behind the up-and-coming Ivy Academy of Chattanooga.
A charter school out in the North Chick watershed area, the school will cater to non-traditional learning styles. I need to know more, I will know more. It was so fortutious to run into her. I then sat at the board meeting, which is comprised of influential outdoor leaders including the folks at Reflection Riding and the Chattanooga Nature Center.

Shoo.

Come to Chattanooga's Bicycle Task Force meeting today, 12:30 at 1250 Market St. 2B. Public meeting featuring guest speaker TDOT's Jessica Wilson. Roll downtown and let's give em some feedback. Or at least listen.

****

Routines are routine is routine.

The sun is shining on this seemingly all-too-glorious morning. I awoke feeling slightly groggy around 7:15 a.m., which apparently is what I like to do living on Crestwood. I thought my family's morning noises caused me to rouse early. In the silent house though, only the sun shining through all the windows wakes me.

Living out west, I thought I would never adjust to Pacific time. I didn't, really, but I also lacked a definite routine...beyond sleeping as long as I wanted and playing around town all day. It also was very dark the extent of my time there; quite depressing, really, but this was inevitable.

Southern sunshine, Southern sweat and tears keep me grounded.

I interviewed with a local custom publishing company yesterday on Broad Street. I nervously bounced in the nice downtown building and nailed the interview, I guess, or did well enough. I was prepared for this one. Less than three hours later, I was called back for a second interview on Thursday. Sweet, sweet victory, regardless of whether I get the position. I'm trying to stay focused on the moment and Thursday's writing and proofing tests, though it's hard to banish fantasies about a full-time job. This little former PT newspaper worker has never known something so sweet. Talk about living in luxury! FOCUS FOCUS FOCUS, Laura Jane...

Otherwise my days have been filled with enjoyable bike riding and new Chattanooga friends. Last night, Kelly, Keith, Paul and I rode down the Riverwalk all the way to the big park by Chatt State. Our route, starting at the Hunter, reminded me so much of days past spent rollerblading down that path. And cross-country practice with my Notre Dame runners. And high school, and exactly how long it had been since my last visit to the river.

The sun set on us, and we indulged in a brew and half-price oysters at the Boathouse. I rolled home, up the hill, on the unusually cool and beautiful evening. Biking is far easier in that temperature, but I need not complain. I'm just happy I can wear shorts, no coat, and most of the time, I don't have to worry about rain.

LAUGH HARD IT'S A LONG WAY TO THE BANK!!

Public Meeting for a Sustainable Tennessee Valley Region

Neighbors! Friends! Community Members!

Come out to the public meeting for the 2009 Sustainable Design Assessment Team.

Wednesday, May 6, 6:30 p.m.

UTC's University Center Auditorium

East 5th Street, Chattanooga, TN

Please join the nationally renowned team as they share their initial findings and observations about creating a sustainable Tennessee Valley region.

This presentation is made possible by the American Institute of Architects (AIA) and the Lyndhurst Foundation.

In conjunction with AIA Chattanooga, the City of Chattanooga, Hamilton County, Catoosa County, EPB, greenspaces, and the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga.

Main Street Farmer's Market - every Wednesday!

As the rain continutes to fall on Chattanooga, Tenn., all I can seem to do is find distractions from the piles of applications and resumes I should be sending to various companies. Maybe that has to do with Jolie Holland singing in the background, or the damned TweetDeck I uploaded this week.

I really have mixed feelings about Twitter and its connectivity. No, MY connectivity. Wireless internet at the folks' house keeps me far too "updated" on all web happenings. I try to see it as one day finding work, discovering new events happening in town, and promoting events and issues I care about. Not to mention finding a JOB, a REAL JOB editing, writing or promoting something on the web. Sadly, print is dying. Web is the preferred medium, in my opinion, or if not preferred than the dominant medium.

I started to recognize a few things I miss about Oregon this morning, particularly about the weather and produce, but my friend Chris quickly commented on Fbook about the local produce available at Wednesday's Main Street Farmer's Market!

