A Toast to Women of Science and Technology

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Today is Ada Lovelace day.

Ada Lovelace

Ada Lovelace

I had no idea what that was yesterday.  Really!  Ironic, I know.  Well as it turns out, Ada Lovelace is widely considered the ‘first programmer’ – and a virtual one at that – for her work with Charles “Father of the Computer” Babbage’s ‘analytical engine’ concept.  Had they actually built it (in 1991, a working model based on original plans proved that the concept would have worked), it would have been the first computer, and Ada would have had it humming along happily.

In honour of the day, people all over the world have been asked to blog about their female technology role models.

For me, the woman who truly exemplify the spirit of technology, innovation, and furthering the role of women in science and technology is Marie Skłodowska Curie.

Marie Curie

Marie Curie

For me, the reason I picked Marie Curie are obvious.  I am, after all, a complete physics nerd (did I mention that?  I have still not yet completely written that college degree off.  BIG physics nerd here.)  Some highlights:

  • She was the first women to receive a Nobel Prize.
  • The first person to earn or share two Nobel Prizes.
  • She is only one of two people to be awarded Nobel Prizes in two different categories (Physics and Chemistry).  Linus Pauling is the other.
  • Despite all that, the French Academy of Sciences still refused her membership.
  • She helped put her sister through college in Paris, after which her sister returned the favor, where she earned a physics and subsequently a mathametics degree from the Sorbonne.
  • She always loved her homeland of Poland, even though they refused her a position at Krakow University because she was a woman upon completing her schooling.  She encountered numerous instances of prejudicial treatment in the science community, and always managed to rise above it.
  • She discovered polonium.  She named it after her homeland of Poland.  Together with her husband, they discovered radium.  Their work in radioactivity (a word which the Curies coined) was groundbreaking.  Marie learned quickly that she had to lay claim quickly and clearly that her ideas were her own, however, or the scientific community would write her off as just her husband’s assistant.  Despite how devestating it was, her husband’s death 12 years after they met helped her to establish herself as a scientist in her own right.

The woman was amazing.  After her husband’s death, she became the first female professor at the Sorbonne, and continued their work in earnest.  And her work is what eventually killed her – she eventually died of a type of anemia directly caused by exposure  to radiation.  But because of her work, basic laws of physics and chemistry were challenged,  the nuclear atom and ways to battle cancer were discovered, and the role of women in sciences was forever changed.

Here’s to Marie Skłodowska Curie, and Ada Lovelace.  May their stories and efforts continue to enrich the lives of women, and everyone.

Incidente en el Pescado de la Bahía de Banderas

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Hola, mis interwebs amigos.   I have a very sad tale to tell you.  I like to call it the Incidente en el Pescado de la Bahía de Banderas, or The Fish Affair of la Bahía de Banderas.  It also explains my insane love of snorkeling.
 
See, it all started with my love of fishing.   Why do I love fishing, you ask?  Well, you know the feeling you get when you hop in a spaceship and fly to a mysterious planet and, upon landing at said mysterious planet, you find these creatures who are sort of edible and not very sentient really, and you’re hungry, and you pull out your trusty lasso and lasso yourself one up?  And then you combine that feeling, with the feeling of being struck momentarily blind, as if someone slapped a bandana over your eyes, and you had to stick a pin in some picture in just the right spot, and you do, and you take the bandana off and see how awesome your sixth sense is?
Well that’s why I love fishing.  Because it feels like that.  It’s like your blindly delving the depths of a strange world and finding little living treasures.  And then you kill them.  Yay!
 
Now imagine, if you will, that you’ve spent your life delving these strange little worlds, and finding these treasures, but they’ve always been only so big.  There’s no real struggle, no life and death battle between you and the fish; pretty much if you hook it, it’s a goner.  At least, I thought, if it was a bigger fish there would be Glorious Battle, right?  Huh.  Silly me. 
 
I was determined to experience that struggle.  So I go to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and I charter a fishing boat.  My trusty fishing guide, Miguel, takes us out to the beautiful Bahía de Banderas, or Bay of Flags.  I see dolphins!!!  And a WHALE!  (No really, I did!)  But we are hunting fishable fish, my friends.  Oh yes, the kind you spend 20 minutes reeling in, and then you LAND that sucker, and you take a picture! 
 
I really, really hadn’t thought this out very well.
 
