Cascade Concrete

...went skiing for the first time in Oregon yesterday and got to experience Cascade Concrete first hand. The hard snow at Willamette Pass ski resort was brutal on Holly's tele turns and didn't help my AT turns much either (although I'm now convinced that, after watching Holly get beat up yesterday, AT skiiing is the way to go).

The company was great. Our neighbor (and my co-worker) invited us and brought along his young (~eight?) son and the kid's friend. The adults skied short black runs all morning - seeking out the softest of the concrete runs - and then had a brief session with the two kids in the afternoon. True to form one of the kids lost a glove, so Holly offerered up her glove liner.

The kids couldn't get enough of Duck Soup - a green run - and could have spent the rest of the afternoon settled into a texas tuck and flying V position, hurling down the slope. ...not much turning out of those two, but the morning's lesson gave 'em plenty of courage.

Other observations from yesterday's ski trip:

• There were hardly any people there. The resort may not have had any expansive back bowls - like Vail - but it didn't have any lift lines or crowded slopes either.
• The scenery was fantastic. The jagged ancient volcanoes, high cascade lakes, and soaring doug firs made the area every bit as beautiful as any other resorts that we've been to. Willamette didn't have Colorado's snarl of ski condo's, marketing machines (there were no mountain dew or red bull booths set up at the base of the runs), or interstates.

...And now for the weather.

It has drizzled or poured rain all this week. So much so that our rain gauge is now completely full and is starting to slowly sink under its own weight into the soft ground.

I need to see sun. Now.

Biology Collides with Sociology

I've never even imagined these two words together until I saw this tub at work. It makes me chuckle.

Oh yeah, and we added a link to this Vegas guy's blog. ...Quality bottomfeeder themes. Check it.

File under: You can't make this stuff up.

So I've been meaning to share the story of Corvallis' state representative with all the out-of-state readers. I've hesitated 'cause I wanted to make sure that I had all the facts straight, but then I realized that this was a blog and I'm not a reporter. God, this would be way better around a bar with a couple of pints of Fat Tire or Cut-Throat Porter (which isn't available in Oregon by the way - but I digress).

To keep this blog entry to a manageable size, I'll just give you the synopsis:

• Young female state rep gets run down by a jealous woman who claims that the rep was having an affair with her boyfriend,


• Incident breaks both legs of the rep and confines her to a wheel chair.


• Boyfriend, a janitor at the state house, denies the whole thing and claims sexual harassment.


• State police find a small amount of Methamphetamine in the rep's car during the crime scene investigation.


• Rep is forced to resign from the state house, but before she leaves, essentially zeros out her annual operating budget by giving huge raises to family members on her staff.

Is that the craziest thing you've ever heard of? The only thing that could elevate this tale to the level of Marion Berry is a very public apology followed ultimately by renewal, forgiveness, and re-election. But there's still plenty of time....

Now, the back story to put some meat on 'dem bones:

• In its fight against the recent surge in meth' use, the Oregon state house recently voted to take sudafed off the shelves and make it perscription only. I don't think our rep voted for it.
• Our rep had the worst attendance record in the house and was nearly defeated in her second term re-election because of it.
• The janitor quit his job and got a relatively big pay-off from the state government to make his sexual harassment claim go away.

...Crazy. ...completely crazy.

Political discourse at its best.

Excerpt from the today's Washington Post article about the recently passed House Bill to either reduce federal spending and allow for hurricane relief or pay for Bush's tax cuts by beating down america's poor (depending on how you view such matters):

"The budget debate was marked by acrimony and personal attacks. Rep. Jack Kingston (R-Ga.) mocked the deficit-minded "Blue Dog" Democrats, calling them "lap dogs." Rep. Marion Berry (D-Ark.) called the youthful, redheaded Rep. Adam Putnam (R-Fla.) a

"Howdy Doody-looking nimrod."

Either way, I thought it was pretty funny stuff.