Wednesdays from 4:00 - 6:00 pm
On Main St. Between Market and Broad
On the Corner of Main & Williams...Across from Hiroshi's Sushi
Downtown Chattanooga, Southside

What's Ripe this week

Alexzanna Farms: Strawberries, nettles, cut flowers

Clover Wreath Farms: Lettuce, Green Onions, Herbs, Tomato Plants

Dancing Fern Nursery: An assortment of perennial natives plants from
this wonderful native plant nursery located at
Sequatchie Cove Farm. Come and talk with
Miriam about what native plants will grow
well in your yard.

Irie Hilltop Farm: Vegetable plants for your home garden

River Ridge Farms: Grass Fed Beef, Pastured Pork, Spinach, Radishes

Sale Creek Honey
Honey from the hills and valleys around us. Eddie McKenzie is a master beekeeper; we and the bees are lucky to have him in our region.
Local Honey
Local Beeswax candles

Sequatchie Cove Farm:Strawberries, Eggs, Grass-fed Beef, Pastured Pork, Lettuce, Baby Spinach, SunSugar Tomato Plants, Chive Plants, Fresh Cilantro Bunches

Williams Island Farm: Eggs from hens that roam the island freely, Lettuce, Arugula, Kale, Baby Bok Choy

I'll be in attendance, won't you? I wish I knew how to hide that list so you had to click on it... who knows how to do this? Errrr. Web skillz fall short of this.

My writing is really vague. I'm sorry. Maybe I'll work on this.

Some other day. Heh.

Take a STAND!

(Ed. Note: This blog was inspired by ChattanoogaStand.com. I formally invite YOU to let us know what Chattanooga's future should look like. Let's here it!)

What do I want in Chattanooga?

I want to protect the natural beauty of Chattanooga, and clean it up while we're there.

I want to teach others how to care for the land on which we play, regardless of political agenda, upbringing, etc. Demonstrating the direct effects of taking good care of the earth and how that benefits EVERYONE...it can be done. It's more than a marketing message.

I want to see more school communities like the one I attended as more affordable and accessible options to more families.

I want a health food store other than Greenlife. I want grocers to be community leaders AND business folks.

I want to see more commuting bikers and organized neighborhood bike rides. This is a beautiful place, and two-wheeled tours engage riders and connect them with neighbors, neighborhoods and new places.

I want a movie theater that serves beer and shows movies for cheap.

I want speed bumps on West Mississippi Ave. I want passenger trains to go through at least one Central or East Tennessee town.

(Print is dead, Laura Jane. Shut your trap about weeklies! You remember how angry the ones in Portland made you? Sheesh. Stick with this web business. It's sticky, and fun.)

I want a First Friday art walk (or maybe I just don't know about it).

I want to ban smoking from all restaurants and bars!

(And for this to happen...) I want to be on a first-name basis with my elected representatives.

All of these things are centered around me and my needs. Not once did I write about organizations that feed and shelter the homeless...gentrification...minorities. There is a lot of social and ethical concern, but it's not on my front burner. I think I underestimate a lot of what goes on in the up and coming area where we boogied down last night. I think I underestimate a lot of Chattanoogans.

I want to learn humility, patience and how to love wholly and freely.

I want to help erase cynicism from the forefront of my generation's mind and attitude.

I want to embrace that which makes me uncomfortable and uneasy.

My first list of wants would indirectly benefit or effect others, I guess. My motivations aren't awful.

Biking through otherwise overlooked neighborhoods puts individuals in touch with the neighbors. Riders aren't behind glass windows, afraid of stereotypical "bad neighborhood" behavior, but are waving to folks, ringing their bike bells and smiling. The connection between bike riders and front porch folks could SOME DAY change a driver's perspective behind the wheel.

Art on Wheels? First Friday comes to the lovely Chattanooga? Monthly neighborhood/event bike rides?

Biggest and Brightest

It's funny where and when inspiration will hit you. Not doodling around town all day, talking about moms and friends and family and kindergarten. Not even walking through the cemetery by St. Elmo with Megan, or riding up Lookout and soaking up the mountain and its history, the gorgeous houses and trees that surrounded the road.