Of course first, we had to find the fish.  That proved to be no problem at all, though.  You just scan the horizon and look for birds flocking.  Drive your boat to that location.  Look in the water.  Fish.  Seriously, the water was BOILING.  With FISH.  It was like some crazy fishy orgy was happening right there at the surface of the water, hundreds and hundreds of huge, silvery bodies all flapping and churning and going just…well…fish orgy, just picture it, right?  We set out lines, and starting trolling around.
 
WHAM!  FISHONFISHONFISHON!!!!
 
I start reeling in for all I’m worth!  Lean forward, reel back.  Lean forward, reel back.  It was a BIG fish.  I remember the first moment I caught a glimpse of it, it was like some beautiful silver treasure was flickering in the water, coming in closer and closer, sparkling in the sunlight, a silver glimmering jewel.  And I had it caught!  I thought about how I’d reel it up, and catch in a net, and hold it up proudly, its silvery skin sparkling no less than my smile.  It was beautiful, how this would end in my head.
Right.  Not so beautiful, actually.  Miguel, my trusty fisherman, snagged his bailing hook when I pulled the fish near the boat, and stabbed my poor defenseless fish IN THE SIDE.  He then commences to haul the poor thing up outta the water, a giant silver creature flailing with this giant hook stabbed into it, and hands it to me so we can take a picture.
  
Yeah, that's about right. Funny, seems much smaller than I remember.

Yeah, that's about right. Funny, seems much smaller than I remember.

 
Um.  What? 
 
So I stand there, dumbfounded, smiling like an idiot.  Meanwhile, inside my head, I’m in shocked disbelief.  I ended up taking a very small portion of the fish, and giving the rest to Miguel, who assured me it would go to people who needed it.  And the filet that I kept?  Well, I took it to the hotel where I was staying, and they grilled it up for lunch the next day with a lovely pilaf and steamed vegetables.  And I couldn’t eat a single bite of it.  The thought of it made me ill.
 
Once again, like I’ve said so often before…I am a dumbass.  I mean, how did I think this would end?
 
Well then.  During this same trip, I discovered snorkeling.  Which pretty much puts the whole love of fishing dilemma to rest, because now I have the gear to delve those mysterious environs without requiring any pretenses of killing or eating things.  I mean really, I don’t like eating fish all that much anyway.  And I’ve never seen anyone go fishing for eagle rays, or puffers, or jellyfish, or any of the other hundreds of amazing things I saw. 
 
So farewell, fishing gear.  Goodbye, tackle and smelly salmon eggs and wiggly rubber worms and hooks which I have accidentally lodged in myself and others.  All I need now is my snorkel and mask, and I can explore those murky worlds and experience all their wonder face to face.  Now, I just hop in my spaceship and travel to those mysterious planets, and just enjoy the treasures that live there.

A Tale of Three Bamboo

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It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

For some reason, even though that first line from A Tale of Two Cities resonated in my young brain so loudly, I just couldn’t get into that book.  Never did.  I’m sure I read that first page at least a dozen times.  Maybe I should try again.  But this, dear interwebs, is A Tale of Three Bamboo.  Or is it Bamboos?  Whatever.  Our story opens…

The Triff...er I mean Bamboo

The Triff...er I mean Bamboo

Despite numerous warnings that I was insane to even contemplate the idea, I planted bamboo in my backyard.  And not even the relatively safe kind, i.e. ‘clumping’ bamboo.  No, I planted the ravenous, crawl into your house in the middle of the night and kill your pets kind of bamboo.  The Day of the Triffids bamboo: timber bamboo.

(Side note: OMG!  The BBC is going to film a new version of Day of the Triffids! W00t, I say.  Wewt even.)

But on the other hand, this is the same kind of bamboo they make floors out of.  And utensils.  Gorgeous ones!  Or at least that was the counter argument in my head when I was rationalizing this step in my Eternal Project.  Seriously, everyone I talked to thought I was insane:

“And then, I’m gonna plant some bamboo along the fence here…”

“You’re going to plant bamboo?”

“Yeah.  The big kind.  Timber.  Black, and Tiger.  They’re so pretty!”

“You’re going to…plant.  Bamboo.  Willingly.  In your backyard.”

“Um, yeah.  Pretty much.”

“Do you KNOW what bamboo does??”

“Yes…I’ve taken precautionary steps.”

“Yes but…it’s crazy!  It gets into EVERYTHING!”

“Yes, I know.  Like I said, I’ve taken steps.  Two sides are going to be surrounded in concrete, for starters!”

“Well…I still think you’re crazy for even considering it.”

