2 snaps up animated gif roundup.

a Church of the Granny Bike homage to the greatest "In Living Color" sketch of all time:

sunday routine.

One of my favorite things about Sunday is the articles each week in the NYT series Sunday Routine. They ask an interesting person what they do on Sundays. I think I find this so fascinating because for six or seven years my Mormon Sundays were an miserly and unrestful mix of obligations- meetings, worship, and dropping in on family. I was shocked at how much more "me" time I had when I left Mormonism. I thought I would take a stab at my own Sunday Routine- and I'd love to know yours as well.


Melanie, 26, is a graduate student pursuing a PhD in American history. A resident of South Philly, she has lived in Philadelphia for seventeen months.


COFFEE, INTERNET I like to wake up naturally on the weekends since I don't often have plans- usually around 9:30 or 11. I drink coffee and catch up on my favorite Sunday internet features- Postsecret, Sunday Routine, occasionally the weddings section. I stay up on blogs and the Fashion and Politics sections during the week, so I like to have Sunday treats to look forward too. I like to keep it ultra casual- t-shirts, sweatshirts, and raggedy jeans I would never wear out during the week.


WHAT'S FOR BREAKFAST In recent months I've been captivated by pancakes, so sometimes I'll make those for my roommate and I. Otherwise it's cereal or toast. In the summer I go out to brunch more often. Today I was lucky, I went with girlfriends to Local 44 in West Philly. We had their signature beer-mosas and I had a breakfast BLT with the most good quality bacon I've ever seen on a sandwich anywhere, ever.


TAKING IT EASY Some Sundays I like to take care of business- maybe laundry or a trip on the bike to Target. After brunch today, a friend and I hit up Metropolitan Bakery and walked through still snowy Rittenhouse Square, one of my favorite Philly spots.  Like any day, I have to work, but not too soon. I picked up a fruit and oat bar to enjoy while I'm reading later.


GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS Sometime in the mid-afternoon I get down to work. Today I have to go up to school to get some books out of my office. I left them there on purpose because the forecast was calling for sun and I really, really need to get a bike ride in after all this snow. But again- nothing too quick. I'm going to drink some more coffee before I make my way out of the house. I think I might stop by H&M on the way to school-- I am getting an itch for Spring fashion. Like everyone here, winter has worn me out.


ACTUALLY WORKING I'm studying for my comprehensive exams this semester, so I'm trying to put away five books a day. It's insane- I usually get through three books and feel fine, but the extra two is a stretch. Working through the lists is really satisfying, even though I just started really reading last Wednesday. I have class tomorrow as well, so there's reading for that. There are no days off between now and May.


KEEPING IT REAL Sundays are a nice time to relax and prepare for the week. And there's always time for a cocktail in the evening when it's time to wind down. Watching a movie- we've been into Almodovar's tragedies lately- and chipping away at an embroidery project is a nice way to wrap up the day.

great moments in tacoma cycling, part 1.

A chance encounter with Jeff of Jeff's Ice Cream. Don't you wish your town had a bicycle ice cream vendor?

a visit to DBC in boston: test-riding the 'swift'.

It's taken me a month to get to this post.  On one hand, it's about sloth-- here and there I've been busy, but for the most part I've settled into a state of mild but ambivalent productivity that is appropriate to my status as an underemployed summering graduate student.  On the other hand, however, this is about my inability to explain things that move me in a certain way, moments of pure joy and freedom.  Like when I played in the Pacific Ocean last summer in San Diego-- the bliss was inexplicable and vast, hard to put my finger on. So I don't really talk about it, because it feels kind of sacred.

Ok, now that we've established that, you can be aghast:

"You felt that way test-riding a bike?!?!"

I know, I know.  It's a little superlative.  

When I visited my best friend in Boston last month-- every Philadelphian should have a cleaner city nearby to escape to from time to time-- I found myself with a morning to myself while she worked.  In the interests of "doing things right" and "getting some blog material" and also, duh, "my interests," I looked to see if there were any Dutch bike shops in Boston.  When I go to Boston, I actually spend most of my time in Cambridge, and let me tell you something-- Cambridge bicycle culture is the jam.  People tend to ride functional, sometimes beautiful bikes with helmets and lights; the bike lanes are plentiful, and (by MIT) sometimes even separate from traffic; there are oodles of folding bikes.  To a spectator- it's orderly, pragmatic, pleasant, plain clothes.  Riding in Boston, I hear, is a bit more aggressive, but let's not get too far away from my impressions of Boston as bike paradise.