But rather, it comes after the day sinks in and I can't possibly twitter my way through the rainy Friday evening. The hulu movies I attempted to watch were dumbed down to free softcore (and bad) "romantic" stories. It wasn't too hard to figure out how they got such high ratings. Convinced my eyes were "too weary" to pick up Kafka that's been collecting dust beside my bed, I pressed on via the web. Must. Be. Something. to discover this evening. When really, the affirmation came this afternoon.

Living at home can be a rocky place. The mental and emotional anguish of feeling like a "failure," of succumbing to silly and fantastic ideas that left me financially strapped, weighs heavy on my psyche. A judger, I fear what others will think of me, specifically my kin. This can be taxing for all involved, especially my giant ego.

This afternoon, though, Megan picked me up in her gold car and we wheeled around town. I drank enough caffeine for both of us as the conversation opened up. We bubbled on about what we've been doing, what turns out lives have taken since our last encounter awhile back. Gossip about family, relationships, folks we knew growing up. There was a casual give and take, not caring what the fellow coffee shop patrons thought of our stories of personal revolutions. It just flowed. She's a feeler, fully involved, and a lover and a healer. We talked about sex, our parents, death, divorce, sexuality in the South, generations, art.

So with one successful freelance gig in the works, my bummer attitude about living at home faded a little bit. It's manageable, and I certainly am fortunate to be well fed, well loved and looked after. To reconnect with a childhood friend, someone with whom I attended 12 years of school, only to discover we have more in common than ever before? That is a true gift. It's what Chattanooga represents though: history intertwined with new, creative life.

Now I need to channel that and challenge myself to make this work. It's as if I discovered my dream job. To live and work in a community that is bursting with new energy and is a hotbed of artistic startups with established support. And to use my skills, which have been limited to editing thus far, to use my writing to aid in the communication of this work? That is what I want to do for work. It involves computers, yes, but it also involves (we should hope) some nonprofit work and more freelance opportunities. Hopefully to include an article on Keith's church...

Church. Saturday. Bikes! Must sleep and rise early to catch thousands of riders in the 3 state 3 mountain ride. Poor folks gonna have chafing in places they didn't know could chafe.

so good to be home

Thanks, Chattanooga, for cheerin me up exactly when I needed it.

Last night Kelly, Keith and I rolled over to CreateHere for Pecha Kucha Night No. 3. The global network of events offers an evening of brief, less than seven minute presentations, with each presenter allowed 20, 20-second slides. It's quick, interesting and from my first experience, quite entertaining. I learned about the brains behind cabeen originals, about the TreMontsters from an architect, and from the Norhtshore Yoga inspirations Jessica Jollie and Sara Mingus.

I left thinking, "What would I want to present?" The wheels are turning. Copy editing for dummies? Critical mass and all its glory? Group bike rides in general? Bicycle enthusiasm? Proposing downtown rides?

I want to thank Knoxville for the training wheels so literally provided for me. Only after moving across the country did I fully see, love and appreciate the good energy, events and GREAT folks there. The biking organization, the art scene, First Fridays, new neighborhoods, attention to pedestrian culture, Jack Neely... bangin' businesses like my brother's bike shop, the Fountain City Pedaler.

I could go on! And I should. I need to utilize my networking skills for the best. I'm good at this web stuff, and I can make this web stuff work for me. It's time! Pecha Kucha here I come.

And Chattanooga, thanks for havin' me back.

I was all doom and gloom today, looking for jobs. I feel bruised. Not by the job hunt buy by emotional issues.

Biking tends to resolve many of those feelings though. I rolled down the hill from the North Chattanooga perch where I currently reside, and with a few Yahoos! and Yipeeees! there was a smile on my face, a funny wheezy sound in my lungs and heavy shit rollin' straight off my back. Going downhill is just so FUN. Friendly fellow bicyclists and onlookers only add to the joy. Happy hour is also in my future, which brings more smiles.

Weekend at Bernie's

Seconds after Grace ran into the studio, Kelly and I nearly jumped.

