Queen Califia

So, let the record show that the birthday turned out fine after all. We went to dinner and just made a relaxing day of it. Click on any image here to see it larger (and pardon me while I practice my HTML with the images).

I made one of my frequent pilgrimages to Niki de Saint Phalle's Queen Califia's Magical Circle and I spent some time just sitting there and absorbing it. I've decided that what it makes me think of Dr. Seuss, Alice in Wonderland and American Gods.

There was quite a bit of disrepair. Lots of the mirror pieces set into the mosaic (especially in the maze portion) were busted. Just in the hour we were there, several kids tore through on scooters and skateboards, the likely culprits. They seemed loud, bored and oblivious to how special and unusual it is. To them, it's just that weird art thing that's a short ride from the skate park/sports complex. They looped in, rode roughshod through it, and back out again. It made me sad.

Is anyone looking after it? I guess maintenance of these things is probably the first to go in a budget crisis, like the one we're currently having. I remember mentioning that I should let my son climb one of the snake walls to take a picture. Someone within earshot sternly informed us that it wasn't allowed, and we were properly chastised.

Some pics from the day (click on any image to the larger version):

This is a path leading up to the sculpture garden. I don't remember it from last time, and it looks like a work in progress. It looks like they've repurposed some concrete pieces. A mosaic, connecting to a path that leads to many mosaics. I wonder if it was intentional?


One of the (many) snake walls:


The bird creature centerpiece:


The mosaic pieces themselves are a wonder. I love the tactile sensation of running my fingers over the stones.


Niki's signature plate on the inside of the centerpiece:


A pretty little orange tree within the park's citrus orchard:


A sweetgum tree we saw on the way out, and the same sweetgum tree after I was playing around with embossment filters in Photoshop. I don't know why I like the original image so much. It has a sort of zen-like simplicity to it, I guess.




A good birthday, after all.

It's my birthday. Whee.

I'm feeling a little whiny, since we can't do anything for said birthday. Money's tight. And then I thought, "Wait, have we been able to do anything on my previous birthdays?"

This year I'm getting some shirts, but I don't really count those since they weren't technically a birthday present, but rather a "I only have four shirts, I'm ordering more shirts" kind of a thing. Sephora tucked "Happy Birthday" lip gloss into my last order, which was also not a gift, though I guess you could the re-ordering of my face scrub a gift to myself.

I went off looking for posts, notes and journal entries.

2008: There were no posts pertaining to my birthday anywhere near my birthday. I certainly don't remember doing anything then. So I'm guessing that would be... nothing? Also, I'm not posting in a whiny way about stuff I could be doing, so I wasn't stoically refraining from whining. Unlike now.

2007: No posts. I posted about something entirely unrelated, trying to get recs for kid's movies. Again, keeping my chin up, probably because we weren't doing anything of note.

2006: See 2007.

2005: I posted about being flattered that I was carded when I ordered a Frangelico coffee drink with my brunch, as I was 28. So, nothing that year either.

2004: I was volunteered to make a bunch of food for a family function that was just a random family function and had nothing to do with my birthday. Apparently, no one looked at the calendar when they promised my culinary skills. (I get the feeling that I wasn't consulted on the date, as the post reads as if I was blindsided.) Everyone was there to visit with an uncle on my husband's side who lives across the country and doesn't visit often, so I took pains to not bring it up, since I didn't want them baking me a pity bundt cake on a day not intended for me. Birthday was seemingly forgotten.

2003: I received a gift card to Borders books (where I apparently purchased the Barzun book in the previous post, depressingly), and was glad I had shown no signs of schizophrenia (there's a family history of it). But we didn't do anything due to my husband being sick. I was promised we would as soon as we were able, but I don't see a follow-up post to that effect.

You know, I'm tired of this. I know that this year we have no money to speak of, and that may have even been the story last year, too. But I don't believe that was the case before. I think I've been enough of a "good sport" and that I should get to have a birthday now, too.

Orange juice, B-12, Barzun.

My husband recently took on the formidable task of organizing our ridiculous book collection. "Ridiculous" is not hyperbole. We have a little over 1,000 feet of space, and we have approximately two books for each of those feet.

Now the true crime books (mine) are all on two shelves next to the desk, the writing and reference books (ours, but mostly mine) next to them. Three shelves of political theory and punditry (his) are facing the desk. The shelf closest to me has Carl Sagan, PJ O'Rourke and The Art of War. I think this shelf, specifically, is my shelf of shame: Books I bought with every intention of reading them, and there they sit, looking pristine.

One of these books is From Dawn to Decadence by Jacques Barzun. It's not the biggest or the most intimidating book in our collection. That honor would go to Isaac Asimov's Guide to the Bible, a book so terrifying in its helt that when I happen to come across it, I make a little high-pitched sound in the back of my throat.

Reading is one of those "little vacations" I need to take more often, but Barzun... Barzun is another story. It's history, for one, and history is one of my poor subjects. Knowing more about it would add a wonderful layer of context to so many things. I'm just going to have to take it like dose. Stretches, crunches, Barzun. Vitamins, SPF-30 sunscreen, Barzun. Snowpeas, carrot sticks, Barzun.

So here I was, finally deciding that I would start it, for once and for all, but it wasn't with the other history. So I picked up Hugh Laurie's The Gun Seller again from the mystery shelves (mine). Again. See, I didn't even get near the history section, much less Barzun.

Barzun was mistakenly with the military history (his) on another shelf. And now I'm giving it that long, confused, standoffish sort of look. The same expression I reserve for lines of old code, calculus, fashion and Civil War documentaries.

Tasting the Caribbean

My son and I cooked this on Saturday: Caribbean-style beans and rice from Michael Chiarello. Delicious. We doubled the recipe and went with the serrano chilis rather than the Scotch bonnet, though I think next time I will add another one for just a touch more heat. Since we used canned beans rather than soaking dry beans (I know, I know), we added a cup of rice to balance out the extra liquid.

He enjoyed chopping the garlic and mimicking the knife work he sees on cooking shows (as I hovered somewhat anxiously nearby, of course). He also enjoyed grinding the pepper we would need into a bowl. Standing around and watching pots is not his bag; he wants to work.

The result was fantastic. Next time, we're trying it with the dry beans, since I'm curious about how the beans would soak up the flavor of the cinnamon, allspice and coconut milk.

We paired the red beans and rice with this roasted chicken. Since the recipe called for garlic and pepper sauce (to stir into the melted butter), I used a red chili garlic sauce I bought on our last trip to the Asian grocery down the street.

A successful day of cooking all around, with leftovers for days.

Reading about working is not a break.

But it can help.

One of the books I picked up to handle issues at work is The No Asshole Rule by Robert I. Sutton. I saw myself in the pages when he described people-who-appear-to-be-assholes. He says to work with the seemingly cold, aloof person that you might have tagged as an asshole; it may turn out that they're not so bad once you get to know them. And I say hear-hear. We're not all social butterflies or Oscar Wilde around the water cooler, and why would we all need to be?

He also spoke of someone who told a recruiter (I'm paraphrasing), "I don't want to be friends with these people; I came here to work." Though this was tagged as a non-team player attitude, it resonated with me as well.

I find my workplace easier to tolerate if I imagine that it's a David Mamet play and I'm just another character in it.

Let's get started.

Yasumi = Japanese for 'vacation.'
Yasumu = Japanese, 'to rest.'

The only vacation I'm going to get in the near future is in my head, and it starts... now.