So all of this in mind, I made my way out to Somerville, sort-of near Tufts, to City Bikes (lest they be confused with other Dutch Bicycle Companies, though I think they go by DBC).  All I knew going in was that they were Dutch bike dealers building their own bikes.  I expected a traditional bicycle showroom, but it's a little more casual than that-- which I think gets at the practical sensibility at the heart of the City Bikes program.

City Bikes started out with the desire to solve some of the problems of the Dutch bicycle-- the incredible weight, the sometimes wobbly steering, the increasingly cheap components used on bikes for American import.  They recruited an army of MIT engineers (ok, maybe not that many) to come up with a host of frame designs that looked just right, to get a geometry that felt just right, to make a bike ideally suited to the rigors and challenges of American urban riding.  Anywhere they could've cut corners, they didn't-- they used American materials (like Pennsylvania steel!), rebuilt headlights, and selected the very best components.  What they got surprised them: they hadn't expected it to be so perfect.

If you're surprised that you haven't yet heard of City Bikes, that's kind of on purpose-- they are doing everything they can to meet demand as it is.  We all know the demand that's faced other custom builders, like Sweetpea or Vanilla.  When I visited, the only City Bike in the showroom was the men's prototype and an unbuilt women's frame.  

ladies frame

As it is, you can order a bike to fit your measurements with the paint job you want for ~$2400.  For Boston residents, City Bikes is offering lifetime maintenance because they believe in the quality of their bikes.  For people living within 2 hours, they're offering an installment payment plan.  

What can I say about test-riding the Swift?  It's a bike-riders' bike.  It's responsive, easy to recover when you pitch yourself sideways.  The posturing is perfect, the bike is not heavy, it's elegant.  The time I spent on that bike may have been some of the best ten minutes of my summer-- they were lucky I left my purse in the office, I might not have come back.  Riding this bike-- it was my playing in the ocean moment. I can't really explain it. It was how riding bikes ought to be. You could have never ridden a bike before and get on this bike and think it's nice, but I think it might take someone a little more seasoned to appreciate what's going on here in terms of craftsmanship and deliberate design choices.  If I could afford one, I would buy one.

Obviously, if you find yourself in Boston, a City Bikes visit is mandatory.  Dan and Maria are gracious bike enthusiasts who you'll want to spend some time with.  I can't do justice to how excited I was when I left.  Make sure you bring an extra couple grand when you visit-- you'll want to buy one of these beautiful bikes before everybody else finds out about them.  

Dan and Maria, if you see this-- please feel free to make any corrections in the comments!

This video is found on their website- it includes a teensy portion of what I learned during my visit:

the ghosts of graduations past: a lesson in comparative graduations.

My cousin is graduating from high school today and I am overcome with sentimentality.  Was it eight years ago that I sat in my white gown hopefully eating contraband M&M’s with my best friends in the Tacoma Dome?  Was it just four years ago that I again trod the floor of the Tacoma Dome, this time in black, and with a greater sense of terror about where my life was going?  Or a year ago even that I was hooded in the Huntsman Center, finally graduating with a life plan? 

I thought it would be fun to dig through my paper archives and share with you some blurbs from the exceptionally fair weathered days of graduations past:

“It’s crazy though, because the next five years will probably determine my whole life.  No pressure or anything! …. Lots of cool options, when it comes to careers and what to study in college.  The whole world is in front of me! Weeeeee! I can do anything I want with my life! Ha! I can do whatever I want.  If I wanted I could go find some dweeby singles ward guy and get married.  I could go to college and become a teacher, a translator, a counselor- anything! … I can do anything I want!  The world is my pancake and I’m ready for breakfast!!!!!”

-June 10, 2002

This is obviously the first time I had thought about my future.  I’m glad that, after a few close calls,  I didn’t follow through with the “dweeby singles ward guy” option.  

“It seemed like the day would never come soon enough, and without really giving a care as to what happens after, well, it came.  Suddenly it would seem—barring [sic] all classes are passed- that I am to be an adult, an educated person, some sort or worker.  I can’t say that I’m particularly prepared for the finality of my educational pursuits but alas, the unpreparedness is my reality…

I cannot say that the post-graduate lifestyle will be without its struggles.  The need for full-time employment is imminent.  Greater independence must be obtained, as must a more fuel-efficient car.  The blessings of love and family will bring their own set of stressors; still, well, the potential of life inspires too much hope to feel overwhelmed.  Sure, Monday will come and I may feel some despair but that does not change the infinite possibilities for my future.”

-May 21, 2006

If a student wrote this, I would spend a lot of time debating about whether I'd give her an A- for being reasonably articulate or a B+ for being inflated and obnoxious, containing tense confusion and misusing words.  She would probably get the A- as like, four times elsewhere in the entry she talks about how graduation made her really want to go to graduate school.