"WHERE IS THE BUNNY?!"

The baby bunny her cat tried to maul last night had apparently escaped from the tupperware he was chillin in previously. Kelly and I, unaware of the missing bunny, looked surprised but not altogether shocked. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Grace to be missing a tiny bunny that she was about to take to the Nature Center.

I reluctantly signed up to tweet with the rest of you twitterin maniacs...teehee! LadyEllJay is the name. I guess this makes me a late adopter of that technology. I would love a quick hands-on tutorial.

Jason and Brittany's wedding this weekend sent my mind reeling about marriage and relationships. All relationships will have a bad point, a wretched point. It is a solitude I seek within myself, outside of intimate relationships, that my impatient, messy nature has a hard time finding. I'm learning, every day, about these things. I think I'll continue to learn about those kinds of relationships that I seem to have a hard time living without. Pulling myself away from? Ending sentences with open-ended prepositions...

Oh the ellipses, you open ended mark you, inviting responses for centuries! Trailing off into silence...

dot dot dot

Now I'm just getting goofy! Kelly continues makin' pretty portraits on her canvas. Grace whirled out of the studio with the same energy and gusto with which she entered. I'm getting creative and cheap about making it to Knoxville for a weekend of luxurious love, fun and sunshine. We shall see.

home sweet home

Two big furry pups and a little tiny one relax by my fluorescent green socks that so brightly cover my new blisters. I literally hit the ground running here. The scamper down to an interview this morning in Danskos sans socks left me hurtin'. A passerby dutifully pointed it out: "You could use some socks!"

It didn't hurt till after the interview upon realizing I still had quite a ways to walk. Hence the fancy sock purchase next door to potential new workplace. It was worth it. Two interview down and one to go, and I've been in town for about 48 hours. I can't wait to work! To get on my own symbollically blistered feet again.

The blisters on my feet match the burn on my thumb from rushing and the wind/sunburn on my face from the ride home. I wisely and sucessfully bartered with my second favorite bike shop owner this afternoon to retrieve my bike! It was great. A few super hoppy beers from Oregon seem to do the trick most of the time. My ride to the house is killer, truly killer: a steady succession of hills made me feel like a CHAMPION upon completion. Walky, you know how it feels...

Phew. I really needed that adrenaline.

Almost Train Time!

My bag of snacks for the train ride fills slowly...

with the most heavenly peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. (!!! they're perfect!!!)
with tempeh salad sandwiches.
with carrots and grapes.
with apples and oranges.

I wisely decided to leave my clunker techno-leash at the house. I don't need to be plugged in, for fuck's sake, and I don't want to lug that white piece of plastic around. I'd like some tunes, but I've adjusted to not having them. I'll let the rails rock me to sleep, the sun and mountains wake me in the morning, and the conversation of fellow passengers to sooth my ride. A journal, some good pens, my camera and the new Jeanette Winterson books I scooped up at Powell's last night.

I've been itching to dive into those books, ever since reading her "Art and Lies," after my sister turned me on to Winterson with "Written on the Body." Such sensual (hot!) writing, beautiful language, artfully woven stories, especially the former. I picked up "The Lighthousekeeper" and one of her collections of short stories. Finally, a chance for me to get into short stories! Eeep!

The trip isn't as planned out as I would have hoped, but I have no doubt it will be a barrel of fun and surprises. Denver apparently has some decent mass transit, aka it goes to the airport, and other than that, I'm not too worried about the adventures in between.

Tonight: a fire queued up in the back yard, fresh cookies, a tall beer and friends. A heavenly spring is unfolding.

Vernal Equinox

The long winter of my life slows to a crawl finally, as the smile re-emerges on my face. It mirrors the sun I see weekly, not daily. I haven't felt this inspired, this motivated in months, maybe even since the peak of fall and the fading summer; it could extend as far back as the summer after Paris, the romantic adventure that altered my path so positively and significantly.