Table Manners

So I'm going to take the honor of having the 1st post that is even remotely related to the title of this blog. We live in Oregon, a state that I'm very proud of for being so blue come election time. I like that I live in neighborhood filled with stable loving lesbian relationships and they don't have to live in fear of someone burning a cross in their front yard. The punk ass kids on our street even seem accepting of non-traditional lifestyles. It's great. I don't even mind the dirty hippies, except for the trust-a-farians - move to Boulder where you belong. But there is one thing I have a near zero tolerance for and that is people who force their alternative food lifestyles on everyone at the table. In Corvallis - there are many.

Today I ate lunch with the Girls Locker Room crew - 2 girls in the adjacent lab that I bullshit with all the time and who get subjected to my many rants about whatever happened that day. We'll call them Abby and Trina to protect the innocent. Abby invited a new chick - a friend of a friend type thing. Let me introduce Vegan Vera. Vera informs us as she opens her soy yogurt that she is, in fact, vegan with the exception that she eats fish. But not just any fish, you have to catch the fish yourself that day (and serve it to her). And not just any freshly caught fish, it must be only salmon or halibut, because those are the only fish she has tried so far. So your thinking - "big deal Holly, quit your whining". Well, it doesn't stop there. Abby is planning a birthday dinner for her friend Jan. Jan is vegetarian (not vegan), but Vera starts dictating to Abby exactly what she can and cannot make for dinner b/c Vera is going to be there and don't forget she's vegan (except for freshly caught salmon and halibut), not to mention another friend in common who only eats fresh food as in not cooked, is also going to be there. At this point Trina ponders out loud if she is going to go buy some cottage cheese for lunch. Vera jumps on this and informs Trina that of all the cultured milk products out there, cottage cheese has the lowest nutrient density and instructs Trina to eat yogurt instead. At this point, I can't take it anymore. The entire conversation of the lunch has been about Vera and her food issues/wisdom. But just then I'm delightfully saved when Bob and his wife stop by the table and announce their plans to make a TurDucken for Thanksgiving. If you're not familiar, a TurDucken is a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey. I pipe up and insist Bob shouldn't stop there. There has to lots more tiny birds that can be cooked inside of slightly larger birds.

I have put Vegan Vera on par with the girl not so lovingly referred to as Lactose-Intolerant Girl. I went to a business, potential client schmoozing, dinner with Holly's Boyfriend and his then boss. We went to a high-end Italian restaurant where the meal was served family style. Lactose-Intolerant Girl put her restrictions on ALL of the 7 entrees that were ordered and proceeded to make her condition the focus of converstaion for the next 20 minutes. It was a fucking business dinner. Make your request for a couple of cheese free dishes and move on with your life.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with being vegetarian, vegan, lactose intolerant or whatever else - just don't spend my lunch hour trying to convert me or criticizing my food choices. Especially not if we just met and you are a vegan who eats fish, but only freshly caught fish and only salmon or halibut because that's the only ones you've tried.

Mundane but blog worthy

...went to the OSU Rec Center Climbing Gym last night. By the time I finished with a mere 4 routes on top-rope my forearms and hands were reduced to gnarled, useless clubs. I've never been one for endurance climbing but last night may have marked a new low. That evening, however, found me in a rare optimistic mood. I saw the potential for a renewed emphasis on recreation and getting into the outdoors.

In other news, I received my score for the Professional Practice Soil Science Exam. I passed with a 90%. This should be the last hurdle to getting the vaunted Certified Professional Soil Scientist (CPSS) title. ...not sure what this gets me except a couple of letters to throw after my name. However, that's what I set out to accomplish when I signed up for the Fundementals Exam last year when I was in the job market. In the end, I think I've finally gotten straight all those cryptic terms that they use in the biz: albic, kandic, ustic, udic... bleh.

Lately I've been thinking about bentwood boxes. Not just their beauty and unique construction, but their utility in traditionally storing the most valued possessions of a family. It leads me to pose the following question: What would go in my bentwood box (if I had one)? What would go in your's?

Drag Racing - not what you think

Holly's Boyfriend and I finally had something interesting happen in our very boring domesticated lives. Through my connections, we scored VIP seats to the 4th annual OSU Drag Competition! This was a stiff race to see who would be crowned the 2005 King and Queen of the Beaver. We learned a lot the do's and don't of winning a drag show. It was a jam packed evening with really too to much to tell - so I'll give you some of the highlights.