Bonus points because my life plan was to become “some sort of worker."

“I am nearly 25 and I feel like I haven’t done anything yet.  I know I have to let go of that, take a deep breath, (<-- grad school made me put that comma there, so not me) & somehow I must believe that I can do what I said I would do…. I suppose that’s it.  I have no deep thoughts about life right now, just a lot of peace about my choices.”

      -May 16, 2009

 I think by the time I got my MA, I had finally floated down to earth and found some real goals.  Clearly after graduating so many times, its momentousness is lost on me.  I now struggle to buy people sincere graduation cards because I’m like, “Really?  I’ve graduated like a gazillion times. Do it a couple more times and then we'll talk.”

And so, class of 2010, I present you with the same wry card I presented myself with last year:

card available through Sycamore Street Press on Etsy.  Check it out- they run a mean letterpress. 

Photo links to the card as this is their sales photo. 

tacoma biking, part 2: chupacabra ride.

The true purpose of the xtracycle snapdeck, revealed.

One of the pleasures of home is that after living in Philly, Tacoma feels a little quaint.  It's always refreshing to go home and find familiar faces around every corner of are not-so-tall city.  There are some seriously nice folks who gather for a festive booze cruz every now and then.  Big Brother is a frequent flyer, and I myself had the pleasure of riding on the Christmas ride (and by riding, I mean, sitting on the back of the xtracycle while BB hauled my ass all over Tacoma).  It's a merry and low key mix of beer, food, bikes, and light costuming. What more could you ask for?

For info on future Mob Rides, check here and here.

I go to the rides for the sweet spokes-cards.

I was very pleased that the Chupacabra ride occurred during this last trip home.  Naturally, I hopped on the back of BB's xtracycle and we made our way to rally at one of Tacoma's best bars, the renowned hot dog bar The Red Hot.  After some brewskis, we made our way to the Taco Truck on Sixth Ave, where BB and I enjoyed some Mexican coke.  The group rode on to downtown, and BB and I made our way home.  

Our favorite part of the ride occurred as we passed a sporty guy cycling for exercise-- he was like, "What are you guys doing?" And BB was like "We're riding to get beers!" and the guy was like "I'm coming with you!" and did a u-turn to join the crowd.  Warm fuzzies and all that.  I also liked the part where BB found 18 dollars on the ground-- allowing us to completely recoup the cost of our night.  That's definitely one of the perks of not being in a car.

Tacoma Cycle Chic at its finest.

I was excited to see so many people on bikes while I was home-- like everywhere, I think Tacoma is on the verge of a bicycle explosion. 

(BB speaks to the local paper about Tacoma's emergent cycle culture here)

cute little cargo bike.

Last month I took my flat ODT tire to the shop (this was before Clever Cycles and Dutch Bike Co. got all hip to self-help tips. Got that damn thing off myself with phone coaching from Big Brother).  This picture was trapped in my phone until today. The Dahon handled the load quite well, and hey, I'm sure it added to my visibility... 


Seriously, this little bike is such a workhorse.


(Bicycle Therapy took care of the flat and the subsequent tweaks to the Old Dutch. I love that shop!) (and not just because they showed me the trailer for The Expendables)

some thoughts on #30daysofbiking.

I was thinking about this post and how it would be good for the end of the month, and then I was like no.  Victory narratives are good, but you guys already know I'm a champ.*  What we need around here is some process.  Nitty gritty process.  


I got on the Thirty Days of Biking train at the end of the worst week of cycling I had ever had.  I had been riding the folding bike for a month straight, I had witnessed an awful, head-mangling crash, and then I had to ride a bajillion miles over the course of several subsequent soakedawfulrainy days.  


Biking.  I was so over it.  


So Thirty Days of Biking came at a moment when I wanted little to do with bikes.  Literally, April 1st was a beautiful day and as I was headed out to a meeting, I was pumping up my folding bike tires, got impatient, jerked a valve and gave myself a flat.  So. over. it.  


Later in the day I found out about Thirty Days of Biking, and determined I had to get the Old Dutch back together.  I had to see if I couldn't reclaim some of the joy.  Because this blog isn't called Church of the Granny Bike for nothing, and I'm the kind of person who stops going to church if there isn't any joy in it.


So.  I had some work to do.  And my roommate did too, because that chain wasn't going to put itself back on.**


My first ride was at night.  The first thing I noticed was that I had gotten faster from riding that teensy bike.  The second thing I noticed was the way the wind felt against my face.  Feeling the wind on my face again-- in that special way that one can only feel on a big steel upright bike***-- gave me hope.  I might be able to enjoy this.