“Thanks.  Your concern is duly noted.”

That’s how most of my conversations went.

But I did it.  It’s done.  And so far, all my pets are still here.  Or, well, they didn’t die of bamboo related injuries, at least.

I can’t say the same for my poor bamboo though.

I did my research, you know.  Like I said, I surrounded the planting area on two sides with concrete.  The other two sides, a foot and a half deep bamboo barrier, especially made for the task.  I planted them in little mounds, so the runners would be easy to spot.  I fertilized only the top six inches of soil or so, so the runners would stay close to the surface and be easy to maintain.  I check all the runners twice a year, and trim the ones that are heading in the wrong directions.

I did not, however, protect them from my dog.

I started with 3 bamboo.  Two black and one tiger, just like I wanted.  (Interestingly, both are classified as  Phyllostachys nigra.) Jessie and I drove waaaay out to Hillsboro to the Bamboo Garden Nursery (Yes, Jessie and I did meet Oggie the Bamboo Dog).  We were driven around the woods in a golf cart by the nice and helpful bamboo guy, who helped us pick out two black bamboo and one tiger bamboo. We carefully drove them home, planted according to directions, watered and carefully watched over my new charges.  Well, watched them except while I was at work.

I guess Jessie was still in her destructive stage, because it wasn’t long before one of the black bamboo was ripped out of the ground.  And replanted.  And ripped out again.  And replanted again.  And ripped out AGAIN.  And replanted, but by this time, it was becoming clear that the poor thing had met its match.  Eventually I had to admit that the plant was dead, and had now become a doggy chew toy.

Now, I have a fence around my bamboo.  They’re probably safe at this point, but I’m not taking any chances.  I have since replaced the unfortunate black bamboo with some free golden timber bamboo that I found on craigslist.  One of my favorite things to do around this time is to look for all the new little bamboo shoots popping out of the ground, letting me know that my mission of creating a privacy screen between me and my neighbors is coming to fruition.

So far….nothing.

Sigh.

Grow faster, bamboo!  FASTER!

Apparently my endless reserves of patience do not extend to plants.  Or actually, weather.  Because you know once the weather warms up for a couple weeks, those bamboo are going to be all crazy in yo face growing fiends.  Unkillable.  Unstoppable.  With poisonous whip-like stingers.

Hmm…perhaps I should get a really big machete.  You know, just in case.  Plus, it gives me an excuse to go to Andy and Bax!

Stay tuned for the next chapter, wherein my bamboo start growing at a rate of 2.65 feet a minute for the entire summer, and I next complain that they’re growing too damn fast.  Yay, gardening!

Amalgamation: a story.

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“I’m leaving.”

“Hmm?”, I replied.  “Where are you going?”  I feigned obliviousness.  It’s a defense mechanism built out of hope that I was quite adept at using.

“No.  I mean I’m leaving”, she said.

When you walk into the surf at the beach, and stand in the water, just ankle deep, you feel the immense power swirling at your feet.  You’re just not in deep enough that it can really affect you, not yet.  But it’s pulling you out to sea, out to where its power is stronger.  I felt that power now, except this wasn’t the tide, it was fear.  Swirling just at ankle level, and rising quickly.  My heart skipped a beat.

“You mean…”

“Yes”, she interrupted.  “I’ve taken the offer.  I leave at the end of the month.”

I sighed, bracing myself for the discussion we had had so many times already.  Tapping into the seemingly endless pools of patience I always managed to find at times like these.

“I thought we decided you’d wait until I could find a way…”, I started.

“No.  I don’t want to wait anymore.  I’m doing this for me.  I’ll be back, but I need to go.”

Inside my mind, inside my heart, I heard a low rumbling.  With every passing moment, the rumbling grew louder, more shrill.  I recognized it; it was the sound of desperation.  The sound I heard when I gazed into the dark abyss of loneliness that I knew so well.  It was coming for me again.  The sound surrounded me, as the fear lapped at my knees, slowly engulfing me.  I faced that sound, faced the growing fear and what lay behind it, and firmed my resolve.

“Then,” I said, “you should go.”

The look of relief on her face spoke volumes, while I felt at once both pride and pain.  Pain, from the agony of knowing that it was over, that I would never see her again.  My skepticism would not allow that she spoke the truth that she’d be back; we both knew it was a lie, one for my benefit, and all the more stinging because I knew it.  Pride, in knowing that I could let her go to follow her path, that I could stand fast and remain true to my beliefs in the face of such pain.  I knew the loneliness that lay before me, and could still let her go.