Don't wait til its too late to throw a performer your panties. 2004 King Aiden was up first to show this year's competitors what they had to live up to . I tried to show Aiden just how much I liked the show by throwing him some pink thong panties, but he was off stage before they landed on the catwalk. Then there they were just sitting in the middle of the catwalk. Don't double switch genders. There was some creepy dude (real life dude that is) pretending to be woman pretending to be a man. It was all very strange mostly because he had a full beard and fake breast (little perky ones). I was thoroughly confused during both of his performances. He achieved not being sexy as either sex. Don't forget to tape your junk in place. One of my favorite early highlights was when "Brock"lost his penis down his pantleg and it ended up on the floor next to the catwalk (see photo). Do practice practice practice walking in heels. Also featured in our photos is the princess that I like to call Bambi. She had it going on in a Joan Jet sort of way but looked like a new born fawn when it came time to walk in those 3 inch heels. Do get a melodramatic super queen to be your back up on stage. Kiki, shown with the sexy bra and F-me boots, is a show stopper. Pretty much to the point that she doesn't compete b/c there would be no competition. Kiki is hot as either sex and Kiki knows it. Brock eventually sealed his fate of becoming the 2005 King of the Beaver by performing a gender bender version of Prince's "You got the look" with Kiki. Kiki went from sexy diva to assless underwear Prince look alike. It really didn't matter what Brock did at that point because nobody was watching. We were all too busy digging in our pockets for some dollars to shove down what little there was of Kiki's pants.

At the end the audience cast their ballots and the new King and Queen of Beaver was crowned. Holly's Boyfriend picked the Queen and neither one of my favorites made the cut.

My MOPAR madness

The muscle car is back- well sorta - in a new millennium sort of way, but I still think the 2005 Dodge charger looks pretty bad ass (especially in burnt orange with black racing stripes) and I'm not so secretly turned on by the Mustang's return to the boxy, blunt nose. This has grabbed the attention of Holly's Boyfriend. "Since when did Holly like American gas guzzlers or have any interest in cars in general!?" Until recently, I've only expressed interests in owning a Prius and Flip-pac. That was until I made several trips back to Indiana this summer to visit my family. I came back pointing out every new mustang there was out on the highway. Holly's Boyfriend didn't seem to get it when I pointed out the finer details - the chiseled new lines, the lifted rear end. I don't remember any comment at all when I voiced my concerns that the new body would be ruined if was made available in yellow (I hate yellow cars and yellow flowers, but that's a different story).

So here is my explanation for what appears to be inexplicable - my fascination with muscle cars. Muscle cars are not smooth rides. You don't drive them slow so everyone can see you. You drive fast and they shake, rattle and roll. At stoplights the idling vibrates through your entire body. When I was about 7, my sister had a Chevy Nova. She'd put my brother and I in the back seat and we drove fast. She took us to the mall parking lot and took the curves so fast that we went up on 2 wheels (I'm not making this up). I'm pretty sure Blondie was blaring in the background. My oldest brother's friend, Jerry, had a Challenger. I could hear Jerry coming to get Don at least 2 blocks away. There was usually some tire squealing when they left. I had no idea where they were going, but I was sure it had to be someplace pretty bad ass in a loud, fast car like that. Then there was a MOPAR dry spell for several years - called the 80's.

I have a brother 3 years older than me and he likes cars...ALOT. Cary's first cars were a green, beat out Super Bee and my favorite a white 1970 GTX. I hated the super bee. It didn't have any heat, it was unreliable and I had to ride bitch to Cary's skank-ass girlfriend during our drive to school. I also was a jock, a cool kid. I didn't want to be seen arriving to school in that piece of shit and I didn't want to associated with Cary's skank-ass girlfriend. I'd rush away from them and the car a quickly as possible when we got to school. Then came the GTX... The doors were welded shut, but it did have heat. I balked at the whole door thing when it came time for me to climb in with a dress on, but I secretly loved feeling like the Dukes of Hazzard. He took out the back seat which meant his skank-ass girlfriend had to ride on my lap. So this car was sucking ass too as far as I was concerned. That was until my brother realized that if I could drive, he would have more time to feel up his girlfriend on the way to school. This is when the car became very cool.