It's been a gift getting reacquainted with the Old Dutch.  Going out on it every day has challenged me to actually leave me house every day.  Did you know I can be kind of a hermit?  To meet my daily ride quota (just one!), I've actually taken the bike out just for fun.  I've been more prompt about doing errands instead of combining trips.  I've wondered why I wasn't riding my bike every day.  I've given in to urges to make banana bread, urges to circle around Swann Fountain, and urges to ride around in short short dresses in spite of the wind.  


It wasn't until today-- after I put the seat up a bit, and after somebody had manhandled the ODT in an effort to have it for their very own-- that I felt truly reconnected.  Hightailing it out of the unfamiliar neighborhood, I couldn't help but feel like I was on parade, showing the whole damn world that the Old Dutch Treat [!] is my bike, and that smile on my face is there because I'm having so much fun riding it.  


It was perfect.




*this blog is all about meeeeeeeee!
**I am now an expert at this.
***yep. if it's not steel, you can't have that feeling. sorry.

bright spots stockpile, part 4.

I emailed a professor a couple of days ago asking for two book recommendations to round out a five book historiography* I'm working on (political networks of the early republic! so good!) and he finally got back to me today.  


With recommendations for seven books I should look into.  


I know that the expectation isn't that I read them all, but that's the difference between being an undergraduate and a graduate student, I feel. I will read them all.  My learning journey with this professor this semester has been so positive and enlightening and mind-stretching that I know the books will be useful and I want to go down that path.  I am happy that I get to be here, learning from such nice, brilliant people.  I am happy that I'm living a life where I can drop everything and race off to the library.  I am happy to have work that is so blissfully consuming and challenging.  I am happy, I am happy, I am happy.


*a paper that is a brief overview of a specific field-- like a multi-book book report, with more analysis.

vodka vs. vinegar: pie crust battle a draw.

Last night when we were cutting into a the chocolate pudding pie I made, my roommate admitted he is solidly "Team Pie." Now I had always considered myself very much "Team Cake" but... I said, in complete seriousness, "Pie is a more satisfying creative outlet for me at this point in my life."  (aren't you glad I'm not saying that about, oh, liquor? heroin?)  It's cheesy but true.  Conquering pie crust and the limitless number of possible fillings is starting to look like a mildly consuming spring semester project that nobody will complain about supporting, ever.


Last night I made The Pioneer Woman's Pie Crust and Smitten Kitchen's Chocolate Pudding Pie.  PW's pie crust has a lot going for it: shortening and white vinegar are MUCH cheaper than butter and vodka.  The outcome was basically as good as she talked it up to be-- this is the flaky-ist crust I have ever made.  It just kind of dissolves in your mouth with its amazing texture.  For a pudding pie, that really works and honestly, I cannot stop eating this pie.  Seriously, get on it!  You need some homemade pudding in your life.  But anyways, the crust.  I was rushing it a bit and it still came out really flaky and amazing, so that's a win.  It also comes out of the pan with zero fight.  I have no recollection of ever having that experience with a crust I've made.

The problem with the vinegar/shortening pie crust recipe is that it has very little flavor.  For a fruit pie, I think I would definitely like something more buttery.  I think I may have to bite the bullet and make an all-butter crust in spite of the love I feel for the Cook's Illustrated vodka/shortening/butter version.  I thought this would be an either/or contest, but now I'm feeling like different pie crust recipes might suit different moods and I'm ok with that.  

now we're cooking with vodka.

I know it's time to blog when I feel the temptation to start blowing up my Twitter feed with statements like "This pie crust is a revelation, why have I never tried this recipe?" and "Every bite of this pie crust convinces me that I'm a good person, and also, a genius," and of course, "Why don't I make apple pie more often so I can have apple pie for breakfast more often?"  


That's where I'm at right now.


I hadn't been too happy with the outcome of my last pie crust-- everybody said it was good, but I was aware-- perhaps there's some latent Mormonness at work here-- that it wasn't living up to its eternal potential.  So since everybody always talks about the vodka pie crust recipe, and I actually had vodka in my freezer for once (it was fun while it lasted), I tracked down the recipe (who knew vodka was the key to anyone's eternal potential?).  With that effort came, unexpectedly, some very useful method tips (I know, as if a Cook's Illustrated recipe requires more method tips).  

The results were pretty good.  I still feel like it needs something- maybe some brown sugar in the goo, a touch of almond flavoring in the crust, some sliced almonds on the top crust, apples with actual flavor- but really, this is probably the best all around pie I've ever made.  You can find the filling recipe here, the pie crust recipe here, and a hefty dose of pie crust learnin' right here.  