But oh, how I hated the thought of being alone.  What a fool I am, I thought.  What a total fucking fool.  A fool for love, and a coward in the face of loneliness, unable to walk away from love even when it’s all wrong. But now the struggle was over, the fight lost.  Or was it?

It would be an end to the lies and confusion.  No more wondering who she’s sleeping with behind my back.  No more thinly veiled recriminations, or being told that nothing I tried was ever *quite* up to par.  No more struggling to be understood.  No more questioning myself when I knew full well the answer.

Yes, as always, this would be for the best.  She was not the one.

I pulled out my suitcase and began to pack.

This was not the end.

This is a story.  An amalgamation of those moments when the relationship, my relationships, end.  I’ve learned many things from my past relationships:

  1. There is always someone crazier than you out there.  You can’t fix them, no matter how much you love them.  Don’t make excuses for them either.
  2. Maintain your own identity.  Don’t lose your individuality.  You, and your relationship, will be healthier for it.  And always tell the truth about how you feel.
  3. Sometimes, the problem *is* you.  Fix it.  Be self aware.  But sometimes it takes screwing up something truly wonderful to figure that out.  Sucks, I know.
  4. Don’t settle for someone you’re not interested in just to keep away the loneliness.  Don’t sacrifice your standards; you’ll just both get hurt.
  5. Yes, you still prefer women.  And yes, you are awesome, and don’t let anyone tell you different.
  6. Attraction is very, very important.  So is communication, understanding, and compromise.  And letting the one you love follow their own path.  And not forgetting to follow your own.

Through it all, I have never given up on love.  I am frankly amazed at the fact that I keep bouncing back, willing to try again; for all the times I’ve been hurt, I ought to be jaded beyond repair.  But I’m not.   I marvel at my heart’s resilience, and look forward to the next lesson.

Duh, what’s up Doc? Duh…

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I had a pet rabbit once.  Rabbits are stupid.  Yes, they’re cute and fuzzy and soft, but underneath the surface…they’re cute and fuzzy and soft.  In other words, there’s just not a lot of synapses firing in there.  I dunno, maybe I had a particularly stupid bunny, but from what I’ve seen and heard, it was pretty average.  And by average, I mean stupid.

Case in point:

NOM NOM NOM. From my new most favorite website, http://www.epicpicsofwin.com

NOM NOM NOM. From my new most favorite website, http://www.epicpicsofwin.com

This of course does not include bugs bunny, who is very very smart, not to mention delightfully snarky.  But then, he’s a cartoon character, not a real bunny rabbit.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, is my dog.  My dog is a FREAKIN GENIUS.  People ask me if my dog is smart.  In answer, I tell them she does my taxes.  They laugh, because they think I’m kidding.

I’m not.

Ok yes I am.  But if she could grasp concepts like the US Tax Code and the use of a computer, I’d totally let her do my taxes.  I’d probably get more money back.  I could start up my very own tax consulting business, and I’d give her her very own office complete with buckets of liver and salmon treats and her very own ball boy to toss her tennis ball three times a day for an hour.  And a wading pool.  And sticks to chew on, that won’t get all splintery.  She’d do people’s taxes, and then play with her tennis ball, splash in the water, and I’d be rich, because duh, my dog can do people’s taxes.  And people would pay me to have her do their taxes, and they’d tell their friends that a dog does their taxes, and they saved OODLES of money, and how cool is that?

Don’t believe me?  Well, forget about the fact that she knew more commands at the age of 6 months than any stupid rabbit.  Forget that she is probably the most awesome dog on the planet.  You want unbiased proof, well here you go.

I took her to the Doggie Dash on the waterfront when she was 15 months old.  They had a frisbee competition that day, and any dog could register to compete.  I knew she was a fetching fool with balls, but she’d never even SEEN a frisbee before.  I’d read that it’s not a good idea for young pups to jump too much, and frisbee is just begging for jumps, so I hadn’t exposed her to that yet.  This would be her first time.  15 months old.  Never seen a frisbee.  And competing against probably 20 other dogs, many of whom have seen a frisbee, and knew what to do with it.

My dog came in FIFTH.  FIFTH!!!!!

So there.