Even on the vernal equinox white and gray clouds hang overhead and drip with a delicate drizzle. My empty bags sit at the edge of the bed awaiting the packing process for leaving Portland. My train rolls out of the station for Sacramento on Tuesday at precisely 2:25 p.m. PST. We roll down California, then shoot up via the California Zephyr through Nevada, Utah and then through Colorado. Winter Park, here I come, sweet wanderin' lady K, I'm on my way...

My blind trust in the future I'm creating leaves a satisfying feeling in my body, and warmth that drives away the chills of the day. No more, gray skies, no more, recreations of Southern shwank, sans friendly smiles and grins. No more, smooth light rail, no more, scandalous dirt rags full of filth. No more, misery.

Drink in the sun and light and beauty through your brain, like a strong tonic that eases your worries. Shut off the media, their impact is minimal now Miss Jane. Your strenght prevails in this change, the only constant. Head for the hills you know like the back of your hand, the natural habitat that little Laura Janes thrive in, grow in and seek the most change in. The volatility drives me out, the cravings for what I love the best that I have distanced myself from. A sense of home strengthened by 2,500 miles and a lotta love.

I wouldn't be me without this trip, without this adventure, and without these strong feelings.

And now, a blurb from my dearie Amy: "My friend Paul, in Portland, just sent me a text that says 'I will write a collection of short stories titled "The Bus That Never Came." Tales of sultry smokers, wet newpapers, half-eaten donuts, and spare change, all bridled with that sort of uncertain unease of being surrounded by other broke strangers. Waiting for the bus.' "

Walk Like An Oregonian!

I dreamt that a group of folks and I were walking alongside a river and found a cave/structure of ruins. There was a animated-like bug in this creepy, ancient place that resembled something from Indiana Jones. Vague, I know, but the dreamscape is already fading from my mind.

Local liquid delicasies dominate this town, and my trip. Tommy and I got breakfast at the Wandering Goat, which I visited this summer. Their coffee is dreamy, delicious and strong, and I had a bagel totally covered in various tasty seeds. We hopped in the Honda and zipped through Eugene to King's Estate winery. Grabbed some pinot noir just outside of town, and I tasted my first flight of Oregon wines! The winery looked like a castle surrounded by green hills covered in vines. Mossy trees cover the vast valley. I joked that the cows were probably mossy, too.

Yesterday we hiked up Spencer's Butte that overlooks the town. We squished up the muddy trail to the rocky top of for butte-iful views of distant snowy mountains and surrounding hills. Pictures to come! On Valentine's Day I indulged in multiple pints of Ninkasi's Believer at some local bars with Amy. The beer is a hands-down damn tasty delight! Amy also introduced me to Barry's, a little bakery by U of O that sells Dark & White chocolate chip cookies. Applesauce in the mix makes for the gooiest consistency, a major component of the best cookies ever. EVER.

I'm ready to head back to Portland and explore the buttes and Mt. Tabor via bicycle. I miss Ellie -- the bikes in Eugene make me long for my two-wheeled wonder! I'm taking to the streets this afternoon on foot to meet Amy and buy one of those cookies for Shane. We have a bet to see if it will make it home...or if LJ the Cookie Monster will eat it on the train!

Dance parties with Otis the pup have interrupted my train of thought this afteroon; it's time for another adventure!

red hots

This Valentine's Day started off gray -- just the sky, as expected here. My heart is happy, though I am a hundred miles away from my hunny. Still far closer than the thousands between us a month ago.

Instead I'm curled up in a blue cocoon on Amy's couch, in her house in Eugene, waiting for her and Tommy to get up.

My train ride down from Portland was beautiful. It was on one of the double decker, big ole' honkin trains that was running all the way to Sacremento. I sat in the last car, and my seatmate dozed and texted as my eyes wandered around the car. My neighbors discussed U of O law school and triathalons; the other ones talked about Montana's economy and natural resources, and traveling. The sun was shining between Portland and Junction City, I saw big, snowy mountains in the distance and herds of sheep.

The haze took over slowly as the sun set and faded to the same orangey tint I'm used to seeing here. As the train pulled up to the station, it started sprinkling. I got off and smelled reefer, thinking to myself, "I guess it is a 'smoking stop,' " and laughing inside. Welcome back to Eugene, Laura Jane!

