Lunar Obverse

Sunday night, I bought a pound of dry black beans, and put them in a bowl, covered them with water and plenty of it, and let them sit overnight.

Monday morning, I chopped up some jalepenos, dumped the soaked beans and peppers and chicken broth, along with some spices, into the crockpot, and then turned it on.

Wait.

The recipe I had called for four hours of cooking on High, and then two (or more) hours on Low. My crockpot, a hand-me-down from my mom, only had a manual switch for Off/Low/High. I was going to be at work and, because I was going to hit the treadmill after work, I wouldn’t be home for 11 or 12 hours. Did I want to leave the beans cooking all day on High? Would that overcook them? Is there such a thing as overcooking in a slow-cooker? Would it overheat, catch fire and burn down my apartment and the building it’s in?

I’m a worrier.

So I put the crockpot on Low, figuring 12 hours of that would be enough cooking. Then I left for work.

On my way home from work, starving and needing food because of my workout, I thought about ladling out some spicy black beans over some Spanish rice I’d made this weekend, and chowing down. So good. I got off the bus, trusty #70 12th Ave, at New Seasons Sellwood, for a brief pit stop to see if they had a cheap ladle, since all I had were spoons; but I’m not going to pay $9.99 for a freaking ladle, no matter how fancy and pretty it was.

Walked home from there, still hungry. Walked in the front door; the whole house smelled like spicy beans. Went in the kitchen, saw that the crockpot was bubbling, slowly. Spooned out some to taste.

Damn. The beans weren’t done. Still chalky and hard. Damn.

I guess 12 hours on Low is not the same as 4 hours on High, after all.

I settled for the Spanish rice, and put the crockpot on High again. Watched some TV, chilled, went to bed.

Woke up around 1 AM, suddenly worried about the crockpot. But when I checked on it, it was bubbling nicely, though the liquid was down a bit. Added a little bit more broth, then turned it to Low. Then thought better of it sitting like that all night, and unplugged it.

This morning, after making breakfast, I portioned out the beans and brought some, with more leftover rice, to work for lunch.

I still haven’t had more than a small taste. But it’s fun learning about cooking.

Social media like Twitter and Facebook is great and all, right up until you’re following someone who disagrees with you. What do you do at that point?

Do you ask them questions to try to find out what the root of the disagreement is? What if they can’t, or don’t want to explain? What if they think your questions are intrusive and attacking, when you’re only trying to understand? Do you draw conclusions based on their responses?

Do you try to explain your own point of view, because, surely, the basis of your opinions is rational, and if you can just explain clearly why you believe what you believe, the other person will have to abandon their inferior opinion. Right?

Or do you talk about them to other people who agree with you and not them? That other opinion is wrong, am I right? Why would they think that, I wonder, out loud and at no one in particular (hoping someone will agree with me)?

Or do you send them a note telling them you won’t be following them from now on, and this is why, and goodbye? I mean, they would want to know why you’re not paying attention to them anymore. That’s what you would want, anyway, as long as you’re being reasonable and rational and not at all emotional about this issue on which you and another person in your social circle disagree for reasons that may or may not be important. Right?

Or do you simply ignore them. How… how… boring.

I’m being snarky but I’m pretty sure I have done and thought all of those things before. Sometimes I’ll pretend to take the high road and cloak my questions in the cloak of “honest inquiry”, and sometimes I’ll try to explain my own position and hope out loud that they’ll change their mind while inwardly knowing they probably won’t. And sometimes I’ll just ask other friends about it.

Looking at that behavior right now, I don’t really think I’ve been very mature. About any of it. I gotta be honest with myself and admit that there’s a little bit of troll in me. And maybe you, too, yeah?

There is entertainment value in it, though, which is why I’m always tempted. And there can be honest engagement where I’m legitimately trying to understand a different viewpoint. Sadly, though, I often press on past the point of honest engagement. Knowing when to quit, ah, that’s the real trick.

I find value, though, in keeping open lines of communication to people who don’t see the world the way I do. I’m not inclined to unfollow someone on Twitter just because I don’t like their opinions. I’d like to believe that I can listen, ask a question or two, and then just process the information without belittling the other person.

And my close friends, the ones whom I trust, always have an open invitation to call me on my bullshit. Lucky for me, they take advantage of that, as I return the favor to them. That’s what makes them my friends.

Not much to say this morning. I wrung myself out with yesterday’s post I think.

Spent last night with two fabulous dames, Tracy and Gina. Dinner at The Delta, which was terribly crowded and we had to wait an hour to be seated, in spite of our trying to sneak in the back and steal a table (what? We didn’t know!). We gorged on flank steak and corn bread and red beans and rice and hush puppies.

Oh, and booze. Did I forget the booze? Had my first vodka mojito of the year, and, well, really, ever, and it was good enough to prompt me to buy the second vodka mojito of the year, and, well, really, ever. I’ll probably stop counting them after this.