Check out my post on OurPDX.net about the 22nd!!! annual Oregon Humane Society Doggie Dash, coming up on May 9th.  Jessie will be there, but she’s pretty good about not being all elitist and rubbing your face in the fact that she’s a genius.  Me, I have a bit more trouble with it.  Proud mother, I guess.  But…

<whisper whisper growl grunt bark bark grunt>

Um.  Jessie says I should quit being a crazy proud doggie mom.  So, sorry.

EPU: Lilacs.

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I am the proud owner of lilacs, once again!

See, I love lilacs.  They’re the state flower of New Hampshire, so I spent quite a few years smelling them in the springtime growing up, and they served as a nice replacement to the summer mulberries in New York.  I’m especially fond of the dark purple ones.  Purple is full of awesome.  It’s not my favorite color, per se, but I do like it.

So about a week ago, I cruised by Seven Dees on Powell to see if they had any lilacs.  It was freakin cold, and I figured my chances were slim.  Surprise!  They had bunches, all shapes and sizes (and prices).  I picked out two Ludwig Spaeth lilacs, cuz they’re the darkest purple of the ones they had.  And so because they had tons of lilacs I’m so cool and awesome and stuff, they gave me a 20 dollar discount on the pair right on the spot!

Now, I had a pretty good idea of where I wanted to put them.  Lilacs like a lotta sun, and this is my sunniest corner, complete with fire pit of awesomeness:

Before....

Before....

I’m planning on putting some sort of tree (yes, I’m considering the state tree of NH, the white birch, and no, I’m not making some NH flora exhibit), or some clumping bamboo, right in the corner there.  Do the lilacs go one on each side?  Or both along the fence on the right, which would get the max sun?  Decisions, decisions.  I had Jessie, my trusty yard dog, help me decide…

First, we tried both lilacs to the right of the future tree/bamboo planting area.  Jessie says “Hmm, I dunno.  I’m not a feng shui master or anything, but I tend to prefer some balance, and this just feels all lopsided to me.”

Lilacs on the right side

Lilacs on the right side

Then we tried putting a lilac on either side of the future center planting.  Ideally, the tree or bamboo will be quite a bit taller than the lilacs.  Thanks Jessie, for standing in as the tree/bamboo.  Cute pup, right?  After perusing the two options for a bit, I decide that I’m liking the balanced layout better.  Decision made, time to plant!  And yeah, that’s a post hole digger near the fire pit.  FEAR ME, FUTURE LILAC HOLES!!!

Centered Lilacs

Centered Lilacs

So the hole digging begins.  And when I dig holes for plants I’m planting, I always look for WormSign.  Of course, a decent amount of wormsign means the soil is well aerated and stuff.  And also, because I’m a total nerd/geek/awesome person, every time I find a worm, I say “Shaaaaiiii-Hulluuuuuuuuudd……”  And THEN, I get the following phrase running through my head when I do find a decent amount of worms: “Usul, we have wormsign the likes of which even God has never seen!”

Yes, I’m a dork.  But here’s my WormSign: (There’s actually two worms there.  Look closely.  Or not.)

Worm Sign

WormSign

So yay!  Lilacs are planted, and have oodles and oodles of buds.  The guy at the nursery told me (thanks nursery guy!) that lilacs love hard cold winters, because it gives them a chance to really go completely dormant and fully recharge, so I’m expecting lilac blooms of total awesomeness this spring.  Yay!!

Stay tuned for further Eternal Project updates!

Do you know what happens when you leave a fish too long in an elevator?

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You don’t??

Well here’s a clue:

Fish is biodegradable.

That means it rots!

Ah, the Jazz Butcher.  Love that band.

Seriously, though, do you know what happens when you leave a cell phone too long in a fish?  Apparently nothing!

Personally, I’ve never never had my cell phone swallowed by a 25 pound cod.  I have, however, lost it in the fall, and found it again after the snow melted in spring, plugged it into the charger and have it turn on, just like that.  In fact, I gave it to a friend, and she’s still using it.  It’s a Samsung, in case you’re wondering.

Granted, unless you beat on the things, there’s really not too much that can go awry.  But it’s still pretty amazing.

Gauntlet+Lint= Lintlet

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Strange things happen on Twitter.  Well, strange conversations at least.

And even stranger, in my particular tweet stream, many of them seem to involve @StephStricklen.

Yep, our very own KGW Live @ 7 anchor.  She seems to attract strange conversations on twitter, and apparently this also extends somewhat to her blog.  She attracts people, well-meaning readers I’m sure, who peruse her blog on occasion and slam her for the dumbest shit.  For instance, one lovely chap complained – on her blog – that she should just stick to the news, and quit talking about other, non-newsy stuff.  On her own, pretty much personal, blog.
Her response?  She wrote a blog about lint.  Navel lint.  Yeah.  You rock, girl.