My brother put in fiberglass racing seats, a racing steering wheel, a tachometer, new racing shifter, a Holley 4 barrel (which I helped rebuild), glass packs and a bunch shit I can't remember. It was fast - very fast, and there were alot of wide open country roads for me to learn to drive the thing on. I learned to drive 100mph and come to skidding halts. Cary told me all the tactics for street racing. I ignored him. That car was powerful and I got to drive and that's all that mattered. I wanted to be seen with that car in the parking lot. It was bad-ass, just like I was.

So do I actually want to buy a muscle car? No. Do I want to drive one 100mph down a straight dirt road? Very much so.

Race in our world

It's a sad day when this comes through your inbox - Young Singers Spread Racist Hate - followed by a message from the Dean denouncing the cowardly act of an anoymous someone putting flyers in all the ethnic/race minority faculty members mailboxes questioning why there isn't a "Whites only" scholarship. This shit isn't funny.

I'm sick and tired of seeing under-represented groups being put on the defensive in relation to their qualifications and their education. I'm tired of the old boys network crying out everytime a minority or women gets a decent job. Sick and tired.

Not Mine, But You Get the Idea.

A Turn for the Worse.

I've been thinkin' 'bout this blog and just how bad it truely is. Thus far, it has combined two of the worst elements - cute pets and gross out pictures - into one truely banal product.

Anyway, we have several more photographs of cute pets - but what good will it do to post them. No good at all - in fact, it will serve evil. That is why this blog will change themes and be all about our pets. No stories about Corvallis, Oregon. It will be about cute pictures of beagles and cats snuggling by the fireplace. Pets with costumes and in themes. I'll already picturing the Gone With the Wind theme where Kitty dresses up like Scarlett (he is a little bitch after all). That will bring loads of traffic to this blog. No one can resist cute pets!

Kitty's Gobi

The Kitty (Pre-Abscess)

Oozing Pus

Its only day number two and I'm already providing "content" that has zero redeemable value. ...Straight to the bottom.

Seeing as how my better half may be the sole person that looks at this little niche of the internet, I will use it to describe the festering sore on my cat's ass. Now that is entertainment.

Kitty went to the vet today to have his tucass examined. Apparently he has a penchant for midnight knife fights or some other such thing because there is a big puncture wound on the starboard side of his tail. Last night it was exposed in its full glory (or should I say gory) because he has now stripped all of the fur from the area surrounding the wound.

That was too much for me. Keep your festering sores out of sight and out of mind, that's the way I live my life. If kitty thinks that he's going to parade around with a big gobi on his ass, then he's got another thing coming. ...hence today's vet visit.

The visit marks my entry into the role of pet caregiver. Up 'til now, the most I've ever done is been on the receiving end of a vet office's obligatory post-visit follow up call. Even then I didn't really take any responsibility ("Yeah, he looks fine, but I'm not the owner - you'll have to call back to speak to Holly.") Anyway, who knew that kitty-totes were expected?

The vet and assistant gave kitty a cursory examination (he was surprising well-behaved - even when they deployed the rectal thermometer), prescribed antibiotic pills and some-kinda wipes, showed me how to dose a cat with a pill (apparently cats are more discriminating and pill-resistant than our omnivorous beagle), and that was about it. Kitty continues to live a double identity which caused a slight amount of confusion. "The Feline Formally Known as Friskie" wasn't catching on.

The vet advised me to keep an eye on the wound, wipe it twice a day, make sure that it doesn't close up or leak pus. ...great.

What Are You Going to Vomit About???

We got sucka'd into this blog just so we could post a comment to some Mongolian chump's story about sleeping on the job. What a scam.

Anyway, after much deliberation we (Holly and I) settled in on the title "Bus Your Own Table" because Corvallis Licks Salty Balls seemed a bit abrasive. Who wants to type all that in anyway?

What to say?

Not really sure...

How 'bout some occasional stories about clueless servers, rainy days, and piss poor climbing?

Stay tuned. Or not. I really don't care.