If you actually let the pie rest like you're supposed to, you won't get pie soup, but around here we like our pie piping hot at 11pm served with a side of fresh whipped cream.  But just look at how light and flaky that crust is!  Wowsers.  My cup of baking vanity runneth over. 

my life in bike stats.

Big Brother and I have a monthly bicycle miles accountability routine.  Tonight we checked in and I went a little crazy with my numbers.  They reveal a lot about my habits- though not entirely, as there was a lot more bussing, subway-ing, and walking in January than a typical in-school month.  But here's what I was up to on my bike:


I rode 118 miles.
I rode 82 of my total miles on or after school started on January 19.


I rode 35.3 of my total miles at night.  
Are you watching for bikes when you drive at night?


I failed to encounter zen and the art of bicycle maintenance.


I averaged 3.8 miles a day, or 6.2 on days that I rode (I like my days off).
My average round trip was 4.9 miles.

A. 32% of my miles involved acquiring or imbibing drink.*
B. 27% of my miles involved picking up library books or amazon.com orders from the post office.
C. 26% of my miles involved getting groceries.


There was no overlap between A and B or A and C. There was a teensy bit of overlap between B and C thanks to a sweet new supermarket by my school.


I had a Church of the Granny Bike moment on my folding bike.


I made 15 round trips on the Dahon.
I made 11 round trips on the Old Dutch Treat.
This was the first month that I've ridden the Hello Kitty bike more, thanks to my snazzy new headlight.


I've ridden approximately 685 miles since going car-free last August.  Amazing what the body can do without the Honda, isn't it?




All routes were checked using Google Maps. My lifetime car-free cumulative numbers include some earnest fudging from unrecorded rides early on and when I was on vacation away from my lovely spreadsheet.  All errors are due to the fact that I'm a historian who's never taken a statistics class. All bike miles were accrued wearing regular clothes for the purpose of transportation. All January miles were accrued wearing a helmet.


*Know your limits before you get on your bike and plan accordingly (that's how I roll). Drink and ride responsibly, judiciously, or not at all. I'm not here to tell you how to live your life so don't blame me, sue me, or judge me.  I'm not looking for a conversation, that is, unless you are the awesome dude who was hauling a mega-case of bottles on your front rack in 20 degree weather the other day.  Because that was awesome and required some serious skills.

unexpected day in the life.

Give me a day that starts out with me falling asleep around 4am.


I'll tell you that it's not going to be a good day.  There's that midday social obligation.  There's articles to read.  There's all those bike miles to add up.  There's that class I'm not interested in, talking about that book that I didn't get much out of with that group of people who bore me with that nutty professor.  That's going to happen.


Ugh.


I'm going to wake up a little grumpy.


And things are going to add up.


That toast is delicious.  And that music?  It's music to my ears.


Those people outside the liquor store?- yes, I'm there at 11:30am- the ones who always heckle me for cash when I pretend I'm not listening?-- dollar bills all around, not really thinking about it.  It's windy, get some coffee.


Let's get on that bike, the one I fight with, the one that carries me through Center City as that van honks at me but I miss all the potholes.  Bake some cookies, my favorite thing to do.  Baking with the girls who are like my Relief Society, making our own group just like the Relief Society would've told us to.  But give us mimosas- the idea they scoffed at, drinking at noon- give us mimosas and chocolate chips and snickerdoodles.  A few hours of much needed sisterhood and that bread!  Something you could only find in Philly, that bread!


Breeze through those articles, the ones we won't talk about, and on to dinner.  Leftover spaghetti noodles somehow transform themselves into some proto-yakisoba, pan-fried noodles, onions, garlic, pea sprouts, soy sauce.  And we have that conversation, texting back and forth about that UPS guy who likes you.  I look forward to that, you know.  Coffee, yes, at 6pm, class tonight, what a bore! But I'm glad we talk- a different we- when we meet in the kitchen. I'm glad when you offer me some of that soup and when you tell me you liked the latkes I made, the ones you ate without asking.  Going to that talk tomorrow, getting an advisor tomorrow, class tomorrow.


Let's not think about tomorrow.


Let's talk about going to OAH in April, tenement style, with everyone.  Or you- the other you- call me and squeeze in that five minute conversation while you walk home and I race out the door.  Headlight, blinkee light, helmet, lock.  Green lights and minimal traffic, easy parking and not even late!