But of course  me, being who I am, gotta give her crap for writing a blog about lint.  LINT.  At which point she told me it was the safest of the topics that were suggested to her.

Well.  When you put it that way, I’d say lint was a safe bet after all.  And I alluded to the fact that now *I* wanted to write about lint.  To which she said if I wrote a post about lint, she’d totally read it.

Well.  The Lint Gauntlet has been tossed, my dear.  It has been tossed.  The Lintlet, if you will.

So first I had to figure out what kind of lint I would write about.

  • The dryer kind?  I have a friend, we’ll call him Mark, who has the nickname of Safety Warden.  Because of him, I’ve become a stickler for cleaning the lint tray after every drying cycle.  No thank you, scary dryer fire!
  • Or how about the navel kind?  I tend to collect very little, as a rule.  Strange, since I don’t have the protrusion issue that Steph is experiencing these days.  But this guy knows more about navel lint than you ever thought possible.
  • Perhaps you prefer the Lindt kind of lint.  They make those little Lindor truffle balls you see everywhere.  My fave is the hazelnut, in case you’re wondering.  I’d say that’s probably my favorite “Lint”.
  • For some reason, Lindt makes me think of Liszt: “Women fought over his silk handkerchiefs and velvet gloves, which they ripped to shreds as souvenirs. Helping fuel this atmosphere was the artist’s mesmeric personality and stage presence. Many witnesses later testified that Liszt’s playing raised the mood of audiences to a level of mystical ecstasy.” Which of course leads me to one of my favorite Bugs Bunny episodes (Oh?  I didn’t tell you I was a Bugs fan?  Yeah.  My secret’s out, crap), Rhapsody Rabbit, wherein Our Hero is playing Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody #2.   Phone rings.  “Eh, what’s up doc? Who? Franz Liszt? Never heard of him. Wrong number.”   Heh.  Of course, you’d have to know he was playing Liszt for that to even be remotely funny.

And with that, my Ode to Lint, and also randomness, is complete.

I said GOOD DAY SIR. GOOD DAY!

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I don’t take offense easily AT ALL.  Really.  So when it does happen, I’m not sure how to deal with it. 

And I am offended.  Boy howdy, am I ever.  Actually angry, even, which feels very foreign to me of late.

So I’m trying to figure out how to deal with it.  And while I’m doing that, I’m finding that it’s hard to give the numerous blog post ideas I have stewing around in my head the proper focus they deserve.  Apparently, I am only inspired to write by negative emotions if I write about that which is influencing that emotion, and I don’t feel very motivated to do that at the moment, either.

So.  Tomorrow I’ll relate my sturdy cell phone stories.  Tomorrow I’ll wonder about the strange disease of the trees at Holladay West Park.  Tomorrow I’ll tell you how Kabbalah changed my life years before Madonna ever heard of it, and how it helped me discover intentional acceptance, and how important that is in my life.

Today…I’m just trying to practice that acceptance.

Ok, so am I a writer *now*?

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I’m excited.

Stoked.

Thrilled.

Giddy!  (yeah I know, I used that word again.  It’s a rare occurrence, really.)

In fact, if you could hear the chatter inside my head, it would sound something like this:

“omg omg omg omg omg omg omg yay!!!”

Pretty much that’s it.

So.  I guess you’re wondering why I’m all hyped up, happy, bouncing off stuff and…stuff.  Are you?  Really?

Ok.  I’ll tell you.

You ready?

Maybe you should sit down first.  I’ll wait.

……..

Sitting?  Ok.

<deep breath>

Ok.

I’m one of the newest writer/bloggers for OurPDX.net.

Allow me to give you a moment to just let that sink in.

……..

I KNOW HUH!!!!  HOW AWESOME IS THAT!!!!!

Pretty damn, my friends.  Pretty damn.

No worries about my slacking off on blogging here though.  OurPDX.net is all about Portland, so my PDX-type posts will be drifting over in that direction, but there’s oh so much more stuff I blog about than that.  I’ll let you know when I post over there, so you can hop over there and check it out too.  No worries!

In fact, check out my VERY FIRST POST, about how our own dear Mayor Sam forgot about bikes for the storm response survey they did last month.  Unbelievable, but true.

One final thought:

OMG YAY!