Then a quiet cup of coffee at my favorite local coffee shop, and then home.

Lots of conversation in-between, though. Private conversation.

Today looks to be a shopping and cooking day. I may have to find a reason to ride MAX this afternoon, though, since it’s Global No Pants Subway Ride Day.

I may or may not post something else later.

Seven or eight years ago I was dating a woman, named Terri Ann, who, among other things, introduced me to the idea of the five “languages” of love.

These are the five primary ways we express romantic love (and other kinds, as well), and they are: words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time, gifts, and acts of service. Terri Ann explained to me that everybody generally uses all five in a relationship, but that we tend to use one or two more often than the others.

Things did not work out with me and Terri Ann, but we remained friends for a long time afterward, and I was there at her wedding to meet the man lucky enough to marry her. I still think fondly of her, but what I think about since then, and lately, is those five expressions of love.

I think that she and I were able to remain friends, where I’ve failed to do that with other girlfriends, because of the way we expressed ourselves around each other. Our languages of love were complementary. We both liked and appreciated physical touch and quality time. It may have been a contributing factor that she lived an hours’ drive north from Portland, and we had to make a special effort to spend time together, so any time we were in each others’ presence was quality time and a gift of sorts. Especially since I did not own a car and had to make explicit arrangements to go see her¹.

I’ve never read the book that she got the idea from, but I’ve developed my own ideas about these five languages. I’ve decided that the “primary” one is learned from family, and that we tend to both take it for granted and de-emphasize it, while seeking out the ones that we did not get as children. That makes sense, right?

I don’t remember a lot of physical affection from my parents when I was growing up. I’m not saying they didn’t love me; I’m just saying they didn’t express themselves with hugs. My father tended to express love as acts of service; he worked hard to make sure we had a roof over our head and food on the table. He liked fixing and making things. I remember being in middle school when I was taking a class on the two World Wars; I needed a project for the class because the teacher assured us an A if we did some kind of special project. My dad suggested building a balsa-frame model of a WWI fighter plane, something I had never done before. My dad built the Red Baron’s plane; I built a replica of the Sopwith Camel, the plane flown by the man who shot the Red Baron down. Dad and I spent a lot of time on either side of the dining room table putting those models together, covering the frame in tissue paper, and painting it.

I was a kid. I didn’t value the model in and of itself. I valued the time I spent with dad working on it together. Later, when I was in high school, my friend and I blew that model up with fireworks, which was spectacular (for a teenager). I’m sure my dad would be dismayed to hear about that, if he doesn’t already know. But that’s the thing: I valued the quality time, not what was derived from it. And in another way, I devalued the time we spent together because I assumed it would always be like that.

So as an adult, when dating and trying to form close relationships, I model my parents’ behavior. I spend time, lots of time, with the woman I’m courting. I work on their computer, or help them get their car tuned up.

But I also crave physical touch. I like holding hands as soon as I think I won’t be rejected for doing so. I hug. And I think I crave all that because I did not get a lot of that when I was younger.

I was in high school before I remember hugging someone who was not a member of my family. I can clearly remember the circumstances. I was in the theater, on stage, after drama class, with some of my fellow students. I was an awkward and shy kid (who doesn’t think of themselves that way?) and me and another male friend (the same one I blew up the plane with²) were leaving. The details of it all are gone, but I remember Tina deWitt, class president, turning to me and offering a hug. She was bright, and cheerful, and very cute, all dark curly hair, just a bit shorter than me, but I didn’t really think of her in terms of romance.

Until she hugged me.

I’m pretty sure my body responded to her touch in a way I’ll leave undescribed, but luckily she didn’t notice because it was a lean-in hug. That was all it took. I can still smell the perfume in her shampoo; to this day I can feel her arms around my shoulders and hear the sparkle in her voice. And the reason I can remember all this is because it was so freakin’ rare for me.

When I remember past girlfriends, even now, I am hugging them in my memory. And often, my present mind is analyzing the hug to demonstrate how uncomfortable they were with it.

I can remember Terri Ann standing in my apartment, dressed up for dinner out, and I go to hug her. Her head is above mine; I have to turn my head up to look at her and kiss her. In her heels she’s three or four inches taller than me. She laughs, looking away, and I ask her why. She remarks on the height difference, and I laugh and tell her “I’m OK with it.” Was she?

I can remember being downtown with Deb, and she was getting on MAX to go home, and while we waited for the train to show up, I hugged her. And I felt her pull away a little, and she didn’t look me in the eye, so I asked her about it. “Do my hugs make you uncomfortable?”

“A little” she admitted. “Sometimes it’s just… too much.”

I’m no longer with Deb, clearly. That was six years ago now. But the memory, of me wanting touch, and being rebuffed, in words and small nearly unnoticeable movements, is still fresh.