We warmed our bellies with "wild" Thai food right down the street; I'm already thinking about mine for leftovers this afternoon. Otis and Cooper scurried around as I dozed off, jingling and eating and trying to sit on my head.

And here I am, thinking about the mister still sleeping in bed at home. Hopefully doing better than yesterday -- down with the flu since Tuesday or something. I had raced out to Freddie's to get soup, tea, fresh veggies, ocillo, you name it. All he really wanted was cough meds, though. I think the rest was for my peace of mind. Always offering "too many options," something I'm sure I picked up from my mom.

Seeing Amy and Tommy, two other Oregon transplants this past summer, makes me miss you folks in Tennessee...quite a bit. All three of us grumble a little bit about the things I expected, but somehow having Tennessee friends makes the transition easier, the rain less severe and the sunny days brighter.

And now I'm left to daydream about the mister and our budding love. Mother Hips show at the Doug Fir + scrumptious dinner next weekend + the gaudiest glue-and-doilie creation I can think of...that boy's got it comin for him. Heh.

My toes are chilly, stuffed in the end of the chocolate couch as I watch the moon rise through the blinds. It's surrounded in a ring of haze, typical stuff of the Northwest this time of year. The day was clear and sunny, a bit cold in the shade and sitting waiting for the bus.

Nikki and I watched with eagerness as a mother and daughter tied up their basset hound, aptly named Potato. Potato wanted to go eat Asian food with his family, and looked up at every passerby to see if maybe THEY would let him in.

"Come on guys. Come on. Let me in.
I want to see my family. Now.
Now. Now. .. No, now. Please. Please. Now."

He wanted to sniff the tiny long-haired dauchsunds that slid easily across the sidewalk, not nearly as eager as Potato.

I was visually distracted, though, as I tend to get on the streets here, gazing at the wild colors folks wear, the speedy bicycles they ride, the eccelectic feel of each neighborhood. There's always something unexpected, some totally weird occurence... and there always seem to be more of those when taking the bus. Last night on the Max we saw some teen's hilarious business-card pickup move. We murmured about the couple murmuring in our direction. I stared at the city lights' reflections as we crossed the river going downtown. My giddy fascination with transit is still so prominent. Call me a hick from Tennessee, but I love it.

My dreams have been particularly wild the past few nights, one of which involved dropping my backpack and laptop off a cliff. I wasn't really afraid of falling off the cliff myself though. Stressful shit on the edge? Too much baggage? Definitely.

OK, boneheads. Enough drudgey talk.

Almost.

I lay under smokey clothes on my bed for what I hope to be the last time. I'm awake at an ungodly hour again, which seems to be the norm for me these days. Lets see... 8:30 a.m. EST... translates to... 5:30 a.m. PST?!

heh. That might take some adjusting.

So will many things on the West Coast, I'm sure. I'm ready for the change, the introduction, the peaceful transition. Our great country is experiencing one right now, and damnit, so will I. The music of the moment? The Dodos. Thank heavens to Stelth the couch surfin' clean hobo who gave me some damn fine tunes. In turn, we dropped him off at a truck stop in West Knoxville. They were headed for Nashville. It was a nice celebration of friends and birthdays.

A sweet friend gifted me some of the most beautiful dresses and clothes last night. It's like a new Oregon wardrobe...which means I'll have to pack again, but that's OK. This is incentive to leave old clothes behind that simply won't make the cut and shouldn't have in the first place.

I laughed last night at the dinner I ate out with my folks. We attempted to go to this new restaurant in Chattanooga, the Terminal, on Market Street. It's a three-story, triangle building deal that seemed to have a nice brew pup atmosphere. That unfortunately came with an hour-long wait. Knowing my own lack of patience for crowded spaces and standing among folks eating while attempting to drink, I didn't want to stay. Before I got a chace to voice that though, there was an exchange between my dad and stepmom that made me laugh inside. It was my dad's own intolerance of the very same crowded spaces and his sensitivity to a comment that I internalized, I saved for myself. It's not every day I see myself in my dad so clearly.