Allow me to bust out every strategy in the book to get through that class.  The instant challenge to a viewpoint that you tell me later will make me that professor, the one people are afraid to take and who challenges them to learn!  The notes to the person sitting next to me that inspire discreet smiles and solidarity.  The discussion's dragging, please, let me ask that question- the one about how this book would look if we wrote it from a different methodological perspective.  Let it be 9 o'clock when the professor starts answering that question, when he lays out how the book would be called "Spain on the Brain: Anglo Anxieties in Hispanic World, 1500-1800," and tells us the who thesis and sums up the class just perfectly in spite of repeating the phrase "Spain on the Brain" five, eight times.  Who cares if the monologue lasted 35 minutes?  It's the second time I've made this happen, that question, this monologue.  I've already forgotten I don't care about colonialism.  What a time we had with those guys! The ones who drive us crazy, the ones who tell us they enjoyed our comments and that they like our folding bike. The ones who exist only as types and never come out with us afterwards.


Beer, glorious beer, finally!  Let there be the favorite usual waitress who we always overtip at our favorite usual bar, the ones where people's eyes twinkle as the pitcher gets emptier and the light reflects off the yellow glass lamps and the dingy wood paneling.  Oh, that laugh that reminds me of my cousin, and please, tell me again that twenty-five isn't that old.


Oh you guys! You don't have to wait.  Headlight, blinkee light, helmet, lock.  I'll try that smaller intersection, just right, an easy left turn.  Why have I never taken that route before? 


Give me third gear all the way down the Parkway, wind on my face, no cars, dim lights glowing against the Art Museum.  I'm on the folding bike, it's not as blissfully cruise-y as the other bike, but wait, it is.  Sublime propulsion along the usual unnoticeable route.  Don't let the cat in, he comes in anyways, but he's home, I'm home, he's happy, I'm happy.  I'm headed up the stairs, happy because I'm leading this life that I never planned to lead, happy that I enjoyed this day that I didn't expect to enjoy.

end of the decade commemorative post.

The 2000s are over.  Hurray!  I've been reading so many commemorative accounts of what to call the decade (I liked this one from The New Yorker) and summaries of events (I liked this icon chart from The New York Times) that like, really, how glad am I, as an individual and an American, to put this decade behind me?

IIn honor of that simpler time- before hanging chads, 9-11, the Iraq War, swift-boating, sustainability, iPods, social networking sites, the recession, and change you can believe in- or for me, before dating, state lacrosse championships, parental divorce, baptism, high school graduation, community college, acquiring a sister-in-law, singles wards, college, nieces, working, and graduate school in two states-- I present to you my own lackluster account, straight from my journal, of New Year's Eve, 2000.  I was a sophomore in high school.  If anything, in contrast to my account of 2009, the entry is evidence that the most humdrum of occasions (dancing in a gym? come on!) can portend a decade of change, accomplishment, and greatness.  However you celebrate it, Happy New Year!

(edited in spots for coherency; names abbreviated to protect the innocent. spelling errors left intact.)

"DUN-DUH-DUN! HAPPY NEW YR.! It's January 1, 2000, 2:18 am!
Time 4 the MILLENIUM REPORT!


Alright, a quick run down of todays events...
11:30 wake up by hang up phone call
1-2 library, checked out The Divine Comedy by Dante, Beloved by Toni Morrison, etc.*
2-4 Reading
4-4:15- attempt to get ready for planned "Main Street" course run (27th to 67th, 67th to Cirque, Cirque to Grandview, Grandview to 27th, up 27th to home)
4:20 leave house, under excuse of don't want to be worn out, do the "2000 m spring" (approx) in 7:21, w/rest / 1000m.


My last millenium meal:
-1.5 beer marinated pork chop, dipped in ketchup & Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce
-shoestring french fries
-water


We ate with Big Brother, Mom, Big Sister and Dad.


-Big Brother hosted a small get together and smoked stogies w/ T at midnight.
-Mom went to CF's, as tradition stands.
-Dad worked, unwillingly.


And A showed up early- at 7- for the big par-tay, so we could help set up.  Of all places, the Tac-South Stake [city-wide conglomeration of Mormon congregations] rented out our High School, so I went to school for New Years!


We left [the party] around 8:15, went to Dairy Queen, but someone was in our spots so we stopped by my house for a bit o Toblerone ( :) ) and went to B2's house for a while. Went back to the school- swung by the Youth dance for a while, but there were way too many little kids in there and it smelled like B.O. Danced with B2 to one song and then me and A had a shift managing the inflatable "bouncer" for 30 minutes.  Then we hooked up with J & E & went to E's house. The boys played pool & we girls were obnoxious with this big blue bouncy ball. Got back to school @ 11... that's when New Year's got fun.  The dance was movin, and it was a great time. I got sick of following A & B though, so I just hung out with the other group I know- lot's o' fun!