Thinking of that, now, I connect it with a memory of my mom standing at the sink putting dishes in the dishwasher, and my dad coming up behind her to hug her from behind. And mom tenses up, stops what she’s doing, and waits it out. “Bob,” she says, simply, scolding. And dad laughs, but I can tell he’s hurt, and he holds her a second longer, and then lets go, walks to the fridge, and gets something out of it, while mom goes back to washing dishes.

I know how he feels now. Over and over again.

Am I attracted to women who don’t want what I want? Am I over-doing it? Or is it just a mis-match in communication?

So many questions… and it feels so much like there’s less and less time for answers.

¹ Thank you, Zipcar! Although back then it was FlexCar, or possibly Portland Carshare; the company has changed over the years).

² Hi, Terry! (I’m pretty sure he reads my blog)

Things that will get you kicked off CNN: using a common expletive every adult has heard or said.

A quickly-compiled and necessarily-incomplete list of things that won’t get you kicked off CNN:

• Lying about terrorist attacks under former President Bush.
• Calling someone who has been proven to spout falsehoods a “straight talker”.
• “Reporting” on a pro-war advertisement without calling out the false claims made therein.
• Uncritically repeating claims of reduced violence in Bagdad by the president without fact-checking said claims, in spite of concurrent evidence to the contrary.
• Comparing torture to a spanking.
• Being a convicted felon in connection with the dominant political scandal of the past 40 years.

To their credit, CNN did find a method for parting ways with a xenophobic, hate-filled pundit after controversy upon controversy. So perhaps this post should be comparing Kathy Griffin and Lou Dobbs.…naaaaah.

That’s German for “thought experiment”.

Which refers to this here little link I found on the Twitternets (via @pdxjoe).

If you didn’t have to worry about work, bills, cleaning, feeding your family, etc., what would you do instead? With the condition that you have to try something you’ve never done before, and you have to focus on what you want to do, rather than what you should do.

Assuming money was no object, I’d drive cross-country, spending time in every state I can drive to. Maybe take a trip like William Least Heat-Moon described in Blue Highways. That’s the first thing to come to mind. That’s always been the “when I win the lottery” dream for me.

Other things that the blogger suggests are things I’m already doing: getting fit, writing a novel, getting in touch with old friends. Or things I’ve already done: skydiving, racing cars, talking my way into an illegal bar in Spanish Harlem where I drank and smoked Cuban cigars and danced until dawn.

What about you? What’s your dream?

It appears I’ve added some items to my new year’s goals.

Robin @mizd Catesby and her boyfriend are trying the One Hundred Pushups challenge. I met Robin during 30 Hour Day. Since running takes care of my lower body and cardio-vascular system, I thought trying to do the pushup challenge would be of benefit to me for my upper body strength, which is sorely lacking. And it’ll give me an exercise to do on my off-running days.

Since that wasn’t enough, I added the 25 Chinups challenge, too, which I found when I went looking for an iPhone app to keep track of all this, and since I have a chinup bar I don’t really use.

For the record, I did the “initial test” for these two challenges last night. I was able to manage 4 perfect pushups before I had to rest, and was not able to manage even a single chinup, either with palms facing me or facing away (I got confused). Here’s hoping their training program helps me significantly improve those numbers.

Also, as a side note, Rick and Cami have announced the date for the next 30 Hour Day: 2 July 2010, beginning at 6:00 PM. I’ve let them know that I am definitely in on that one, too. Save the date! Now I just have to come up with something to do…

I used my new Shopping app for iPhone (link opens in iTunes) to do some price comparison today. I’ve always assumed that QFC, because it’s basically Fred Meyers (both owned by Kroger) is cheaper than New Seasons, in spite of the New Seasons store being closer to my house. Well, I compared a few of my normal items and there’s a significant difference, and New Seasons is cheaper for me. Go figure. And the quality of their produce seems better, too. Since I’m doing more cooking at home, that will help me save money over the long term.

I’ve continued my LOST rewatch, and have just started Season 5 this weekend. I have plenty of time to finish this before Season 6 starts on 2 February 2010. This show rocks, although watching it all start to finish shows that J. J. Abrams, Damon Lindleof and Carlton Cuse, the series creators, have not always been successful in crafting a long narrative in the face of normal TV constraints, like the writer’s strike, the vagaries of actors and the network, and their own impulses. Before Season 6 starts, I’d like to sit down and make a list of my hopes for what mysteries get wrapped up and what will likely be left behind. For now, though, I’m enjoying a terrific sci-fi action show.

What have y’all been up to?

Decision making is hard.

Cinnamon Chasers – Luv Deluxe (Music Video) from Saman Keshavarz on Vimeo.

Especially when it comes to love.

(via kottke)