And just the mention of "Laura's last night" brought a flash of tears to my eyes. They didn't last; the excitement took over after an IPA (uuuugh) at Big River. Oregon this, Oregon that. New music from old friends, random encounters planned for Monday afternoon, romanticism over the top (incomplete love? so says Robert Bass), and...the biggest sigh of relief (and some tears) about turning over a (big) new leaf.

It's here! I'm moving across the country on Tuesday! And I'm bringing a hot red dress, pink dress, blue skirt, red skirt and comfy smokin' hot jeans to boot (and boots)! Eeehehehe...

The city center of Knoxville seemed so calm as I drove away yesterday, tears and all as I blasted Belle and Sebastian one more time. It seemed like I could pinpoint all of my friends and cohorts within the city, each buzzing around, each energy in it's appropriate place. I left a place I love so much.

Now I'm at my parents house, fresh from a morning workout and ready for a hike with the pups. I don't think Beau, the new, tiny member of the family (above), will be coming. He's spoiled, but amazingly cute. I repacked all my stuff and I think it will fit. The car is still packed to the brim; I'm unloading at Mom's house tomorrow probably after church.

Cozy, calm and collected. Being with family in Chattanooga is the perfect way to blastoff. I couldn't handle the good-byes from Knoxville. It honestly would be too hard to leave. I'll be nearly overdue by Tuesday here though.

Love in Midtown

Hello, Mister President Obama.

Fourteen and a half hours till OBAMA TIME.

And I've never been happier to be an American. Here's to celebrating tomorrow, leaving this gloomy publication and skippin outta the sometimes ass-backwards South.

Go time.

Christopher Walken has moved cubes; the lists and diagrams from my early days working here have been recycles. Empty cube, empty mind, sleepy eyes.

I wish I could say empty inbox or something, but that's not likely to happen in the remaining 15 minutes of my tenure here at the 9-5. My last day of mindless chugging through articles. It was particularly painful because I couldn't sleep last night. Tossing and turning, moaning about how hot (haaaahahahahahaha....) it was in my room. Ironically enough I cracked the window a bit to make it sleepable. When I awoke this morning, the sun brightening the room, my glass of water in the windowsill was frozen solid.

I'm debating a quick bout of excercise before heading home, but I'm afraid I would quickly pass out after getting home, missing my dinner date entirely. Harumph. We shall see. I could pack a few things, too. That was the other reason I couldn't sleep: as the days pass it's getting harder to turn off the to-do lists in my head. Things I should be doing, things that should be packed, visits to my house that should be made. It will happen, things will get packed, and it will all happen very... quickly, needless to say. Pangs of guilt pass over me as I fail to mention to a co-worker that it's my last day. I'm tired of explaining, and I'm just tired. I wanted so SO badly to sleep well last night, but it evaded me nearly three hours after curling up in my bag.

So I'll sit here and scratch my head, looking perplexed, worried or concerned, whichever one you think, till it's time for me to go.

space and travel

Hobo Traveling: The New 'In' Thing?

Not five minutes after talking to a dear friend about hosting some hitchhikin' travelers this weekend, this article is featured on the front page of NYT. Not only that, but the dude has a damn reality show about his "frugal" travels.

I too have relied on the kindness, openness and hospitality of total strangers. I'm a couch surfer through and through, and I met some wonderful folks while doing it. In fact, I'm going to live with some of those kind almost-strangers at the other end of my plane ride in two weeks. The kindness gives me faith in other people, that PEOPLE, collectively, are inherently good and want to help. If you remove the monetary aspects of relationships, it still comes down to an exchange: a bed to sleep in, an open home, in an exchange for strange new music. A bottle of Southern whiskey. A few French lessons, the promise of a tour guide later on in my own traveling. Sometimes, it's a more emotional exchange; admittedly, there is a level of attraction present in couch surfing. But I won't delve into that quite yet.

Haahahahaha...

Why is it in my last two weeks of work that I finally SEE the conservative slant?