Last Song- "I'm Dreamin'"- Selena
Partner- Freshman DD


Then we did the countdown and poof- 2000! The lights stayed on & I came home. Ate licorice, triscuits & choc milk & a See's mint truffle, read Harry Potter & The Chamber of Secrets and am now here.


My goal, as told to A & B, was not to be an old spinster this millenium.**


Oh, my attire for the eve. was:
new heman shirt
green cargo shorts
brown Saltwater sandals
old navy pullover, gray fleece***


My goals for this yr, officially are:
-to lose at least 5-7 lbs & keep it off
-Learn the non-metric distance system (yds. vs. meters)
-play la-x & run varsity x-c
-build my testimony
-expand my base of friends
-get kissed
-be a better friend to J
-not eat so much chocolate!


...Merry freakin' millenium, as Dad said!
-Melanie"


*I'd love to know what the etc. was, as I never read either of the books listed.
**Jury is still out on how I'm doing on that one. Good thing I have 90 years to work on it...
**It just so happens that I still own this entire outfit.

a pack of strays.

I've been touched lately by the thoughtful Christmas essays featured in The New York Times recently.  One spoke to the realities- and hopes- of being a single person during the holidays, another, more poignant, answered for the struggles of the unmoored and the families who take them in on festive days.  While I have never been in the foster care system or experienced even half of the traumas the author alluded to, I have felt the pinball feeling of ricocheting off of other people's (and sometimes my own) family events as both a grateful participant and an uncomfortable intruder.  Confronting this feeling annually involves a late, reluctant, and resigned purchase of an airline ticket and a frustrating blend of enthusiasm and dread.  I love, love, love being around my family but I struggle to really enjoy the holidays (coming home in the summer is so much easier!).  After reading this NYT story about people skipping the holidays- I, feeling very curmudgeonly (probably from gorging on candy and teriyaki to cope with, you know, the stress) was like, YES! Maybe next year I could just spend the holidays at home in Philly in my most amazing bed that I miss so much, without any drama or feelings of holiday malaise!  Maybe I could just skip it, all of it!  Validated in my dark and brooding state, I was plotting a dramatic iCal reminder that would suggest I consider traveling after New Years so that I could just bypass all of the running around and the inexplicable misery I feel in the midst of all this apparent happiness.

It's like you see me making a white sauce, but really I have this complicated inner life. 

I recognize that I'm not the only person on the planet to feel this, and I recognize I'm probably not the only person in this house who feels it either.  Which is why I'm so especially grateful that my some special folks rallied our pack of strays this evening.  Fragments of an extended family, we boast a large percentage of single people.  We lack a clear leader- there are no matriarchs or patriarchs here, just a  contingent of several generations willing to go where they are called.  Suddenly planned, the food was simple, the giving was directed primarily towards the children, and the evening involved the installation of a car radiator.  This was not some ungainly production, but an effort of basic pragmatism:

We would all celebrate Christmas elsewhere, but tonight, we needed to celebrate our Christmas.  We gathered from the far-flung corners of Seattle, rural Pierce County, Tacoma, and Philadelphia to be together.  And perhaps, because of the nature of the season, we were able to see in each other qualities we'd missed or thought too long dormant.  It was an awakening moment for me.

It is easy to see the holidays for what they aren't, for what ones' life isn't.  It is a default, for some, to feel lost and aloof amidst endless hams and cookie platters.  It is not difficult to focus on those feelings, it just happens.  And that is why it is so blissful when that moment of grace presents itself and you can't feel anything better than the love and caring that comes from being a part of a family.  We say we're coming together for the holidays, but really, we're coming together for each other. It is good to be reminded that we are no longer strangers and together we are no longer strays.

God bless us, every one.

gratitude.

It's time for the annual "I'm thankful for" list. I'm just dashing it out as I have a lot of writing to do this evening, but this really is one of my favorite yearly exercises.

I am thankful for my always supportive family. They keep me going when times are tough. They give me perspective and insight and patience and love.  In this past year in particular, they generously and graciously opened their homes to me when I needed the time and the space to rebuild my tattered sense of self. My family sustains me, and there really aren't words to express how grateful I am for that.  I couldn't do this alone. I can't wait to be with them soon!

I am thankful for opportunities. I'm grateful I'm in my seventh year of college. I'm thankful that I've been able to travel, present at conferences, meet new people, take on exciting projects, and have such a dang cool career path. I forget how awesome it is when I get caught up in the drudgery and the logistics, but I'm glad that I continuously get reminded that I am doing something special.

I am thankful I changed my life. This city, this school, this program, this life, these challenges-- they were all exactly what I needed. I have never worked so hard or put so much of myself into anything, and I'm grateful for what that experience has done to my spirit. I feel fortified. I am glad I didn't take other paths and that so many things in my life didn't happen so that I can be here, now.

I am thankful that I sold my car and became a bike commuter. The 455 miles I've ridden since moving to Philly last August have made my body fit and relieved me of so much stress.  Those miles also allow me to consume lager and fries several times a week without consequences, which I am particularly grateful for.

Which reminds me, I am thankful for my health. In a season of colds and swine flu, I feel phenomenally blessed that I have not been sick once. 

I am thankful for my friends in every time zone. I like knowing that they are out there in the world being good people and making the world a better place. It gives me hope. I am thankful that we have the bonds that we do. 

In the moment- I'm thankful I have a place to be this Thanksgiving. I'm thankful that in the past month I've become apart of a great group of friends who give me endless opportunities to laugh. I'm grateful for the prospect of pear butterscotch pie, a ride in the rain, finally being able to understand how to write about political culture, and getting to tell stories that have never been told this way.  I'm thankful for white Christmas lights and a roommate who, in five seconds, is going to ask me to help him start preparing an amazing meal for tomorrow.  And I'm thankful for all of you who read my blog and make me smile with your comments and encouragement. I have so much to be thankful for!

Happy Thanksgiving! 

two years of dutch biking.

I'm in a relaxed stupor from listening to Billie Holiday all evening, so it's time to take on projects I've been putting off. So now I can check "bike retrospective" off my list. A burden lifted!


I'm celebrating my two year bike-a-versary with the Old Dutch Treat. I brought it home from Hyland Cyclery on November 3, 2007.  Thinking about that first daunting ride through Sugar House and up up up into the foothills makes me a little verklempt- in fact, just thinking about Utah has that effect on me.

But Utah is another post for another day. I bought my bike after a year of reading Copenhagen Cycle Chic daily in a Seattle skyscraper. When I moved to Utah for graduate school, I found myself on a spread out (and scenic!) campus. But more than anything, I had recently made a quiet exit from Mormonism.  

It was a time of aesthetic overload for me. Tasting coffee for the first time since 1999, beginning a drinking career with a six pack of Blue Moon, and entering a whole new world of empty Sundays, strange dating expectations, and choices I'd never even considered having to make- it was eye opening.  It was overwhelming. So one day I went to a bike shop that deals with Batavus' US distributor (at the time?), Seattle Bike Supply, and I ordered my dream bike. 

It was one of those surreal large impulse purchases that was fantastically intoxicating. It was my mid-life crisis Corvette on a quarter-life scale. Waiting for the bike to arrive nearly killed me.

Not really.  But it changed how I experienced my world once it showed up. I felt like hot shit riding that bike.  With the wind on my face, I had my deepest thoughts.  I started healing from all the hurt feelings and developing a new sense of self.  I even started a blog.

A lot has changed since then.  I never would have thought when I purchased the ODT that it would replace my Honda- or that I would be riding it around Philadelphia, a city I had never been to and never thought of living in. But in spite of the increased purpose and frequency of my rides, the ethos is still the same.  I still feel like hot shit riding that bike.

Here's to many more good years on the Old Dutch Treat.

grocery getting by bike during a strike.

a nice view from the helm of the Old Dutch Treat

So you may have heard that we're in the midst of a transit strike here in Philadelphia.  On the Granny Bike front, this means that it's business as usual.  Today I determined that I could no longer live off of spaghetti and without coffee, so I took the ODT out for some grocery getting.

Naturally, as I was going to share with you what that looked like, things didn't go as usual. The tote bag that I usually keep with my pannier had gotten put on gloves and rainpants storage duty, and ever eager to eat, I came home with more groceries than usual.

The bike was a little wobbly to get a full shot. Having only one pannier was sort of a problem today. This is why you don't go crazy buying lemon curd and pickles and healthy snacks, people.

Fortunately, I had my super REI bungee with me to help me manage the paper bag presence up front.

In spite of the minor inconveniences, I still enjoyed myself.  It's fall! I can eat whatever I want! I like spending money on food rather than gas! And of course, nothing beats riding an Old Dutch in red tights!

P.S. The Bicycle Coalition has put together a fantastic Bike the Strike blog together! Lots of great Philly bike info and transportation suggestions over there.

P.P.S. Philly Tweed Ride this weekend!