Excuse me -- conservative LANDSLIDE.

Have I been avoiding it? Hiding in the closet or something, totally oblivious of the ignorance and close-mindedness that my paper pukes out? Or does it have something to do with the fact that the mayor of my future city is gay. And folks there love it. Hell, I love it.

This full moon is makin' folks (including me?) absolutely crazy! Nuts!

The relationship between two folks living together is inextricably complex. Thank god I'm ending one of those. I'm excited about the next one, and all the things in store for me in Portland.

To my roommate: Bah humbug, fuck off, and I hope you shine shine shine without little sis on your radar. Also, I hope you send me photocopies of all the notes you're going to miss leaving me. I honestly will get a kick out of that. Thank god we're done sharing, and I'm cutting off the KUB sooner than you think.

beautiful day in the neighborhood

Warm energy pouring over me, positivity in my cup, heaven at my fingertips.

My legs are sore, my head is all fuzzy and I can't believe the SYNCHRONICITY today. The world is conspiring to shower bountiful blessings on me.

Or rather, I lifted myself above the paranoia and gloomy tension of last night, a feeling that almost kept me away and awake.

Skipping out of work turned out to be the best thing for me today. I woke up from heavenly sleep, resisting my alarm multiple times and giving my mind the rest it needed. I got a call for freelancing before I even unzipped my cocoon and skipped off to the coffee shop with a cream cheese and jelly bagel in my belly.

Three cups of coffee and a little enlightenment dumped Broken Social Scene tickets, an amazing job opening and $25 in my lap.

Today's vision: concentration, blue skies and pretty clouds, blustery bike rides, cover letter writing, chilly digits.

Power to bus advertising!

Finally, some ads I would enjoy seeing in the States.

In the emotional, bittersweet chaos, I try to cling to something and come up empty handed.

There is nothing to grab though. Rain gear in hand, I will embark on a beautiful journey, and I will do it alone.

I spy with my little eye...

If I failed to say it earlier....

happy, happy new year! Welcome, 2009. I think I like you.

Other likable things: biker butts, blueberry mead, sly glances and foggy mornngs.

comfortably close

The sound of rain, too much 'nuts n bolts' and a shaky smile haunt my work experience this Saturday. My previous post was laden with my fear of two weeks' notices, something I despise. Why give them? I just want to go, now, whenever I want. No, I don't want to allow you to plan ahead! Why be so kind?

I will, though, especially after seeing that a boss has already put me down to work the weekend before I'm OreGONE. Yeah, right. Two weeks, that's it. And I'm outta here, see ya later, kiss my white hiney.

I'm headed for coastal collaborations with ET exiles. (This just in from Wikipedia. Self-exile: I'm avoiding death in my household.) The boxes are stacking up, most of them Chattanooga- or Rising Fawn-bound. The folks are kindly serving as a temp storage area till I decide to establish a residence of my own. Chances are I won't, or I won't ever need those things again. I'm having a hard time parting with some of my favorite books, favorite headlines, favorite costume clothes that just won't fit in one of my three bags or packages.

So the whittling-down process has begun! If you wanted anything (cork boards, weird shoes, even weirder shirts), too bad. A big haul was loaded in the Exploder and is headed for Goodwill at my earliest convenience.

con·ve·nient adjective
Middle English, from Latin convenient-, conveniens, from present participle of convenirecom- + venire to come — more at come to assemble, come together, be suitable, from

1obsolete : suitable , proper
2 a: suited to personal comfort or to easy performance convenient time> b: suited to a particular situation convenient excuse> c: affording accommodation or advantage convenient to deal with both problems at the same time>
3: being near at hand : close convenient to the train station>

— con·ve·nient·ly adverb

Are friends anything more than a convenience? Or rather, do friendships form based on convenience? I've conveniently not spoken with friends because it was an inconvenience or just flat out unbearable. I've ended relationships because it was convenient. I think I'm tapping a larger process of intercommunication, but I'm too sleepy to expound on such thoughts.

Another slow night at the paper. Another dance party.